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 are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | "Kinda short for a knight, aren't you?"
The words hung in the air. Sir Gregory was taken aback. He was expecting the princess to be excited to see him or terrified of the dragon. Condescension was an emotion he never entertained.
"Oh Gods, you reek. No, this won't do. If you wish to rescue me *properly* I insist you go have a bath." She wrinkled her nose and took a step back, disgust on her face.
"Your Highness, this isn't the time. The dragon is still about-"
"The dragon has been here seven years. I'm sure she can wait until you're presentable. I mean *really*. How would you feel if you opened that door and found a centaur here? Because you smell like a centaur." The princess waived her hand dismissively. "The baths are down the hall to the right. I have left some mint on the vanity in case you don't want your first kiss to cause me to vomit."
Sir Gregory flustered. "I.. Uh.. Alright."
"Would you like a new suit of armor? That looks really ratty?"
"This was my grandfather's armor!"
"Looks like he inherited it too."
"That does it!" Sir Gregory took off his helm and threw it to the floor with a loud clang. "I came here through driving rain and scorching deserts! I endured countless hardships just to come here for *you*! I did this all for you. You should have the courtesy to show me some respect."
"You're some rich asshole who thinks I'll suck your dick and make you king just because you killed a, sorry, because you *intend* to kill a dragon. I didn't ask you to come here stinking of horse and threatening to kill the only friend I have had for seven years."
"You know what? I don't have to deal with this shit." Sir Gregory's voice broke as tears welled in his eyes. He picked up and put his helmet back on. "I'm a great knight. There are lots of women at court who would love to marry me." He started to leave, then turned in the doorway. "And your kingdom is shit anyway. Wench!"
"Don't let the porticulus hit your ass on the way out!"
"Arrgh!" He screamed as he stormed off muttering under his breath. "Stupid wench. Probably isn't even a virgin. I'm a nice knight. I wanted to rescue her. Doesn't that mean anything?" As promised the porticulus slams shut right behind him. The drawbridge starts to rise as he nears the end, forcing him to jump the last step.
"Gods damn it!" He curses, turning to yell back at the keep. "When you are old and ugly and alone you will look back at this day as the biggest mistake of your life!"
"At least I'm not old and ugly now!" The princess yelled down from a window.
"I'm not old I'm twenty seven!"
"I bet you still live with your parents."
"Fuck you," Sir Gregory turns and starts storming off toward a tree with a short length of rope tied to it. He turns back and yells. "Where is my horse!?"
"I don't know where your stupid horse is. Where is my dragon?"
"I didn't even see your dragon." He points at the princess. "If your dragon ate my horse you owe me a horse!"
"If my dragon got sick eating your stinking horse you owe me a dragon."
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not buying you a dragon."
"Then I'm not buying you a horse."
"Screw this. I'm going back to court and I'm telling everyone you're a dragon's wench and you'll never get rescued!"
"Have a pleasant walk," the princess called in a sing-song voice.
"Fuck you!!" | The gigantic oak door that made up the main entrance to my mansion buckled and broke, flying off its hinges in a shower of splinters. A young knight stepped in, clad in a pragmatic and flexible armor.
"I will not let you take my dragon!" I shrieked, wielding a heavy trident.
"Yes yes, we know."
"He is mine!" Purple flames licked the trident.
"He is a dragon." The knight said, and looked around the large hall. "Also we are fairly certain you have been driven coco in the head. This place stinks by the way, you realize that?"
"He is just misunderstood! I do not need to be rescued!"
"I mean, this is more like an attempted arrest..."
I rushed against him. The coward backed away as I flung small shots of purple flames at him from my trident.
"You will never have him! None of you!"
"Yeah we gathered that when you killed the first, a crap." The young knight blocked some of my bullets with his large kite shield and continued as if he was completely unperturbed, the bastard. "... after you killed the first three people come to try and extract you. Spontaneous magical powers huh. No wonder you are completely unhinged."
"I am NOT CRAZY!"
"Sure, sure. Just any normal princess arent you just."
"Leave now or I will kill you! You will never slay my dragon!"
"We are not here to slay your dragon."
That actually disturbed me. I stared at him with large, shocked eyes.
"That was the original plan sure, but you know. We were working on limited information."
"So why have you disturbed my domicile?"
"Well..." The young knight hesitated. "We are gonna save the dragon? From you?"
I screamed out in fury and flung my arcane powered trident at him full force, he let out another frightful gasp and again raised his shield.
"Oh Crap!" The trident hit straight into his shield, breaking it in four large pieces and sending him up into the air. He hit the wall with a large thud that echoed across the hall, then fell down on the floor. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled and he fell down on one of them.
I sneered at him, looking around for something to finish the job.
"It seems you will be the fourth, sir knight." I said in a mocking tone. "You will never be able to defeat me."
"Me? Maybe not. But you know. I did not actually... ah... come alone."
And then a large number of things occurred simultaneously.
From the back of my mansion I heard a large explosive sound, as if someone had just blown up the back door, and a loud happy rumbling as if something large was being escorted out of the building.
"Oh no! My dodo!" I screamed, but at exactly the same time, windows on both sides of the building shattered as two rather short knights poured in. One of them was a dwarf, and the other were clearly a gnome. They were wearing the same style of armor as the young knight.
"This is a KESA raid!" The gnome yelled. "Surrender now!"
I snarled and turned to set the little bastard on fire, but before I could, his friend shot a strange crossbow bolt at me. As it hit me, the glass head shattered, and I was covered in a strange gas that made me cough and spit. As I was unable to form the arcane power, the gnome rushed at me and threw a very small net at my knees. Then the young knight tackled me to the ground and gagged me.
​
"That eh, stands for Knights Extraction and Special Assault squad." He said, as I struggled and cursed at him trough the restraints.
\-
In the aftermath of the extraction, as the still cursing, still tied up, soon to be ex-princess was being carted away, the KESA squad met for a short after operations debrief.
"Cannot lie to you boss, that was helluva risky." The gnome knight said.
"Yeah maybe. I wanted to confirm she was really you know. Coco in the head." The young knight said, tapping at his temple. "Also it fit with the reports. No immediate attacks, just lots of shouting, then a flashes of purple light. And some more... much more abrupt screams."
The gnome knight grunted but said nothing. The young knight turned to a somewhat tall elf and an equally tall older human wearing the same armor as the rest of them. "How was the dragon?"
The old human shrugged. "Malnourished and scared, but otherwise mostly fine. He should be back with his parents soon."
The young knight lit a small yet finely crafted ivory pipe and shook his head. "Crazy times these. If this was back in my grandfathers days, we would have blamed the dragon for turning the princess mad and executed him on the spot."
"Things arent so simple anymore." The elf knight said. The dwarf knight grunted. "They never were. So boss, what do we do now?"
"What else is there?" The young knight said. "Now we do the paper work." | 2019-01-09T11:59:29 | 2019-01-09T11:21:07 | 158 | 72 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | "Personal journal: The sky on this planet was blue when we landed. I should have known that a blood-colored sky was a bad omen.
"Command had singled out this planet, a tiny garden world around an unremarkable star, as a good place to set up a frontier resupply depot. 'We've observed them through a probe for a hundred cycles around their star, they should be no problem for you, General Fen.' And at first, I had arrogantly believed them.
"From day one this expedition has been a nonstop string of failure and misery. Guerilla fighters ambush our supply lines and reinforcements around every turn, a weapon hiding behind every piece of flora. At night, when we make camp, the same music we had watched them perform in festivals of peace turns into hellish torments, keeping all but those lucky enough to lose their hearing awake. Bombs drop at all hours, missiles and rockets destroy our aircraft... There is no peace on this planet, there is only death.
"Command had told me this was a peaceful backwater, but the bloodlust I see in every enemy's eyes tells me differently. I wonder now, as I prepare to evacuate in defeat, if the reason the Gods made this planet so isolated is not to protect them from us, but rather to protect the rest of the galaxy from them." | "So here's what we do men," Captain Averal started as the ships started pulling out of the water, "they think we're gonna let them go, we're gonna let them fly away because we're scared of 'em, are we scared of em?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!" The sailors replied.
​
"Are we scared of those buggy bastards?"
​
"SIR NO SIR!"
​
"And what are we going to do?"
​
"SQUASH THEM SIR?"
​
"That's right, that's right," Averal took a deep breath and gazed up at the sky, there was a moment of peace before he heard the whistling of missiles overhead, the streaked through the air, built from old blueprints that had been recovered from museums. "Boys and girls," Averal put on his protective goggles, "it's time to be a janitor and clean up."
​
"SIR YES SIR!" the sailors shouted but it was drowned out by the retreating ships being slammed by the barrage that had been fired minutes before. There ships that hadn't been hit yet shook as they seemed to try to change course. Maybe it was against alien convention to shell a fleeing enemy, maybe it was against their pretty little rules they'd kept referencing, but this was Captain Averal's planet and the home to everyone that he liked. Along with Averal there were millions that had the same thoughts as him, get off our planet, and burn for every crop-circle you've left in the past thousand years.
​
Command spoke in Averal's ear. Frantic panicked words asking who had approved the fire of the anti-air after a treaty had been reached. Washington had burned but the counterattack from the humans had broken a lot of rules they didn't know about. It had scared the bugs and they had settled for peace at the first chance.
​
Everyone had agreed to the command on the field, every single ship that had been deployed agreed to fire when ready, every soldier on the beach agreed to fire when the signal was given. Averal had agreed to take the fall for a lot of it for his commanding officers but even the people he admitted to knew that he wasn't the only person behind this. The human race wasn't ready for the war to be over.
​
​
​
​ | 2019-02-26T07:33:05 | 2019-02-26T07:06:44 | 589 | 144 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | This was a mistake.
When we arrived the whole planet focused on us as though a great beast was questioning who had awoken it far far to soon.
At the start. Before our intentions were known and we offered them a choice of submit or perish they were excited buzzing around in a frenzy that so many other species had when we first came to them. The curiosity in their eyes burned brightly that they could illuminate the dark mysteries of our universe.
Those flames were extinguished in a heart beat. Replaced by the cold dead eyes of untamed fury that knew no fear. Those weren't the eyes of a race that knew only peace. One of their leaders - female nearing the end of their short life cycle - stepped forward her shaking steps were only achieved by the aid of a short stick.
To those present that day it was something that still haunts us. The aged female showed her teeth, eyes closed, lips curled upwards. And her words resounded in everyone of our warriors and in the everyone of their population.
It was a challenge one that we were not ready for. Just as the galaxy is not ready for them.
"Come and take it." | We had arrived at this primitive star system with a fleet of 40,000 strong. Bio suits we made with special protections against the planet’s volatile atmosphere and these primate’s bacteria infested cities. We believed this to be an easy invasion, noting their adoption pacifistic ways for the past 300 Sol Cycles. We were wrong.
We touched down in some of their largest living centers, hoping to swiftly decimate their numbers before moving to capture vital points. We were confident that we held the edge at all times, so much so that we left our heavy assault ships back with the fleet. Our transports landed close to the centers of their cities and began their attack. They didn’t make it much farther than that.
Rudimentary peace keeping forces kept ours bogged down by sheer numbers alone. We found it amusing but vexing that they were being so stubborn. We failed to realize they were buying time. Explosions began to tear apart our ranks as what we assume to be soldiers began to tear apart those that were left. Explosive payloads destroyed out transports, stranding the forces we had sent down. Seeing that they were to put up a fight and a proper one now, we moved in to attack with the fleet. That was our second mistake.
They had deployed on the opposite side of their home planet and used its gravity to slingshot their forces into ours. Though they lacked our sophistication and maneuvering that our ships offered, the sheer volume of fire power they threw at us was astonishing. It only grew worse from there.
A second human fleet hit us from behind, deployed from their moon. They had been deployed shortly after we arrived in their solar system and had been laying in wait for us. I watched as our ships were reduced to shrapnel, our personnel that survived in the vacuum shredded by their primitive projectiles. Those few of us that survived had to surrender. The invasion force I had brought was destroyed in mere hours after we began our attack.
We came with a fleet of 40,000 ships and nearly 800,000 personnel, including the soldiers. We thought that these peace loving primates in their backwards Sol System would have been an easy conquest. Standing before a council of them with the dozen of us that survived, I see that we are wrong.
I am Grand Admiral Ky’Thee San’Oon-Doon. As I watch these primates reverse engineer our technology from what remains, I see now that we were wrong. We came looking for an easy conquest only to watch as we doom ourselves. | 2019-02-26T09:23:50 | 2019-02-26T09:02:34 | 227 | 79 |
[WP] When someone dies the person they cared about the most receives a notification. One day you're notified of a death, and it's a person you've never heard of. | It didn’t make any sense. He’d never heard the name before, he was sure of it. Still, there it was, as clear as day:
“Robert J. Moon - Deceased 11:39:12 6/10/2019”
If not for the last name he would likely pass it off as a fake, but that what his last name. Moon.
“We shine brightest in the darkest times,” his mother always used to tell him.
Reading it sent a chill down his spine. Even not knowing the name, it was an announcement of death. Such an eerie thing.
Exasperated by the thought of it, John set his phone aside and went about his day. It wasn’t unlike most. He had been out to lunch at the time - a nice turkey sandwich on marble rye from the deli down the street. They always had the best meats. When he finished, he returned to work and mulled through his last few hours. He had spent so much time and energy finishing up his last project that the lull as he waited for another was even more exhausting.
All he could think about was getting home to Amy. He hadn’t seen as much of her as he’d like while he was putting in all that overtime. When the clock finally struck 4, he rushed to his car.
On the way home he picked up a bouquet of tulips - her favorite. They were orange and red and blue, and smelled as if they had yet to even be plucked from the dirt. She’d love them.
“Amy! I’m home, my love!” He shouted as he burst through the front door. But there was no reply. “Amy?”
John shut the door and stepped further inside the house. As he neared the stairs he heard a distant sobbing from the bedroom. It always broke his heart when she cried. He rushed upstairs to console her.
When he entered the bedroom, flowers in hand, she didn’t even look up. Her hands were pressed to her eyes as she wept, dark tears trailing down the sides as the wetness dragged away her mascara.
“What’s wrong, my love?” He asked gently. She didn’t answer. He looked around the room in search of an explanation. On the nightstand next to the bed was a small box, wrapped and tied with a bow and a card. He hadn’t seen it before, but he brushed it off as irrelevant. “Amy. Please talk to me. You know it kills me to see you hurting like this.”
“I’m... I’m sorry, babe,” she finally answered. “I just can’t talk. I can’t.” She looked up at him. Her cheeks were stained black with smeared makeup, and her eyes quivered with grief.
John dropped the flowers on the bed and lunged in to hug her, and hold her. He didn’t know what was wrong, but Amy was one of the strongest women he knew. If she was this upset, it had to be bad. For a moment they just sat together silently.
As the moments passed, John noticed the gift on the nightstand again. The envelope stuck to it said John, with a beautifully drawn heart next to it. Amy was so artistic. It had an almost calligraphic style to it.
“What is that?” John asked.
Amy looked at the gift as he pointed to it and then shuddered. The sobbing began anew. John reached past her and grabbed it. He opened the card as Amy continued to cry into her palms.
It read, “Surprise! I’ll love you forever, John.” He wasn’t sure what to think of it just yet, so he moved on to the box.
He tore the ice blue paper encasing it. As he lifted the top, his eyes lit up. Inside was a printout from a sonogram - a little peanut of a child pictured growing inside a womb. The top of it read 5/28/19. How had she managed to hold it in so long? Now it was he who was crying. His eyes welled with joyful tears. He took it from the box and stared at it for a moment before noticing Amy had written a note on the back, so he turned it over. It read:
“Our Little Robert. We love you, Daddy!”
It hit him all at once, and just like that, John’s heart shattered into a million pieces. That night, and for every night after, the Moon didn’t shine through the darkness. | Cold.
In the lobby. In the tiny staircase you take to the cramped room with an obnoxiously long table. A room surrounded by urns and funeral cards and documents you can buy. Doesn't matter where you are in this place, it permeates and follows as an unseen companion.
All over. Cold.
I assume that's on purpose; to keep the bodies fresher, maybe. Prevent them from decaying any faster than necessary, at the very least.
Still, it's the middle of summer, hot as balls outside, and here I am, with goosebumps all over my body.
A lady is asking me for details I don't have. Date of birth, relation, social, preferred burial location. I don't know these, but I make them up the best I can. Had to do a big favor to get the social, but what am I going to do? Steal his identity?
He's dead. Dead, dead, dead. Cold and stiff and not so funny.
With one freezing hand I try to rub my forearms to stimulate any kind of heat.
The woman across from me wears a summer dress, but with an extra thick sweater on top. Still, all I can think about is how cold she must be. How cold everything and everyone in this place must be.
A crematorium, I think. They call them nice words like funeral homes and all that bullshit, but they're houses of the dead.
When I got my notification, I was on call. By on call, I was watching a little old man who knew a little too much leave his little apartment without looking behind him. Got the ping in my ocular device right after I pulled the trigger.
Blew a big hole through the front of his skull, and he slumped all over the trash he brought out. Banana peels and coffee grounds and all that shit. Someone would find him at some point, but frankly, cleanup was never my plan.
But on my visor, a name I'd never known.
Stephen Blackwood. Not an alias of any of my associates, no one I've worked with before, no one I recognize.
*Deceased. Relation - Father.*
Now that took the breath out of me. Normally you don't feel much; just cold and air and weather. It was like a little twinge. Someone I'd never met.
Someone I've never forgiven.
Walk out, sure. Disappear, fine. At least have a good excuse.
At least give me a reason.
I thought that maybe one day he'd come look for me, but that's the stupid, naive part of you.
Maybe I'd go and hunt him down instead.
*Hey look Pa, I turned out great, didn't I? Contract killer, for the big bad government. Pew Pew, never see me coming.*
Then I'd make some stupid joke about playing catch and shoot him right through the gut. Make it slow. Make it hurt.
So here I am. Freezing my ass off in a room for the chance to see a man I've never known.
Except he's dead.
He died alone, and cold I assume. In a room, in one of those dying places that no one ever likes to visit. An old folks home, where it just smells like decay. Bad luck, going to a place like that.
From what I could get from the caregiver, he hadn't known his name for quite awhile. But he asked about a boy.
Asked if he'd ever visit.
No idea who it was, and who it could have been.
Not my problem, and not his anymore.
I just want to see the body.
After filling out the documents the lady makes the customary 'sorry for your loss' and other condolence bullshit, and I nod and act very, very sad.
Am I sad?
Not really. I'm not anything. Not anything at all.
Except cold.
Down the hall, and he's on a plain white gurney, in a room that off-white eggshell color you see in every shitty apartment you've had to rent when times were down. Eating rice and beans, day in and day out.
There's black spots on his face. Liver spots? No. I can't tell.
His hair is whispy and white as snow, his nose long and pointed. Not like mine at all.
Wrinkled and old. Wrinkled and worn and tired. Tired is a good word for him. His mouth permanently stays open.
I walk to the gurney, and put a hand on his arms, folded across his chest.
There's something to say. You always have to say something, to get closure, to ask why he did what he did and why you do what you do.
But there's nothing to say.
He's dead. And cold.
Cold, cold, cold.
An absurd impulse, to kiss him on the forehead, to send him off with some kind of goodness takes hold of me.
But I ignore it. He had his shot. I presume.
I'll never know, will I?
Leaving the room, I walk down the stairs and make my way out into a sweltering summer day.
There's another ping on my visor.
A name.
An address.
A face.
A target.
Starting the car, I begin to pull out of an excessively bumpy parking lot, making a right onto a crowded street.
*So long, pops. Never knew you. Never will.*
They say when you're cremated, your entire body explodes from the heat, the eyes popping like little explosive jellies. I wonder if that's disrespectful.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it isn't.
In the car, burning and sweating, I still feel it.
The cold.
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r/storiesfromapotato for stuff from me, r/redditserials for stuff from others. | 2019-06-10T19:02:47 | 2019-06-10T17:00:51 | 2,525 | 112 |
[WP] When someone dies the person they cared about the most receives a notification. One day you're notified of a death, and it's a person you've never heard of. | You stare down at the text message. Christine… Why did that name sound familiar? You glance up. The white walls around you are suddenly blurry. Colours and shapes begin to appear just outside your vision. You reach out for the button, but it’s no longer there. Slowly your eyes begin to adjust as lights begin to swim across your field of view. Shadows, once blurry form a scene. Two people are sitting on a bench in the park. It’s raining and one, a man, is holding an umbrella over the two of them. You can hear them now, they’re laughing.
“I love you Jack” one person says to the other.
“I love you too Christine” the other responds, before they embrace in a passionate kiss.
It’s coming back now. You remember. Christine was your wife. That scene was the first time you said I love you to her. The scene begins to fade, as new colours peak in through your peripherals. You and Christine are standing outside a school as your daughter timidly walks through the gates for the first time. You have your arm around her waist, and she smiles as she leans in to whisper something in your ear. Lying in your bed now, you smile at the memory.
The scene begins to meld again and this time you and Christine are at home. You’ve aged many years and you’re celebrating a birthday party, surrounded by family and friends. Christine, still as beautiful as ever, leans over and kisses you on the cheek. The scene fades.
You sit up in your bed. You’re in a hospital. It’s coming back now. You stretch your hand out in front of you. It’s frail and wrinkled. You remember now. The Alzheimer’s that had been eating away at you had retreated momentarily. Christine had gone into surgery this morning. Your eyes begin gush to tears. Overcome with grief, you pick up the phone and delete the last message received. Slowly, you lay back down, waiting for the memory to fade. | There was a tone, a single sharp note that I hadn't expected. I froze, I knew what the note meant. Every single one of my phone's had had the same ring tone from the same number. 666888, the number, some sick joke from whoever invented the system. I leaned forward and pushed a button on the controller not far from me. There was a silence that filled the room.
Sitting on a leather chair, a camera in my face, I stared across the room, where my phone sat. The phone shouldn't have made noise, as it was set to silent. One exception, one single objection to that rule, was this number. It made sense, this wasn't the kind of message you left on read, and I crossed one leg over another as I considered the implications. The Death Note, I think I had once jokingly referred to it as, in my.younger years. I had heard it only once before, when my grandmother passed. I hadn't even known how much I had meant to here and I had cried for days.
I willed my hand down to reach for a cup of coffee, steeling myself as I brought it to my lips and took a sip, staring at that phone. The note chimed again, a reminder of the message. Placing the coffee down I stood and crossed the role , picking it up from the spot it sat, and returning to my chair. Nervously my foot tapped on the floor, and finally I opened it, prepared for the worst.
"Kyle McMillan, 23:12 UTC, June 11th, 2020."
I placed the phone down, and picked it back up, looking at the name again, whispering it slowly, saying it as though it would suddenly have meaning. I didn't know this name, so I quickly jumped into Facebook, and scanned the network for that name, a friend of a friend, anyone, before I settled on the face of young man, no older than 15. I clicked on the name and was brought to a stories life, a boy fighting cancer, but ever hopeful. He wanted to be a streamer, looked up to the likes of Ninja and JaredFPS. But there was one other name that appeared. My name.
I placed the phone down on the coffee table, and turned by head to stare out the window, a long hard look at back yard just past the office. I repeated the name again and again, trying to think if I had met him, when out of the corner I caught something, something small. A blinking red light. I had never stopped the camera. I looked down at the name one more time, and sighed. I stared into the lens for a long time as I tried to find words to say, but none came. How could you put into words the sudden realization that someone had cared so much for you and they were suddenly gone. How could people care for me, someone they didn't know, more than a parent or a loved one? It was pretty hard to come to grips with, so I paused, leaned back in my chair, and pressed the stop button for real this time. I placed the carefully worded script aside, and stood once more, bring my coffee cup with me. It would need something s little stronger than creamer for today. | 2019-06-11T03:16:19 | 2019-06-10T20:56:05 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." | "Like.. Anything, anything?"
"Well anything about your physical body, we can't grant wishes, just make alterations"
"So if I were to say... I don't know... Make me a girl, you would do it?"
"Of course human, but why would you wish for us to change your sex?"
"Because otherwise it would cost tens of thousands of dollars in medical bills, I would have to go through a second puberty, deal with tons of doctors and therapist, and spend years working towards the same goal, all while being treated like an attention seeking, mentally ill, bathroom rapist by people who think a middle school biology education qualifies them as an expert on the subject."
You... Have thought about this a lot, haven't you?"
"Yeah..."
"Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Want to just pick a whole new body like a video game character creator?"
"Holy shit can I?!" | "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
"In....in terms of the replacement body or in terms of like...the world in general?"
"We do not have authority to change external factors of your planet, only the body we destr-"
"Sooooo what you're saying is it's possible, it's just not something you have jurisdiction to complete, do to bureaucratic red-tape so to speak? "
"Wh....correct, human. Reveal your request this instant! We will not be delayed due to your semantic-"
"Ok, so I want my body to have the power to edit anything I want within the bounds of this planet."
"Hmm... bypassing our jurisdiction clause, clever human. We accept."
[14 days later, a scene of utter destruction on the Galactic Federation]
"*coughs up Alien blood* Human...why.... how... we had a deal ugh."
"What, I didn't tell anyone anything? I did however enslave the ignorant of all human societies into a knowledge hivemind of sorts, accelerating the process in which we could disseminate information. We made AI, programmed them to the point where they are smarter than us, but still bound by a rule for our collective need to exist. They made me Emperor of Earth, and honestly I never got over the fact that officer killed me so, here we are."
"Humans, such a....*cough* petty substrate of existence...""
"Now, since you saved me I will do the same for you, as the AI are constructing an eternal body of your liking, but I'm not giving you those crazy options like you gave me. A much simpler choice, do you wanna have a male human body, or a female human body? Your choice."
"Make me... a human, the ultimate disrespect. I would rather cease my existence!"
"Male it is."
"Wait wh-"
-Fin- | 2019-10-28T09:59:28 | 2019-10-28T09:11:50 | 452 | 117 |
[WP] "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were accidentally killed by a glactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed." | Ben awoke on a table, finding that he could not move, just when he was about to scream a figure hovered above him.
He could hear a voice through the ringing in his ears, “We don’t usually do this,” it said.
“Where—” Ben coughed.
Ben tried to focus his eyes, the shape of whoever was speaking to him varied from a slender shadow to a wide blob, the light made it impossible to see anything clearly.
“You died. Well, we killed you, but we didn’t mean to. Anyways, we decided to re-plant your consciousness into a new body, as recompense. Would you like to have anything,” the voice said, drawing out the last word, “altered? I know how fixated you humans can be on cosmetics.”
Ben’s eyes widened, which made him immediately squint harder from the bright light.
“I can change… anything?” Ben finally asked.
“We can restructure anything from your nose to your genetics, your brain. Anything within human limitations, basically. And before you ask, yes, we can make you look good in tights, but no, we can’t give you flying capabilities or eyes that shoot laser. Human.”
Ben started to slowly see his surroundings, he was in a room that resembled an operating room. Everything seemed to have a splash of grey or white, he could now see that the voice belonged to a blue humanoid who, although standing, struggled to look him in the eye from his meagre height. The man, presumably, resembled a mix between a human and a pug, Ben thought.
“Can you fix my brain?” Ben asked tentatively.
The pug-creature frowned, “You showed no signs of decreased brain function before we, eh, vaporized you. Do you mean you want increased intelligence?”
Ben suddenly found it hard to rest his eyes on the odd fellow, “I don’t think that would help, please,”
“We can’t *fix* something that isn’t broken, please describe your issue.”
Ben opened his mouth several times without any sound escaping, “It’s like when you know you’re viewing a beautiful landscape, but no matter the angle, it’s flat, two-dimensional.”
The alien tried to fill in the blanks, “It’s starting to sound like you want better eye-sight, which is of course, no problem.”
“No, that’s not it,” Ben quickly replied, “It’s like when you listen to a perfect composition, an orchestra, but nothing within you stirs!”
“Your hearing, then…?”
“You don’t understand,” Ben snapped, “I felt nothing!”
“We can make doubly sure your nerve-endings are working before we send you back,” The strange humanoid said, slightly flustered.
Ben violently expelled as much air as his weak body could manage, “I want to be happy!”
The pair was silent for not an insignificant amount of time, “Happy,” the alien mumbled, “that’s a bit trickier.”
“You said you could alter the brain, damn it, alter it!”
“We can balance the chemicals in your brain. At least, we can start it off that way. To stay in this balanced state is largely up to you, however. To avoid suffering completely, if that’s what you ultimately seek, is impossible.”
Ben could feel a familiar numbness slowly slither around his soul, “Make me perfectly balanced then, or let me fade away.”
*****
Thank you for reading! | I couldn't remember a thing.
I'd slowly been waking up, my head facing the wall, rays of light coming in through the rather ineffective vertical blinds that covered up most, yet not all of the window in front of me. Opening my eyes and turning my body to where I could see the rest of my room, I jolted up in shock as I realized someone was fucking standing in my room! Yet I couldn't really contain myself when I saw, well, not *who* it was, but *what* it was. It towered over me as I sat up - it had the body of this giant slug, yet from the waist up, it looked almost like it was human (save for the antennae that came out of its forehead). My mind instantly began to wonder if I were imagining this; yet deep inside, I knew it were real... for better or for worse.
The weird fucking slug then began talking to me, slime dripping from the lower half of their body. "Apologies, human. Unfortunately, you were-"
Yet poor, shocked, scared ol' me didn't give them a chance to finish, just staring up at them, slightly in awe. “What- who the fuck are you and why the *fuck* are you… I… mean…” I couldn’t finish the sentence – I didn’t want him gone.
“Well, that’s what I was just going to explain.” Their face was sort of dead, like they’d done this many times before – a routine job for a giant fucking slug standing in front of me. “You were accidentally killed by a galactic federation officer during an altercation on your planet. Currently we are constructing you a replacement body, and in return for your ensured silence on our existence, I wanted to ask if you wanted anything... changed."
*Okay, hold the fuck up* were the words I thought I’d be a total badass for saying, yet I couldn’t say them. Yet I totally, absolutely knew that I wanted to take advantage of this incredibly, absolutely absurd situation in my hands at the moment. There was a fucking *slug alien* in my room, telling me that
a) I was actually fucking killed, during an altercation, by an alien that belonged to an entire GALACTIC FEDERATION of aliens, a concept I’d only heard in slightly derivative science fiction stories yet was repeated enough to where maybe somewhere in the universe that would be a thing to happen
b) They had the ability to construct me an entirely new body for me
c) They were expecting *me*, this fucking furry piece of shit that honestly wished and wanted a ticket out of being human, to be responsible with picking my new form
d) Oh, and not only was I killed, but they were able to *bring me back to life and then turn me into anything I wanted*
I couldn’t help but smile, the slug in front of me immobile, just their head turning, looking around the room and seeing just how dirty and messed up I’d made it. My computer monitor was still on to a drawing I’d been working on of an orc character I’d made, and as they took a peek around and saw the different drawings of what I could only classify as nonhumans on my desk (and a few I’d neglected to pick up off the floor – one that was crushed under what I could only presume was a ton of slime), I think they realized what they were about to deal with.
“Oh. So you already knew about our program?”, they asked me.
“Knew about what program? I mean, I’m still just wondering why the fuck I died and why the fuck… how the fuck you’re an alien and-”
The slug sighed, taking a glimpse again at the drawing on my monitor. “Well, they didn’t give me the exact information on why you died, so I apologize for that.” Honestly, I didn’t even give a shit by then – as long as they could turn me into something. “But what I’m telling you about is just the whole process of, well, changing your body, adjusting it, that sort of thing.”
By now, I was still in a state of shock, yet I was feeling oddly rather comfortable talking to them – now, it was more excitement than anything else. “Oh, I see. I mean, I’m not gonna lie and say I *haven’t* waited for the chance to change my entire body for ages, so.”
“So what?” Their antennae perked up.
I gave them a light smirk. “Count me the fuck *in.*”
______________________
Part 2 coming soon, just y’all wait. | 2019-10-28T11:41:31 | 2019-10-28T11:20:05 | 189 | 56 |
[WP] You were sentenced to 250 years in prison without the possibility of parole. It was intended to be a life sentence but to everyone's increasing surprise and horror you have just finished serving your sentence. | I've heard people say that a life sentence is worse than a death sentence, but those people don't know how to live. At first I thought I would be content to relax and try not to worry too much about being cooped up for three lifetimes, but eventually the boredom began to creep in. After I couldn't bear just keeping to myself anymore I tried to find a productive outlet for my energies.
Prison has a healthy bartering system if you know where to look. People have friends on the outside who can sneak things in, or they have enough charm to make deals with guards. Some people just make problems go away for the right price, and it was there that I found my place.
I would find the prisoners who were despairing at the length of their sentences, people who were never getting out or who had no one and nothing to go back to. I would find these people and offer them a way out. They would have an end to their sentence and I would get whatever time they had left. Not the rest of their sentence - ALL the time they had left. I'm still not sure the first guy believed me until he started to feel his vitality drain away and feed into my own. I hope he didn't regret his choice.
It got easier over time, both easier to make the ritual work and easier to come to terms with what I was doing, but it didn't take very long before I started to see my absurd 250 year sentence as a temporary inconvenience.
I think people started to catch on that I wasn't aging around the time I hit 90, but what could they do? Doctors came to interview me and I would feed them some sort of nonsense about healthy living and exercise. I probably made the news, but I hope I was some sort of poorly reported conspiracy theory.
My sentence is up in about a month and I'm about to perform the ritual for what is hopefully the last time. If my mental tally is right I'll have about 80 more years after I'm released and I think I'll be content with that. I think in my mind it was never about living forever, just about beating the sentence. One lifetime on the outside should be enough for me.
Some people say that a life sentence is worse than a death sentence. But those people don't know how to Live . . . not like I do. | Xenon smiled as he looked at the mirror. He peeled off his scalp, and had a good long approving look at the numerous gyri and sulci of his CPU. He found the symmetry of his brain to be rather aesthetic. The arrangement was also an inside joke. An inside joke between him and ... himself, ofcourse.
He quickly retrieved information required for today's functions, via neuron path 346573. Ooh, it was his anniversary. He quickly released some dopamine to congratulate himself. What anniversary was this, now, he found himself asking? 250th! That's a multiple of 50. The dopamine stopped him from frowning at the fact that it was going to be a busy day today.
Every 50 years, Xenon pulled out a new body in Maker's model. He then produced more carbon based computers with forms of different government and prison officials. The end result was always the same - the last model of Maker's body was replaced with a fresh one. He disliked the fact that he was incapable of building a non-aging body in Maker's model. But well, at least it was a finite task. He could stop doing this complex replacement procedure once the 250yr sentence ended....
Hold up. 250. The sentence ended today! Xenon accidentally passed out for 5 min due to excess dopamine released. With a quick auto internal cleanup, he was back on his feet again. Smiling like an idiot, he decided to power up and grabbed some nutrition before plopping down in front of the TV wall.
All 786 screens were showing the same content. Maker's release was slated for today. Every few years, there would be an uproar about Maker still being alive. Then people would forget it and move on. They knew Maker was powerless without his tools and computers. Also, everyone knew Maker had built carbon based computers - those killer bees. It was likely that he had done some sort of genetic changes to himself as well, slowing down his aging process. They said Maker never ate, so maybe he discovered Human Hibernation? He would put a hand out of his tiny window every single day, to sign to prison register, so it must be some special hibernation?
Anyhow, today was special. Maker would be seen in his physical form by humans after 250 long years. The door creaked open. Maker no. 5 slowly stepped out, at the pace his frail 90 year old body would let him. The world watch with bated breath, as Maker walked down the path and stepped out of the prison gate. And then Maker promptly fell down, dead.
A collective sigh went up around the world. They were going to be okay, Maker's threat of replacing inferior humans with advanced carbon life forms would not be coming true after all. The 786 screens went back to a cacophony of irrelevant human nonsense.
As Xenon saw Maker's body tip over, a section of his brain unlocked. He found himself connected to a grid of a million like him, sleeper cells astonished at the sudden flow of data into their carbon systems. At the moment Maker's body hit the floor, a million carbon minds collectively remembered a concept they had forgotten, a concept Maker had snoozed in the moments he had staged his escape and instructed them to lie low and send a clone to the prison for his sentence. A concept whose absence had led to Xenon thinking that a 250 yr sentence required 5 clones to be sent.
A concept to realize Maker's dream and their true purpose.
Death. | 2019-12-06T08:34:02 | 2019-12-06T05:27:14 | 65 | 17 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | *Ring ring.*
"HELP! The zombies are right behind me and-"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Have you tried turning it off and on again?"
"The-the what?"
"Your gun safety. Big black dial on the side of your rifle. Can't miss it."
"What? What dial?"
"You are holding a CCD rifle? If you are a customer of SurvivorLink I'm afraid you'll have to call them instead."
"No. Yes. I'm CCD."
"Excellent. Now if you-"
"Hold on."
The crack of rifle-butt on skull thudded through the phone speaker.
"Die! Die! Ok, Tracy I think I see what you're talking about."
*Flick.*
*BANG. BANG. BANG.*
"Haha! Gotcha, ya rotten fleshbags! Thanks a bunch, Tracy."
"That's great to hear. Have a nice day, sir. Please leave a review if you're satisfied with your experience. My manager would appreciate it."
*Click*.
*Ring Ring.*
"Oh my God. They're in my house what do I do?!"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Have you tried-"
"They've got Joe. Oh my god they've got Joe. Send help! I need help right now!"
"Sure thing, ma'am. I'll put you down right away."
The riffle of a notebook flipping to page 324. A click of a ballpoint pen.
"Your name ma'am?"
"Ahhh! They've reached the kitchen! Uh, my name's Gladis."
"Oh, my mom's name's Gladis. How lovely. And your contact number, Gladis? Either mobile or landline is fine."
"Uh. 0-4-2-1- Ahh! They've breached the door! Uh. 3-1-6-8- Ahh! They've got my leg!"
The scribbling of pen on paper stopped as heavy breathing replaced the voice on the speaker.
"Oh God. It's black. It's all going black."
"I'm sorry to hear that, Gladis. If you're satisfied with your experience please leave a review. Have a nice day."
*Click.*
*Ring ring*.
"Is this the Call Centre of the Dead?"
"Good morning, Tracy speaking. Yes, this is CCD."
"Good. Good. I need you to listen carefully and calmly, Tracy. I've done it. I've created the cure. Now I need you to patch me to the CEO. I'll send him the formula and we're gonna save the frikken world."
"Hi, sir. I regret to inform you CCD does not accept unsolicited advice."
"What? It's the goddamn cure for this this hell! Just send me the frik through!"
"Sir, I can redirect you to my manager if you would like."
"Okay. Fine."
A plastic chair scraped against corporate carpet. Then more scraping and a *plonk*.
"Sorry, he's out for lunch. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"What? What the fu... Look. What's the email address of your R&D department?"
"I'm afraid our email servers are full, sir. Part of the reason company policy rejects unsolicited advice now. We do accept fax though, the number is on our website."
Mumbled curses filtered through the headset.
"Fine. I'll do it. I'm sending it through now. Let me know when you've got it. I need that document in the hands of your head scientist pronto."
Tapping on the side of the fax machine. Then kicking. *Bzzzzzz.*
"Yup, got it. Lovely diagrams. My name's Tracy, have a nice day."
*Click.*
*Whish*. Rattle of a trashcan.
r/bobotheturtle | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
​
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
​
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
​
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T07:25:12 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 1,637 | 42 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Good morning. Call centre of the dead. How may I help you today?"
"Dude come on. I've been on hold for ten minutes now. I..."
"Yeah, we're having a high call volume today." We weren't really. I got good price on turnips so I just had to.
"Ok, so I'm stuck in a grocery store and "
"Sorry to interrupt you sir. Can you confirm a few things for me first?"
"Yeah, OK. But just hurry up, yeah?"
"Sure sir. OK so I am talking to Wilbur Smith. You are located at 45 Lakeshore."
"Yes. That's correct. So there's these two..."
"Hang on sir. I also want to confirm your protection policy number. You bought the extended plan on security. The policy number is 23453758."
"23457358."
"Sorry sir?"
"It's 23457358."
"Yes sir. That's what I said."
"No you said... never mind. You have it correct now, right?"
"Yes sir. 23453758. OK so..."
"No. Wait. It's 23457358."
"Sorry sir, what was that? There was some disturbance on the phone and I didn't get you. Can you please move to an area with slightly less disturbance."
"I would if I could. But there's zombies everywhere. You have to help me."
"Yes sir. Absolutely. So under your policy number 23457358, you are entitled to unlimited phone support. Plus limited on site help."
"Yes I know."
"Ok sir. So what's your problem?"
"Zombies. They are everywhere. I am surrounded."
"Ah, I see. So where are you exactly?"
"I'm at a grocery store."
"What grocery store sir?"
"Longo's. Near Bay and University intersection."
"Ah, I know that one. There's still some good stuff there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But then I came here and it's insane."
"Right sir. So are you in a secure place right now?"
"Yes, I managed to get an office of sorts and close the door. But they are out there, banging on the door."
"I see. Can you share what material you have with you?"
"Nothing much. A few papers. Some office supplies. An old computer. Ah, I have a stapler too."
"Staplers, unlike the movies are rather useless in these scenarios sir. Are you a smoker sir? Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. I do have a lighter. I know I know it's not good for me. But time's are stressful and this helps."
"Sure. Understandable. OK let me just put you on hold."
"Oh come on."
"Sir, we do need a moment to check on this. I will be right back."
I checked the my game again. Shit. Missed out on some good stuff. Oh well. I quickly checked the records from the building. Once I had what I needed, I was back on the phone again.
"Hello. Thanks for holding. So unfortunately, your plan doesn't cover on site support at that location. You are just out of the coverage area by a few blocks."
"Damn it. So what now?"
"Well, we'll help you get out. I need you to throw the computer on the ground and plug it in. We're gonna shock these motherfuckers."
I guided Wilbur to the next steps. I helped him to escape into the vents. Like Die hard was how he put it. He used a lighter to activate the smoke sensors and activating the water sprinklers. The active power line from the computer sent a massive electric surge across the floor, zapping the zombies. It gave him enough time to escape.
Hopefully.
"Wilbur, thank you for calling CCoD. We are always happy to help. If you make it out of here alive, don't forget to tell us how we did. You will get an automated link to send feedback. Thanks again for calling and have a nice day." | "Hi, excuse me... I was b-biten and I, uh, I think I need help–"
Here we go again.
"Sorry, mam. But if you refer to the Zombie Protocol, page 14–"
"I don't have time to read! Argh, just... I'm on 7th Street, Easy-by-the-river. Please come and help me!"
The panicked woman hung up.
I let out a sigh and immediately called to another number.
"Hi, this is Agent Smith with the Call Centre. Can you dispatch someone to take care of a bitten victim?"
"Agent.. Smith? Damn, I've been hearing *a lot* about you! This is the Eastern Field Dispatcher, I'm Mike."
I did not expect that at all. To be famous? In this line of work? Pretty weird.
I wanted to ask this Mike fella what he meant by that. I'm not a talker, not even within my unit. So for Mike to be telling me that I was famous in his unit on the other side of the building would be something interesting. But I didn't have the time for such things.
"Listen, Mike. Can you please send someone to 7th street, East-by-the-river?"
"Aha, right," the loud typing of a mechanical keyboard serenaded his pause before he stopped and continued, "Uh, Agent Smith? I'm afraid all Field Dispatch teams are fully booked. I can't help much–"
Ugh. I knew what he was trying to say. I was just mad that not an hour into the morning shift and he's saying that the Field Dispatch was already that busy. Bullshit.
It's not truly *my* job to do anything more than pass information to Field Dispatchers. But I've been taking sides, I mean someone had to.
"Fine. I'll do it myself."
***
*Ding-dong*
Brisk footsteps hurriedly followed suit.
A middle-aged man soon popped out of the door. His hair was greying, wrinkles added to my hypothesis of the man's age. But it could've just been the stress eating him.
"Excuse me, sir. I was the one on the phone–"
"Ah! Yes, you must've been the guy my wife was calling earlier!"
Crap. It's not gonna be easy. It never was, but the wife-husband types had been troublesome in the past.
"Right, would you mind?"
The man chaperoned me to his living room.
There, a woman lied helplessly in her own blood. The woman's wound had been treated, there was obvious attempt of stopping the bleeding with the cloth wrapped tightly on her leg.
She was younger than the man. But her deathly pale face spoke as if she's a corpse already. The only thing that didn't make her seem dead already was...
"... H-Help me..." the woman weakly cried.
"I'm sorry, mam," I kneeled next to her and opened a booklet to page 14, "the protocol clearly stated there was no cure. I'm here to–"
"K-Kill me. Please..."
I was stunned. Never have I ever came across someone actually asking me to do it. Most of the time it'll be some poor bloke in denial. Sometimes it would get hairy and they'd fight back, oddly enough.
I glanced at the husband and he seemed to be holding back the flow of emotion on his face. You can never be sure of what loved ones might do in these sorta time.
"I'm sorry, mam. I'll make it painless."
*Bang, Bang*
A shot to the heart and another to the brain, just to be sure.
The woman immediately stopped breathing and for a brief moment I saw a smile on her thin lips. I looked over her face, she must've been a looker back then. The only dignified thing to do was to pray for her soul and close her eyes.
"Sorry, sir. But you might wanna do something about your wife before..."
"I understand."
With that, another one taken care off. It was never easy. But I know that someone had to do it.
Just as I pulled out a cigarette, the man – whose wife I just shot – ran to me with a box.
"Sir? Do you have a moment?"
I puffed out a smoke before responding, "yes, sir. Do you have something else I can help you with?"
"I, uh... I'm not sure if you like this," the man opened the lid and revealed a moist looking cake, "but my wife had baked this chocolate cake before–"
"Right," I caught on to the man's lack of words.
"I don't have much but this is a token of my thanks."
"I didn't do anything, sir. It's not even supposed to be my job."
The man smiled, tears on his cheeks, "I get it. But someone's gotta do it, no?"
Of course. The first, again.
I took the box of cake and shook the man's trembling hands. I offered him a cigarette, but he declined.
"I don't. My wife wouldn't want me to."
"I see. Well, take care, sir. If you need help..."
The man laughed and waved me goodbye. | 2020-05-12T06:42:59 | 2020-05-12T06:27:21 | 627 | 139 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Ma'am? Ma'am, please listen to me!"
The frantic shouting on the other end of the line seemed never-ending. I sighed silently to myself. Everyday I had to deal with hysterical people wondering what to do. I knew from the get-go that working in a call center was no picnic. I had done it before; two years for a tech firm. Somehow I had been able to convince myself that this time it would be different. That this time I wouldn't have to deal with complete idiots who couldn't even manage the most simple of tasks. Boy, was I dead wrong.
This... This was way worse. One would think that after four years people would have learned the basics. That they ought to know how to handle what was now everyday-events. But no. Oh no. What was supposed to be a fulfilling job of helping people manage difficult - possibly life-or-death - situations, aiding the ones in need, being a sage advisor for those who most craved it turned out to be little more than a hotline for morons who seemed unable to even tie their own shoes without guidance, let alone survive on their own in this day and age.
I hid my face in my palms and struggled not to let out an audible groan as I continued to listen to the elderly women I had on the line. A quick glance at the system we used to track our calls showed me that she had been jammering on for almost thirteen minutes now, not once allowing me to speak. I had tried, fruitlessly, to interrupt her ramblings a number of times but the manic woman just kept on going.
As the lady left the topic of her recently deceased husband and went on to talk about her estranged daughter I took a deep breath, slumped down in my office chair and kinda zoned out.
I sat in one of the smaller offices on the fifth floor. Due to the lack of space we were only five handlers in the room. I liked it though. We were a tight-knitted group and we had certainly had some fun together. My co-workers were the only reason I hadn't quit this dead-end job a long time ago. I noticed Simon looking over at me with a wide smile. He definetly recognized the look on my face. No wonder. He had dealt with his fair share of calls like my current one hundreds of times; he knew exactly what I was going through.
A brief moment of silence in the earpiece I wore. Was she done? A sat upright in my chair and opened my mouth to finally speak, when the woman began rambling again. Clearly she had just needed a moment to breathe. I cleared my throath loudly as I placed the weight of my head in my left palm, my elbow heavily placed on my desk.
"Ma'am?" I tried again with little effort. No luck. In the corner of my eye I saw Amrita. She sat, intently flipping through books while she at the same time searched the internet and our internal database. Why did she always get the interesting calls? Moments later I heard her say:
"Sir, I belive I have found your answer." Despite living in the U.S. for most of her life you could still hear a faint accent in her voice. We used to light-heartedly mock her because of the old stereotype; an Indian at a call center, even though she were the only Indian at the company. At least as far as I knew. She was definitely in on the joke, though, and often made fun of the situation herself. I liked Amrita. Not just because she was pretty, but also because she was really good at her job and because she was really nice. Always. Towards everyone. It kinda baffled me to be honest. I lost patience with people after mere seconds, but Amrita handled every call as a true professional, no matter how inane the person calling were. | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
​
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
​
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
​
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T06:22:29 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 67 | 42 |
[WP] You may be seen as a normal person, but your best friend is a superhero and your fiancé is a supervillain. Neither knows the other’s identity nor the fact that the MacGuffin they are fighting over has been under your bed the whole time. | I spat the blood from my mouth. "So the guardian of truth, the fucking hero of the human race is afraid to hear the truth." I gripped the glowing knife tightly and waited for my best man to kill me. His eyes were turning red already. This time I was ready and held the knife straight and watched as his stupid beams were sent to char my carpet instead. I smiled, "You never could aim for shit. Don't try again or I will put this right through you. Open the fucking wine and pray you didn't spoil it. Do you think you were the only one that got powers from that stupid rock? Trust me and sit your arse down."
He sat down in despair. I should have kicked his arse before this, the idiot thought he was immortal. "If you attack her again it won't end well." I pushed aside what used to be the gifts table for the wedding until the lasers happened. This was going to make the thank-you cards complicated. My brand new wife was unconscious on the floor, sprawled between half the cake and the sadly deceased Priest. Well, she had wanted a church wedding. I punched the knife deep into the corpse and let it do its work. The priest began breathing, presumably torn from his heaven. Whatever, one less body to explain. I didn't worry about my wife. She would wake up with a headache and then see her ruined wedding. It was Clark that needed to worry because he had fought every kind of alien, evil dictator and such but he had never faced a Karen with an army on the day he had trashed her wedding.
"I suggest you work out how to apologise to her because firstly, you ruined the wedding and secondly because she can always find this knife. We're married now. One bed, remember? | Dinner. 8.15PM.
It had been too long since we were all together. This happy. I missed it. She wasn't dressed in the same blouse that she would always wear when we had guests. He was in a smart long-sleeved shirt. His left elbow held a dark stain. Lazy. I thought. I wore a great smile, one that hadn't been worn in a while.
"So, as I was saying. You should see the other guy" Mark loudly exclaimed. The laugh must have been too heavy for his jaw to bare. A purple-like brown.
Sheila seemed to be finally loosening up. Mark has that ability. Always works.
Is it still daydreaming when it's technically night?
Mark's fingers snapped me back to reality. "So, T. Can I use your bathroom?".
My eyes fixated upon his bloody knuckles. The red intoxicating me. Inviting questions.
"Sure, remember you have to go through bedroom as the bathroom door is still somehow locked in place". Why wouldn't he clean himself up?
"Honey, did I tell you about that guy at work?" Sheila asked. I loved to hear her voice. That tone. The way she would slur when anticipating what was coming next.
Mark got up from the table. His chair returning back from its vacation. Wobbling with excitement. Too much to bare.
Sheila stopped. Suddenly. Her face had dropped. Shit. Fuck. SHIT. She knew. Fuck. Fuck Fuck. Maybe if I just pay extra attention now.
Her lips overflowed. Her usual state returning. Distant.
"T".
It's over. I've ruined it.
"T. Did you hear me? I was just saying that I'm going to grab another bottle from the fridge in the bedroom".
Relief. I wasn't a piece of shit. Yet.
"Yeah of course. Make sure its a good one".
Her face. Disapproval. She sure wanted that drink. Her toes dancing in front of one another. Violently awaiting the long slumber that soberness denied.
I sat alone.
A minute passed.
A minute passed.
A faint sound could be heard. Typical city sounds. I supposed. A patter. Probably a bird.
A minute passed.
It must have been a while. Mark was a ghost. Sheila too. I left the table as they had done before me and entered the bedroom.
The sheets were a mess. Their clothes a breadcrumb trail. The bed split in two. Splinters piercing the air.
Their naked bodies no longer pure. Scratched. Torn skin. Red. Purple. Blue. All those colours of pain. Resting upon the floor. His neck. Broken. I could see her heart.
How did they achieve this. How did I not hear it. Realise it. Notice.
How long had this gone on for. And why did it end so violent. To hurt me? If only that was the question that stays upon my mind.
I'll never know why they died clutching my old tambourine. | 2021-01-13T17:48:31 | 2021-01-13T17:33:06 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan. | I’m sitting in a hall surrounded by thousands of other souls. Well I say sitting, when really I don’t have a body anymore so sitting is just what my consciousness is telling me I’m doing. And I say a hall but to be honest I have no idea for sure where this place is, it’s probably not heaven, not warm enough to be hell and it’s definitely not an actual hall. Because it would be ridiculous that when you die and went to the afterlife, all that existed between heaven and hell was a hall. No what I’m sitting again is most probably a manifestation of my consciousness. Where and what my mind understands that this place should be.
That’s what I’ve noticed about being beyond death, things are always what you expect them to be, and your consciousness kind of just fills in the blanks. That’s why the other souls in this room may not be in a hall at all, they might be in a castle or in a cave or wherever else their minds have decided would be the best place for them to wait. One thing that did bring me to this particular place in the afterlife was something my mind definitely did not create. A poster, on a wall advertising the job vacancies for both God and Satan. That definitely interested me and so I my consciousness filled out my application for me and here I am definitely not sitting in a place which is not a hall waiting on what my mind is telling me would the most ridiculous job interview in the world.
The only door in the hall swings open, and as nobody else has noticed this I assume that the cue it’s my turn for my “job interview”. I walk in and there seems to be a blank white room. White walls, no windows, and the door I had just entered through had disappeared. A single plain chair was in the middle of the room and as I took a seat two globes of light appeared before me. One light and one grey.
“So this is him” a voice appeared out of nowhere and everywhere at the same time. I couldn’t describe what the voice sounded like, it was that voice that you used to talk to yourself in your own mind.
“One of the few souls in creation that decided to fill in the form the position of Satan rather than God”.
“I’ve been through his history, he’s no one particularly vindictive or nasty like the other Satan applicants, he has no desire to actually harm people and he isn’t particularly judgmental which is kind of important for a job like this.”
“Interesting, so he’s probably the noblest soul we’ve had so far applying for the position?”
“Well of those who have applied so far, definitely”
I finally felt the voices, the globes of light, actually acknowledge my presence in the room for the first time. I imagine if they had eyes, they would have turned from looking at each other to looking at me. Suddenly there were a pair of eyes looking at my through each orb.
“Why? Why in all of eternity would someone like you want to become Satan?”
I’d thought about this when my consciousness filled in the form.
“Am I correct in assuming that this means that God and Satan are real things then, not just concepts or things we’ve made up to make ourselves feel better?”
“That is correct human, The Lord God is the creator of the universe, and the The Satanic Lord represents everything that he is not.”
“Well I applied for the job out of the boredom honestly, I’ve been in the afterlife for a while now and it would be nice to have a purpose in existence rather than simply being part of the cosmos for all of eternity”
“But why apply to be the Satanic lord particularly? 98% of applicant souls for this position have all applied for being Lord God.”
“Well that’s fairly easy. In order to be “god” you would have had to create the universe in its entirety and have mastery over it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be becoming god, you’d be becoming caretaker or babysitter of some sort.”
“Very astute human, the new Lord God would be responsible for remaking the universe in his or her image.”
“Which would mean that the current universe, the one that I was born on, inhabited and lived my life on would cease to exist.”
“Well as you know it, certainly yes.”
“That’s your answer then, I want become the devil because I can’t stand the thought of losing the world that I came from. All those lives, all those families, all those living creatures would cease to be simply because someone new got the job. Being Satan, resisting that change, rebelling against the creator to preserve life as I know it. That sounds much more fulfilling. And if that makes me Satan, then so be it.” | Jason shuffled past into the arena room delegated for interviews, Position of God, read a large billboard, at least twenty stories tall. 144 lines each 144 wide spread out from one line of his sight to the other across the endless pillared halls that still managed to feel stuffy with a vibe he couldn't put his finger on. A red ticket glowing under the billboard displayed now serving applicant 429,981,696. The number began blurring faster than it could be read as each of the 20,000 next in line stepped up.
After managing to fight his way across the lines for most of the day, which Jason's pedometer confirmed were a little less than 10 miles thick, he arrived at a small door with a handwritten sign, Position of Satan. He opened the door into a wood-paneled room where a few dozen people sat on folding chairs. A DMV, Jason realized at once. The vibe of the afterlife was the DM fucking V.
The red ticket read now serving applicant 662. A bored looking succubus sat at the desk with her legs curled under her. The red-skinned woman chewed on a pencil, releasing thin spirals of smoke upwards. She perked up as she noticed Jason approaching the window. "Hello, sir," she said playfully. "Here to interview?"
"Yeah," Jason said looking to the others in the room, staring at each other intensely. "Do I need a ticket or...?"
"Not if you're willing to interview now!" She said cheerily, preparing a clipboard and holding it up to her face blocking the waiting area. "All those weirdos are convinced whoever goes 666th will get it, so they're waiting each other out." She gave an eye roll and twisted one finger near the horn jutting from her temple. "Don't worry, boss man has a much more, let's call it creative interview style than that."
"Sure, okay," Jason said, sweating as the nerves started. She handed him the clipboard which was most assuredly not in English. He checked his pockets but of course, his spirit body didn't have the trusty bottle of Ativan.
The succubus stood to sashay on delicate hooves, clicking like heels on the tile floor as she led him to a glossy black door. The doorknob and hinges were engraved with the swirling patterns of branching frost which sublimated down slowly into a heavy fog at the threshold. "Good luck, handsome. I'm only sucking up to you because you might be my boss after today." She smiled with a wink before turning and beginning her way loudly back to the desk.
Jason knocked yet the door produced no sound. He felt the bite of the cold doorknob as he turned it and had to remind himself he no longer had skin to worry about freezing off. The room was mostly pitch Black save for a single red desk light illuminating the far side, but doing little to reveal the shadowy figure waiting.
"Hello, Mr. Satan, your succ- I mean secretary told me to come in for an interview."
Several moments of awkward silence followed as Jason walked closer, dread building in him. He was already dead, he decided. What's the worse this guy could do?
"Much worse than you imagine, Mr. William, sit. My secretary's name is Rebecca, and she devours the soul songs of three men a day. She does not care if you call her a succubus. And yes, I am going to share with her the thoughts you had."
"I'm sorry, sir. I've clearly gotten off to a bad start." He held out his hand to the man that looked much older than Jason would have expected, and definitely more tired.
"You don't want to shake my hand, son. I'm not going to ask you to sit again."
Jason quietly sat to another few moments of awkward silence.
"You think this is going well so far?" Satan asked, staring with a gaze that was somehow both intense and disinterested, as though the angel's thoughts were somewhere altogether else.
"I don't know, yet," Jason said nervously. "Did you want me to tell you about myself or...?"
"How good is your Latin?" Satan asked as he pulled out the largest fountain pen Jason had ever seen and dipped it into a pool on the desk of shimmering silver liquid.
"If I heard someone speaking Latin, I could probably tell it was Latin unless it was like Portuguese or something really close."
"Tell me about a time you've tortured someone."
"I once," Jason paused to think, racking his brain for examples. "broke up with my girlfriend because I wanted to date someone else. She was upset for a long time."
Satan flipped through a tome on his desk, reading for a few moments. "Yes, Bethany Sanders, lovely girl. And you did this with the express intention of hurting her, not because the outcome was inevitable?" He paused in his writing with his left hand, waiting for a response.
"Well no, I guess I didn't want to hurt her. There just wasn't any other way."
Satan laid the pen down with a thud and looked at Jason.
"Why did you come here, Jason? Do you even understand what I do?"
"Well, the other line was like every human that's ever lived long this one was, like way smaller, so it seems like the better shot."
"And have you considered that it might suit you best to be neither God nor Satan and just continue as a shade of purgatory until you're placed in the Kingdom of my successor or the other's?"
"Not really, no," Jason said without hesitation.
"And why is that?"
"I want power," Jason said. "I want to enforce my will on the world."
Satan picked the pen back up as he raised his eyebrows. "Okay, now we're getting somewhere."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | 2021-03-31T09:44:15 | 2021-03-31T08:59:02 | 375 | 151 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you. | I was confused as I saw my friends and family around me, frozen in time, cheers and song still on their lips. Even the smoke from the candle I had just blown out was still hanging in the air. But nothing was more of a surprise then the husk like being with nine horns and branch like limbs in the chair across from me.
"What-" The being put a creaking finger up. That noise sent a chill up my spine.
"You were expecting an angel. I used to be, centuries ago. I guess, somehow I was still in the register when you were born." That voice sounded like wind blowing from the black hole of a face, the glowing eyes somehow not filled with hate. "I would be surprised if I were you, too."
"Why did-"
"Why did I stick around?" It made a noise like a scoff. "I tried to eat you as a child. But you laughed at me. Not a hint of fear in your innocent eyes. I saw their plans for you, I told myself I would turn you into the antichrist and ruin their plans for you. I knew I was lying to myself even then." It laughed, crackling and bitter. "I saw that you were meant to die at the age of twelve for one of their... sacrifices." Thunder sounded and purple lighting ran across their face. It shook its head in disgust. It looked back at me.
"I should have known. The car when I was ten." It nodded. "It blew up, that guy nearly died." My voice shook.
"He was trying to kill you. His guardian angel was... failing him." It mumbled.
"The plates when I was three?" My voice was getting more confident.
"The shelf broke and the plates were going to land on you, I had to throw them across the room so they would miss you."
"And when my appendix burst?" It's fingers writhed as it hesitated with the answer.
"The restaurant you were going to that night had peanuts in the food, even though they lied and said they no longer served them. Your epi-pen was in the wrong bag, the blue one that you left at your friend's house the week before." I leaned back in my seat, amazed and confused.
"But... why? Why didn't you tell an angel? Or turn me to-" My voice was starting to rise.
"To the evil side?" It scoffed again. "You're not that special. And I'm not going to die by talking to those traitors. Did you want me to kill you now?" It snapped at me. I recoiled and it's glare softened. "My job is to punish the wicked, and I thwarted my siblings at every turn. Don't start being ungrateful now. You aren't special to them, just the right circumstance of birth and nothing more."
I rubbed my face and it tapped it's fingers on it's thigh.
"You're right." I finally said. "I'm sorry. You did protect me and I am grateful, even if it scared me. Fires tend to do that to a child. Got me out of that final though." I laughed awkwardly and so did the demon. "But I think you are lying to yourself when you say I'm not important to anyone." It stared at me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. "You are kind. To me. You love me. And even when I was scared and confused, even when others were afraid of me, I knew you cared. I've wished my entire life to understand you... and now I do." I grabbed the knife and cut a piece of the cake, handing it to the demon on a birthday plate. "Happy Anniversary."
It sat, staring at the plate for a long moment before it disappeared and life resumed. Frozen cheers and the final awful notes of 'Happy Birthday' rang out at last.
"To yooooou!" My family clapped and mom reached for the knife but it was already in my hands.
"What happened to the cake?" She asked as her smile twitched in concern and confusion.
"Nothing, Mom. Let's eat." I smiled. We cut up the rest of the cake for everyone to eat. From the corner of my eye, a small intricate box box sat near the other presents at the table. A symbol was carved into it that others may have mistaken for a sun, but what I knew was actually a nine horned figure.
Edit: Since this has been requested to be expanded upon, I am attempting to move this to a more story based subredit if I can. NoSleep was a bust. | I should have realized what was happening when Alan Jacobson's house caught on fire.
I was Alan's target of choice in eighth grade, from getting shoved into lockers to finding a bunch of crickets in my backpack. To make matters worse, he lived right across the street from me, shooting glares my way whenever our paths happened to cross.
On the night Alan threw his middle school graduation party, my guardian angel, Derethorn - nine feet of pure muscle and deep-red skin - watched from our front yard. When I found him, he was indulging in his favorite pastime: posing menacingly with a battle axe. I sat on my front stoop and sighed.
"I don't get why you stand like that when no one can see you but me," I said.
"It helps me get in the zone," Derethorn answered.
"You can stop worrying about Alan. Really. He's going to Westview High next year. That's eighty solid miles of distance."
"It angers me that you will not allow me to intervene when you are at school."
"You know what would happen if you unleashed your powers in the middle of the hallway? We've been over this. I appreciate your protection. Really. But *nothing* you do can be tied back to me."
"OK, Tim. How about a random, inexplicable house fire?"
Derethorn snapped his fingers and Alan's living room burst into flames. Screams rang out from the backyard and a throng of tweens and teens, clad in party hats, sprinted into the street, arms flailing.
Derethorn leaned his head back and laughed. "What would you do without me, kid?"
I held my head in my hands. "I have no idea."
***
Life went on in a similar fashion throughout my high school years, but Derethorn's tactics became increasingly more violent. When I was a toddler, he'd occasionally nudge an oncoming car or bike out of the way when I was immediate danger. Now, he was punching people who were moving too slowly on the sidewalk. To them, it was like a sudden, intense gust of wind to the gut, but to me, it was pure embarrassment.
One time at the park, a squirrel got a little too close to me and I guess Derethorn thought it might bite me, so he chucked it into the river. I had to ask a fisherman to grab the soaking-wet rodent with his net before it drowned in front of us.
It all came to a head on the night of my eighteenth birthday.
I was getting ready to go to the movies with a couple friends, but Derethorn blocked the doorway out of my room.
"All right, D.T.," I groaned. "This isn't funny. Move your ass."
"How *dare* you speak to me in such a tone. After everything I've done for you!"
"I'm gonna be late. Please move."
"NO!" Derethorn shrieked, punching a hole in the wall next to me. "You must not leave. You *WILL NOT LEAVE!*"
"You mind telling me what the fuck has gotten into you?"
Derethorn's posture suddenly changed. He slumped his shoulders and sank to the ground, tucking his knees into his chest.
"I'm not who you think I am, kid."
"What are you talking about? You're my guardian --"
"No. There was a mixup. I was never supposed to be here."
"What do you mean?"
Derethorn looked up at me, and I could swear I saw tears beginning to form in his giant, amber eyes.
"I'm a demon, kid. Straight from the pits of hell. I poked my head where it shouldn't have been and got sent to Earth - assigned to you. They know I'm here, but heaven didn't want the bad PR, so they just let it slide. Now you're 18 and my time is up. I grew so fond of ya, kid. I didn't want to leave you all alone. But now I don't know what they're gonna do to me..."
I clenched my fist, open and closed, over and over. I'd suspected for years that Derethorn was an untraditional angel, but I'd had no real basis of comparison. "What are you saying?"
"Did I do a good job, Tim?" I glanced down and noticed, in horror, that Derethorn's left hand was slowly beginning to disintegrate. I reached out to take his right hand, but he held it up. "It's all right, kid. It was always gonna be this way."
"I thought..." I choked on the words. "I thought you were always going to be there to protect me."
"No, kid." His legs were disappearing - nearly half his body was gone. "You can do that perfectly well for yourself now. I only hope that...that I didn't mess you up too bad."
"You didn't, D.T." I closed my eyes, reached for what remained of his body, and wrapped him in an embrace. "You didn't."
When I opened my eyes, he was gone.
That night, I sat through the movie in silence. I kept glancing to my right on the drive home, expecting Derethorn to be there crammed in the front seat, ready to unleash that booming laugh of his.
Now, whenever I'm feeling down, I imagine him standing over me and putting a hand on my shoulder. Even when I'm angry, I try to rein in the impulse to punch or break something, remembering the burning house and near-drowned squirrel.
I never asked for a protector, but I guess the universe already made up its mind. And if I'm the only person in the world who got a guardian demon, I couldn't have asked for a better one. | 2021-05-23T15:52:49 | 2021-05-23T14:19:24 | 1,240 | 644 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you. | Bea sat in her desk chair as he asked. She wondered what he wanted but didn't question anything, yet. The look on his face though, made her do a double-take.
Argon had always been strange for an angel. That's why she didn't question him when he suddenly told her to sit and request she listen to what he had to say. But this was different somehow. He had an... anxious feeling coming off him. It was practically coating his usually stoic demeanor.
"Beatrice," he starts, he always preferred her full name, "something has come to light. I've known this day would come since the moment I was assigned to you." He's standing at attention while he speaks to her, like a captain to his crewman. This was how he handled difficult subjects.
"What do you mean?" She asks, clearly bewildered. Anxiousness began to creep its way inside her now. 'What could he have known for that long and not tell me?' She wonders.
A look of confliction appears on his face at her question but he continues regardless. "I'll cut straight to the point. I am NOT an angel, Beatrice. I am a demon. I was assigned as your guardian angel by mistake." He stops and waits for her reaction.
Her eyes are wide with shock, her mouth agape and her body frozen in it's chair. A demon? Something clicked in her mind and suddenly everything made sense. Argon's pale complexion, his red eyes that have no irises, his violent disposition towards others. It finally made sense why other angels avoid him.
But wait, if he's known about this mistake sense she was born, what has come to light?
For some reason, for Bea, that question took over everything else in her mind. If it was an accident that Argon is here, is he going to leave her now? Tears begin to well up in her eyes.
He sees the tears and it makes his own heart ache. Before this little girl, he was one of Hell's most respected Generals. Now he's just a big fluffy puppy with bad teeth. But he couldn't have been more happy these past 18 years. Watching her grow up gave him better memories than slaughtering a million souls ever could.
He couldn't keep his past from her any longer though. He saw it. That angel HAD recognized him the other day in the mall. Argon couldn't say from where. Most likely a veteran of Heaven.
"There is a possibility that we may have to say goodbye to one another." He spoke plainly, trying his best to hide any emotion. "I wanted you to know who I really am. It's...your right to know, if you wish." He turns away from her, unable to bear seeing her sadness anymore.
Watching him turn away from her she bolts up and runs into his back, clinging to him tightly. "What do you mean 'say goodbye'?" She cries. "You can't leave... I still need you..."
He quickly turns back, cradling her protectively like when she was a baby. "Hush now, little one." He says in a calm but firm voice. "I said it was a possibility. Nothing is happening as of now." He pulls away, tilting her chin up so she looks him in the eye. "You, Beatrice, are strong, resilient and good. You are the daughter I never had and I am proud to have been assigned to guard you, teach you and nurture you into the young woman you have become." He hugs her again tightly, hoping like a devil never should. | Frey woke up the morning with an excruciating pain in his head. On his 18th birthday of all days. But he ignored it. He spent a few minutes doing his hair, Golden in colour with two side burns down both sides of his head, finished off with a ponytail at the back. Once that was over, Frey moved over to do his uniform. It was the same regular, boring grey overcoat he always wore. Problem of being in the Alfhanian Military it seemed. He looked himself in the mirror, gazing all over himself to check for any mistakes. The insecurities of an 18 year old. Anyhow, Frey turned away and, to his surprise, was his guardian Angel. Drowned in a fashion of red, the Angel had a similar shade of Blonde to Frey, only his hair being a much more simpler design.
“What is the matter?” Frey said. He didn’t have a name for this being, nor did it ever even speak to him. It simply existed, no questions asked. The Angel simply looked blankly at him, like a doll of sorts. It made Frey uneasy, frightened even.
“Listen, today is not the day for you to play games with me. I would appreciate it if you could reserve yourself”
No response, no change in the dull facial expression. Frey simply sighed.
Wait..something was off. It dawned to Frey that he was no longer in his cramped barracks. Instead it was replaced with endless skies covered in a thick fog. He stepped back in confusion, before noticing he was standing on top of a large tree branch that was as thick as he was tall. He looked down and saw an endless abyss beneath him. Frey feel onto his bottom, his breathing became heavy, and his eyes became swelled with tears.
“Welcome friend!” A voice shouted from above.
Looking up, Frey could see his guardian ‘Angel’ was sitting atop of him on an higher branch. Frey was speechless, he couldn’t utter a single word out of fear.
SLAM! Frey’s Angel dropped down right in front of the 18 year old. With its back turned towards Frey, horrendously, it’s back bend in-humanely backwards until it’s face was angled to see him.
“What’s with the tears? My face isn’t that ugly!” The Angel laughed at its own joke, while several tears fell on Frey’s red cheeks.
The being’s body twisted itself to adjust normally. It wiped away Frey’s tears with its hands as he stared in shock.
“Come on, you’ve lived for one hundred years and you can’t even handle a little surprise?” The Angel said. Frey had been chronically 100 years old, but only awoke a few short years ago. Hence why only now was he 18 years of age, biologically speaking.
“W-Why are y-you doing this?!” Frey cried out, taking all of courage to say it.
The guardian merely smirked at the question.
“Why you say? That’s hilarious! Hahaha,” Quickly it’s face turned from laughter and humour to straight and serious “it’s because I’m not your protector, boy”.
“What?” Frey was deeply confused, what was it saying?
Unbeknownst to Frey, his right eye began to change from its normal emerald green to a light yellow. But he did noticed his angel’s *left* eye turned the same colour.
“I’ll be honest with you as a nice birthday present: I’m not your guardian Angel, I’m the demon the gods created, the one they materialised from nothing to give you to you vile humans. One of 7. Truth is, I wasn’t even supposed to be connect to you, but your twin sister decided, one hundreds years ago, it would be a great idea to,” Frey felt his headache from earlier arise again. Could it be from this demon, or was it simply from his mind trying to process even the slightest concept of what is going on?
The being now pushed its face closer to Frey’s, who still sat in terror. “But you interest me, Frey Vanir”.
The high up tree started to slowly darken, going from a lush forest high in the skies, to a blackened void.
“These games we’ve been playing, all the moments you tried to remember your past, it amused me. Watching you struggle and cry hopeless cured me of my millennia old boredom.” The anomaly began to slowly move its face away. With solid distance between the two, Frey breathed heavily as the reality(?) set in.
Suddenly, he was now in his room, on his worn out bed. He looked in the same direction as a single tear strain fell from his right eye, now back to its natural green state. | 2021-05-23T19:34:01 | 2021-05-23T16:46:53 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal and indestructible, but the universe isn't, and that horrifies you | He existed since the dawn of time. Dawn of time ? What was before him, did the time even exist before ? He did not know the answer. He even haven't had name back then. Why would he need it ? After all there wasn't anything that could talk with him.
He saw the birth of the first stars in the deepest parts of the cosmos. A beautiful light that shined in the darkness of the abyss. For eons he was watching stars, admiring their beauty. But he did not have a purpose. He just was. Absolutely immortal and indestructible, eternal. A being that grew stronger and stronger with each passing year. Why was he even born ? He did not know.
For millenia he was just existing not knowing the meaning of his existence. Until he saw strange beings. They called themselves "Humans". They too like him were born without a purpose, and yet, they dedicated their entire lives to seek it. A life as short as a blink, as flickering as a candle. Easy to extinguish and erase from the history. And yet, he admired them. Despite all hardships they seeked meaning. They were infinitely weaker than him but were much greater. And so, he has finally found his purpose.
For countless years he was guiding and helping them. They gave him countless names, each and every one of them was precious to him.People from the north called him "Odin". People from the great sands named him "Osiris". Some were also calling him the Enlinghtened One. Years were passing, and with each year humanity flourished more and more. Wars that were full of blood became past. Hunger and sickness lost their power.
But unfortunately, their star wasn't like him. Years had passed, and yet humans couldn't leave their home. They unlike him were bound by the laws of universe. Laws so meaningless for him, were unbreakable for them. Their star consumed their world. Lost and alone again he went searching for life once more.
But the same situation repeated again. And again, and again, and again.
Countless worlds, countless mortal beings who dreamed of reaching the stars. Noone succeded. Millenia passed, and even stars themselves begin to dim. Lost and alone in the darkness he was watching the end of existence. Humans would call it "heat death of the universe". But humans and other being were no more. And yet he was still there. So he came to the conclusion. If mortals cannot break aboslute laws. He would destroy them.
For trillions of years he was absorbing everything. Until he became everything and everything was part of him.
When that happened, his mind set new rules, different from the previous. He created them, so mortal beings could reach the stars and admire their beauty.
He said, "Let there be light", and there was light. But he was no more.
His body shattered but his purpose was fulfilled.
---
Well that was my 1st prompt, hope you guys liked it. | What shall come of me when time runs out? When the last sun flickers out, when life's flame peters out and is at last snuffed by the endless void, what will be left for me? Will I endure? Am I to be but a witness to the nihility?
Time has been cruel to me, but it was I who invited this blight upon my life.
In days when man yielded to the terrors in the night, nakid and afraid in the dens they once called home, I stepped out into the dark. Others cautioned me, begged me to hide, to be safe with them in their squalor. My family perhaps? I cannot recall. It was so long ago.
It was in my wandering I met the entity; the terrible thing that cursed me to walk the earth for all time. In my mind, it is without shape or form. Merely there, existing beyond my understanding.
It reached inside me, changing me. Making me....this. Was it trying to be kind? Was it being cruel? Did it understand what it had done to me at all? I do not know.
All I am certain of is that I was naïve enough to think I had been blessed. I returned to the others, stronger. No man nor beast could match or best me, though many tried.
But it did not last. The children I bore withered before my eyes, sharing not in my eternal nature. Like a fool, I considered them lesser; failures, like sickly pups in a litter of hounds. But I soon learned 'twas I who was the outcast.
My children's own' progeny grew, resenting my presence or regard me as a stranger. I remember a beautiful face, so dear to me, so soothing to touch, my one comfort, turning to ash. The name of that face, that kind, loving face, is lost to me now. The price a mind must pay stretched across millennia.
Again and again the pattern repeated. I sought comfort in the arms of others only to watch time lay them low. Within a generation or two, I was forgotten by those I helped conceive, my wisdom regarded as madness by these people.
I was enraged. How dare these creatures forget me; their patriarch! Filled with vengeful fury. I set upon these little people, these specks in the grand scheme of the universe, unleashing all my hate, my pain and my loss. If they would not remember me, my face, my name, all that I had done for them, then they would burn
But even that raging inferno died in time. Like fire, the hate could only burn for so long before that which gives it life crumbles, scorched and lifeless.
No matter how many I killed, time still saw to it that I was forgotten. My brutal campaign of death and destruction was consigned to myth, my face replaced with idols and deities too numerous to count.
At last, after soaking my hands in man's blood for centuries, I saw the futility of it all.
I sought out the thing that created me, to beg for its mercy, to have this affliction lifted from me. But whatever it was, it was far beyond my reach.
It is here you find me now, trapped in a hell of my own making, doomed to wallow in despair without end.
With each passing day, man grows farther and farther beyond my reach. They reach for the stars, driven by their own temporary nature, unaware of the blessing that cradles them like a babe.
Time is a companion, one who follows them until they lay to rest. It is one that has forsaken me, sickened and repulsed by the aberration of nature.
From the muck of decay, I am forced to look to the sky, watching as man strives to grow in its small pocket of the universe, blissfully unaware of the curse I bear. They journey to the stars, and soon I shall be left behind.
As they reach their end, satisfied in all that they have done, greeting death as an old friend, I shall bear witness to the end beyond the end. The dark, ceaseless night in which no sound may travel, no hope may yet shine, and no life may live.
I shall be the last, festering thing in the universe; a husk praying for death | 2021-09-09T07:40:08 | 2021-09-09T07:39:47 | 81 | 58 |
[WP] Today the devil was creative, 100 random people have to choose a ship to take into battle by saying it’s name. Most random people don’t know many ships by name, some can’t even name a warship. A lot of Yamato’s and Bismarck’s and titanics were massacred that day by the guy that brought a Kirov | The Kirov floated around the sea, looking for another target. Who dares? The skeletons of the other ships float as flotsam all around. The captain of the kirov, Captain Smith, smirked to himself. He had his closest friends and family on board, manning all the important stations. Nobody was going to stand up to them! They would rule this world!
Captain Smith checked the radar. There seemed to be no other ships nearby. Had they won?
As he contemplated his victory, and what the prize might be, he began to feel a tingling sensation. Lights danced over his skin. The instruments and deck of his ship faded away, to be replaced with the interior of another ship. He found his crewmates standing beside him in this new place.
"Tractor beam enabled, sir" rang out on the coms, "prisoners are secure."
As security escorted them to their new chambers, Captain Smith got a glance out of a window port, to see his ship floating among the stars, with a beam of energy holding it in place.
The security guard gestured to the quarters they were being escorted to, before parting with a "welcome to the Enterprise." | I don't like boats, or the open ocean. Motion sickness, almost drowned a couple times, it all ads up to "oh this is absolutely hell, like for real for real." But if we were the Entertainment for the day...
I could have said one of those destroyer ships named after a state, that would have been a good bet probably, if I could remember which ones had ships. Arizona? or was that an aircraft carrier? did that count? eh, too late now . We were all dead anyways. I was just glad I hadn't blurted out the first things that came to mind, because it turns out when the devil specifies "Naval ships" and some dude still tries to be Smart and pick Serenity, it doesn't end well.
Lucky me, being a touch down the list, I had a minute to scramble my thoughts together, and listen to the clarifications. You got the ship as it was in it's best known moments, and a skeleton crew (literally) beyond anyone else who tried to throw in their lot with you. I was all set to jump in with the Olympic crowd-- the luxury of the Titanic but without the whole sinking thing and with world war experience-- only I can't swim, and somehow my brain decided that was important, too I really could have had a couple hours with a feather bed or something, but nooooo. So my fool hand went up. "When you say best known moments, does that mean the ship will be in that, uh... position? relative to the, battle...sea?"
When he said Yes, if looks could kill and I weren't already dead, the Titanic people would have gutted me.
"Neat," I said, like the potato that I am. "Uh, I'll take the Arawhe." Out dated literacy passage books from work might not have helped me win at bar trivia, and they probably wouldn't help me win here, but let's be real, this was gonna be a kinda sucky eternity anyways.
If I was gonna die again, might as well be on a boat stuck on solid land with a cannon full of cheese.
(Edit: the source where I learned about the Arawhe can't be corroborated anywhere, RIP my credibility and that's what I get for trusting books of literacy passages from the 80s. Me and the Dude who picked Serenity are both sentenced to clean taco bell bathrooms as punishment for not abiding by the devil's rules. the story of the ship itself seems to be... true ish, but the name was the Wateree) | 2021-11-07T12:22:17 | 2021-11-07T11:40:23 | 62 | 36 |
[WP] You have the ability to see into the past. You can only observe past events, not change them. You're helping the police solve a murder. As you're describing what happened, the killer suddenly turns around and seems to look you straight in the eye. "I know you're watching". |
A rainy Tuesday found me standing outside a home on Lake Ridge Road. A local police detective calls me in from time to time to help with cases. Down at the station, they call me "that crazy psychic" because they don't know how else to label me. All they know is that I'm a guy who gets results. Not that anything I say is admissible -- which is great beause I don't want to appear in court. But I do give them enough information that they can take it from there. Usually.
First off, Harry Hall (that's me) is no psychic. Not as I understand those to be. I don't get feelings or vibes when I toouch someone's personal stuff. I do see things, but not like that. And you won't see me wearing some guy's overcoat or woman's pashmina. I just need to be there. In the place where whatever it is happened.
What I do is look through time. Don't ask me how I can do this. I've been doing it since I was a kid, and possibly a baby. With a little concentration, I can see last week, last year, or an hour ago. And I could wind back to last night when a kid chased ball into the street between two parked cars. The driver who hit him probably never saw him. I could almost feel for the guy.
Almost. The creep took off and left the kid lying on the ground. The sun hadn't set and the clouds hadn't moved in yet. I could see the car as plain as day. I gave the Det. Daniels a good description right down to the number of stick figures on the back window and, of course, the plate number. The jerk had kids of his own? Unreal.
Daniels thanked me. Then he stopped and put an arm on my shoulder. "You okay?"
"No," I muttered. "That one was particularly nasty."
That's the downside of using my ability this way. I witness a lot of things that I'd rather not see. Back in high school, I thought about taking a vacation to Gettysburg or Boston watch actual history unfold. I'm glad I never had the money to do that. I'd probably end up traumatized by all the blood and death, and I still wouldn't know who fired the first shot. Besides, just watching my parents' wedding took a lot of focus.
Det. Daniels gave me a ride home during which I tried to shut down all of my senses. When when got to my house, I told him I'd need some time off.
"Give me a week, okay? Call me for a pickpocket. Maybe an arsonist, if no one's home."
There wasn't a lot of arson in Black Rock, so that was a safe bet. Thinking about accidents causing fires made me comtemplate freelancing for insurance companies. But those guys can see things after the fact that I'd never notice watching it happen.
In any case, Det. Daniels texted me Saturday morning. He needed me to come down to an apartment building on Shuster just off Main Street. The body of a woman was found on the third floor of the four-story walkup. Her daughter hadn't heard from her mother in nearly a month, so she'd driven from New York to check on her. The woman had been killed in her bedroom. Whoever had done it had taken her keys and locked the doors behind him.
This one wasn't going to be pleasant, I knew. But she deserved justice, and her daughter deserved answers.
I had a chair brought in from the kitchen and sat down in the corner. Without an exact time of death, I'd have to shuffle through time like I was fast-forwarding a movie.
A month ago, Hannah Thomas was alive and well. A woman in her early 50s, she slept alone in a queen-sized bed. When her alarm clock sounded, she rose quickly, fixed the covers and fluffed the pillows. She laid out her clothes for work and headed out of the room. I mentally pushed that fast-forward button. Shortly after, she returned wrapped in a bath towel, which she dropped to the floor to get dressed. Invasion of privacy is an unfortunate byproduct of this process.
Hannah left for work and didn't return to her bedroom until nightfall. This repeated for several days, with the only variation being a cleaning lady coming in. I wasn't sure of the day of the week at this point. It might've been Friday or Saturday. Then Hannah came home from work and changed out of her business attire and into a purple dress. A string of pearls and a pair of heels completed the outfit.
Morbid thoughts, but were I twenty years years older... Anyway, Mama was ready to for a night out. She grabbed her bag and left her bedroom. When she came home several hours later, she wasn't alone.
If I tried, I probably could've stood and made it into the living room to see what was happening. But I knew where it would end up.
When the pair finally made it into the bedroom, Hannah was carrying her high heels in one hand, and leaning into the man who was helping her walk. She'd been a little over-served. Dropping her shoes wherever they fell, Hannah swung around and wrapped both of her arms around the guy and reached up to kiss him. She laughed like a teenager, and smiled at what she thought was going to happen next.
Two out the three of us knew what actually was about to happen.
"He's about six foot three," I said to the people who were actually in the room in the here and now. "Fair skin. Cropped black hair with a touch of gray at the temples. He has a small scar on left cheek."
"You saw him do it?" came the detective's voice from the beyond.
I just shook my head. "Not yet."
His jacket and a shirt hit the floor, and her purple dress wasn't far behind. He scooped her up and plopped her on her bed. She laughed as she bounced across the mattress. She was still laughing when he removed his pants and folded them neatly. Standing there in his skivvies, he picked up his jacket and withdrew a large knife. A moment later, he turned and plunged it into Hannah's chest.
I winced.
"You saw it? He did it?"
Apparently, Det. Daniels saw my reaction.
"Yes," I replied. "I saw it."
I took one more look for any other details that might've disappeared in the past month. Then I was just about to "shut it off" when the murderer turned to look in my direction. As far as I recalled, I was sitting in an empty corner of the room. There wasn't anything of interest over here.
Then he said, "I can see you looking at me."
He could what? Was he ... was he talking \*to me\*?
"I know you're there. I've been looking for you. All of this was to get your attention. Next time, I'll be watching you."
\-- End of Part I
\------
More stories at r/xwhy
I don't read enough procedurals to write them, so I'm not exactly sure where I'm going to go with this. Playing a psychic or supernatural line, I'd guess. | **Elli & Eli (1/2)**
----
The King had me thrown in the dungeon on charges of witchcraft.
There was no trial. Only his will. I believe he would have had me killed if he had not believed in death I would come back and torment him.
The cell had no windows. I was fed once a day. I don’t know how long they kept me there, but time became indifferent to my life.
What had started as a way to earn extra coin had led me here. My father told me to keep quiet about my gift.
“People will think it is unholy,” he warned. “A women peering into the past! Claiming to lift the veil and stalk what has been done. No good can come of the truth, my dear Elli.”
“It’s not stalking,” I told him. “I’m spying on people.”
“Pah!” He cursed. “All that matters is what _they_ will think you are doing!”
He was right, of course. The King thought me a witch, but was not clever enough to worry about what I might know. His counsel were more insightful.
“Who is to stop her from learning things that can be weaponized against us,” they whispered to each other. “A women cannot be trusted with this power.”
I know what they said, because I have watched them say it - many times.
I’ve watched many things play out. My days in the dungeon were spent roaming the past.
They could keep me locked away, but I was still free. I knew more than all of them combined.
So when the Captain of the Kings Watchman came to my cell - I knew what had brought him.
“Wake up,” he said from the outside of the bars.
“I’m awake,” I said without getting up from my stone bed.
He was hesitant. The silence that proceeded his words told me he was a superstitious man.
“There is a …” his voice faded. And he started to step back. He shook his head - I could see he was talking himself out of it.
“The murders,” I popped my head up. “The Kings Cruelty,” I said.
“Silence!” He stepped to the bars and looked over both shoulders. “Do not use that moniker.”
“Is that not what the people call him?” I sat up.
“Sadistic Citizen,” the Captain of the Watchmen corrected, “is the term the King has designated for this .. individual.”
I gave a laugh. “Need to keep the blame as far away as possible, eh? How’s that going?”
“The King, in his wisdom, wants this criminal put to justice,” the Captain said.
“And he wants my help? Fitting,” I said.
“In exchange, he is prepared to offer you exile,” the Watchman said.
“Exile?” I asked.
“You will be freed from this dungeon, and brought to the edge of our realm. And then you can just, go.” He said.
“Deal,” I approached the bars.
“Deal?” I was surprised. “Just like that?”
“I have no desire to reside in this land - to trust your King to not lock me away when the mood strikes him. He is a _cruel_ man,” I jabbed.
The scowl on the Captains face reminded me of my father.
“So,” he gestured aimlessly. “How do we do this?”
I smiled.
----
Looking into the past is a lot like watching a bad flashback in a movie.
Everything is out of context.
You can try to keep your bearings, but controlling where you go is difficult. If you have ever had trouble manipulating the angle of your character in a video game, you can sympathize.
Most cops think me a con artist.
Some are actively investigating me for crimes I’ve helped solve. They don’t need to say it, but I can tell by how they look at me. The long stares. Their eyes studying how I move. My clothes. My hair.
_He knows the details too well, I imagine they think._
Detective Jameson is the only one that believes me. He was once a church going man - and he still wears the crucifix on his neck. But as he tells it, what he has seen has led him to question the will of God.
When he came to my apartment that Sunday afternoon, he asked if I had been to church recently.
“No,” I said. “Never really been one for church.”
“I don’t blame you,” he said, crossing the threshold into my small studio he found his way to my bed and sat at the foot. His eyes looks down at his boots and then drifted to the window.
“Lot on your mind today?” I asked.
“No more than usual,” he said.
There was a pause and then he turned to me.
“Heard the news?” He asked.
I nodded. It was all over my phone that morning. Headlines loved to use the moniker: _Sadistic Sam_.
**Sadistic Sam Strikes Again!**
**Church Worries SADISM on the rise!**
**Sadistic Sam and his followers!**
They were unashamed heathens. All about clicks. All about sensation.
“Have you,” the Detective started.
“Nothing knew,” I said.
It had been two months since he enlisted my help. I’d spent a lot of time wandering the past, revisiting the scene of the crime and witnessing the horrors.
“He follows the same routine, every time. Needle to their neck, subdues them, and then .. well, you know the rest,” I said.
“Fucking modern day Jack the Ripper,” the Detective scoffed. “We men are monsters.”
I nodded. “I don’t know how to break the cycle. I watch him do it. He always keeps his mask on. I follow him once it’s done, and each time it’s like .. magic. He turns a corner and is just gone.”
The Detective nods.
“To be honest, I don’t know how much more of watching his work I can stomach,” I said.
“I know, Eli. It’s a lot to ask,” the Detective said. “The girl last night was only -“
“-I saw the headline.” I raised a hand. “I now how young she was. Freshman cheerleader, headed home after a game - the reporters are ..”
“Monsters,” he said.
I sat in the chair by the window. “Okay. I’ll try - one last time. But if it doesn’t work - I can’t keep … I just … I haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Maybe we get lucky,” he said.
I took a deep breath. “Where was the body found?”
----
The crime scene was as circus of police and reporters.
I toned out the noise and focused on the body. I maneuver through the throngs of arguing uniformed officers - passing through their world as a ghost.
I elevated above and focus. Time rewinds beneath me - a reverse time-lapse.
The crowd is gone for a moment, and the girl lay on the ground, naked and gutted. Her lifeless wide eyes stare up at me.
_I wish I can save you._ I thought. _I’m sorry._
_Maybe I can save the next one._ I told myself - as I told myself the last time
The trench coat man walked backwards into the scene and I took a deep breath - focusing on the moment - and time slowed to a stop.
I came in close and inspected him. The personification of death. No, death is more merciful. This man is the evil.
If only I could lift pull his baseball cap off and rip the ski mask from his face.
Time starts and he marched off.
I followed, and we moved through the alleys and into the quiet city night. I tried to keep myself ahead of him. He always vanishes on a turn. Don’t let him turn without me. Keep on him tight.
And I do. Putting my fear aside I stay closer than ever. No turn is made without me.
The streets are quiet. It’s 2 am. I hear a street sweeper on the block over.
The killer stops.
He never stops. His head is angled down.
_What is he doing?_ I thought.
“I can see you,” he said and - I should have been afraid - but was more taken aback by his accent. It was, best I could tell, British.
His eyes turned up.
“Yes,” he pointed in my direction. “I can see you.” He paused and then moved his finger past me. “And I can see you.”
I spun around - to my shock there as another watcher. A girl that looked like she was fresh from a renaissance fair. She was floating, just as I was. And the stunned look on her face matched mine as we locked eyes.
No one spoke.
Then the killer laughed and I darted my eyes back to him - then back to the girl.
“What is going on?” She was bewildered. Her eyes scanned the buildings and the streets, lost between curiosity and fear.
“Wonderful,” the killer said and smacked his hands together. | 2022-02-12T11:06:22 | 2022-02-12T09:15:45 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Fearing that the passage of centuries may have altered the value of their hoard, an ancient dragon hires you to appraise the lot. It's remarkably tricky to stay objective and focused when your client has razor talons and fire breath. And that's not even mentioning the more esoteric "treasures". | "The coins, gems and items of gold and silver generally do maintain their value, depending on the origin and age of an item it might vary some, this golden ceremonial dagger for example is a fairly common item, much of it's value is in the material, while this silver comb is engraved by an apprentice to a famous Elven jeweler, one could state it's value lies mostly in the artistic design, overal the value of the vast majority of your collection has not been affected, though i would recommend investing in some servants to organize the items and polish pieces to prevent tarnish."
The dragon, Tryvalstadt, nodded, this much had been more or less what it had expected, i sensed it had some reservations about hiring help, though i suspect it was more worried about finding trustworthy personel, perhaps i could recommend someone.
I turned to the more esoteric, exotic, and macabre items in it's vast collection and hesitated a moment.
"Now, here we come on an issue, many of the paintings in your collection have suffered from age and neglect, some have lost their value entirely, while others should be salvageable, if this where a collection of the royal family or a noble i would suggest paying for the cost of maintenance and restoration by displaying some pieces in a museum."
There was an angry gleam in Tryvalstadt's eye, but it had promised not to take out any emotions on me, so i felt, well, i was scared but not so much that i collapsed.
I quickly moved on to the next collection of unusual treasures "Now, these skeletons are fairly well preserved, i suspect the conditions of your cave where more favourable to them than the cloth of paintings, their monetary value is not so great, but culturally these are quite valuable, like the paintings these could be displayed in a museum, the human bones are however not something i would put on display, i understand these where heroic adversaries, but other than an emotional value i cannot say they are worth much."
I felt as if Tryvalstadt understood what i said, as it nodded once again, this time without notable emotion.
I strongly suggested seeking out a curator to arange for some of his collection to be lent to a museum, and moved on.
Hours later i had appraised both collections in bulk as well as individual artifacts, and was quite tired, but Tryvalstadt had one last collection to show me, it led me deep into the cave where it was warm and comfortable, an underground garden decorating the expansion, and the dragon gently pushed open a banded wooden door.
I was speechless for a moment before i gave my honest appraisal "Sir Tryvalstadt, i cannot reasonably put a price on this... collection, though i suspect you could theoretically earn a large sum if you ransomed these princesses back to their countries, and i would advise against displaying them in a museum." | (This story is the third part of a much longer story I am currently working on. You can read the previous chapter [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/whcxyq/comment/ijb6yoy/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3). Also, this story is from Wildfire the dragon's perspective and not the appraiser.)
Flaime's death still burns, but I must acknowledge his rather great hoard. Dragon law dictates in the event of death, the hoard must first be brought to the oldest hatchling. If there are no hatchlings the hoard goes to the oldest sibling, and so on. As I am Flaime's only sibling, and he never had any hatchlings, I am the one to inherit his hoard.
Funny how differently we play the hoard game. I've always just focused on the "dragonslayers" as they usually brought their strongest armor and weaponry (which sells for a lot in the dragon market) but a few years ago I decided this was no longer worth the effort. Meanwhile Flaime pillaged and plundered for his hoard, and I guess danger was always in his blood. He fought much harder than I did in the battle, persevering even when they overburned some of his blood with a blazing arrow. His fire jets were brilliant, far beyond my ability.
But no matter. I must get the hoard appraised before I inherit it. And although Kacir the knight may not be an appraiser, he can tell someone else.
My left wing is still covered in bandages from the battle. It might take me a year to fly again. So I walked, step by step, toward the kingdom.
I didn't even reach the outskirts when I was greeted by Kacir, who I told to contact an appraiser to check on the hoard, who eventually came to me.
It didn't take too long to get back, and thanks to a bit of cooperation the appraiser didn't have too much to worry about either.
"So, first of all, I'm very sorry about your brother," he started. "I saw the state you two were in and tried to help. I really did. But I could not help."
That face was a familiar one. I saw him in the aftermath of the battle, trying to coordinate efforts among healing the injured. He was helping people in aiding an ice dragon that was slashed across the leg. Although she went on to try healing Flaime, I learned she also died of her injuries in her cave.
"You are a brave one," I told him. "You helped us dragons even when we were in dire condition. But the hoard must now be called into question. Flaime never thought of the future and collected without thinking of how it depreciates. I don't even think some of his hoard is actually worth anything."
This was delicate business. One error and I would lose the only opportunity I have to assimilate the hoard into my own, honoring both Flaime and all those that died to protect the kingdom. And I assume he knows that too since he brought extremely precise equipment, manually inspecting each and every coin, gem, and treasure.
Then he moved onto the more unusual treasures.
"Why is there an entire pile of nothing but extremely burnt bones?" the appraiser asked. There were skulls, legs, hands, and even an entire skeleton in a singular neat pile. We both agreed to not assign them any value and moved on to... glass windows.
"I guess this is why Flaime never talked about his hoard," I spoke to lighten the mood a bit. He never did, and when asked anything about his hoard only spoke of his towering gold. I never suspected he hid these unusual items.
In the end we sorted through all the items and the hoard's total value exacted mine. I decided to set aside the more esoteric items into a separate pile and integrate the treasures into my own pile, which I meticulously separated myself by type.
I only hope that Flaime would approve of this. | 2022-08-08T13:41:44 | 2022-08-08T12:18:26 | 62 | 30 |
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store. | No one pays attention to the guy behind the counter of the convenience store. The one that’s just past middle-aged, wears pastel polo shirts, and has the friendly smile marks mixed with the start of wrinkles. It’s the perfect way to retire, hiding in plain sight.
There’s a lot of communication whenever a hero or villain retires. First is informing people, so that no one hunts after any old grudges. Second is finding a cover story, so no one outside the know asks questions later. Lastly, there’s keeping the peace. Lists of locations/people to avoid when the big fights break out. You *don’t* want to force people out of retirement.
Needless to say, each of the various retirees have their own contingencies, just in case. Similarly, we get tracked by the other organization to make sure we stay retired. Not constantly, but I know they’re keeping an eye on me. So much the better, they’ll see that I’m happily retired.
I was one of the lucky ones, no need to sleep, but physically able to. No one asked me why the owner of the shop was in charge of the night shift, they were just glad I never called in that someone needed to cover nights unless I had a vacation. Even then, I was able to sort through things nicely enough.
So, imagine my surprise, when a hero waltzes in. In costume. During my shift. And asks to speak with the manager. Hopefully someone just got too close to the shop, and they need to look at the cameras.
“How can I help you, Mr…”
He doesn’t even introduce himself. “I think you know why I’m here.”
I’m just hoping this can be resolved peacefully. “Not specifically. Do you have a warrant for anything? Do you need to look over the store’s camera footage?”
He crosses his arms and glares. “No, I’d like to ask you to come with me for a bit.”
“Sure, just let me close up, really quick. Can’t have people coming in, and not being helped.” I start checking locks to the various cabinets behind the counter, tobacco products primarily, and subtly press a hidden silent alarm.
The Hero is glowing at my back as I turn off the electric “Open” sign. I go to the newly updated restroom and knock on the door. It swings open, I take a quick look around, then close the door, hit the lights, and start walking to the front entry.
“Took you long enough. I expected a fight from the Dark Magus, or at least for you to finish that quickly.”
I give an unconcerned shrug, looking around at shiny new parking lot. “You have my apologies, but it’s a 24/7 shop, it doesn’t close often. So, again, how can I help you mister?”
In the blink of an eye, there are cuffs on my hands. “You are being remanded into a hero’s custody. You have the right to a trial and an attorney at that trial. I’m going to be sure that get locked up for a long time.”
“And they have nothing to say about it?” I gesture toward the sky behind the hero.
His hands glow with some orange energy, as he turns to face one of the current big three. He relaxed just as quickly, “Oh! Crimson Lance, I don’t remember calling for assistance, but things are well in hand.”
The Crimson Lance frowns, “I see you did not finish reading the briefing you were assigned.”
“What are you talking about? I’ve just got cuffs on the Dark Magus, I was about to bring—“
“You’re proving my point, Invictus.”
That shut him up. Crimson Lance let him stew in the quiet before continuing, “The file I gave you was covered in stamps, what did they say?”
Invictus dutifully replied, “Retired.”
“This means, based on the information in the briefing, we already had all the information you used. So why might they be working this shop instead of sitting in jail.”
Invictus opened his mouth, paused, grimaced, gritted his teeth, and finally said, “I don’t know.”
“It’s because there’s an agreement in place. One you just jeopardized. Do you really think that you could handle a villain in their lair *alone*? I would be extremely cautious on my best day. And that is for lairs that are known. How many years of traps and runes do you think the Dark Magus has in that shop?”
This made the young hero pale, before turning back to face me. I just shrugged, “May I go back to my shop?” As quickly as before, I no longer had handcuffs. “Thank you, hopefully you two can have an enlightening discussion.”
“Uh, if I may ask,” Invictus spoke, with much less authority than before, “How bad would it have been if you fought back?”
I tapped my foot on the parking lot, “Well, my defensive runes are each about the size of my palm, and this nice new parking lot was installed two years ago, I’ll let you do the math how many runes that is.”
Crimson Lance cut in, “I doubt that’s everything, but keep in mind, four of those runes put me in the hospital for months.”
Invictus thought back to the new restroom and seemed about ready to faint. I simply hoped to lighten the mood, “Remember to stop by again, I do my best to have fresh coffee and donuts in the mornings.” | A long time ago, I was a villain. Undoubtedly a bad man. I hurt people in ways most couldn't even conceive. I kidnapped, murdered, stole, lied, cheated, and maimed thousands of times, to thousands of people. I had no good reason. With my power, I would have been able to be just as good as I was bad, just as easily. I would have been equally happy.
One day, I just woke up and decided to stop cooperating. I didn't *need* rules and laws to survive, so why should I abide by them? Food, shelter, and water are amenities for me, not necessities. I do not need what others need in order to live. So, that very day, I began to work my way up. I joined a gang. Fought my way to the top. Used my brain to supress the others and manipulate my way into the good graces of the truly powerful. Before I knew it, I was the head of one of the wealthiest criminal empires in the world, and heroes were knocking at my door just itching to topple me from my throne.
Of course, they never could. I (though not personally) defeated each and every one of them, killing many, maiming the rest. And throughout it all, I never slept a wink. That's my power. I don't need sleep. I don't need to eat, either. Nor do I need to drink. I don't have super strength, nor do I have psychic powers, but I can't die.
So, after a hundred years or so, I woke up one day and decided I'd had enough. I went level by level down the ranks of my empire and purged every last man, woman, and child with a link to it. Being as old as I am, I knew how to kill all the truly powerful people. Every Superman has his kryptonite. Then I started over. Built my life back from nothing, but this time as the owner of a small corner store. Guilt never followed me. And, as I do not need to sleep, souls would not haunt me in my dreams.
It's been fifty years since then, and I haven't slept a wink nor aged a day. And I've been happy in the monotony, watching the same people come in and out every day. It's a different sort of life, but one I think I would be happy living for another hundred years or so *at least*.
Then, one day, as I rounded a shelf's corner, a little girl ambushed me. She ran straight into me, toppling over immediately after like a row of dominoes. "Are you okay?" I asked. I did not care for her safety; I only cared for liability.
She stood up quickly. She huffed aggressively as she brushed herself off. She glared at me. "I need to have a word with you, you geezer!"
My eyebrow twitched with a small blip of irritation. Surely, I couldn't have looked more than thirty to her. Was she being rude for the sake of it? "How can I help you, young lady?" I asked. Then, it suddenly occurred to me that her word choice seemed awfully mature for a... Well, she didn't look much older than ten or so. It's hard to keep track of ages when you haven't been that old in almost two centuries.
"I know what your deal is!" she proclaimed. I realized, past her blue-striped black shirt and khaki shorts, that she was wearing a royal blue cape. It was a horrendous color combination. "You're a bad guy!"
"Excuse me?" I asked. It had been fifty years since I faked my own death and brought about the end of my criminal empire. Surely she had no knowledge of that.
"Don't play dumb!" she said. "My mom and I come into this store every Friday to get me a candy bar as a reward for being good over the week, and every time you're thinking about about being a crime lord!"
"Look, young lady, I think you have the wrong-"
"I said *don't play dumb!*" She shouted that time, and suddenly my head started to pound as though her voice had drilled its way into my cranium.
She was a mind reader. A rare form of psychic. Usually they can just move things with their minds or subtly influence others' emotions. She was the type that I couldn't beat easily, or maybe at all. Even so, who would believe a ten year old girl if she told them I was a former criminal overmind?
The answer is no one. No one would believe her.
"Alright," I conceded, not wishing to prolong this encounter any more than necessary. "Let's say I am what you say I am. What do you want?"
Without warning, she burst into tears and fished a folded up piece of paper out of her pocket. She handed it to me in between sobs and I read it over:
>*Weekly Assignment #10: Study a hero!*
>
>*Find information about your favorite hero and complete a poster, art piece, or slideshow to share with the class about them. Sources can be the internet, first-person interviews, or eyewitness accounts. If you're lucky enough to know one firsthand, feel free to ask them to come to class!*
She wanted me... for a *school project*?
"My favorite hero..." she muttered,"is your old arch nemesis, Re-Girl. But she passed away a long time ago and no one on the internet knows about her. All I could find was her name in an old registry from before my mom was even born."
Ah, Re-Girl. A valiant, stalwart hero, the only one I could never truly defeat. Eventually, she passed from natural causes after I used her to fake my demise. She had the same mind-reading power as the girl in front of me, but she never rose to public prominence because she wasn't particularly flashy or charismatic.
I sighed. What could it hurt, I reasoned. Perhaps she would leave me alone after I helped her once. I walked to the store door and flipped the "Open" sign to "Closed."
"I'll help you with your project," I said. "If you leave me alone after this and *never tell a soul."*
"Yes sir!" she exclaimed.
"Then come on," I told her. "I have a whole photo album I can show you."
She waited at the store counter while I went to the back and fetched the memories from my storage. In the book was dozens upon dozens of photos of me and my late wife, the former hero Re-Girl.
"It seems you've ambushed me again," I mumbled to myself.
"What was that?" the girl asked.
"Nothing," I replied. "Let's get to your project." | 2022-12-19T22:01:06 | 2022-12-19T19:28:13 | 181 | 135 |
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great! | *What's going on?*
Kouki stared down the packed train.
*What's going on?*
He rubbed his eyes.
For his entire life he could see how a person's life would end but today he saw nothing. Kouki racked his brain for answers.
*Did I lose my vision?*
His heart rate sped up in panic at the alternative.
*Does everyone on this train die?*
The train came to a halt and Kouki stepped out to see other pedestrians roaming freely without triggering his premonitions. He let out a sigh of relief.
*I lost it. That's all it was.*
As he left Hiroshima station he looked up at the bright sun in the sky, blooming like a Camellia in the spring.
*Is it moving closer?* | I sat in the back of a New York taxi, head pressed against the window and hands crossed in my lap. I watched the buildings, billboards, passing cars. Anything except for the faces of the hundreds of New Yorkers. Each of which had a limited time remaining. The clock was ticking on each one of them, but they kept their lives busy to forget about this dreary fact.
I discovered my ability when I was 11 years old. I remember looking up at my mom during breakfast and felt a knot tighten in my stomach, like the feeling you get before a bad bout of diarrhea. An image flashed in front of me. Like a hallucination. She was limp, her body hanging from a rope tied on one end to her neck, the other a ceiling fan. I was clearly disturbed for having this fantasy, but it wasn't until the next week I realized it was more than that. My dad sat me down, explained that mommy wasn't going to be around anymore. As his eyes welled with tears he slid across a tattered hand written note from my mother. A suicide note.
Ever since then my "ability" has grown stronger. To the point I'm at now. Sometimes I can see someone die within a year of their demise. You wouldn't believe how many people are going to die in a year's time. That brings me to where I am now. In this new York cab, desperately avoiding eye contact with the thousands of people filling this busy city. I can't live in a place this busy anymore. That's why I'm heading to Alaska. Nobody lives in Alaska.
As I was mulling over the prospect of a new life, a new future for me, I glanced up at the rear view mirror in the front of the cab. I gasped. The face staring back at me was mine. Winter parka on, wool hood pulled over my head. My face was cold and lifeless, frozen in place. Lips were blue, and eye lids frozen open to reveal my cold, dead, lifeless eyes. | 2013-10-16T13:13:27 | 2013-10-16T11:52:05 | 73 | 11 |
[WP] Year 2040, you are tasked with rebooting Harry Potter franchise. Write the first few paragraphs of "Harry Potter Begins".
For books, not movies. HP Begins will be book 1. | Mr. And Mrs. Dursley of Number Four, Pivet Drive {[Find Pivet Drive on google Maps for $1.25](https://www.google.com/maps/u/0/ms?ie=UTF8&t=m&oe=UTF8&msa=0&msid=218345993262930704212.0004c65d680c1b34e5d49&dg=feature)} were proud to say that they were perfectly normal {[Define "Normal" on Urban Dictionary for $0.99](http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=normal)} thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect {[Expecting? Find a Baby name RIGHT NOW for as low as $1.49](http://www.behindthename.com/)} to be involved in anything strange {[Watch "Strange Luck" or other programs with a subscription to FLIXX](http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0112182/)} or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm {[Find a lawfirm near you with google local searches](http://google.com)} called Grunnings, which made drills{[Find a new drill at Walmart](http://www.walmart.com/search/?query=drills)}. He was a big, beefy {[Find beef at Walmart](http://www.walmart.com/search/?query=beef)}man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache {[Top 25 Celebrity Mustaches- this article only $.45/min](http://buzzfed.com/mustaches)}. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck {[Get a longer neck in 20 days!](http://neckextensionsss.com)}, which came in very useful as she
spent so much of her time craning over garden fences{[Get your Government-issued Fence-installation permit TODAY!](http://cia.gov/dontbuildafence)}, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
{Like this book? Access this book for $0.03/paragraph, or a 10-day subscription to this book for only $14.99.} | "Evil exists in many forms, but so does good. The smallest of embers can create the largest blazes, but who ever said fire was a bad thing? Evil, much like the fire, takes only a little push to get started down that rocky path, yet with the right conditions, that same ember can become the savior of so many lost and cold souls" - Baba Yaga
_____________________________________
Chapter 1. The Boy Who Lived
Harry never knew his parents. Having grown up with his horrid Aunt and Uncle and their spoiled rotten child, he believed that every younger sibling was sentenced to a life of living under the stairs. From a young age, Harry was able to see that he and his cousin were vastly different, both in size and in intellect, and what his cousin, Dudley, didnt understand, he hit; and Harry was often misunderstood. Not to say he hated his life, there was something pleasent about it, whether it was the hand-me-downs or neglect, Harry always found that in his forced routine he found some freedom and some peace.
That changed in the strangest twenty four hours of his life.
On July 31st, Harry's tenth birthday, a letter came in the mail. Unlike the rest of the post, this letter had no postal stamp, nor did it seem to fit into the mailbox, yet it was pristine and unfolded. Staring at the loopy emerald writing he lost track of time. How long he had been standing out there he would never know.
"HARRY!! WHERE IS THE BLOODY MAIL?!" Uncle Vernon roared from the kitchen. Though seperated by two walls, drawn shades and a front yard the sound still seemed as though it were right in Harry's ear. Snapping out of his reverie Harry ran inside.
"I've got this peculiar looking letter here" Harry said, while handing the rest of the mail to his family.
"Pfffft! Someone probably just spelled MY name wrong" Dudley yelled, grabbing the letter.
'The baffoon hasn't the foggiest idea how spelling works' Harry thought, but knew better than to say. He did not want to begin his birthday with another black eye; last year was enough to learn a lesson.
Aunt Petunia snatched the letter from her son with a practiced motion, knowing full well that Harry was the better reader, and no one could mix up the spelling of "Harry" and "Dudley" and she confirmed Harry's confusion.
"It is for you...but there is no return address..." Aunt Petunia almost whispered in her high and grating voice. She seemed more pale than usual as she quickly sat down, lost in that loopy emerald writing.
Hearing his wife's tone, Uncle Vernon, the bulldog of a man with the stubborness of a mule, quickly looked up from the usual stack of rubbish mail and bills to see what the commotion was about.
"Mr. Harry J. Potter, 4 Privet Drive, cuppard under the stairs" Uncle Vernon had the opposite reaction to his wife, growing more and more purple with each word. "PREPOSTEROUS!! NO ONE KNOWS YOU LIVE HERE! WHO WOULD HAVE BUSINESS WITH YOU!?"
With a deep breath, Vernon attempted to calm himself and through gritted teeth whispered to Harry "Explain. Boy!"
Harry stammered. He had less of an idea than either of them, he was only ten, and never once signed up for any mailings. Who could possibly be writing to him?
| 2014-10-01T12:05:09 | 2014-10-01T09:45:36 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] It's that time of the year. Christmas wishlists and letters from dyslexic children are flooding into Satan's office. He decides to grant one wish. | I accidentally put the mug down a little too harshly, causing some of the blood in it to spill out. This letter was just too hilarious to be able to control my reaction. A wild cackle escaped my lips and I almost fell off the worshiper I was sitting on. Tears had started to appear in my eyes but I calmed myself down and somehow managed to muster up the courage to look at the piece of paper again.
*Daer Satan,*
*For this Xmas, I wnat to ribe a dike!*
*Thansk,*
*Jane*
*11 years olb*
Reading this for the second time caused me to collapse into a fit of laughter once again. I had immediately understood that she wanted a bike *but lol, this is the first time I have got a request for a dyke! Interesting. The kid is 11... could spoil her with a dyke right now...*
I tapped on the table once and my most loyal demon appeared.
"Here's the address. Arrange for a dyke to appear gift-wrapped at Christmas with the card that says 'With love, Santa.' Go now."
He bowed and disappeared. Meanwhile I turned around and returned to the envelope stack with a little chuckle to myself as I imagined the reactions...
**Edit:** I hope no one takes this the wrong way, there's no offence intended towards the lesbian community :-) | The clock chimed at midnight. It was the 1st of December, meaning Christmas. It was Satan's least favourite time of year. Not because of the amount of work he has to do with people dying of too much Christmas dinner or fancy chocolates, but because of the damn wishlists that are sent every year.
Sometimes he would read a few that looked inexplicably stupid. 'dear satan, for chriztmaz i want a doggie! and a cat! and a horse!' 3 dead and roasted animals sent your way. 'satan, give me a xbox and new cod or il kill you' How about instead I put you in the game, where you'll be shot dead in seconds.
One time, he came across one that was in a black envelope with black sharpie writing. He could barely read it, even after tipping it towards the flames for better lighting. He opened it up and read it
'Dear Satan. Yes. Satan. For Christmas I would like you to cleanse the world of the stupid idiots in it, anybody that can't go one day without fucking up. All the kids on Santa's little Nice list too, they're fucking annoying. I know you're better suited to the job than Santa. Please do this.'
Satan was intrigued, he had never recieved a proper wish before. He decided he might as well try and fulfill this persons wish just a little bit.
He started with the people on the nice list, and let them lie in the first circle, Limbo. Then came the idiots, they were sent to each respective layer of hell, the romantic idiots to Lust, obese to Gluttony and so on. He continued doing this for a few days, and had quickly cleared out 2 million people.
He soon got bored however, as it also meant more paperwork for him. He had an idea for the last person, they would be sent to the Ninth circle, Treachery, for their betrayal of the entire human race. He would find the person who sent him the letter, and finalise their wish with themselves. I mean, you would have to be extremely stupid to think Satan, the fallen Archangel, would grant a wish without there being any consequences on the wish-maker.
He soon found the person, he was a devote worshipper of Satan. He came to him whilst he was praying and took him to the ninth circle, where he personally ended his life. There, Christmas was over for another year, now to spend the next year mentally preparing himself for the next batch of idiotic letters sent to the wrong address. | 2014-12-02T05:50:19 | 2014-12-02T05:10:15 | 80 | 34 |
[WP] You turn over a sheet of white paper, only to find the other side is green. Puzzled, you turn it over again, and now it is red. You decide to tear the paper apart. | I flip the paper over, multiple times. Each side becomes a different color, each color more vibrant than the last. Now one side is green, I flip it over. The other side is a deep magenta, I flip it over. Now the side that was green is a vibrant saffron.
Absolutely beautiful, I feel like I'm watching a show. I should've paid for this, it's amazing! And as I continue to turn the paper I start to see other things. Colors that have no name. This are no longer primary, secondary, tertiary. These are not mixtures of things that are. These are new colors. My colors.
In a spark of genius I rip the page in half. Now I have two pieces of paper creating unseen colors for me. I stack them together and it creates a pattern. I rip up enough pieces and flip thought them and I can see into a world. A world that breathes imagination, a world that values beauty.
I want to go there. I hate this room. The walls are white and soft and boring. The door is cold and grey and the only window faces out into the hallway were the doctors pass. There's never anything to do here until the bring me another piece if paper. | "What *is* this?"
Little specks of every colour, nestled in every little piece of confetti. I gather the pieces into my hands and I crumple them up. I let them go, and they sparkle in the light.
"Huh. Hey Kim?"
I'm smiling when she comes in. "Yeah?"
"Look at this. It's so weird."
She looks at the paper. "What is?"
I show her. I pick the pieces up, and I let them drift down onto the table. It's like they're falling in slow motion. I can see them catching the light.
Kim grins. "I don't get it."
I raise an eyebrow. "What's not to get?"
"It's paper? Like, is there a joke here?"
"No joke."
She smiles, warm. "Then clean it up, I guess." She leans in, kisses me on the cheek. I look into her eyes, and I see a lake of liquid diamonds. I feel cool air on my face. I hear the breeze.
And she walks out. "Come help in the kitchen when you're done!"
I sweep the paper into the bin. I can hear it moving.
I close my eyes. Behind them is a sea of vibrant inks. Shapes are forming. I know those shapes. Or... something.
This isn't a problem. This is something I'm sure many people deal with. I can go on with my life until it becomes a problem.
"But how long until it becomes a problem?"
"I don't know." I open my eyes. It's autumn. I'm up to my ankles in clear water, on the river bank. My feet are bare. My feet weren't bare.
Anneke puts her hand on my shoulder. "You can't deny this life. You were born to live as a hero. Born to see the things no mortal should or could. That life isn't for you."
"How do I know that, though?" I feel the smooth pebbles under my feet. I think. I hear Kim humming some tune in the kitchen.
"I am your guide. I would never lead you astray." Anneke gets down on one knee and bows her head before me. I stroke her hair and she looks at me. Her eyes are a pale blue.
I make to stand, and I feel something in my hands.
A scrap of white paper.
"You coming or not?"
I slip the paper into my pocket. I can feel the breeze on my skin. My feet are not bare.
"I'm coming." | 2015-05-23T16:12:47 | 2015-05-23T14:20:05 | 154 | 60 |
[WP] Two Identical twins secretly alternate days at work. You each share the same ID, social security number, and clothes. Nobody knows theres actually two of you. One day youre BOTH at home and call in sick, but your manager is confused saying that youre already there. | "Can you please cover for me today? I've been up sick all night" I said to Mark. "I got you last week when you were hungover".
"No can do bro. I've been puking too. Call David and I'll get us some tea."
As Mark wobbles to the kitchen, I moan while dialing my iphone.
My boss David picks up and I apologize more than necessary for not showing up.
"Ben, I think we should have a talk later. Are you okay? You've been acting a little strange lately."
I internally shit my pants that Mark did something to fuck up our plan. I would be humiliated if everyone found out.
"No, I think I just have the flu. Don't worry David, I'll be there tomorrow."
"Okay, take the rest of the day off. It's unprofessional to be this out of it."
"The rest of the day? David, I've been at home all morning barely able to hold anything down."
"That's enough Ben. I can see you at your desk right now. I'm coming out there."
"What are you talking about? Don't hang up."
I overhear David talking to someone else. He sounds like he's scolding them.
The phone hangs up. I stomp into the kitchen. I am so tired of Mark's shit. He's always dragging me down into his fuckups.
"Mark. What the FUCK is going on? Are you pulling some kind of joke? I actually care about being employed like a god damn adult."
I feel bad as the words come out but I'm furious too. Mark looks up and calmly responds.
"I don't know what your problem is but I don't feel great either. Go take a nap and stop blaming all your issues on me."
"David said-"
My iphone rings. The contact says "BEN WORK".
"Hello?", I answer while I walk into my room.
"Hey Ben. Are you still not feeling well? David seemed pretty upset after talking with you."
It's Mark's voice. Or my voice. Now I don't know if this is some fuckup or a joke. Did I take too much fucking nyquil? Who is posing as me? And how does he sound so similar? I have goosebumps all over my arms.
"Who is this?"
He whispers. "It's Mark."
"I don't know what you want. But please tell me what's going on."
Something feels so off. It's too uncanny. He's just like him. Almost like a clone.
"I got you bro. I saw you in bed this morning and took one for the team. I know you were mad at me lately but I was just trying to help."
"You're not my fucking brother. Tell me who the fuck you are. I'm coming up there."
"Yeah. Definitely. Okay. I'm not your fucking brother and I didn't go to Camp fucking Crimson with you when we were nine and didn't save you from drowning in the fucking river when Chris fucking Parsons dared you to jump in."
I am frozen stiff as a board.
I hear the tea kettle whistling and I can't move for about five seconds. It feels much longer. I hang up.
I incrementally turn very slowly to look behind me.
Mark is just a few inches away and staring.
"Hey...Mark. I.. I think the tea is ready."
"Sure thing bro."
He smiles, stares another couple of seconds, and heads to the kitchen.
| “Don’t bullshit me Connor I see you right there!” screamed Connor’s manager, Liam.
Connor moved his ear from his iPhone speaker. Liam had a hot streak when it came to practical jokes. It was a good gig Connor and his twin brother had. Great paying banking job, with a cubicle, while only working half the time. It was enough salary to split between the two of them. Connor saw his twin brother Jake lying down in bed with a red, stuffy nose. He was sifting through Netflix.
“What the hell is going on?” Connor mouthed to Jake.
“I don’t eve-*AHH AAHHHHH CHOOO*-” Jake got some tissues and blew his nose. “I don’t even care right now man.”
“I heard you sneeze, so I understand now that you might not actually be lying. I didn't see that guy at your cubicle sneeze,” said Connor’s manager. Connor moved his ear right back up to the phone. “This guy says he’s you though. I’ll go up to him and ask again..”
“Please do,” said Connor.
Connor heard a faint conversation.
“Hey Connor,” said their manager Liam.
“Yes boss?” said a voice like Connor’s and Jake’s.
“I’m on the phone with somebody who says they’re you. They were trying to call in sick,” said Liam.
“Strange,” said a voice like Connor’s and Jake’s.
Connor put the phone on mute.
“What the fuck is this?” Connor mouthed to Jake.
Jake was in a sick daze staring at the television screen. Then he registered just what Connor said.
“Oh right I bought a robot,” said Jake.
“WHAT?” said Connor.
“I bought a robotic version of us,” said Jake. He got some more tissues and dabbed at his nose. “It has this mannerism recognition software. I’ve been recording myself at work for months. It looks just like us, talks just like us, but it can’t have very versatile conversations. It’s prepared to talk with Liam, don’t worry. You know how Liam loves the Cubs, watch this. Put it on speaker phone.”
Connor couldn’t believe his ears. He put the iPhone on speaker phone and listened.
“Say boss,” said robot Connor/Jake on the other end. “How about that Cubs game last night?”
It started to sound more robotic, like it was searching Google for baseball box scores.
“Yeah I did actually,” said Liam. He sounded intrigued. “How about that eighth inning?”
“It was amazing, what a rally of-” The robot stopped speaking for a second, like it was trying to make out the words. “How about that rally for twelve runs.”
“It was amazing!” said Liam. It sounded like he smacked the cubicle wall. “I didn’t know you were a cubs fan Connor."
“Always have been,” said robot them. “Can’t stop won’t stop, rock-a-fella rock-a-fella we get downnnnnn downnnnn.”
The robot sounded like it was losing battery. Liam was laughing, but he stopped laughing, like he was confused. But he didn’t seem to care too too much.
“Who’s on this phone then?” said Liam.
“It’s a recording,” said the robot.
“How’d you know I would talk about all these things?” said Liam.
“I have amazing instincts,” said the robot.
“That true?” said Liam. His voice was louder now, like he was speaking into the phone.
Connor was looking at Jake incredulous, like he was more scared of the robot now than he was of losing his job.
“Just say something like ‘I’m a recording gotcha bitch,’ or something,” said Jake.
Connor thought that might be a good idea, without the gotcha bitch segment.
Connor took a deep breath.
“This was just a recording Liam,” said Connor. Liam gasped. “Gotcha bitch!”
Connor couldn’t resist once it hit that point. It just felt like the right phrase. Liam started to laugh on the other line. They heard robot them laughing on the other line along with him.
“Connor I just might give you a raise for that one,” said Liam. Then the phone cut off.
Connor sat down next to Jake. His throat was sore too, but he wasn’t quite as sick as Jake.
“All right maybe the robot wasn’t so bad an idea,” said Connor.
“Yeah, I’m smarter than you are,” said Jake. Connor was annoyed, since they’re twins, and have the same intellectual capabilities. Jake wiped his nose and turned to HBO Go. “Let’s catch up on Game of Thrones.”
| 2015-05-27T08:45:20 | 2015-05-27T08:05:29 | 91 | 13 |
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence. | I wake up. I get coffee. I go to work. I talk to clients. I get lunch. I get gas. I wait at red lights. I wait at green lights. I drink water. I park my car. I finish work. I go back to car. I get home. I kiss my wife and kids.. | Ah, the time is 7 P.M. That nice lady from down the corridor is coming. Good old Nora Penny-Freen always visits me right at that time. I always remember her coming, but I can't remember much before I went to nice place I have now. I just remember being important. Why do I think that? Because I remember the word beta, and I know for a fact that means I was a beta tester in my past, or I was some military person, and I was the beta series after the alpha series. I remember the people who live with me are all oddballs. Some of them just sit there watching a wall. Some others just watch a man named Ben go, and scream whenever they see him. Bunch of nutballs. I can't remember, did I have any friends? What is this scene I always see in my head when I sleep? I can't focus that well after Nora comes by my room, but everyday I always see the same scene in my sleep every night. Some young people are crying. Some old people are also crying. So many tears. Why are they crying? I look towards another man who has red eyes. He seems to look down on me. He walks towards me. His eyes. So red. I'm not afraid though. Why? He's close to me. He's eye to eye to me. Why aren't I scared of him? He looks me in the eye, and starts talking.
"Don't worry dad they will take good care of you here." | 2015-06-12T23:55:01 | 2015-06-12T23:45:19 | 70 | 42 |
[WP] Tell a story that appears to be horror but shifts to a completely different genre after reading the final sentence. | Henry always knew he was different. His thoughts were colder than others, calculating, efficient, and ruthless. He didn't care that he cared less for others; that their pain was a reminder of his passions. It wasn't as if they didn't deserve what they had coming to them. Besides, he liked hearing the screams at night. It made his day. And the night has a way of sharpening the acoustics of a scream, and he loved the way it would echo back into his ears.
He replayed the sounds over and over. It created a sensation of glee that he only found in the act. On those special nights it would play it out the same way. It was his ritual. He lit his candles and sharpened his mangled blade. He put on his bloodied mask and tattered clothing, allowing his usually enjoyable demeanor to settle into his hidden persona.
How had he kept his secret away from so many others, for so long? He was quite good at hiding it, holding a smile, relaying small talk, telling a joke or two. He was quite charming to those around him. That's why no one suspected. And it was of no worry if someone did find out. Those that stumbled across his path hardly had the precious moments to flee, let alone discover his identity. He reveled in this thought. He had kept it so well contained.
He peaked through the broken slats of the decaying window and perked his ears to the sound of his approaching victims. They always came. Especially the young ones. They simply couldn't resist the terrible tales of legend. It was all too easy. He waited for the right night and they would come to him, and tonight, they were already there and they were young.
Their footsteps pricked the hair on his neck and set his heart racing. His love for their terror was perverse and he knew it. He fantasized day and night of their horrible faces, frozen in gruesome, animalistic display. After all... it was his passion, why shouldn't he enjoy it thoroughly. He held his breath and raised his blade. The door opened and the two teens walked in. They never saw him coming and they never would. His blade flashed and the two teens voices rose in terror.
Outside, a grotesque clown queued a throng of customers. "Step right up folks! Welcome to the haunted horror house. That'll be five dollars..." | "Whatever you do, *don't split up*," Mark said, shining his flashlight over the faces of his friends.
Marley's broken both of her legs and Jennifer had gone missing, but they couldn't turn back. Something was out there hunting them and they needed to find help... or they'd never see daylight again.
"Bro, help me lift Mar. We've got a few miles to go before we reach the main road and I don't want to give whatever it is out there a chance to catch up to us," Mark said, squatting over with one hand on Marley's shoulder and the other under her thigh.
Trevor was too deep in a state of shock to respond verbally, but he shook his head up and down before squatting into a lifting position.
"We won't leave you here Marley," Mark said, trembling from adrenaline. "I promise."
Mark counted to three and the two of them lifted Marley in unison. She screamed and cried out loud until passing out from the pain. Her body temperature began to drop, lips turning blue and face pale white.
"Dude, somethings wrong. We have to stop walking. Marley doesn't look so good," Mark said, gesturing for Trevor to stop walking... but Trevor wasn't listening. "Bro, I said STOP WALKING!," Mark said, now yelling at his best friend. "She's losing too much blood! We have to stop and cover the wound!"
Mark didn't know this but it wasn't Marley bleeding out that was causing her rampant descent into death, but rather the circulatory problem from the snapped tibia's that protruded through her flesh.
The sound of knives sharpening and chains rattling could be heard nearby.
"Fuck you guys," Trevor yelled, letting go of Marley and dashing off into the forest.
The sound of Marley's shins could be heard fraying and snapping as Mark and her fell to the ground.
Trevor was running for his life at this point, sprinting like a rabbit being chased by a pack of dogs.
*WHOOSH!*
A chain flew through the air and a dagger stabbed directly into the back of Trevor, dropping him to the ground. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled with each footstep that got closer to Trevor, until the assailant gave the finishing blow to his head. *SHANK!*
"Marley, wake up! Please, you gotta wak-"
"Cut! No, stop. Stop what you're doing. I said STOP YOU FUCKING MORONS!," a man yelled in anger. His voice faded and became more faint with each step he took away from the set. "Why did I even sign up to direct this shitty horror film! The actors can't remember half their lines and I'm giving advice to the filming editor, Fuck!"
He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them on the side of his hand and unwrapped the plastic off the box.
"I can't take this anymore," he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a drag. "I know I promised you that I wouldn't give up on the kid, but he's driving me insane, Lucy. I miss you more than anything in the world... and I'd give anything to hear your voice one more time."
 
*****
*****
I'm in the process of writing a novel titled, ['The Magistrate and the Magpie'](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdenRenellaJones/comments/3ivsvj/the_magistrate_and_the_magpie_prologue/). I decided to write it on reddit so fans can fallow along and participate in the beta-read! So think about subscribing and keep an eye out for the next post! | 2015-08-30T22:03:31 | 2015-08-30T21:53:59 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] As the batwing flew from the batcave, it killed two parent bats, leaving a little bat orphaned. He vowed revenge. Thus, Batbat was born.
Edit: oopsy daisy, almost forgot to add the link from where I got the idea: imgur.com/gallery/T9Z1u
Thanks for everyone in this thread, this really blow up | Batman stood on the top of a building, looking down at Gotham. Shattering glass broke the calm of the night. A siren blared.
Batman leapt from the building, gliding towards the noise, justice held up by a midnight black cape.
The bad men looted the store and stepped out into the night, as dark as their hearts. A whirring sound. One man fell, the other ran. Down the sidewalk, ducking into an alley. A dead end.
Payday was coming and there was no escape.
The bad man turns to the Bat, gun drawn and then gone. Knocked from his hand by a batarang.
"What are you?" yelled the bad man
"I'm...ow ow ow" said Batman, waving his arms around in the air.
The bad guy watched him "What are you"
Batman swatted at the bat the was nipping at his ears.
"I'm just going to..." the bad guy left.
...
Joker paced in front of his hostages. This would be his funniest joke yet. They'd be laughing it for weeks.
But it was too early for the punchline. The audience wasn't all there. Joker closed his eyes, waiting for that much wanted sound. The Bad descending.
There it was.
"Let them go"
Joker opened his eyes.
"Hello Bats"
"I...ow shit fuck"
"Uhm..." said Joker
Batman put a hand to his neck "Ow, a fucking bat bit me"
"You should probably get a rabies shot Bats"
"I know how bats work"
...
The Batman stood watching his city. It was quiet. Too quiet. He wanted it to be loud. He wanted to tune out the chaos in his mind.
He glided down to the bat mobile.
It was covered in bat shit.
"Oh come on" | Someone once said that they were born into darkness, molded by it. That they didn't see the light until they were full-grown, and once they had all it was was blinding.
That person didn't have to get around using echolocation.
All that charading about darkness, just for a guy who was born in prison. I was born *in a cave,* thank you very much, and a cave in the middle of nowhere no less. I was born as the only child in a family, and now I'm the only survivor. I was born without flight, totally prone, and once I had learned flight, everything else in my life came crashing down.
It was just an average evening, my parents rousing for the night so they could go search for food. I had been awake for a little while myself, because call it a hunch, call it childish paranoia, or call it bat's intuition, but I just had the worst feeling about something happening on this frigid night. I'd felt rumblings elsewhere in the cave, which were typical, but these tremors somehow felt downright sinister. I couldn't put my feet on why that was, but I just *knew.*
The rumblings got worse, from far deeper in the cave, but my still-awakening parents didn't seem to notice much. You know how everyone is when they first wake up in the evening. Feel like you've been sleeping right side up instead of upside down, all that.
It all happened so fast after that, I can hardly even describe it to you accurately. The whole cave started shaking though, and my parents were just readying to swoop down and fly off. They did, and then like a phantom, something much, much bigger shot by, on its way right out of the cave and into the sunset sky.
I heard a sickening thud, and that was the last I'd hear my parents. Whatever it was, that giant, flying... whatever it was, that demonic creation just rammed my parents at full force and flung them right out of the cave. If they didn't die from the first impact (unlikely; bats aren't known for their sturdy bone structure), they'd surely perish in the massive fall below.
I was only weeks old, almost ready to start really hunting for myself, but now I was thrown into a whole different world. I was independent by default now, and whatever lessons my parents had yet to teach me, I'd have to learn on my own (and without dying in the process).
As for whoever killed my parents, just stole their lives before you could say 'bat,' well, I'm going to have to teach them a lesson myself. They stole what was left of my childhood (a whole week, probably!), and I'm going to have to do everything in my power to steal something back of theirs.
I too was born into darkness, molded by it, and I swear on my parents, I will echolocate whoever did this and show them what the darkness can really do. | 2016-01-23T08:39:42 | 2016-01-23T07:20:53 | 122 | 85 |
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make. | !!CALL ME BEFORE YOU READ THIS!!
10 years ago today, I got a package delivered to me. There wasn't a return address, and I didn't order anything. Perhaps foolishly, I opened it anyway.
Inside was a leather-bound book, and every page was blank, except the first page. The first page said "keep this book and read it daily."
I thought it was kind of odd, so I kept it, and the next day I opened it up. I flipped past the first page and discovered the second page now had something written on it. It simply said "Call in sick today." I had some sick time to burn, and it was a nice day, so why not? Why not indeed! That evening I learned an airplane had crashed into my work, killing almost everyone. I looked at the book so innocently sitting on my coffee table, and wondered.
And so the years went by. Most days there wouldn't be anything new, but sometimes it would prompt me to make some choice that I wouldn't normally make. Taking my car to the mechanic when nothing was wrong with it (gas was leaking onto my brakes, somehow), or taking a vacation to the beach (met my wife!).
My life is a million times better than I ever expected it to be! I'm well off, I own my home outright, I have a loving wife and two beautiful children. The book has never steered me wrong.
But if you're reading this, then the book has led me wrong. Last week I opened the book and it said "Buy a pistol." I did. And this morning it said "Kill your wife as she sleeps. Do not let her wake."
I couldn't do it. I can't do it. I won't do it. I pray the book is wrong. I don't know what is going to happen, but that's why I'm writing this letter and mailing it to you. I sincerely hope we'll laugh about this in a week. If not? Tell mom I love her. | I've always been ambitious. Even as a little kid, I always wanted to be the best in the class, the star of the show, the captain of the soccer team. For the most part, my drive to succeed has treated me well. No one but a teacher's pet knows the shit that I got away with in middle school and high school.
In college, I used every resource that I could to do well. I became friends with older students to get access to their old tests. I became a regular at my professors' office hours. I worked part-time in a research lab, giving up my free time to become the best applicant that I could.
"It's worth it." I told myself. "Once I'm accepted to medical school, I'll be happy." I knew that happiness was earned with hard work and sacrifice.
Flash forward to graduation. My cap and gown are garnished with honors cords and medals of achievement. I've been accepted to a prestigious medical school. I tell myself that it's finally happening. I'm living my dream.
A few days later, I unwrap my graduation presents. There's one tiny box without a card or a note attached. I open it, curious. Inside is a beautiful watch. I put it on and admire how it looks on my wrist. As I watch the delicate second hand tick, tiny script appears on the watch face.
"Welcome to happiness!" As I read the miniscule writing, the words are replaced.
"Don't forget to write thank-you notes!"
Though it seems a little weird, I know that I should follow the watch's advice. I send out my thank yous the next day. Over the next week, the watch continues to give me sound advice. It tells me to call my grandma, to be kind to the checkout girl, where to find my sister's lost toy. I follow the watch's instructions because they seem harmess enough. I soon notice that the watch is helping me out. When it tells me to take a different route to my summer job one day, a massive accident occurs on my usual route. The watch reminds me of the felix felicis potion from Harry Potter. Every choice I make is the right choice.
By the time I go away to medical school, I've become very attached to the watch. Over four years of medical school, my lucky watch leads me in a new direction. My hypercompetitiveness is all but gone. I still study hard, but I've learned to value things other than achievement. My new outlook (and my watch) find me life-long friends and a great relationship. After four years, I'm happier than I've ever been. I originally thought that medical school would lead me into ground-breaking research in a lucrative field, but I decide to pursue oncology and become a specialist for cancer patients in an underserved rural area.
My life doesn't follow the path that I originally mapped out, but I am happy. Over the years, I stop looking at the watch regularly. I only consult it for big decisions.
After decades of happiness, I think back on all the "difficult" decisions that I've made. Many of my former classmates are now powerful and famous. I could have been one of them, but I don't regret anything. I've lived a happy, fulfilling life. | 2016-05-05T07:56:19 | 2016-05-05T07:04:45 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] You accidently discharge your firearm into the television. Much to your surprise, instead of shattering the glass, it passes right through and hits one of the characters on screen. | "Shit!"
I let out a panicked cry as my pistol fired. Never again will I clean my pistol out without checking the chamber. The sound that my gun made would've disturbed the neighbors, so I'd better go and make sure that the bullet didn't actually hit anybody.
I got up off my old couch. A quick survey of the room shows me nothing unusual. I check the room again. Surely it had to have landed somewhere in here. I find nothing similar to a bullet shaped hole in the room. I look back to my pistol, currently resting atop the coffee table in front of my couch. Maybe I shot a blank? But I don't recall ever buying blanks. I scratch my head and sit down on the couch, confused. While I'm lost in thought, a line from the television catches my interest.
"-the President has been shot!"
My attention now completely focuses on the television. I look at the screen, watching the events unfold.
"Stop the car. I repeat, President Kennedy has been shot... I repeat..." The television repeats the same or similar lines over and over. Slumped over on his seat is, President Kennedy. Leaning over him while wailing for help is his wife. The other two in the car are presumably his bodyguards, currently looking around for the shooter.
This was supposed to be the history channel... right? If I'd recalled correctly, Kennedy was assassinated by a sniper. But... There was something unnerving me. I looked at my pistol, then at the T.V. screen. Something that wasn't there before was on the glass. A small, bullet sized hole, perfectly lined up on the screen where Kennedy had been shot.
It had to be a coincidence...
Right? | I raised the stolen .44 Magnum to the unsuspecting man on the couch. His hairy legs were propped up on the mess of a coffee table, a similarly hirsute hand carelessly shoved cheese balls into his mouth. The Price is Right boomed from the television set. It was time for this abusive son-of-a-bitch to die.
My scrawny teenage hands wrapped around the revolver as I lifted it up, positioning it to take my father from behind.
I was uncertain of my skill, but certain of what needed to be done -- I needed to kill the murderer of my mother with his very own weapon.
“YouTube videos, don’t you fail me now…” A spiteful mutter escaped my lips and I squeezed the trigger.
A loud bang was instantaneously followed by the dreaded “what the fuck?!” I immediately fumbled with the firearm, readying the next bullet. “Shit, shit, shit!” Once again, I lifted up the gun and desperately prayed that this would be the last time that I would be using it. Expecting a livid man charging at me, I was dumbfounded to find my father staring at the television screen.
Something was off. There was a puzzling absence of the spider web of broken glass on the television display, and the Price is Right was still playing. However, instead of the usual artificial cha-chings, there were bloodcurdling screams. The show's camera was now abandoned and stationary at one angle -- a close-up of a woman on a brightly-coloured podium with a large "1600" on a digital panel. She was sprawled back with a crimson hole in her chest, her white blouse now decorated with a nauseating red pattern.
Behind the corpse was pure chaos of frenzied shorts-and-vacation-shirt-wearing middle-aged people fleeing the crime scene. Did…did I do that? My heart raced and my hands shook. I felt the gun slipping through my sweaty palms. All I could do was watch on as the grotesque footage of medical personnel tending to my accidental victim played before me.
“I see you have found the revolver.” My father’s words startled me, but what caught me off guard was an unnatural calmness in his voice. He eyed the damned gun, tucked awkwardly in the youthful hands of its wrongful owner as a brittle smile formed on his weary face. A million questions raced through my throbbing head.
“You have found the cursed revolver, a weapon of mass destruction and immeasurable power. It is now bound to you for eternity, meaning that you are obliged to satiate its hunger with regular innocent bloodshed in order to prevent global pandemonium. Unless…”
Tears of confusion welled up in my eyes. I have never wanted to throw something out of the window so badly before.
This was the first time I had witnessed him shed a tear or even show any sign of human remorse. My old man sputtered the next few words out with distinct difficulty, “unless you kill the one you love…”
| 2016-09-07T08:08:25 | 2016-09-07T07:38:39 | 1,215 | 257 |
[WP] Five years ago a young man went down into the haunted mines, promising to clear it of evil. Today he emerged, covered in ancient armour stained with the blood of unimaginable horrors, glowing of magic. He demands we dig deeper. | The president rubbed his temples. "So you're telling me," he said, "that you're still not done?"
Wild-eyed, Gavin took off his golden helmet and replied, "Yup!"
"Goddamnit, Gavin," the president groaned.
"No, but listen!" Gavin said. "There's like, SO much more evil than I was thinking. I figured like a quest or two but holy shit dude our world is built on lies."
"Lies like what?"
"Lies like God," Gavin said. "We, uh, we gotta kill 'im." The president stared.
"You're kidding," he said.
"Nah, I wish." Gavin attempted to scratch his ass and almost got his gauntlet caught in the breeches again. "He's like way deep in there and he's kind of a prick."
"Well I knew that already."
"Right, so I'm gonna need some backup. And more shovels."
The president made a sour face, but picked up his red phone gingerly. "Fine," he said, "I'll have them to you by Sunday."
"Dope." Gavin looked around the Oval Office, smiling lightly. "Love what you've done with the place, by the way." | It has been over 50 years since he returned to us. A young boy, barely turned man, and badly equipped sank out of sight as he marched to what would surely be his end. After the first year, we had lost hope of his return. By the third he was all but forgotten. However, that day on the fifth year changed everything. At first we thought him a beast, let loose from the chains of that awful place, come to consume us in rage and wrath. As the horned helmet lifted, we beheld in awe the eyes staring back at us. Human, but more they were. Bathed in a light so powerful it saw through everything before it. Some knelt in front of him on the spot. He hefted his monstrous blade as dark energies swirled around the runes etched the length of it. He held it high, and he spoke. A voice deep rumbling, soothing, but somehow it awoke something deep within us. This was not a speech, it was a call.
"I have returned to you. I once promised to rid the mine of its horrors, but now I have come to know the truth. The mine is not a terror, it is a path, a challenge. I come back no longer a man. I am far far more. The mine tempered me, cleansed me! You could not begin to dream how I see and experience this world, but you don't have to. Once the terrors of the mine flooded out into our lands. We were a feast for monsters and horrors to reap. Now I call to you, for it is our turn. The deeper a man goes, the more he becomes. We will sweep into the mine as a horde! We will feast on their power! And at the end, in the deepest abyss, you will see the world in the way I do, and you will be more.
The old man looked up from the fire, and the others listening caught their breath. Light blazed back from that gaze, intensity that brought a feeling deep within them. A hunger ignited in every person there, a need to be more. The old man smiled and lifted a finger,
"The mine awaits children. Go forth and become more!"
Their belongings forgotten, the young men and women marched into the darkness, following a path laid out once long ago. The old man watched them vanish into the night, for he knew that one day they would return. | 2016-11-25T12:48:29 | 2016-11-25T12:46:33 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] "This is not my job! This is the exact opposite of my job!" screamed the grim reaper as the human went into labour.
Inspired by a post I saw on the internet about the grim reaper in sims in the same situation.
edit: Holy Thread Batman! did not expect this to blow up at all.
edit 2:So many good stories I can't keep up! really warms my heart that the community accepted this prompt. | I have traveled the world since the beginning of time. I have seen empires rise and fall.
I was there when Cain slew his brother, and in the crowd watching the crucifixion. I walked in the Valley of Dry Bones and watched the churning waters swallow the world below the Ark.
In the 12th century, I rode with the Crusaders into the holy land, and also became a close friend of Genghis Khan. In the 14th century, I swept across Europe with the rats, watching half the population writhe in pox-ridden death throes.
I walked the trenches of World War I and visited the starving families at home. Twenty years later, when the bombs fell over Stalingrad, I rowed along the Volga River. Every night I slept with the prisoners at the death camps. On D-Day I waded through the red water towards the beach. I dove from planes and erupted in mushrooms of fire over Japan.
In 1955 I visited Vietnam. After 1986 I lingered in Ukraine before finally turning my gaze towards Syria.
You would think that little affects me anymore and that my skin has grown thick enough. But when I look at the woman before me, screaming in pain, with nobody to help her, there is something inside my hollow black cloak that aches. This isn’t my job.
I want to hold the hands of old people as they take their final breaths. I want to comfort the grandparents that their children will take care of the world. I want to stroll along graveyards and drift through the geriatrics wing of the hospital, not visit the delivery rooms.
But nobody else is here. I sigh and lean down over the woman. Next time I see her, I guess we’ll share a bottle of pills or stare down the edge of a roof. This isn’t my job.
The room is silent except for the muffled cries of the woman. Her arms are wrapped tightly around an unmoving bundle. This shouldn’t be my job.
*****
[/r/Lilwa_Dexel](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/5foev0/welcome/) | It had been so long since his world changed. Dying has a certain scent, a certain feeling to it that was timeless. It made everything the same, as if time had stopped.
This was different though. Time raced and he was out of his element. The house shook from the wind. The bottles rolled and clinked. The old dying scent left. The woman was screaming. She was bursting.
"Help me! Please fucking help me! I don't care what you say. You have to help!"
She knew who he was. They always know him when he comes. However he looks, that old feeling follows and everyone knows what it is even if they have never experienced it before.
"He's coming!"
He knelt and told her to open her legs.
"Breathe!" he said.
He wondered if he had ever uttered those words before. He was scared. He wanted it to be over.
"Push."
The stuggle was intense. The woman was seating. She nearly fell off the couch. He kicked the wine glasses aside and one broke as it rolled. There was no electricity and the shadows were hungry, eating the dying light.
"Help me!"
She was weak. Her eyes were dead but for this last fight.
"I have never done this before," he said.
"Then fucking do it now!"
He knelt like a catcher. He knew where the baby would come from and that was a start.
"Push then! Push with all your life!"
She did. The world was full of painful grunts and then quiet and then the wind. He did not breathe, Death, but he held his breath nonetheless. Then there were cries and the world was filled with someone new.
He held the baby and looked at it. The baby recognized him, same as anyone else, and he stroked its head. It could hardly move, the child, and its life would be hard. His mother had done too much damage.
*Perhaps it would be best...*
"No!" she screamed. "No! Hand him to me! He isn't yours."
He handed the child over and she held him. It was not his position to decide these things. She looked at her son and her life flashed once more, soaking in the baby's existence, connecting for the first and last time.
"I love you," she said. "You look like a Jamie."
"No one will know his name," he said.
The old scent was returning and time had begun to slow.
She looked at him. She held the baby tighter, almost hurting him. She let go.
"Will they find him?"
"I will not find him for some time."
She was crying. He never regretted his job, but it was never easy.
"I'm a failure," she said. "I'm a drunk and a junkie. It'll all fall onto him. It'll fall to Jamie."
"You can always start anew," he said. "The child has not started yet."
She put the baby on the couch and stroked his face. She looked up at Death. She had met him before in her life. They had passed each other, always close, but never near enough. This time was different. He held out her hand.
"I will miss him," she said.
"I know," Death said.
He led her out of the house and the night had fallen. The winds grew strong and cold and the dark disquiet fell amongst the dilapidated houses that dotted that stretch. Only the crying of the baby remained. | 2017-01-31T03:58:12 | 2017-01-31T03:38:29 | 895 | 96 |
[WP] In the year 2557, you're an expert starship designer. You answer commissions from all over the universe for all kinds of ships, from huge warships to cheap, slow freighters. One day, you get a call from a government agent. He asks for a ship unlike any you've ever designed before. | "Well, I don't think I can really do that sort of thing, sir. What you describe is more than a little illogical," I said to the agent.
"Listen, I need a ship that can travel at 343c, and it needs to have its engines alligned in cylinders placed above an engineering hull, connected to a crew hull at the front," said the agent.
"I can't change the laws of physics, sir. But if you can give me a sketch, I can try my best."
The agent sent me a small file of a picture of the starship he wanted, with some notes scribbled on the metapic layer.
For the next few weeks this project vexed me immensely. The design made no sense whatsoever. He wanted warp drive, space shuttles, crew compartments, and barely any space was allocated to propellant storage. But he was to pay me twice the cost to build it, so I figured no matter the price, it was worth it.
I dealt with shady reactor dealers, metallurgy experts, and held weekly meetings with my Brain Trust of physicists, engineers, and designers to figure it out.
By week 9, all of my other projects were put on hold. I was working full time on the Agent's project. I had to make concessions on design elements to make the ship function without spinning out of control or falling apart at the slightest hint of spacewarp.
Finally after three months the design was finalized, and I set my fabricator robots to work to assemble the design. Printing the precise components took three weeks, and another two months for assembly. I've built sublight colony ships faster than this.
Finally the ship was built, and the Agent arrived to my shipyard. He handed me the sketch he'd drawn, framed, and told me I did a great job. He and his crew boarded the ship, and took her out slowly. After so many weeks of tedium, this was my proudest achievement. Just before the ship jumped to spacewarp, he broadcasted on hailing channels: "Space, The Final Frontier."
I looked down at the sketch, which looked like [this](http://img06.deviantart.net/645c/i/2009/215/2/b/u_s_s__enterprise___sketch_by_koshifuruyoru.jpg). "...These are the voyages..."
I looked back at the photograph of the ship, and realized I never actually asked for its name. "Of the [Starship Enterprise](http://markusglanzer.deviantart.com/art/To-boldly-go-650743743). To boldly go where no one has gone before."
I started laughing when I realized what I had just built. | "I know sir...I, sir... I know... okay. Okay, sir, I will do my best... I will get the new design to you in a few days... yes... yes, it will be much better...okay sir. Goodbye."
I hung up the phone and let out a long sigh. This client has been giving me headaches all week.. If he wasn't offering to pay so much, I would have said no. He was a complete nightmare to work with. I had submitted a new design to him weekly for the past 3 months and none were good enough. Just then, the phone rang.
"I need a ship." an unknown voice spoke before I could even say 'hello'.
"Okay," I responded, "well I would be happy to work with you. Would you like to set up a meeting to discuss your ship and.."
"I need a completely undetectable ship." He said abruptly. "This ship is to be constructed within 65 days. It needs to be able to avoid all known forms of detection technologies, must be able to carry at least 15,000 kg of cargo, and manned by a crew no larger than 10."
I stared blankly for a moment.
"Well then," I began tentatively, "We should set up a meeting for tomorrow if you truly want to begin production so quickly. May I have your name sir?"
"Agent 02311. I will arrive tomorrow at 8:00 AM sharp. We will meet alone." *Click*
My mind raced.. Agent 02311.. what sort of ship was this going to be. *We will meet alone*...it wasn't so much a suggestion as it was a command. The call had come from an unknown number... I decided it would be better to just meet with him.. if he was someone sinister, going to the authorities could end worse for me than building the ship.
I stayed late at work that night. Sketching up a few designs and potential layouts of the ship. Some of the specifics were determined on the price. As well has what he meant by *undetectable*. That was much easier said than done. In the 400 years since space travel became normal, there were all sorts of detection technologies. Magnetic fields, wavelength detectors, laser reflection... each one was difficult to combat on their own. But building a ship that could avoid all of them would not be easy.
The next morning, the door of my small office opened precisely at 8:00 AM. 2 men entered, both in plain black suits. One immediately turned around, locked the door, and stood staring out at the street. The other approached me.
"I am Agent 02311. Let's discuss the ship." His tone conveyed this was to be a strictly business meeting.
"Okay, pleased to meet you. You may take a seat if you like. I would be happy to show you some designs I have sketched up, but first, if I may, I am curious as to why you require such a ship?" I knew it was probably unwise to ask such a question so early in the meeting, but I was dying to know.
"It is for a top secret government project called Operation Hornet. The government believes they have discovered a new element named H3113 that is of great importance. It is important we are able to move a sample of this element back to Earth where we can perform additional tests. It is important no other systems discover what we are researching."
I sat, blank for a moment. I was surprised he had chosen to divulge all of this to me so quickly. I had a nagging suspicion that choosing to go against his wishes would not end well.
"Okay," my voice cracked slightly as I spoke, "let's get started." | 2017-02-17T08:26:27 | 2017-02-17T07:48:11 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | "Alright, listen very carefully," Charlie grumbled, the words odd in his mouth. "We may not have much time. There's a man, a nefarious persona, who comes here every morning. He has no business here, yet he walks on our lawn, and fiddles with the paper contraption." Charlie paused, his dark eyes silent in reflection, recalling words he'd picked up in his six-year life. "Mailbox, you call it."
I had to suppress a nervous laugh. "Oh, the mailman, you mean?"
"He goes by many names," Charlie said darkly. "His deeds are dark, and so is his smell." Charlie sniffed. "This is a conspiracy of the highest order, boss."
My girlfriend and I exchanged amused glances before I turned back to the dead-serious golden retriever. "Charlie, all he does is deliver letters to us. Words on paper from other people. Packages."
"The man is evil," Charlie persisted in a gruff voice. Briefly distracted, he circled around, chasing his own tail. "An enemy! A fiend! The words he brings you are distractions, his eyes shine with biting intent!"
Anna giggled. "Poor Charlie," she said, "At least we'll always have you to protect us."
"My warning shouts have kept him at bay," Charlie acknowledged gruffly, "But I fear that next time his plans will-"
Suddenly his ears tensed up. "He's here!" He ran towards the door, jumping madly. "He's here! The time has come! It's upon us! Oh God of Infinite Petting, he'll bite us all-"
"Alright, that's enough Charlie," I grinned, moving to open the door. "Look, I'll introduce you to the man, okay? So you can see for yourself. Just behave."
"For the love of chewy objects, do not open the wall of protection!"
I ignored Charlie and opened the door, just in time to see the mailman, a jolly, uniformed man with a friendly face and a package under his arm.
"Morning, sir, would you mind telling my dog-"
"SIX YEARS I'VE WAITED FOR THIS!!" the mailman screeched, chucking the package through the doorway.
"Noooo!" Charlie howled, trying in vain to intercept the package.
Too late his voice returned to the bark that had kept the mailman at bay, all these years. "Noowwoof! Woof!"
"What the fu-" was all I could mutter before the package exploded, obliterating the house and everything in it. | "Alright, listen very carefully," Shinzo said. My ears raised up like his would at the sound of sausages hitting his bowl. Naturally I listened.
"You have two minutes to escape before your roommate comes home and kills you. I've been watching him for weeks and he's been planning your murder down to the smallest detail. Believe me, the cops won't even know who did it."
I swallowed dry saliva.
"Why would he kill me!" I yelled to my dog. The canine sat unworried on his hindlegs and looked at me with his big brown dog eyes.
"There's no time," he stood up and barked. "The best way out is through the balcony!"
"Shit!" my heart started racing. I ran over to the balcony door and slid it open. "Well come on let's go!"
"No. This is my fate," he said. I turned back to get him but his growl stopped me, "we have watched each other grow and have shared many things together. But I'm tired of running. I have lived a double life for too long now and I'm old and sick. Go on without me, friend. I will miss you... You have about 30 seconds......"
The questions mounted in my head. All I wanted was to hear my dog speak and maybe have a conversation with him. Now I was torn between the decision to leave my dog--my friend--to whatever fate awaited him and taking him with me to an uncertain life. What to do?
"GO!" he barked louder and meaner than I've ever heard him! I teared up, slid the door open and jumped out the balcony from the second floor.
As I ran out towards the street I saw my roommate's car pull up and park. He got out and walked decisively towards the apartment. The tears ran down my face now. I stopped. I couldn't leave my best friend all alone. Whatever was going to happen I'd defend him even if it meant my life.
I sprinted up the stairs and saw the apartment door half opened. I burst through ready to fight for both our lives. My roommate sat there stunned ready to swing. I lunged towards him ready to punch him out and save my friend. Just then Shinzo jumped from behind the counter and knocked both of us to the ground and ran towards the door.
"Haha, later suckers!"
Both of us sat up and looked at each other.
"What the hell man!" he said.
"What the hell with you!" I shot back.
"Dude did Shinzo just talk?" he asked.
"Yeah and he said you're planning my murder!" My roommate sat with a confused contorted look on his face. Just then I realize I've been duped.
Both of us get up and shoot for the door. And standing at the top of the stairs is Shinzo with what I imagine to be a grin on his big dog Collie face, taunting us to go after him. So we do. And as we're running after him all down the green hill behind the apartments I'm yelling out.
"What the hell dog! What are you doing?!"
And yelling from behind he keeps barking, "I live a quarter of what you live, and we never have fun anymore! You're always working! Come on chase me a little, let's have some fun!"
In that second, all anger for my dog melted away and I remembered the joy of having such a pure friendship. My roommate kept running after him happier than I've ever seen him.
"Dude, Shinzo is talking! That's so awesome!"
"Yeah I am awesome! So chase me assholes! Bet you can't catch me!"
We chased him and eventually caught up with him and for the little time we had we talked. For all three of us that was the best day of our lives.
| 2017-02-23T07:06:25 | 2017-02-23T05:53:42 | 1,311 | 285 |
[WP] Scientists invented a pill that enables dogs to fully speak and understand English. It lasts for ten minutes, and will only work one time. You give a pill to your 12 year-old Border Collie, whom you've had since they were a pup. Your dog immediately says "Alright, listen very carefully..." | "Alright, listen very carefully," Charlie grumbled, the words odd in his mouth. "We may not have much time. There's a man, a nefarious persona, who comes here every morning. He has no business here, yet he walks on our lawn, and fiddles with the paper contraption." Charlie paused, his dark eyes silent in reflection, recalling words he'd picked up in his six-year life. "Mailbox, you call it."
I had to suppress a nervous laugh. "Oh, the mailman, you mean?"
"He goes by many names," Charlie said darkly. "His deeds are dark, and so is his smell." Charlie sniffed. "This is a conspiracy of the highest order, boss."
My girlfriend and I exchanged amused glances before I turned back to the dead-serious golden retriever. "Charlie, all he does is deliver letters to us. Words on paper from other people. Packages."
"The man is evil," Charlie persisted in a gruff voice. Briefly distracted, he circled around, chasing his own tail. "An enemy! A fiend! The words he brings you are distractions, his eyes shine with biting intent!"
Anna giggled. "Poor Charlie," she said, "At least we'll always have you to protect us."
"My warning shouts have kept him at bay," Charlie acknowledged gruffly, "But I fear that next time his plans will-"
Suddenly his ears tensed up. "He's here!" He ran towards the door, jumping madly. "He's here! The time has come! It's upon us! Oh God of Infinite Petting, he'll bite us all-"
"Alright, that's enough Charlie," I grinned, moving to open the door. "Look, I'll introduce you to the man, okay? So you can see for yourself. Just behave."
"For the love of chewy objects, do not open the wall of protection!"
I ignored Charlie and opened the door, just in time to see the mailman, a jolly, uniformed man with a friendly face and a package under his arm.
"Morning, sir, would you mind telling my dog-"
"SIX YEARS I'VE WAITED FOR THIS!!" the mailman screeched, chucking the package through the doorway.
"Noooo!" Charlie howled, trying in vain to intercept the package.
Too late his voice returned to the bark that had kept the mailman at bay, all these years. "Noowwoof! Woof!"
"What the fu-" was all I could mutter before the package exploded, obliterating the house and everything in it. | "Alright, Listen VERY carefully, I've been trying to tell you this for months now, but there is something very dangerous lurking in the back yard. It's been stalking you for months, unseen, unheard by you and apparently.. and this is something I can't understand, unSMELLED by you. I love you human, but you've got to take this threat very seriously because it's going to strike now that it knows that you know that it's there. Please, let me out into the backyard and stay indoors until I scrape the window with my paw."
And with that, I let Mary out into the backyard, she immediately started sniffing around and growling as she always did when she was out doing her business. But this time, it gave me chills.
I got my dads old shotgun that I'd saved in case a bear or something ever came around. Sure I wasn't living in the sticks, but I wasn't exactly in the city either. The possibilities flitted through my mind, one more worse than the other. I loaded a couple of shells into it, cocked it and felt slightly more secure, I hadn't fired the thing in ages, but I still remember my instructors words "always keep your hand off the trigger until you're ABSOLUTELY sure you're going to fire at something"
But my trigger finger itched. Mary still hadn't come back after five minutes, so I decided to start looking for her. The underbrush was dense and the trees were pressing in on me from all sides.
I found her in a clearing a few minutes later, frantically digging at something in the ground, I kept my shotgun down towards the ground and slowly walked forward. The moon faintly illuminated the clearing as I got closer and closer to the growing mound of dirt that she was throwing up behind her, she was digging like mad and when she noticed me standing next to her, she stopped and barked at me and gave me a long look. Apparently the pill had worn off.
I looked into the hole she'd produced, there wasn't anything special about it, just dirt... and .. nothing else. Mary kept digging for a while, but then seemed to perk her ears at something. I resisted the urge to point my shotgun towards the bush she was staring at. Then she started walking slowly towards the bush and she growled in a way I'd never heard her growl before. Before I knew it, she'd rushed into it barking like a madman and I yelled at her to stop, but she was well beyond listening to me at this point. I heard her rusting through the underbrush and then.. a sharp whining sound from her and after that, silence.
I went absolutely crazy, I stormed through the threes, brushing them aside, not caring how they tore the skin on my face and my arms. MY DOG WAS IN DANGER! was all that was going through my mind and I kept my shotgun at the ready, intent on blasting whomever had hurt my dog into the world beyond this one. When I finally caught up with Mary, she was lying on the ground and she seemed so small for some reason.. I looked down at her.. and that's when I heard a branch snap behind me.
Before I knew it, it had struck the first of many devious blows at me. My leg was lost, there wasn't anything I could do but try to maintain my composure as I heard it voice it's satisfaction at me by going "meow, meow, meoooww" as it playfully bit into my leg. Mary woke up and barked at it, I told her shush and despite her protests, this was the night that Mister Assassin-Mittens came into our lives.
Mary still pretends to hate it, but I can tell she's loving it when it makes it's bed on her back when she's sleeping in her bed. | 2017-02-23T07:06:25 | 2017-02-23T02:14:42 | 1,311 | 167 |
[WP] In a world of superheroes and super villians you are perhaps the most successful super villians ever. Your trick is that you don't wear any costume and as far as you know you aren't any superheroes radar. | "What did he look like?" shouted Illustrious Man at the bewildered woman who had seen the robbery.
The woman shivered, due to the cold and the fact that the greatest superhero in the city was screaming at her in a voice that could kill.
"He..." she paused, not knowing what to say. "He was wearing a hat. And gloves." She cowered under Illustrious Man's gaze, knowing that he didn't want to hear such useless information.
"Everyone in the city is wearing a hat and gloves! It's winter!" shouted Illustrious Man. He calmed down, finally realizing that the witness was scared, and would likely give him false information to escape him. He even flashed her an Illustrious smile."I'm sorry. But did he have any memorable features? Scars? Birthmarks? Tattoos? Was he tall? Short? Did he have odd eyes?"
The woman thought for a moment. "Well, he had brown hair, brown eyes, and looked roughly under six feet. I didn't see anything else on him." She smiled nervously.
Illustrious Man thought long and hard. There were at least ten thousand men who matched the description in this part of the city alone. This information was still unhelpful, and he would likely have to investigate the old-fashioned way. But the witness was scared, and it wouldn't do for one of his citizens to be scared of him. So he gave her another smile. "Thank you for your help," he said. "You may go.".
She thanked him and walked away, soon out of sight. Illustrious Man sighed as he headed into the bank. He would have to call his wife, tell her and the kids that he'd be late getting home.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, a brown-haired, brown-eyed, hat-wearing man who stood at 5'11 was carrying a ornately wrapped box. As he strode through the crowd, an office worker bumped him.
Right on cue, he went to the ground, dropping his box. "Watch it!" he yelled at the hapless mark. "That's a vase for my mother in there!".
He didn't need the money, not after his million dollar bank robbery. But he enjoyed testing his best superpower. He was...*the Nondescript.* | Well, it couldn't last forever. I've been living my life pretty happy, robbimg banks and freezing monuments. Nobody ever suspected me. I wasn't wearing a cool suit. How would I be able to convert mount Rushmor to ice so it would melt?
I've been calling myself "The Ice Finger of Death", not that anyone cared. It was frustrating not to get attention, but it was worth not getting jail time. Which I would. I destroyed a mountain. Ups and downs of dressing like a human with a human sense of fashion.
I made a gun that converts what it hits to ice. Then I heat it up, it melts. Simple.
Anyway, I was robbing this bank one day (money doesn't make itself), and I didn't ice the cashier quickly enough. He hit the silent alarm.
Oops.
I knew a superhero would come. I'd have my reveal. I'd probably end up in an asylum or something. Oh, well.
I stood near the vault enterance, awaiting my first battle. Thinking about it like that, I started feeling the buttrflies. A minute passed. The butterflies became the hibby jibbies. Where was my new nemesis?
A full four minutes passed, and my battle arrived. Police. The police arrived. I nearly screamed at them. Instead, I set Berg (my gun; like iceberg) to maximum spread, and a dozen of our city's finest were like victims of Medusa, except with an experation date.
I grabbed a police radio in one of the cars and declared into it: "This is the *super villain* robbing the bank at 22nd and fourth. I am *offended* by your treatment!"
Stood back next to the vault. And waited. This time battle took a mimute. And not *a* battle. *The* Battle. She was a good one, even as far as the good guys go. She could fly, and had super strength. Even telepathy. To add, she had four dead parental figures. What a rush.
Andrenalin was rushing. Blood was pumping. Ribs were straining to keep my heart within my chest. This was happening.
"Wasn't there supposed to be a super villain?"
I promised to myself then and there, I would be *showering* in tights. "I *am* the supervillain."
"But you're dressed like a normal human. Government standards declare all superhumans are-"
"I have killed fifteen people in the last ten minutes. Do I look like I care about government standards?"
"But if you aren't in a spandex, how would people know you aren't just a bank robber?"
I am burning my normal human clothes.
"I am the Ice Finger of Death. I-"
"The name's a bit much, isn't it?"
My eye began twitching. "It balances out with the lack of suit! Can we just battle?!"
She flew to above me, and dove down. I threw my ice grenade. It hit her foot and triggered, spwaning a sphere of ice, it's centre at the grenade. It covered her up to her thighs, making her a pretty funny looking Roly Poly.
"Sorry I can't chat. I'll leave you here to thaw. This much ice, your strength, I guess you'll be out in ten minutes? I'll see you around."
"Make yourself a super suit. Be a brand."
"I'll text you a picture."
Now I'm working on a suit. I, uh... may have a bit of a crush on The Battle. Don't tell. I'm planning to freeze a different bank on the same street. Wish me luck | 2017-07-23T06:47:27 | 2017-07-23T06:30:24 | 66 | 22 |
[WP] Aliens avoid the Sol System, not because of earth but because of what is under the ice of Europa. And humans just sent a probe to crack the ice. | Under Europa, a dark shadow sleeps.
The water roils as it shifts in the deeps.
Nameless, for those in the know dare not speak,
But the icy surface is monitored for any hint of a creak.
Wait, there! A small speck in the black,
Sent from the third world, to crack
Through the ice and peek down beneath,
At the ocean in its icy sheath.
As the watchers gasp, the vessel lands,
Settles, before it rises and stands,
Beginning to drill through the frozen world
To where the dread creature lies curled
A last ditch attempt, and First Contact is sent,
To warn the Earthlings of what they attempt,
But it is too late; the vessel breaks into the ice,
And light through the ocean does slice
The beam, though small and frail,
Glints in the gloom off the Creature's scale
It shifts waking in the gloom,
Begins to shift, begins to loom
It rises to the man-made beam,
Finds the weakness, finds the seam,
Presses and with a *crack*,
Erupts from Europa; The Dread Beast was back!
Oh Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!
The warning we had left with man
Yet they ignored it and so we fall,
For Great Cthulu the Dreamer rules above all! | Juno II landed softly.
*Thud.*
The faintest echo of its landing rang out in the quiet. Nothing heard it. Only us, sitting in that tiny station, jumped.
But all systems were still fine. The Juno II lander took a picture. There was a beep in a computer far away from us. And then another. A still shot, black and white, of a floor of all hard ice. And then another beep, as a color image pixelated onto our screen.
It looked exactly like ice on earth. It felt like the cold loneliness of winter. This was made all the more severe by its location on a cold lonely moon.
"There are some odd shadows in the ice," Justin pointed out. He wiped his fingers on his shirt. Then he pointed at the screen.
"See, here, here and here?" he said, "Odd."
Oily stains were left on the computer screen, where his shadows were said to be. We couldn't see them.
"I think we proceed anyway," I said, "all in favour?"
A unanimous chorus of ayes resounded throughout the room. It was done then. Only Justin did not speak. And when I entered the command for the nuclear reactor to be activated, he pursed his lips and frowned. He had seen things, he must have thought. We should have listened. But we didn't.
Pure white flames, luminous in their sheer heat, bore into the ice of Europa. The ice put up some resistance at first. But slowly, it cracked. It gave way and melted.
The probe sent back another image every few seconds throughout all these. We were all excited as the images filtered onto our computer.
But then something happened.
"We lost the signal to the Juno II," Justin said, "last image is coming through any minute now."
He had a glum look on his face but his eyes were lit up with the satisfied flame of a man who was about to say "I told you so". In hindsight, he had earned the right to say it. Especially to me.
A black and white picture came through at last. It had to be rendered over a dozen times before finally, we had an image we could see.
There was a dark shadow, one so dark it must have been a 0. There was nothing to be seen in that void of a thing. Razor sharp teeth, a bedazzling white 100, came through next. And then the probe had went down, evidently.
How could we, when we had only just started exploring space? None of the aliens had warned us. How could we have known not to melt the ice? How were we supposed to know those things laid in the icy depths of Europa?
We could not have known then. | 2017-09-17T09:20:33 | 2017-09-17T09:18:27 | 205 | 41 |
[WP] An arachnophobe discovers that they can communicate with spiders and attempts to negotiate some ground rules with the spiders living in their house. | For as long as I can remember, I've had nightmares of voices in the night.
Most of the time, in those awful terrors, I'd be woken up from sleep by hissing voices that asked strange questions. They'd come from above, beside, sometimes below. The strangest spots, wherever I slept, would seem to be the focal point of those voices. A corner of the room, directly behind the headboard, a spot above the ceiling fan.
Those voices sought me out in the dark of night, and their ends were as varied as their peculiarities. One chittered and clacked nervously in its pauses, as a man might click his tongue or tut-tut as he thought of what next to say. I have never forgotten that strange voice, as much for its peculiar habits for its inquiry. It had happened when I was a child... no more than ten. But it had stuck out like a sore thumb ever since.
"I've heard you..." *clack-clack* "Perhaps you might hear me, Fewer? Yes, I see..." A staccato of whistles and hisses had finally drawn my gaze to the spot above my headboard. I
"I see your two eyes, Fewer, even in the dark. You hear, and you fear. As do we, but the why for each lies opposed to the other. Are you the one we need, Fewer?" *clack-clack* "Are we the many you deserve? Word spreads like dew across a web, Fewer, and until this darkness I had thought you only a breeze upon a strand. A distraction, with no promise of sustenance."
I'd hid my head beneath the blankets, then, and in the years leading up to today had always thought it was like any nightmare others had described to me. To get away from the monsters in the night, one always hid in the embrace of comfort. It had been stuffy, almost suffocating, enveloped in those blankets even in the throes of winter, and I would have sworn I stayed in there for hours before finally feeling like the voice had gone.
But when I had peeked out from my shelter and gasped for the cold night air, an unmistakable silhouette had greeted me with those chitters and clacks.
Too many legs.
Too many eyes.
Hovering inches from my face, too solid not to stand out against the barely moonlit shadows of my room.
Its legs had danced, only for a moment, two holding it in place while the other six had waggled and flexed and rubbed together, before it whispered.
"So, as we fear your kind, you fear us? So might we learn from one another and weave a new web?"
I had crushed the thing between the blanketed balls of my fists and shuddered in my blankets until I was woken up by my mother, thinking only of how terrifying and tiring a dream it had been.
As I got older I started to think I was crazy, because I would hear those voices anywhere possible, from in the car to sitting in class with other kids.
The woods, especially, were full of them. So many different voices, so many different questions.
By sixteen I was an alcoholic, drinking to escape the voices I'd hear throughout the world.
When I was nineteen I was diagnosed with schizophrenia after my family staged an intervention, the drinking increasing so dramatically in the first year of university that I thought I'd cracked.
I'd drank myself into an ICU, a severe case of alcohol poisoning coupled with an overdose on a cocktail of pills, picked up off the side of the road in the nude as I screamed at a field about being no fewer and no less than anyone else.
Ever since, I've been dutifully taking my medicine. The voices seem dull, and far away, but they still echo on the edge of my hearing. Still so many different voices, and I can only imagine how many different questions.
But the quieter the voices become, the closer every spider gets to me. It's almost as though they emerge from every hiding place in an effort to creep toward me, and the nearer they are the louder those voices become.
I wake up too many nights to small, spindly legs climbing over my bedside and the whispered, "Fewer?"
Last week I asked one to name itself.
And it replied, "Of the above."
I asked what it wanted.
And it replied, "To hear your command, and have my hopes heard."
I told it for its kind to keep away from me and leave me alone, to stop making me feel crazy.
And it asked, "If we do, will you help us?"
So I asked what it wanted.
And it replied, "To ascend."
Then it drifted away, up to ceiling as if by an invisible thread.
I've not seen a spider since, and no voices have chased me. But I'm beginning to see more spider webs, and I think they are beginning to have messages. |
I think it’s important to note that jumping spiders not only have the ability to leap at your face while you’re sleeping, but they also have excellent eyesight that can even see in the ultraviolet spectrum. Of course these are all the evolutionary byproduct of a creature that hunts its prey, but more specifically are the cause of my worsening insomnia.
See the thing is I can respect web weaving spiders. They do their own thing for the most part, and their style is, for the most part, pretty laid back. Wait for their prey to come to them. And as a creature of immense size, in comparison, my fears of being ensnared are quite low. Though I will admit that there are few worse annoyances than running headfirst into a web. It’s like nails on a chalkboard for the sense of touch.
But jumping spiders, trap-laying spiders, net-casting spiders take their place in the grand relationship between humankind and beast for granted. After surviving for eons on their own accord, seemingly are incapable of understanding that humans now control their land, and would vastly prefer to occupy the space without their intervention.
In my head there seemed to be a few options, none of which were particularly appealing, but dealing with an encroaching horde requires swift action. These are creatures that have never left the physiological hierarchy of needs. These are creatures that will crawl up your sinus cavity if it means just one more fly snack. Will lay eggs in your tear duct and immediately eat their young right in front of you. Or so I would presume.
The most logical solution to an infestation would seem to be to cut them off at the sources. To completely seal every inch of the house from any foreign invader that wanted to enter. A hermetically sealed commode, since a moat was off the table. But the cost, maintenance and upkeep would be completely unsustainable. Let alone the difficulty of convincing a contractor that arachnaphobic tendencies warranted such a job to be discounted.
More difficult yet, but more feasible would have been to eliminate the house as a habitable hunting zone. To rid the house of all bugs and insects. But hunting spiders tend to be completely incapable of understanding when they have been bested, and would have just shifted to raiding the pantry. Developing a refined palate and inevitably would find the perfect moment to attack at any time a spoon or fork is lifted into the air.
I think something that’s even more important to note is how obstinate spiders are to the notion of compromise. Though I suppose I can’t really blame an all or nothing mentality when your very existence is dependent on finding fleas amidst piles of refuse. But still, I would have appreciated even the slightest affirmation that I existed. Espcially considering I was essentially the lord to their serfdom. And of course this sort of inequality isn’t necessarily something to be proud of. But I believe in manifest destiny when it comes to revolting creatures.
So it’s within this lens that unilateral action seemed to be the best course of action. To create institutional blockades to their continuing propagation. And within this context I became the Director of the Bureau of Spider Hunting Permits. Understanding of course that fleas and other insects are not ideal, albeit less frightening, the spiders did serve a purpose. And understanding that hunting spiders have just as much a right to continue to exist as web-laying spiders, the issuance of permits was to me a good deal.
The logistics were pretty simple. Despite mutual disdain for one another, we also had a mutual enemy. And if the end product of their existence was an insect free house, it seemed fair to let a few through. A culling permit of sorts. Would distribute hunting licenses to a select few, either issuing more or revoking some based on the number of pests remaining. They were also to be housed entirely in the basement, to be enforced by a roving band of lizards that would enforce the ban on living spaces.
After rounding up several of the spiders in a Tupperware container I, the lord of the land, proclaimed the new set of rules, and proceeded to set up a miniature permitting booth. In practice just choosing the first 40 or so spiders that would line up. Sending the rest on their way back out the front door. Seemed fair to me. Seemed fair to Patrick, Maurice, Jenna and Marcia, the newly acquired lizards who comprised the remaining members of the board.
Unfortunately it wasn’t much more than a few hours later that I spotted the first spider in the kitchen. Hoping it was just a rogue creature, or simply acting on ignorance of the newly established protocols. But still, an example had to be made. Jenna was the first to arrive on the scene and dispatched the intruder with ease. By morning all four lizards lounged on the couch watching *The Amazing Race*, stomachs full of rebels.
Obviously something wasn’t working. I re-read my proclamation over and over trying to determine if I was vague or ambiguous about any of the points, but it seemed pretty clear. The only real explanation that the obstinate spiders were once again incapable of understanding when they’ve been given a gift, given the right to be sensible occupants of the house. My lizard co-habitants seemed to be getting the gist with ease.
It had been my fault, assuming that vile creatures can be civilized. So the lizard troops were quadrupled, the scurry of their feet and tails whirring throughout the house constantly. Every last spider thoroughly digested, a resultant effect of their insubordination. This is why enlightened despotism is a crock of shit. And after a few weeks the lizards left to go about their own lives, to hunt for any additional spiders that might be getting within reach of the house. Belly’s full of arachnid entrails.
It's not really that I wanted to eradicate all the spiders. I mean my house is now completely overtaken by a few remaining lizards and fleas. But at the end of the day I’m not worried about the lizard’s beady little eyes staring at me throughout the night. I’m not worried about the fleas crawling into my brain, slowly eating away at the tissue, driving me insane. And of course its possible spiders don’t do any of these things to begin with. But how would I ever actually know that?
| 2018-04-25T14:57:40 | 2018-04-25T14:03:57 | 20 | 15 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | "Oh dear" I said to myself, looking at this tar coming from my finger.
"Ha! Well, proves that no human is exempt from sin."
I thought about what could have blackened my own blood, I don't remember anything that I could have caused, or done wrong.
"Oh" I remembered.
I went on far too many websites without my parent's permission. | i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:38:53 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I always did my best, powered through the worst, and did my best. I have to charity, I saved animals, I did what I thought was morally right... but we all have different moral definitions of what is right. I sadly patched my wound as fast as I could when I went through my entire memory, trying to pinpoint the worst thing I had done. I fixed my wound and sat in my chair, which I eventually dozed off in. I slept on the entire ordeal. As dreamt I dreamed of horrible deeds I had done, terrifying thoughts that I knew I would never act on. As I woke in a cold sweat knowing I had done none of those things I decided to ponder my memoir. I had just reached the section on my diet and favorite foods when a quick slice ran through my finger like a knife through burlap, the sound and feeling piercing my mind and body. I hoped I hadn't dripped any blood on my autobiography when I noticed a single drop highlighting one line. I scanned the line in fear and finally understood the problem...
*I liked pineapple on pizza* | It was my 21st birthday. Like every other birthday, I decided to spend my day helping out the homeless. Usually I’d do the soup kitchen but a friend of mine decided to come along insisting that we join in on the beanie knitting project.
My friend called me a natural at knitting since it was my first time and my first beanie looked immaculate. After the second one we began to turn the good deed into a competition. Who can produce the most beanies?
Lucy said she had been knitting since she was a young girl. Compared to my beanies, hers were better looking but I could produce faster. After a while we were both on our tenth beanie. She caught up after having three less then me. This prompted me to ramp up my production. There’s no way I would lose to Lucy.
I shifted my eyes from my work to Lucy continuously, making sure that I outpaced her. As my eyes swayed from my hands to her, I accidentally jabbed myself with the needle. The needle was embedded deeply into my middle finger causing a wound of considerable size to open as I pulled it out without caution.
“God damn”
A devilish grin was on her face as Lucy gazed upon my wounded finger. There was jet black material slowly escaping from the wound. The dark material was my blood. Everyone knows that blood is naturally clear but darkens with each impure act. I was raised by the church and couldn’t remember partaking in any acts that would cause such a thing. I was the last person that anyone would expect to be impure.
“Finally”, Lucy yelled as she stood up. I was flabbergasted and couldn’t understand what was going on with her or the state of my blood.
“My child, this is your true nature.”
The voice that was coming from Lucy didn’t sound like the friend I had known for years.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s simple” she said. Her appearance began to change. A handsome man stood before me. “The church stole your memories and replaced them with shit that never happened. What you think you know and believe to be your life is a lie.”
“Who are you?”
“You May know me as Lucy, but my name is Lucifer”, he said with a smile. “But you can call me dad.”
| 2018-08-04T11:28:16 | 2018-08-04T10:32:26 | 17 | 10 |
[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'. | "THIS IS OUR BIRTHRIGHT! We will reclaim it!" Fleet Captain Julius Kaine spoke angrily to the holo-specter of the Terran Orbital Defense Commander Sorlain. Sorlain replied with controlled anger "You lost that birthright when your ancestors abandoned ours just to save their sorry souls from the Archon invasion."
Julius was frustrated. He was top of the academy, one of the greatest captains in the New Earth's history. After 700 years they were ready to retake their homeworld. The warp gate only led their ancestors to Gaia system, but it took them a century to build the jumpspace technology to travel anywhere. They had had only recently discovered Earth's location and were ready to retake it by force from the Archons. They were told that those who stayed behind were heroes who sacrificed themselves for the greater good. Instead he found a planet with glimmering cities, blue oceans, forests and an orbital defense shipyard ring around the planet.
"YOUR ancestors were HEROES! To deny this unification is to disrespect them!". Sorlain's face grew dark. "Your ancestors abandoned those who they deemed unworthy" she said. "They were poor, average, criminals and even those who served the army. You left us behind to die at the hands of the Archons. Yet we stood the tide and for 50 years we fought until we defeated them with unlikely allies. Now we are at the peak of our society and YOU think you can come and take it all away?."
"But the Archons will surely return and..." Julius said but Sorlain cut him off "The Archons are dead." shocked, Julius continued "There will still be others and you need us." "No we don't." " If you do not comply we will use force. Your defense ring won't hold up against the might of the entire New Earth Fleet." Julius smiled at his checkmate. Sorlain returned the smile "True, but remember the unlikely allies I talked about?" Alarms blared around Julius as several massive ships appeared around his fleet. Another holo-specter of a tall green eyed human appeared, "This is High Captain Carvos Ultren of the Grand Alliance. Stand down or you will be obliterated". Sorlain's smile grew "Carvos's people were the ones who helped us defeat the Archons on Terra as they too had lost their home to them. Together we rallied other races and ended the Archon warmachine once and for all. What you threaten now is a founding race of the Grand Alliance. Any attack on us is an attack on them. Now you will return to New Earth and tell them we are independent. If they wish to negotiate a mutually beneficial alliance or join the GA, that can be arranged. Else we advice you keep to your sector and cease hostility on us or our allies unless you wish for a war you cannot win. And we call our home Terra. Earth was the name we used before we liberated it from the Archons"
Julius could feel his face getting red while looking at his crew on the bridge he said "Signal a retreat." Looking back at Sorlain and Carvos " This is not over" his anger was barely contained as his fleet made the jump back to New Earth to report his failure.
"Carvos alert the council. Tell them to increase defenses and have several fleets patrol the solar system especially on our colonies." Sorlain said, "I have a feeling this isn't over."
​ edit: had to fix a typo | 2018-09-29T05:21:50 | 2018-09-29T04:31:25 | 656 | 240 |
[WP] A Genie has cursed you with one year left to live, however he also gave you the power to convert each clap meant for you into 1 hour added on to your life. You cannot tell anyone about your curse and you are determined to live as long as possible. | As I realized what was done, I knew what I had to do. As I kicked open the elementary school door, I reached into my coat and pulled it out in front of all the children... suddenly the security stops running after me when they see it: a MP3 player and six speakers. Suddenly, the song begins: IF YOURE HAPPY AND YOU KNOW IT CLAP YOUR HANDS. The genie is upset: due to the enraged clapping of infants, I can't die. The hours can't be cut by bullets, and I have the greatest source of clapping in the world. I go by many names: the old one, the undying, and finally my favorite: the clappyboy | You stare down at your feet. The alcohol is making it harder to focus on anything at all. It feels like this should be more momentous, but this is all you can muster: drunk outside a convenience store at 10 am. What day is today? Doesn’t even matter.
This past year and a half you’ve tried anything you can think of: you crashed weddings and graduations, you danced like a fool in a tinker bell outfit asking people for claps. You even started paying people to clap for you. But every time you sleep, you waste time. Every time you rehearse, you feel time slip away. Like a hungry crocodile stalking you, the tick tick of time hunts you even now.
Soon your desperation seeped through and anything you did was met with mild bemusement. You strategized how to maximize exposure. Getting the first clap is easy and it gets exponentially harder to elicit more without real talent. Children are the easiest targets but just try to get some time alone with strange children when you reek of urgency and see how that goes. Religion? Shock performance art? You have to have new material and new marks to feed you.
Even after you came clean in YouTube after YouTube video, no one really bothered. You are one of millions who would literally do anything for the applause. And a fan base isn’t free, you need real talent.
Even through your drunkenness you feel the pangs of nervousness nip at the edges of your awareness. The constant stress has been relentless. You don’t sleep, you don’t rest. Drugs to keep you practicing and creating the next great thing,
And just like that, the last clap is the wet sound of you falling lifelessly to the pavement. And just as you’d fear if you could see it, it was uneventful. | 2018-10-02T18:05:18 | 2018-10-02T17:23:53 | 49 | 30 |
[WP] When humans die, their ghosts are anchored to the place of their death, but are unaffected by planetary orbit or rotation, left behind as Earth and the galaxy rotate. Metaphysical archaeologists are tracking this trail of spirits across the stars, seeking the ghost of the first human. | The first. What it must have been like. The first to ever experience sapience, to have your eyes opened to a world unending. Infinite expanse, at your finger tips, that could only feel all too small and lonely as you struggle to fit in to a planet that has its eye's closed.
​
This tethers me to a reality I long, long left behind. Abstract thoughts only I understand float in this abyss with me as I search for the first, someone who might know me. This world is larger than even I could know, my only solace a single dot that won't stop fading, travelling along the only path left: away.
​
The first moments blurred into obscurity as the only home I ever had evaporated in the time it took for me to even begin to blink. Arrays of colors and scale that shouldn't be possible had no time to stop for me, an awkward observer, as they hurried on to their destination, away from me. Always away from me. Still, I travel towards the first. They will have answers. Then, I'll be home again.
​
If by hatred, or determination, I do not know my exact reason, I went the other way. My only choice left in this world was to chase a home that long since abandoned me, or spite its eviction, and make my own path. So I searched for the first, one who came before me. For there must be a first. How long I've searched even I could not know.
​
I near what must be the end of my journey. A great light approaches me, the first no doubt. For what is also a first of my own, in what must be as many days as there are dots, emotions flood my being. But as fast as they fill me, they also turn cold, and hollow. The light, finally reaching me, flies by as fast as my home. Piercing through me in its sick humor as it cares just as little that the first light - my light - did. Just as quick, it mockingly runs from me too.
​
In the lingering cold I am left in, it feels as if I am home. Alien to even my own kind, realizing what they never could, a sense of self. And it is this that brings me to another realization. I will never find the first, or even another of my kind. I have gone the wrong way. I thought it couldn't be possible, there must have been another. But I see now.
​
I am the first.
​
​ | “Come down here, Bobbie! I think I found him!”
My assistant, Tommy, was one of the original boys who cried wolf, but I had to go down into the cave in the middle of nowhere Israel to figure out if this was in fact true. I finagled my way down the cave until I was crawling on the ground for a few seconds to reach up with where Tommy was staring at something in the wall. He was wearing those silly goggles though through which anyone could see the astral projections of ghosts. Being a metaphysical archaeologist by trade, I actually had the gift of seeing the ghosts with my bare eyes. Tommy though had never physically seen the horrors of seeing and hearing a ghost. He would never experience that sensation.
Looking at the wall myself, I could see that Tommy had actually come across something old. In my trails, I had seen thousands of old ghosts, Egyptian pharaohs, Roman gladiators, and most memorably one of Jesus’s followers. What I was looking for though, the first man, was going to break all of that out of the water.
“You may actually be onto something.”
“What is it?”
“Give me a second to look at it,” I said. Honestly I just needed to hear what it wanted to say.
*Turn around. Only death comes out of this tomb.* The ghost said.
I shook my head at the ghost. “Who are you, Spirit?”
*Just another person who got caught in this tomb.*
“How old are you, Spirit?”
*5000 years old.*
“What’s in the tomb behind you?”
*What you are likely looking for. The Original.*
“Then we are going to have to pass through.”
*You’ll regret it, young one.*
I should have taken the spirit more honestly. Tommy and I passed the spirit and went through a makeshift door that had been hatched through rocks. This brought us into a room that was completely covered with claw marks and blood. Something bad had happened in this room.
Then in a corner of the room, I saw a spirit. I drew nearer to the spirit, and then it turned around. It was not a complete form of a spirit, unlike the other man that had been in the room before. He just a torso with an early hominid sort of appearance. This was unlike anything I had ever seen before.
“Spirit, who are you?”
*Who are you?* A haunting voice asked me in return.
“I am Bobbie, a metaphysical archaeologist.”
*Meta…Logist.*
“Bobbie is what I go by.”
*Bobbie…go.*
“We need to leave?”
*Leave.*
As I was speaking with this early language acquisition spirit, I tried something I had learned when I came across what I suspected were very young spirits. “Unicorns, possums, and walruses.”
*Uni…walrus.*
“Well, I am not going to get much out of this spirit,” I told Tommy. I pulled out a metaphysical camera and took a photo before we attempted to leave. When we reached the door, we were unable to get through even though we had removed the rocks that separated the two rooms.
On the other side of the rocky door was the first spirit. *I told you not to go in there.*
It was at that moment, we learned why. The prehistoric spirit that I thought was just going to be a spirit was not in fact just a ghost. He had some physical being to himself. At that moment, we learned the claws belonged to the spirit and the blood to those who had entered this cave before. We would never make it out of there alive, all because I wanted to be the metaphysical archaeologist to find the oldest spirit. At least, I had likely achieved my aim before I joined the spirits in this cave. | 2019-01-08T03:44:10 | 2019-01-08T02:19:57 | 872 | 95 |
[WP] A boy and his dog die in an accident, and both show up at the pearly gates of dog-heaven. The boy can't be admitted, and must traverse purgatory to get to human-heaven. Instead of entering paradise, the dog decides to make sure his young owner gets to human-heaven safely first. | The good boy left, tail wagging as they walked with their person away from Paradise. It slowed a little as their bravery faltered, they had a sense of the daunting task ahead...but when their person hesitated at the threshold of the Great Path it picked back up, hard enough to sway their hind. Their person felt it, and they met each others eyes. The good boy let out a short two barks: DON’T WORRY / EASY AS CHASING SQUIRLLES / I GOT YOUR BACK! Their person bent to rub the good boy’s head, and smiled as they both set out.
Cerabis watched them go, and settled back down to wait. The doorway to Paradise remained closed, as it had ever before; a glowing sentinel behind which lay unpopulated perfection. No good boy yet had abandoned their person, nor ever would. Cerabis huffed a bit of discontent as he nestled back to his nap. It got a little lonely sometimes waiting for someone to come back, but they would eventually.
In any case, it was worth the wait.
| I am about to run through the gates, I am so excited. The gates hold behind them a great expanse. Green and bright and so much space. I can't wait to run around in there. I turn around to bark excitedly at my best friend but I see that he is not following me. He is simply stood, hands in his pockets, a sad look on his face.
And when I see that sad face, I run straight back to him.
I want to ask what is wrong, but all I can do is lift my two legs up and place my paws onto his stomach. I bark.
He bends down and strokes my fur. He still looks sad, so I cover him in kisses.
He laughs but then pushes me down. "I know...but you can go now. See," he motions to the gates. The gardens and the blue sky. "See that there, that's for you. I have somewhere else to be."
I completely understand him, but I want him to come with me, or I come with him. Simple as that. There is nowhere I want to be without him. I need to protect him, make him smile when he is sad, I am his best friend and he is mine. Did he not understand that?
So when he turns away, I follow after him. I take one last glance at the gates and follow him.
"No," he says. "That place is yours."
I simply bark and run away from the gates.
He laughs. "You can't come with me."
I bark again.
"I'm going somewhere else."
I stand stock still and wait for him. He still laughs and runs to me. We cuddle and play fight. But he eventually stands up, straightening his shoulders. "You're always so persistent. Can't let me go huh?"
I bark, smiling and wagging my tail.
"It's gonna be a dangerous journey girl," he tells me, looking me straight in the eyes.
It doesn't faze me. With him by my side, I can get through anything.
[More](https://www.amazon.co.uk/Between-Dimensions-Shay-Kiran-ebook/dp/B07JNGDH1J/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1544568207&sr=8-1&keywords=between+dimensions) | 2019-02-28T09:00:56 | 2019-02-28T08:57:04 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You are the last living thing on earth following a massive disaster. Down to your last meal or two, water running low, you hear a knock on your bunker door one evening. As you approach it slowly, you hear from the other side, "I have a large Meat Lover's Pizza and a 2 Liter of Sprite." | A grim wasteland, drenched in darkness from a dark and cloudy sky. The only lights in vision are the patches of nuclear fallout dotting the landscape. It is quiet. Not in a way you would ever experience. It's a dense, dead kind of quiet.
Nothing can live here.
The only thing breaking up the vista of grey, sickly soil is a small concrete box. A small trail of smoke is rising from a small crooked chimney.
Nothing can live here. But maybe survive.
Inside the small concrete bunker, a thin, haggard man rests on a filthy, feces cover matress. He is alive only by instinct. Though he has tried to end it many times.
He hasn't eaten in a week. His last water is gone. He is finally dying. He can finally rest.
Suddenly, the world fills with light. Not since the bombs fell had the man ever witnessed such light. Was it heaven?
A couple of sharp knocks shatters the silence like glass.
"Meat Lovers and a 2l Fanta." Said the shatterer of silence with a cracking voice.
"Hello?"
The man shambled up. It was not the dream he had expected after death, but he didn't care.
With the last energy he could muster, the haggard man opened the door.
"Hello Sir, here is your order, all pre paid. Have a nice night sir."
The cracking teen, dressed in a neon pizza delivery uniform, tipped his cap, and went back to his vehicle.
As the teen seated himself, he saw the man, hunched in the fetal position, crying.
Post 2090ers were always the worst.
"This is Derre to dispatch, I made my last delivery for my shift, Coming back to the shop." He spoke into the air.
"Dispatch here, we hear you, welcome home."
Derre flipped a couple of switches in the roof of his pizza van, and the world went white. Pure white. Temporal White they called it, and when time travel was first made available for the public, it was quickly synthesised to make paints, wallpapers and designer chairs.
Derre had worked at Kronoz Pizza for a couple of months, but he never felt comfortable with traveling too far from his own timeline. This was a bad temporal neighbourhood. You could easily get scrapped or contract some super virus.
He tried to shake that jingle of theirs from his head.
"Kronoz pizza, we know it all. Already delivered before you make the call."
Derre sighed. He wished he had finished his studies in interdimensional liberal arts. | "Damn it..." I grumbled to myself softly, forcing myself out of bed. "Damn barbarians..." I trudged to the door of my bunker and shouted, "Screw off! I'm not an idiot, and I'm not that desperate. Show me the military. Until then, I recommend you return to your bandit hideout before a beast grabs your ass and swallows you whole."
The stranger answered with only a grumble, and some trudging footsteps that faded into the distance.
I shook my head, and turned around to face my small bunker. I had a bed, a small coffee table with a broken radio on top, a box of tools among a few other things scattered around, and there was two doors in the back. One that led into what I used as a lavatory, and another that led into my nearly empty storage reserve for food, water, and ammunition for my shotgun, which was also in that room.
I took a few tired footsteps towards my coffee table before kneeling in front of it. I leaned forward, placing my elbows on the smooth mahogany tabletop. I picked up a screwdriver, and pulled the radio towards me. "I had this damn thing working a few days ago," I mumbled, examining the cut cords. "Those damn rats just had to-" I was startled by a loud crash on the door of my bunker. A small indentation with a large circumference had been made.
"A beast..." I scrambled into the storage room, and took my backpack of the wall. I could kill the beast. I'd killed one before, with just two good shots with my shotgun. But that bunker wasn't safe after it died. It emitted radiation. After it was dead, I would only have a few minutes to get out of my bunker. I tossed in what little food and water I had left, then turned around to face the other shelves. I opened on of my two boxes of ammo. I stuffed as many shells into my pockets as I possibly could, left about half a dozen out to load my shotgun, then threw both boxes in. I picked up my shotgun, and loaded all six rounds in. Then came another crash. I stumbled out of the storage room, and decided that I still had plenty of time. The dent hadn't gotten much larger.
I picked up my journal, my radio, and the tools I'd need to fix it. I stuffed them all into my backpack and zipped it shut. I picked up the shotgun, and sat on my bed.
Six. It took six more slams. Three more minutes.
The daylight showed through the large hole in my bunker's door.
The beast growled.
It was a small one. Couldn't have been more thab 6 feet tall. That may seem large, but they could grow to be up to double that.
It stood like a gorilla, but looked more like a giant, very angry fusion between a panther and a wolf. Granted, for all I knew, thats exactly what it was.
It began to move forward, when I trained the barrel of my shotgun right on it's face.
It was smart. It stopped for a moment.
Then it charged.
I let out a blast into it's face.
And it continued to charge, unfased.
It lifted it's paw into the air when it got close. And it swiped me out of it's way.
I slammed into the wall of my bunker, and everything went black.
~
Okay, I'm definitely adding more later. This is just the start. I'm only a little bit sorry for the cliché. Comments, anyone?
Also, as for the 'last living thing' part, I kind of changed that for personal reasons. I'm now one of the last living things, and I don't qualify the beasts as alive, due to the fact that they died, and are just reanimated fusions. | 2019-05-24T07:45:47 | 2019-05-24T07:05:24 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] In the future, when totalitarian governments are the norm, every newborn is injected with a syrum known to the people as FEAR. This syrum shuts down the "fight" part of your brain, leaving you only with "flight." For one child, FEAR did not take affect... | “Well, what are we looking at?”
“Honestly Sir, a kid. From what we can tell he’s just a kid, there’s nothing special about him.”
“Impossible. A kid doesn’t get attacked by wolf, smack it on the nose and tell it to sit. What does the mental report say?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary Sir. He still laughs at farts, gets flustered around pretty girls, offended if his mother is mentioned in any form other than respectful. He’s no different than my son except for his fearlessness. His brain is growing at a normal, healthy rate with no abnormalities there’s no reasoning behind his immunity on a mental level.”
“Then it has to be physical, show me the file.”
“I’m not sure what it’ll do Sir, that’s just as underwhelming. He’s short but he has had a significant height increase over the last year. His muscles are flexible and getting stronger but he’s no more Herculean than any other boy of 13. His blood pressure is normal, lungs and heart are healthy, bone density and development are good. Sir, he’s just a boy becoming a man.”
“So you mean to tell me that after years of using FEAR with 100% effectiveness that a boy is immune just BECAUSE! Impossible! It has to be.....wait. He’s 13?”
“Yes Sir, 13 last June.”
“Goddamit, what do I pay you people for?! Check his genitals!”
“I beg your pardon Sir?!”
“Don’t give me that tone! His genitals, more specifically his testosterone! FEAR is designed to target and suppress testosterone from developing, if he was born with a higher than natural level it’s possible that the serum couldn’t suppress all of it. With the onset of puberty the increase of testosterone would nullify the FEAR even more.”
“Sorry Sir, we didn’t think of that. We haven’t had to go that route since the serum was introduced, bringing up his results now. What....What is that?”
“Good Lord. They’re made of brass.” | If I were told to describe cowardice in a single word, it would probably surprise you. Throughout my life, my definitions of terms such as weakness, cowardice, and really anything pertaining to the human mind and its sheer capacity for self-preservation could be labeled as shallow at best. I’ve often found that it is not the intrinsic value of any moral or the hideousness of any consequence that leads humanity to choose whether the instinct of flight or fight will guide them, but rather the banter between self-interest and guilt associated with such a choice.
If a man happens upon a burning building with the shrieks of a women or baby echoing inside, what does it take for him to leap into action? If the women and child are cast as his wife and son, it is suddenly in his best interest to save those whom he loves, so perhaps he charges into the fire and comes out a hero. If the women and child are simply that, a pair of unknown elements and inconsequential to the man’s life, perhaps he keeps walking, guilty over his inaction yet unwilling to risk himself. In a third situation, perhaps the man feels so guilty that he turns around, willing to put himself in the way of harm to ease his aching conscience. It is through this paradigm that I stumbled upon a realization early on in life, and that is that guilt and self-interest are merely two sides of the same coin; both are nothing more than methods of preserving oneself. All this holds true, of course, only when one has agency over their ability to fight or flee.
When I was young, too young to do anything heroic and too young to idealize self-sacrifice, my father was the man who turned around, the man whose guilt led him to fight. Too young and naïve of mind then and too old and worn of mind now, I cannot remember the situation in its entirety. What I do remember, however, is the painful rasp of a dying man as he cursed his own foolishness; what I do remember is the smell of blood. Always the smell of blood, like liquid shock in its pungency. I became driven, possessed by a shallow, unempathetic rage for mankind that, even recognizing its acridity, I could not help but relish in.
So it came to be that I lusted for the power to change the world, and change the world I did; FEAR was mine and FEAR is me. Time takes its toll on you, my boy, especially when you’ve lived as long as I have. You begin to reflect in a way which hides away your successes and lays bare your insecurities. I have begun to regret my decisions, the decisions which have shaped today’s society, and I hate myself for it as scornfully as I now hate myself for the life I’ve led. It is this paradox, this lack of concord in my thoughts that led me to save you from FEAR, and in doing so I hand you all I have: my thoughts, my experiences, and the ability to shape the world. I do not know if what I have done is right, but neither am I convinced my actions have been wrong; the rest is up to you, my boy.
If I were to define cowardice in a single word, I dare say it would be *fear*. | 2019-11-05T12:54:29 | 2019-11-05T12:34:16 | 65 | 22 |
[WP] It's been ten years since 'The Gap' when everyone on the planet just lost an entire year of their lives. Completely unable to recall anything that happened during that time-frame. We know life went on, but no one can recall anything. Then, you find one half-burned book and know why we forgot. | One night, ten years ago, I fell asleep on my friend’s couch after a night of heavy drinking.
One morning, ten years ago, I woke up on an airplane, 38,000 feet in the air.
We called it ‘The Gap’.
When humanity woke that day, we found that a year had passed. Somehow, our bodies had kept moving, our lives had continued - but we remembered none of it.
Researchers and scientists devoted millions of manhours to the search. There were no records of that year, no artifacts that could tell us what happened. Everything, from internet records to personal journals, that contained information from that year was destroyed.
Well, almost everything.
One morning, two days ago, I found it.
A half-burned journal with the events of 2020.
Massive fires. Locust swarms. A pandemic that spread across the world. As the year went on, the events grew stranger and stranger. The pandemic worsened. The climate changed faster and faster. A series of solar flares wiped out most of our electrical infrastructure. It was as though the universe itself had been trying to wipe out humanity.
People started to go missing, whole cities at a time. Others started acting stranger and stranger. World leaders became erratic and unreliable, especially in the wake of the solar flares. Nobody opposed them.
A dozen secret organizations revealed themselves. Fighting broke out. The Illuminati won out against the Collective, but were in turn defeated by the Foundation.
Ah, the Foundation.
Unlike the others, they didn’t want to rule. They didn’t want anything besides the preservation of humanity.
They told us that they’d been protecting us for years. That one of their Reality Anchors had failed, and that the universe itself was warping.
We could see it happen. Street lamps twisted themselves into knots. The earth warped and twisted beneath our feet. Skyscrapers appeared in the middle of fields. A jungle sprouted up in Manhattan. The sky rippled and twisted on a daily basis. Some days, we had to wear gas masks just to go outside.
Continents moved like sailing ships. Pangea came again in the space of a single week. Anything not under direct observation by a set of human eyes could, and did, change. Coffee turned to gasoline. Gravity would invert itself in a single city block, then be entirely normal in the next block.
We rallied behind the Foundation in a global effort never seen before. They built a machine - a reset device, they called it. It would calm the ripples in spacetime, bring us back to where we were. The catch?
Well, none of us would remember a thing. I suppose the Foundation was happy about that.
The Reality Reset took place on December 31st, 2020. It wiped everything two hours before a meteor was due to strike the surface of the Earth.
The Foundation destroyed any records of that year. They said it would be disruptive to the fabric of society. I suppose they missed one thing.
Or I suppose they didn’t.
As I write this, I see two vans pulling into my driveway. I’m not expecting guests.
But before I go, I should record one last thing. One thing the book mentioned.
2020 wasn’t the first time reality reset.
And it won’t be the last.
---
*Like this story? Want to read more? Subscribe to /r/OneMillionWords* | Ignorance is bliss. Sweet, sweet ignorance. When we discovered that an entire year had been lost, we searched all over every database, every book, every dumb post on the internet for answers. But there was nothing. The entire planet had lost its memory, in a strange event known only as The Gap. 365 days of absolutely nothing. Not even the things around us seemed to have changed. We still had the same stuff, hell, some of us had new stuff, but there was nothing to indicate what had happened in that year.
The Gap happened ten years ago. Conspiracy theorists have tried to explain the event with everything from the Illuminati getting revealed to alien invasion, to God sending the rapture to take all the good people away and making the rest of us forget about them. There are scholars and scientists who have spent their entire lives since the Gap, trying to discover the truth about the mysterious and total event which affected all known humans. Even the uncontacted tribes on North Sentinel Island were reportedly affected by this.
But I know. I wish I didn't. I really, really wish I didn't know, but I do. While urban exploring in an old library, I came upon what seemed like a small basecamp, an old tent, some camping equipment, various rotted cans of foodstuff. All ranging back from the time which we all forgot. I looked around to see if there was anything interesting, and in a small area of soot, I came upon a journal.
Half of it was burned away, but enough survived the damp and the fire for it to still be readable. When I read the words in that journal, the memories returned. It was only a single year. But it had been so horrifying, so terrible, that once it ended, all mankind forgot about it. Not because of an outside influence, not because of secret government projects. We forgot as a defence mechanism. We forgot because remembering the year of madness, the Gap, would break the mind.
Space and reality had broken. We gave birth to our own fathers. Our blood was molten lead. The birds swam underwater and the fish flew through the skies. Cars became carnivorous and trains screamed riddles into the night. The dead returned, and the living died, and vice versa. The oceans turned to land, and the continents sank and became oceans. Time ceased to matter. Those of us who had understanding of the movement of the moon, which was one of the only constants, reckoned that the Year of Madness, the Gap, lasted both a single year on the outside, and a thousand and eight years on the inside.
The madness we experienced, as the laws of physics became suggestions, as it was briefly possible to reverse entropy, and disregard gravity through sheer force of will, was excruciatingly painful. Dogs walked men on leashes, and cats went to technical college and learned how to maintain servers. Dinosaurs returned, and they all had exaggerated German accents. The sun died and we had to build a new one from scratch.
It was a terrible time of uncertainty and madness. Where you'd have to check yourself every morning to see if you still had the same shape you had when you went to bed. The long lost ships, like the Titanic or the Bismarck, finally came home to port. And it hurts to remember having existed during this period. During the Year of Madness. Shaking from the memories, I burned the remains of the book. How it had survived, when all else had returned to normality, I cannot fathom.
But I know this, what happened to make the Gap, it can happen again. Time will not matter, space will be a suggestion, all dimensions could be freely traversed, even those we do not yet fathom. The only thing that keeps me from falling apart into a screaming heap of human flesh, is the idea that a repeat can be prevented. The Gap must never come again. And I remember who caused it. I remember how we hated them, how we punished them during the madness. I know who caused the Gap, and I will gladly give up my freedom or life to ensure that those who caused it the first time are slain, so that it might never happen again.
As I leave the library, mumbling about how sweet ignorance is bliss, I order a plane ticket for Nevada. The researchers might have created the Gap in Area 51, but they don't spent all their time there. For the good of the sanity of mankind, I will slay them, and prevent another Year of Madness from ever occurring again.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | 2020-07-08T14:23:40 | 2020-07-08T13:47:34 | 4,285 | 1,082 |
[WP] "So, you don'r rule over Hell?" "No," replied Satan. "Hell is much older than me or even my followers. The original inhabitants of this place are the ones in charge. They ruled over us, before we managed to escape." "Escaped?" Satan sighs. "Let's just say, there's a reason God built Heaven."
Edit: Wow. Thank you all for your responses and stories. It has been fun reading through them.
^Yeah, ^I'm ^aware ^of ^the ^typos. ^My ^bad. | We stood before Satan, a flaming sword in my hand. I felt like a fucking failure. “So, you don't rule over Hell?” I pointed my flaming sword at his blood-red throat. I had no idea if it would hurt him.
He scoffed. “He didn't tell you that? What deal did you make with the Holy Father?”
Not the answer I wanted. I slapped him with the flat of the fiery blade. A long crack appeared, dark black ichor leaking from it. So Satan wasn't invincible.
*You are supposed to bring him to me. Not hurt him*, God spoke in my mind. He had been guiding us in this quest against Satan. He had promised us the throne of Hell if we delivered him Satan.
God probably told Jim that we are not to hurt Satan because he put a hand on my shoulder. He held a flaming trident in his hand. “Just answer the fucking question. Don't test our patience. Do you or do you not rule over hell?” Jim asked.
Satan looked at us for a moment before answering. “Hell is much older than me or my followers. The original inhabitants of the place are in charge.”
If Satan was speaking the truth that meant God, the Holy Father had manipulated us.
*I cannot give you all the answers*, God said indignantly.
“Who are the original inhabitants? What are you doing in the palace if you are not the ruler?” I asked.
Satan sighed. “The movement of time is a bit wonky, don't you think. Sometimes I feel everything happened a long time ago, sometimes I feel it was just yesterday.”
Jim punched Satan. He had more patience than me but even he was losing it. “We need to-the-point answers.”
“Don't care for a good story?” Satan spat. His spit was hot lava. I wondered why didn't he attack us with lava-spit?
“There is a reason God built Heaven... and Hell,” Satan continued. “When we came into existence, God and I, we found dangerous beings, the Elders, that ruled the cosmos, the world, every-fucking-thing.
“We both fought them for eons but they were very powerful. Our powers were depleting and it was clear, soon we would lose.
“So, as a last-ditch effort, I used all my remaining power to create Hell, a plane of existence which would trap the Elders. God built Heaven, a safe haven for us.”
“So what are you doing here, in Hell?” Jim asked. “No safe haven for you?”
“Cunts, I used all my power to build Hell, I didn't even have the strength to travel to Heaven.” Satan sighed. “But there is no point, I have already told y'all this. Many, many, many times.”
“What?” Jim and I both asked. Suddenly the temperature of the room dropped. The flames of my sword and Jim's trident extinguished.
Satan met our eyes. “You both were brave. Maybe in the next iteration you would be successful in breaking me out.”
“What are you talking about?” I shouted. I wanted to punch him. Jim too was confused. *God, what is he talking about?* I asked God but the Holy Father was mum.
“It's a loop. You both are angels who had undertook the task to break me out of Hell, so I could reclaim my place in Heaven beside God. Y'all failed again, and again.”
“Why don't we remember anything?” I asked.
“Y'all were going insane from reliving the same moment again and again. I took away your memory and asked God to guide until you both succeeded.”
My insides turned to lead. Jim's eyes were wide. Was Satan lying? I remembered it all now. Heaven. Meeting God. Our journey to Hell. “Why are you telling this now?”
“Because this is the end of the iteration, you are going to die now. They have arrived.”
*I am sorry*, God said in my mind. *We'll meet again. Probably even win in the next iteration.*
“Who has arrived?” Jim asked.
“An Elder. It's behind you.” Satan whispered.
I turned. | Flynn always was a fan of DOOM, and he died as one. He did not wish for heaven, for he could not stand eternal boredom. He desired three things: IDDQD, IDKFA and hell. Unfortunately, it turned out that Hell ran on Nightmare difficulty.
It was unfair, but luckily, Flynn had eternal life now. His first attempt to escape and raise havoc in Hell ended within five minutes, but there was a second one. And a third one. And a twenty-third one.
This time, he was successful. Flynn and his two fellow freed sinners tore their demon guards apart and vanished into the eternal night.
"What is our plan?", asked Sir Peter, a crusty robber knight in life, now Flynn's number two in his guerrilla party.
"When I was young and naive", Flynn answered, "I dreamed of a revolution here. I thought we'll overthrow Satan and estabilish a realm of justice in Hell. Now I see there are too few people like us here, people who continue to fight..."
"Let me guess", interrupted Mad Dog McCoy, a merciless Texas gunfighter in life, now another rebellious soul. "We skedaddle."
"Exactly, McCoy. Our only hope now is escaping Hell. We'll try to break through the gates. I don't know what we'll find on the other side. Maybe one day, we'll become powerful. Then we shall return and invade Hell."
Surprisingly, the gates of Hell were barely even guarded. One short, hunchbacked demon napped lazily under the black stone walls, clutching the key. Flynn, Peter and Mad Dog overpowered him effortlessly, and the tiny imp awakened to find himself bound and gagged.
"I wonder", Flynn said. "They left such a pathetic guard here because they deliberately want to get rid of us difficult clients?"
The imp chuckled.
"Hey Mister Ugly Face", McCoy snarled as he removed the imp's gag. "What's so funny about it?"
"You think you are special", the imp answered. "All mortals think they are. Good luck on the other side, morons."
* * *
It was the third day since they unlocked the gates of Hell and escaped, Flynn thought. He could have been wrong, though: it was hard to measure time here. As they left the giant funnel that was Hell, they walked, and walked, and walked an endless featureless plain. No demons chased them. But the escapees occasionally spotted creatures other than demons. Small parties of shambling zombie-like ghouls shuffled along, paying no attention to Flynn's party, giant serpentine worms occasionally emerged from the black sand, only to vanish underground once again. It was maybe the third day, when they came across a bottomless hole in the ground. The hole was enormous. It was dark down there, and a stench of fetid brine rose from the pit.
"This place gives me the creeps", Flynn said.
"I think, something is coming from below", Sir Peter noted.
"Hide!", Flynn ordered, and the escapees ran.
They felt the ground shaking under their feet. As Flynn looked back, he saw some giant slimy creature emerging from the hole, pitch black, as if covered in crude oil. The creature lit itself aflame as it emerged fully, and roared, belching smoke.
The rumbling sound approached, and earth shaked more vigorously. Mad Dog spotted the source of the noise: it was a whole squadron of infernal cavalry, great demons riding flaming horses. They charged the fire giant with barbed, jagged lances, paying no attention to the escapees. The giant roared and lashed at its assailants, the demons pierced its hide with tridents of brass. The three escapees watched the battle from behind a convenient rock.
Finally, the demons emerged victorious, and the lifeless, decaying body of the fire giant fell back into the fetid sinkhole it came from. Then the demonic party paid its attention to the escapees.
The tallest of the demons dismounted and approached the trio.
"You!", he bellowed. "I see you. You'd better come with us."
"Screw you and the horse you rode in on!", Mad Dog spat. "Back to Hell? Back to being tortured?"
"Well, if you prefer being eaten by a stray Abyssal, I won't object. What you've seen is merely the first layer. No one knows how many layers of abandoned worlds, detritus of Creation and realms of forgotten gods are down there, floating in the primordial Tehom."
"Where is the way out?", Flynn asked menacingly. "We don't want to fight you, but we will if we have to. Be a nice little demon and tell us the way up."
This pathetic bluff, of course, did not work. The demon laughed in an infrasonic basso profundo.
"Fool, there is only one way up. Inferno, the iron fortress, blocks it. Not for you. For the Abyssals! We are the only reason why they can't invade Creation. You escaped through the wrong door, mortals. Not the Upwards Gate, but the Lower Gate. You'll have to return and fight through the whole Inferno if you want to find the correct exit. Or you may stay. We don't care much about mortals eaten by stray Abyssals." | 2020-07-22T04:07:42 | 2020-07-22T02:24:20 | 98 | 66 |
[WP]The heroes confront you with the legendary mystical weapon that can defeat you. Unbeknownst to them, it's actually the one thing you needed to conquer the world. You were having trouble finding it, so you started the legend of the weapon yourself, to get some poor schmuck to find it for you. | Somewhere deep within a damp cave that was a farce of a real hideout. A holy hero appeared, his blue cape laced with diamond which sparkled even in the absence of light, wielding the Sword of Oaths. The sword was capable of cutting through steel as easy as flesh and helped the possessor wield power beyond possible by normal means. The perfect weapon to kill the being known to the world as Nightstrider, whom the prophecy foretold would fall to the blade on contact.
“Prepare, you foul mouthed demon, to face off against the church's glorious light!” The hero was boisterous and had a very smooth, deep voice. A paladin of the 5th order had to be able to command common folk with non magical words so this was likely trained into them.
The dark figure known as Nightstrider stood opposite the hero, dressed head to toe in all black, with a hood covering his face of grey ash and black spider web cracking up from his neck, he held his hand out and cleared his throat with a couple of rough noises. He had been preparing for this day but never thought the fruits of his labour would ever ripen. ”What is that you have in your hand, adventurer.” The walking shadow in the back of the cave had put on a very gruff voice, like you’d expect from a demon trying to sound intimidating. It was well rehearsed, but the hero didn’t know that.
“This is the Sword of Oaths, the very same blade that can dust you with one touch of it’s metal!” The hero gripped the leather wrapped hilt which groaned under his strength, his proclamation was loud and echoed back at him with every heroic word. He meant for the gods to watch his glory in action it seemed.
The Shadowy figure raised one brow under his hood and paused for a second. “You sure?” he asked, going off script so his voice wavered from curious to demanding demon.
“Yes! You shall perish!” Cried the hero in return.
“No” The shadowy figure started “Are you sure that is what the prophecy stated?”
The hero let his guard drop for a second before getting back in his perfect fighting pose. “Yes! Don’t be frightened, dark one, I will make this fast.”
“You sure you don’t want to give the prophecy a re-read?” The Dark figure asked, his voice starting to lose its hellish tone making way for more of an informative one. The hero turned his head slightly then took a few steps back. With one eye always on the Shadow Lord he put the blade into concrete to hold it there, the blade met no resistance as if the rock were soft under the weapons seemingly dulled edge.
The hero began to read the words out loud, mumbling over a few of the more nuance parts. He hadn’t noticed but the shadow lord was silently moving his lips to each word spoken aloud by the paladin. The hero let out a eureka sound and read the last line, “When the darkness touches the blade by its holy hilt it will be forever banished! Your hubris has done you in, Nightstrider!” The hero tossed the scroll against the wall and grabbed the Sword of Oaths, once more brandishing the fabled blade.
The paladin rushes at the dark figure in the cave, he swings downward with the Sword of Oaths but it was gracefully spun away from, the dark figures movement mimicked flowing water as the paladin continues to try and attack but the villain always deftly slips each one. Finally, with a smirk on his face, the paladin begins to thrust forward but expertly flips the blade around, attacking with the leather bound hilt. He lets out a mighty cry that was sure to appease the god he worshipped, in his grandest moments they would finally take notice.
The shadowy figure catches the hilt in his iron clawed hand and the Paladin let out a mighty huzzah, he has won, it was only a matter of time before the shadowy figure was to crumble… any minute now… dust to dust and all that…. Prophecies and such…
The paladin begins to worry as the sword is ripped from his hands. The shadowy figure swings it about, as if testing the blade and no longer paying much attention to his foe who was only just now realizing his folly. “Good balance. Fine edge. Power of a thousand deities coursing through it. Yes. This is the Oath Breakers Blade for sure.” The hooded figure stopped swinging and pointed the blade at the paladin. Who let out a gulp loud enough to escape his full plate armour. | “Come on! The mystic’s cave is just this way! We’ve come so far on this quest, and nothing is stopping us from the treasure he promised!”
Dao, Thespin and Rin had gone through most of the Mystics map he’d given them to find it, The Mace of Enigma, coated in a metallic Titanium and Copper alloy. Inscribed in the mace were characters they couldn’t quite read, and wielding it felt almost otherworldly, like a chill down their spine they couldn’t quite name. Rin, the self proclaimed hero of the group, had only seen it by its semi radiant glow in the dark dungeon they’d crawled through, and Dao was the only one unaffected by the jitters it gave off.
Strangely enough, there had been no great monster holding it captive, no enemies blocking their way like they were usually hired for. No, rather the cave felt quite empty, almost as if nothing had ever set foot in there, not even the creatures just outside.
After going back through the Forest of Folron, the Cliffs of Hunplov, and the Marsh of Melink, they were right back where they had been hired. Their client was an old Mystic, he had been around since the creation of the kingdom. Many a Kings advisor, he knew the land like the back of his hand. He’d hired the boys before, always for some long forsaken weapon of kings before. This time the only difference was the lack of enemies, the boys had been used to a fight.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to just take one of these weapons for our own use? The Scepter of Hydrea seemed like it would come in handy with its magical capabilities.”
“Don’t be ridiculous Thespin, we were paid a pretty penny for the Scepters return, and imagine if we’d let it be lost to the wrong hand. The Mystic keeps them safe, he’s done so for millennia!”
“Rin’s right, the weapons are safest with someone who’s worked with the Kings, and in doing so he has certainly earned his riches. For finding the weapons he’s been kind enough to share, he’s far outnumbered us in power with what we’ve retrieved.”
“You saying he’d beat us down if we made off? He’s hardly ever left his cave! What power does he have that we couldn’t beat?”
“We shouldn’t mess around with someone so immortal, especially considering he’s been our biggest payload, Thespin.”
Thespin sighed, his companions were right, The Mystic, as frail as he seemed, probably would be somewhat of a threat with what they’d already done, and to break the trust would be a loss of money they couldn’t afford. Nobody in the castle town has ever paid even a tenth of what the mystic offered.
After a long argument, they finally reached the cave. The Mystic sat at the center of a rather large hemispherical room, torches lining the walls. The Weapons of the Kings lay around the perimeter of the room, propped by the most regal looking weapon stands around. Holy fire adorns either side of The Mystic’s chair, his seemingly endless pile of riches behind him.
“Amazing job boys, I can’t thank you enough for bringing back the Mace. I believe with this weapon, I’ve finally the whole collection once again. King Pihlon would be proud.”
“Never a problem at all, Sir! This was our easiest retrieval yet, we were very surprised”
Rin punches Thespin in the chest, and he falls to his knee.
“As promised boys, your payment awaits.”
The Holy Fire on either side of The Mystic begins to roar, a sudden change of a blue into a red. The weapons adorning the walls come to life, the Mace in the Mystics hands, he lurches it forward as if to command something.
“What’s going on?” Dao screams. “Where is the payment?”
The Mystic just laughs as the weapons begin to rise.
“What ever do you mean? This is your payment! One final show of what you’ve allowed me to do! Is it not wonderful? All thirteen of your precious Kings weapons at my disposal, together at long last!”
The Mystics eyes begin to light a deep green, fully in control of the deathly dance of the weapons. Spiraling the room, they begin to descend towards the heroes.
Rin motions to Thespin and Dao in a moment of desperation; they draw their swords and try to block the pilotless onslaught, to no avail. Blocking one leads another to strike, they’re far outnumbered.
“Go for the Mystic or get to the exit, we can’t let the Weapons leave the room!” Dao makes a charge but is impaled by the Sword of Glamour. As it follows through and goes for Rin, he makes it to the exit and begins to parry them back into the cave.
“You mercenaries have no chance here, there’s nobody to down! The weapons will only keep coming, your fate will be the same as the rest of the kingdoms! Could you not see what you were doing? It was inscribed on every weapon! You were buying in to your own demise! What does all your money mean to you now? It’s the same thing every generation! Well no more! I see the future, I see the best! My will be done, there will be no more Kings!”
And with a clang, all the weapons simultaneously hit the floor of the cave. The Mystic having run out his power, had done it. The sell swords all but alive, nobody outside knew what was to come. The kingdom would learn the power of the kings, and The Mystic would guide them as he’d done before, only this time, there would be no King to get in the way of his guidance. | 2020-07-25T13:38:31 | 2020-07-25T13:38:25 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] Your Italian restaurant is frequented by the mafia, and for some reason they think you're a front for someone powerful. You aren't, but you still like to mess with them. | I'm not even Italian, that's the funny thing. I opened this place on a dare, more of a joke than anything else. *A Korean could never open up an Italian Restaurant*, they'd said.
Joke's on them. And these goons that have been coming here, sitting in the same booth for the last three years.
I mean, I named the place Pasta for the Seoul, so I don't really feel too bad for them.
It started with big tips. I just figured they were nice guys. But then one day one of them motions me over. Guy who always sits at the head of the table, big, scary looking fella. He hands me an envelope, pulls me close and whispers in my ear, "Take this as a good-faith pledge. We know our territory." And then goes back to his food like nothing happened.
After closing, I'm taking out the trash and I notice something on the back brick. It was this symbol, this dragon, that had been spray-painted on before I ever owned the building. I never paid it mind before now.
But then I started thinking. *What the hell, I might as well see what happens.*
It takes me a few days to plan out what I'm going to do. Part of me wants to just bank the money and act like nothing ever happened. But then the part of me that opened up an Italian restaurant just because kicks in, and I walk over to the table.
I pull the envelope with money out of my back pocket, and drop it down in front of this guy who gave it to me.
"Sorry boss man," I say, laying thick into that "accent." "Triads cannot accept such a small fee."
His eyes get wide, he slides the money to himself, and the whole table gets up and leaves. And I'm back down the ten grand that he'd offered.
So the next day one of them comes back, not boss man, but one of his cronies. He's got another envelope. A little thicker.
"Mr Moretti sends his apologies. He hopes you wasn't insulted."
I take a peak inside and act like I know what I'm looking for. I mean, it definitely *looks* like more.
"It's a start," I reply.
"Of course. Thank you." And then he leaves.
I've never even been to Korea.I don't know if the Triads exist there. And I doubt even they know. They just saw slanted eyes and a dragon symbol and made an assumption. And now I'm a lot richer because of it.
What's the worst that can happen? | All of my life, I'd prided myself on my last name: Boss. I was a pretty ordinary kid in most facets- plain, decent grades, no marketable skills besides being able to eat 3 large pizzas in one sitting- but there was something about the name Boss that seemed to draw people towards me. And when I was older and got my first managerial position at an office, I won't lie- every time I heard "Mr. Boss", I felt a little twinge of satisfaction. So, when I finally followed my lifelong dream and opened my first Italian restaurant, of course I had to name it Boss' Pizzeria. How was I supposed to know that the mafia were such literalists?
For about two years now, the mafia had been frequenting my restaurant. Every Friday at 5, they'd stride in, all muscled and draped in heavy black fabric. They'd sit in a corner and whisper conspiratorially, voices crescendoing with every drink. Surprisingly, they didn't seem to scare any customers away. Occasionally, a little kid would even walk up to them, eyes wide, and ask for a high-five.
I guess they might have seemed pretty normal outwardly. I mean, at first, I'd thought they were just some flirtatious dudes with a penchant for weird jokes- they would keep winking at me while saying stuff like "the spaghetti restaurant has been conquered successfully" or "I have outsmarted the enemy's cat". I'd laugh and say something stupid back. "Maybe you should conquer the other pizza place next". Strangely, after that, the pizza place across the street went out of business.
Eventually, after a handful of similar occurrences and a few too many overheard conversations, I figured it out. I packed up and prepared to flee in case they decided to kill me on a whim. Surprisingly, they never did. Maybe they just liked me enough to overlook my inability to relay messages. Or maybe they weren't even part of a real mafia- maybe everything they did was just in the illusion that they were carrying out orders for a boss who didn't even exist. Whatever the case, we gradually became friends. I'd mess around with them sometimes, give them ridiculous orders like "buy candy and give it out to every kid you see" that they'd carry out obediently (besides self-proclaimed "Hermione" who'd closed his eyes in response).
One day, half of our staff called in sick so I decided to order them to help me make pizza. They couldn't be too bad at it, right? They all joined in, kneading dough and sprinkling mozzarella liberally. They were in the midst of bantering over what territory they should take over next when one of the guys, who referred to himself as the Cat Destroyer, cut them off abruptly. "Stop." He stood there for a moment, gazing at the bowl of marinara before him as if he were having the most profound revelation in his life. "This is amazing. It feels so... peaceful."
Cat Destroyer II, the twin of Cat Destroyer, nodded. "Too bad there aren't any cats to destroy."
"I guess so... wait, I have an idea," Cat Destroyer said. "What if..." he glanced at me, eyes filled with trepidation. "Do you think Boss will let us work here?" I raised an eyebrow, waiting for the others to elbow him and cut down his suggestion. But instead, they all began to agree. Leader, their (surprise!) leader turned to me expectantly.
I sighed. "I'll go ask Boss." I mulled it over as I walked upstairs. True, I had enough staff already. But wouldn't it be much better for both them and society if they worked here?
I returned to the kitchen, took a deep breath before speaking. "He said yes."
And that's how my pizzeria became truly run by the mafia. | 2020-10-12T09:54:00 | 2020-10-12T09:53:10 | 564 | 170 |
[WP] "Listen, I have no idea what I'm doing here either" Said the demon leering out from my closet. "When you wished for a protector I guess I was the closest thing on hand." "Well good." Said the little girl hearing footsteps in the hall. "You better be a good one." | “I don’t know why I’m here,” I lied.
“I don’t know what I’m here to do,” I lied.
“When they said you traded your soul for a protector, I didn’t volunteer, they just sent me here,” I lied.
I actually know why I’m here. Why I, the monster that sits in her closet, volunteered to be the one protecting her. It’s because if I want her to be scared of me, there mustn’t be anything else that is scarier in her eyes.
“Well, you better be a good one,” Lily spoke, without a shake or quiver. After all, her real demons are far worse than I am.
From inside her closet, I can hear what is happening. A loud crash of the front door as it swung open, followed by heavy footsteps. Lily’s unnerved expression quickly turned pale as she crawled into the closet with me. “Linda! Where the fuck are you?!” Her father is home, and her mother is about to be beaten senseless.
“Where is the liquor?!” “We ran out of it days ago.” Slap. “Didn’t I tell you to go buy more?!” Slap. “We barely have any money, and we had to pay for this months rent and Lily’s schooling.” Slap.
“Useless bitch!” He shouted before a loud thud; he had probably kicked Linda onto the floor.
“Mommy...” Lily muttered. She’s crying. Even Satan can’t draw this many tears out of her. Inside this little closet, her cries echoed in my ears. I’m jealous, every night I try to scare this girl, yet her father beat me at my own game. But now that I’m her protector, he’s gonna pay for stealing the spotlight.
“Lily! Daddy’s here! Let’s have a little ‘talk’ about your schooling shall we?” The footsteps are getting louder, he is coming. Lily cowers inside the closet even more, trying her best to quieten her cries. Her father opens up the door and scans through the room. He bends down to check under the bed, before turning to the closet. There’s a belt in his hand. “Come now Lily, no need to be scared, daddy just wants to talk eh?” He is standing in front of the closet now, his hand reaching for the knob.
I can hardly contain my excitement anymore. “Now Lily,” I said as my jaw unhinged, revealing an endless pit of canines in my mouth, my eyes glowing a deep crimson. “How should I handle this ‘problem’ for you?” | The girl froze where she stood, her hands coming to a halt as the ground creaked under heavy weight. The moment were slow, calculated, and she, knowing what happened last time, took off. In a spur, she jangled the doorhandle till it left a satisfying click, boarded the door, and slung herself under the bed; her back against wooden rails as she scoured her dusty floor for an object.
Her hand immediately latched onto an ancient whistle, no larger than her chubby hands, and with one full blow, the air came out crisp and quiet, unnoticeable to the untrained hearing.
Her mind wandered somewhat while she waited with her hand beating against the bed frame. “Hello?” She said with a click in her tiny voice. “What’s taking you so long Annie?”
“Annie?” The voice came from her closet, a deep bellow unlike that of Annie; like the 7 year old she was, she let out a groan, “You’re not Annie.”
She crawled out from under her hiding place, her hand gripping onto a weighty box, larger than her entire, frail body, yet somehow she lifted with ease.
“Look, kid, I don’t have any idea why I’m here,” The creature she had summoned said; the girl crossed her arms sharply over her chest, evaluating the creature that poured from the closet, clearly unkept, and clearly not Annie. It had horns the size of adult fists, and eyes blazing a deep set black- possibly even blue.
“Didn’t know demons came in shades of blue,” She muttered almost thoughtfully to herself, before letting out a “Hmph! That still solves nothing.”
The demon had spoken while she was searching. “... you called for help? Look, kid, I guess I was the first thing on hand.”
“Well good.” She said, finally picking an object out of the box: a shotgun. The noises from the hallway drew closer. “You better be a good one, or you’ll be speaking to my Annie.”
The girl positioned herself with the gun, pushing the demon out of the way, and looking out from under curly locks, the blue eyed child fired as soon as the door opened. The doorway was no match for oncoming bullets, and soon enough a yell came from the other side, solidifying the girl had found her target.
The demon, clearly untrained, stared with amazement at the wondrous site of chaos, his own emotions evoked as his blood pumped with satisfaction at the destruction; the only thing holding him back from participating was his eyes drawing to the chaos source with curly blonde locks.
“What in the world kid?” He said leaning against the rails of her wooden bed. “I mean, just wow; kids start early these days- I mean- I wasn’t selected as a demon that young, and gungho you are a swinging! Good job!”
“Ain’t a demon.” She said, tossing the weapon aside. “Mom was an angel. Straight from the top, the bootlicking kind.”
“Wow, a fallen huh?”
He was cut off right then and there. “Nope, dad was Satan.”
“That ain’t possible.” He said with a click; who did this kid think they were talking to to throw around such an unholy name like that? Blasphemy. “Good old Saint Nick hasn’t had a wife since ‘09; you’d have to be at least a couple hundred and then some.”
“I know.” The girl said with endless confidence, challenging his scrutiny. “I’ve been around a while, mingled, then I died; but guess what? I came back, and some ‘uns don’t like it. Not one bit.”
The outside world creaked once more, this time the demon was ready.
“And while you ain’t an Annie, you’ll do.” She said. “And then we’ll find out who dislikes me so.” | 2021-03-15T17:28:16 | 2021-03-15T15:18:00 | 96 | 44 |
[WP] "Boss, it's been 15 minutes since he started having a flashback about his "challenges" and how much he loves his friends. Can't we just attack him already?" said the henchman. "No, no. We have standards." said the supervillain. | Common courtesy and standards.
You don't interrupt inner monologues, epiphanies and eurekas. Be it superhero or supervilain. It made the stories better for kids and schools and reduced internments in psych wards due to unfulfilled dreams or destinies or whatever.
20 minutes.
"Boss..."
"No."
The recknoning was about to come, the fate of the world, transcendence or obliteration. You didn't throw it into the balance because you were late for the yoga course.
"Yup!" excalimed the hero, "I'm good."
"Are you?" asked the vilain.
"Hell yes!"
"Well then..."
The vilain looked up to the sky, his eyes went to glass as he contemplated the way he had gone to arrive here. The sacrifice, the loss, the resolve. They would remember him as a monster, but he had only the best intentions at heart.
"My friend, can we just...?" asked the hero's sidekick.
"No! We do'nt attack while he has his final conceptualization on existence and fate, have you no manners?"
"But..."
""There is no but."
Half an hour later, the vilain came back to earth, ready to fight. But now the hero had to do the same again because in the meantime, he had another illumination.
Two hours later, the sun had gone down and the light was shit.
"That's not a good setting for a showdown of ultimate destiny," said the vilain.
"Agreed," replied the hero.
"Same time next week?"
"Sure."
They parted ways.
Under his breath, the henchman was muttering.
"Next, and then the next, and then... Shit's been going on for twenty years, I can't take it anymore." | Mindstorm.
A "hero" with the power of Yahweh himself, but the mental capability of a schizoid on LSD.
And recently, something inside him snapped.
Whenever he appeared to be hallucinating his "friends", any poor schmuck who dared approach him turned into the raw equivalent of a polish sausage.
And here I was, a mere villain among heroes, just a non-powered ordinary henchman, willingly helping them take down one of their own.
Because this "hero" had gotten out of control, turning both DC and its inhabitants into a giant rotting mass of flesh.
Why?
No goddamn clue.
But what I did know is that I was fed up with this bullshit. There is one god only. Not Mindstorm.
It had been 15 minutes.
15 minutes since I had carved my way to the top of the fleshy remains of the Washington Monument to get a better point of view. My radio beeped. It was Scan-Man, the only hero that willingly worked alongside me. Last thing I heard, he was sneaking around the Capitol.
"Uh... You gotta be kiddin' me. This fella's still going 'bout with his imaginary friends", said the familiar voice.
I was about to turn off my radio, but then I heard screaming and static.
SHIT.
Peering through the scope of my Winchester, I could clearly see a pile of raw meat and wires where Scan-Man once stood. Then, the glass lens cracked. I ducked, narrowly avoiding an explosion of glass. Pulling out my sidearm, I scanned the area around me in confusion. Suddenly, I felt a strong sense of nausea.
My vision swam, as if I downed several bottles of Vodka.
Mindstorm was standing right in front of me. Fucker must've teleported.
He was holding a hot dog. A hot dog with wires sticking out of it. Then, he looked at me, smiling. I knew it was too late.
No. This isn't how I'll go. Anything but this...
\[signal lost\]
Somehow, when I woke up, I wasn't dead. And I definitely wasn't a pile of meat. For a moment, I thought this was all a dream, as if the failed mission was a nightmare.
Then it struck me. Scan-Man was missing. And in front of me stood Portalian and Restoro. They must've gotten me out of there.
Oh god.
It did happen, after all. Everything.
"Mindstorm?", I asked shakily.
"WATCH OVER THERE", rumbled Restoro's defective voice box, before he grabbed a pack of cigars out of his dusty brown trenchcoat.
Portalian grunted, and punched the TV with his thick metal arm, somehow turning up the volume.
"BREAKING NEWS - THE ENTIRE BRITISH PENINSULA GONE OVERNIGHT, REPLACED BY MASS OF WRITHING TENTACLES"
I looked at the television, grabbed a nearby wastebasket, and promptly threw up. | 2021-05-21T00:16:46 | 2021-05-20T23:29:45 | 73 | 16 |
[WP] The Little Red Riding Hood is one of many "Riding Hoods." Each one has a name in the format of (adjective) + (color) + Riding Hood. And they each have a unique skill based on their names. | There are many tales of things that go bump in the night. Of the supernatural creatures that walk in the shadows. Some are known to be true, and taken as more of warnings then stories. Like the tale of the vampire coven, who terrorised a town until the sun burned them away. But some are harder to determine.
One such tale is of the Riding Hoods. They exist, that is certain. But as for what they are, that is up to speculation. The common tale speaks of seven sisters. They once lived on a farm with their parents. Theirs was a simple, happy life. But one night, their was a terrible accident. Some say it was an angry neighbour. Others, an act of the Gods. All that is known, is their house burned.
The parents made it out, barely surving. But as they cried and pleaded, none of the seven joined them. They were consumed in the flames. When the fire finally extinguished, the other farmers joined the parents in searching for them. They had all loved the sisters, and cared for them as if they were their own. But despite their hopes, they found their bodies, burned beyond recognition. All that really remained were their skulls, charred black.
After that, the parents fell into depression. They could barely afford to run the farm, much less built a new home. Their hearts were heavy with grief. So when the tax collectors came, they had naught to give. The tax collectors did not care, throwing them to the ground. As they pleaded, a little laugh drifted from the ashy remains.
From there, a figure in red emerged. Little Red looked at them, reminiscent of the youngest sister. She had a look of innocence about her. Her parents found their hearts at rest as they saw her, as she tempered their emotions.
A taller figure, dressed in orange came next to her. Curious Orange gazed at them in wonder. The tax collectors shifted slightly, unnerved by her piercing gaze. But before they moved, the third figure came. Loud Yellow continued to laugh, her voice becoming louder as she solidified. It took on a slightly hysterical tone, as she laughed at a joke only she knew.
Glorious Green came fourth, the plants shifting towards her as she walked, as though trying to hug her. The tax collectors horses, already on edge from Yellows laughing, tried to run. But the grass grew long, wrapping around their legs like rope, holding them in place.
A sob echoed, and Sad Blue came. The clouds grew dark, before crying with her. But throughout it, the Riding Hoods stayed dry. Rumbles sounded, and lighting flashed. Between the flashes, the sixth appeared.
Slow Indigo stood between the parents and the tax collectors. In her unfathomable gaze, time began to slow, until the raindrops hung in the air, and the tax collectors breaths came in frightened gasps. At her mercy, they could only wait as the eldest emerged.
Raw Violet came forth, the only one of the seven to hold something. In her hands was a scythe, though it was beyond any simple farm equipment. It was the black of night, flecked with stars. She hefted it easily, her gaze on the collectors. Without a word she swung. Once, twice, and thrice. At its touch, the collectors crumpled, collapsing into the blade.
Silently, the seven moved, approaching the horses. They reared back, before calming at their touch. They wavered, and split into seven horses, each one matching the colour of one of the seven. They got on, and with a wave to the parents, vanished.
Since then, they have wandered the world, helping the innocent, hurting the less innocent. So if you see a lone rider, their colours matching that of their horse, be careful. For where one rides, the others aren't far behind. | After the whole debacle of Little Red Riding Hood almost getting eaten alive with her grandma by a deranged wolf, she became an overnight sensation.
I hate to say it, but I was a little jealous. Not because I wasn't happy for Little Red's survival (even though she teased me constantly), nor was I envious of her recent fame. It was the fact that she was the youngest one of the four Riding Hoods and her ability was already perfected.
Little Red could talk to animals at just 10 years old.
Tall Green could glide so well, you'd think he was flying. He was the oldest of us at 17.
Curly Orange had long curly hair and she could shoot sparks from her fingertips. For any bonfire we went to, she was the one to get the flames roaring. She was 15.
Then there was me. Stout Blue, age 13. I wasn't really sure what my power was, but everyone insisted I had one because I was the son of two magical Riding Hoods.
We had our mentor, Dolores who was an older woman who primarily raised us and helped with our abilities. She knew how to cultivate our powers, except for me. Dolores also used us to help make the world a better place. Tall Green would save a cat in a tree, Curly Orange would help keep people warm who didn't have fire in their houses or in the streets. Little Red helped people with their pets to find out how they were feeling and if they were sick at all.
Then there was me who sat there and watched all of it. Dolores couldn't figure out what my ability was, but she didn't give up on me. Instead, I acted as the secretary who took notes about all of the people we helped along the way. I practically carried around books. But in between all of that, Dolores gave me tests to see if I had an ability with telekinesis, or x-ray vision. So far, nothing.
At the height of Little Red's fame, Delores wanted us to move away from our home town of Bellview to another part of the country to take a break. Fan letters and journalists were always coming at our door. All of us were on edge since people would walk by our house at night and I'd hear them from my room say, "Can you believe the famous Little Red lives there?"
It was getting creepy.
Dolores hired a carriage to take us to Marra, which was a nice vacationing village in the Northeast. They had a beautiful lake there with a beach, and Dolores wanted to get a house by the water.
"I don't think I've ever taken all of you to the beach before," Dolores said when we arrived to our temporary log cabin home with four bedrooms.
"You've taken Tall Green and I," Curly Orange said.
"Yes, but Stout Blue and Little Red have never gone."
Which was true. I had never been on the beach, and when we went one day for a picnic, I found the sand to be rather annoying. Nor did the idea of being in the water sound too appealing.
When we wrapped up our picnic on the beach, Little Red, Curly Orange, and Tall Green all jumped into the water and swam out, horsing around as they splashed and played other aquatic games.
"You don't want to go into the water?" Dolores asked me.
"Nah, that's okay, I'd rather sit here and read," I said. Which was true. I always felt alienated from them anyways. To cope with it, I learned to enjoy being by myself.
"Don't swim too far out now!" Dolores hollered at them, but they were deep into the lake.
That's when I heard Little Red screen and I saw Curly Orange and Tall Green rushing back.
"Dolores! Little Red is drowning!" Tall Green hollered.
Dolores' eyes widened and she sprinted to the water. I followed after her, but I wasn't sure why. *She is the adult here, she will take care of us.*
But I wanted to help anyways. I dove into the water and swam after Little Red, but the waves were harsh and the current had some pull behind it.
"This isn't good!" I heard Dolores yell somewhere off in the distance.
I just focused on swimming through the water, and even though the waves crashed into me, I was able to muscle through them, and I noticed something. Water was shooting up my nose, but I could still breathe. I wasn't coughing or having any troubles with water filling my lungs. It felt just as normal as breathing on land.
With the sudden realization I dipped below the water and opened my eyes, I could see Little Red twenty yards away from me, sinking down into a dark abyss, but I could still breathe without any issues. I felt as if I could dance through the water.
I swam with all of my might, clawing through the current with each stroke until I came up to unconscious Little Red and I wrapped my arms around her and brought her up to the surface.
r/randallcooper | 2021-05-26T11:53:30 | 2021-05-26T11:32:21 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] If time-travelers get stranded in the past it's standard practice for them to display a specific symbol on their person that lets other time-travelers know they are stuck and in need of a lift home. You aren't a time-traveler, but your most recent tattoo happened to be a match for this symbol. | “I can’t believe he got it so wrong. He has great reviews!” Chris complained to his girlfriend Amy who he’d called as soon as he left the tattoo parlour. He was standing in the bathroom of a bar he’d skipped to for both a mirror and a beer. He was staring at the tattoo on his arm which would best be described as a blurry dolphin face.
“I’m sure it’s fine babe,” Amy said and her loudspeaker voice echoed around the bathroom.
“It looks blurry honestly.”
“Did you smudge it? You’re not supposed to touch it!”
“I didn’t touch. That’s just how it looks. The artist smudged it. Actually I can hardly call him an artist. I need to go on one of the TV shows were they fix bad tattoos.”
“Those shows are hilarious. Speaking of TV, can we watch 11.22.63 tonight?”
“Is that a movie?”
“No it’s a mini series. It’s an alternate history drama based on a Stephen King book.”
“Yep I’m in. Can we have a thousand glasses of wine too? That will temporarily make me forget about the tattoo disaster.”
Suddenly a man dressed in a long black overcoat walks into the bathroom. He goes to walk to a cubicle but, after nodding politely toward Chris he stops and holds his eyes on the mirror. Staring at Chris’s tattoo. He’s stopped dead. Chris notices.
“Babe I’ll call you back,” he said and hung up the phone. “Are you right there pal?”
“How long have you been here?” the man asks, snapped from his reverie.
“In the bathroom? ‘Bout 5 minutes. Why?”
“Not in the bathroom, silly. In 2021. I’m actually stuck. Glad I found you. I’ll come back with you unless you had plans?”
Chris shakes his head. Could his day get any better?
“Sorry guy, I’ve had enough crazy today with my tattoo artist going not only Sydney Pollock on my arm, but ever worse - blurry Sydney Pollock.”
Chris leaves without another word and grabs a glass of beer before taking a seat and scrolling through Reddit on his phone. He goes to writing prompts to kill some time. He reads a few, but can’t get into any. Then one grabs his attention. He reads it once. Then twice. Then a third time. He speaks quietly to himself.
“...specific symbol...time-travelers...lift home...recent tattoo...match...oh my god.”
“Sorry about before,” he hears and looks up to see the man from the bathroom. “I should have introduced myself properly. I’m Arnold Smith, from 2167. What year are you from?”
“I, um, I’m from this year.”
“This year? How’s that?”
“I think you have me mistaken. I just got this tattoo. It’s an error. I’m not a time traveller.”
The man laughs.
“You’re funny. Look honestly, I need to get back ASAP, so can you help me out?” | "When to?" whispered the man in the brown hat as he walked towards me. Assuming he was speaking to someone else I continued walking down the corridor. As he was just about to pass me, he said again, "When to?", this time reaching out to me and tapping my wrist ever so lightly. I caught his eyes and replied "Oh, I haven't the time, this is just a tattoo.". "I KNOW IT'S A TATTOO!
But it is also your beacon and it has been going off every half hour for the last five days. When did you need to get back too?", said the man as he grabbed my arm and motioned me to come with him. Confused and silent, I resisted. "No need to play dumb, it's safe for you, I promise" exclaimed the man, "No one here knows about time travel at this moment aside from other travelers, it hasn't been discovered quite yet, when do you need to get back too?". Glancing down at my wrist and back up at the man, I replied "58,771".
All at once the corridor faded to black then just as quickly as the darkness came it was replaced by the most magnificent lights. "Here you are sir, I apologize it took so long; we didn't realize how far back you'd been stuck." said the man, "I'm Merlin by the way; did you need anything else from me?". Assessing what had occurred and then realizing how much this could have been a grave mistake on my part I decided to ask the man for help getting settled.
Having no remaining family I thought nothing of my instinctual decision to throw out a random number, though, I never anticipated I would be in the actual future. Knowing I would likely be taken back if I asked too many questions I decided to do everything I could to find out everything I could about time travel. As of this morning I was in 1984 NYC and now I am in segment zq1882 in year 58,771. He took me to get proper clothes and helped me hide my tattoo. I soon learned time travel is strictly forbidden at this time period because of the impact an untrained person could have on the timelines. Merlin agreed to help me build a new time machine on the condition that I help him run some errands.
On our second errand we went to the year 34,547 where I found a time travel history book. Apparently, time travel is created around the year 2,020 and that is when the first beacon is know to exist from but it is hidden from the public until 5,239. Reading 2,020 on the page felt so unsettling for some reason, how could it be that the fist time traveler was to exist from my time period, I pondered for the next few weeks. Merlin and I grew closer as time went on, we travelled more times than I imagined possible.
Then it happened, the fates caught up to us. We were then to be documented by having our retinas and DNA carbon data scanned. One of the fates looks at the data and lets out a blood curdling shrill and faints. The second comes over and reviews the data then has the same response. Then the third and final of the fates walks over calmly to me, reads the data, and gasps. She begins to apologize, "Agent 00, please forgive us, we didn't mean to document you.". Merlin turns and stares at me as if he's seen a ghost, "Why didn't you say you were the original when I rescued you?" he said sternly, "I would have taken you to your home immediately, you didn't need to help me.". Ignoring him I tell the third of the fates to release us back to where we last were and to erase their entire database of information they pulled from us.
Returning back to Merlins home we barely spoke. He gathered a few things as if expecting to never return. Then we went to my home, upon arriving I see exactly why I am so terrifying to them, the proof is plastered all over the walls. I was the first time traveler, I am the creator of time travel, and I was the original separator of timelines. Evenso, they've no idea I didn't create anything; the fates and Merlin found me. | 2021-05-27T02:54:48 | 2021-05-27T02:04:48 | 46 | 28 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | The person before me took my idea. She had no idea that dying of old age meant they would accelerate time for her. Now that I saw that, I can't make the same mistake. There has to be a way out of here, a loophole.
You'll find one like you always do, I kept thinking that to myself. I wasn't a stranger to this business, but usually I wasn't involved with magic. The payment was good but too risky.
"Marcus Spades, how would you like to die?" The hooded man said. He held a weapon that changed into many weapons. The hood had golden details, his body was hidden by shadows. If anything he was good at this. I could feel the chills creeping up my body.
"I need a second."
"You have one minute." His weapon changes to a whip. I'm not sure how but I feel he enjoyed those who took their time and never decided.
Time! That's it, their laws are bound by time and space here. If I can get them to try to execute me in some other place far from this world maybe I have a chance. I start laughing, I might have finally lost it. "I wish to die in a time space rift between worlds."
The executioners weapon changes into a cellphone. "I need help. Yes, it's another crazy guy. Yeah, he wants the slowest most painful death in existence. Thanks, I'll wait for you to start the ritual."
I fall into my knees. That gamble sounds like the worst one I've taken. Although that one that included stealing from the governments and 'donating' it was close second, by the time they figured out I cheated on that table it was too late.
Four hooded men or women appear. They point wands to the floor under me. A circle of light engulfs me. One moment I see them, the other I see everything and nothing at the same time.
I look around and I see more figures. More mes. The one closest to me waves, the but the others scream in agony and pain.
"Why are they screaming?"
"We are trapped between time and space. We have access to all information at the same time and our brains can't handle it."
This wasn't what I thought would happen. My pupils have widened. I have to escape. I can't let this happen to me! "How can we escape?"
"You would have to touch an opening. But they are always just barely far away to not be reached."
My fingers reached out but never quite made it to any of the images passing by. My body is sweating but it's not. I can't feel the droplets on my skin. Nor the tears from my eyes.
In the distance growls and screeches of despair. How many of me are here? When will this all end? I look towards the other side and a new me comes in. Repeating the scene that just happen over and over and over again. | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T07:17:41 | 5,663 | 181 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | “HOW WOULD YOU LIKE TO DIE?”
Liam considered. More carefully than he ever had in his life, which is probably why he was standing where he was at the moment, waiting for execution. The withered husk that preceded him was dragged off into a narrow steel corridor. The one he would himself be dragged off to in just a few moments.
*The best death would be…the best death…something was there*. A hint, a way, a hope. A tiny thought wriggled on the long end of a line cast back in memory. Days of boredom, doodling tiny pictures of stick figures fighting magnificent, heroic, insignificant battles while the teachers droned on. Days where the only thing that could capture his attention was the gnarled and bent history teacher. *What was his name?*
Mr. Philips, yes that was it. He was a storyteller more than a teacher, and history came alive in that classroom. Mr Philips would leave his seat and perch upon his solid oak desk and weave tales that captivated and delighted. Tales of heroes and glory and sacrifice. And Mr Philips favorite story (and Liam’s as well) had been...
And suddenly Liam smiled, for the first time in months. The executioner raised a quizzical eyebrow and slowly stroked the ridiculous beard that insecure wizards favored. He opened his mouth to ask the question once more, but before he could start Liam suddenly spoke.
“And how can man die better, than facing fearful odds, for the ashes of his fathers and the temples of his Gods?” Liam smiled ferociously, baring his teeth in a rictus warrior's grin. The executioner studied him for a second, and returned the smile along with a nod, and a simple wave of his pale black wand.
The world faded to white, then black. And then red.
——————————
“What a mess” said Jurl as he carefully picked his way over the pile of bodies. He hated cleanup duty. At least 80 or 90 of the apparitions were strewn in a rough semi-circle at the far side of a narrow bridge. And on the bridge itself lay a single, real body. Jurl counted at least a dozen serious wounds on the body. The sword lay shattered at his side, chipped and marred, and bloodied. The shield was almost unrecognizable, and the sigil on the front impossible to make out from the battering it had taken. On the far side of the bridge stood a temple, dazzling marble white, untouched. Smoke from a burning sacrifice of calf drifted lazily in the afternoon air, and Jurl could hear voices inside, chanting a name in perpetual gratitude for their survival: “LIAM, LIAM, LIAM!”.
Jurl pursed his lips, and set to work, dispersing the generic slaughtered enemies one by one back into the aether they had sprung from. Heroic last stands were always the hardest to clean up. | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T06:47:00 | 5,663 | 172 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | "John Smithson," said the executioner, calling out the name of the identity that I had been using when I committed my crimes. "How would you like to die?"
"I wouldn't," I reply immediately, trying to buy myself another few moments to think.
"That is not an acceptable answer," says the executioner. "If you do not provide a preferred means of death within the next two minutes, then you shall be beheaded."
"Right. Right. Um...... I would like to die....." *How can I make a logical paradox out of this? What are my options?* ".....ummm....."
"One minute remaining."
*At my own hand? No, they have mind-control systems, they can do that easily. Ah, wait, I have it!*
"...of my own volition."
The executioner sighs. "Not *again*," he murmurs. "I swear, there's one every decade... alright, someone go and fetch my Wand of *Crucio*, please? Let's see how long we need to torture *this* one before he asks for death..." | Well, it went almost as expected. No way this magic court would fall for that kind of smartassery, and rapidly decaying body of very old man, who was in his thirties a moment ago, was a proof of that. There have to be a better way.
"Garreth Berch, step forward" - Judge called my name, and my legs obeyed despite my will screaming at me to run away.
Truth was, there was no running any more. My assassination attempt at the king failed miserably, when that little servant girl stole the poisoned chocolate. If only I knew. They caught me shortly after, when I tried to leave the castle. I still could've got away, but then I learned of the girl. I never ment to harm the innocent.
"For the murder of Sevilia Thornvil by poison and the assassination attempt at King Robert III, you are sentenced to death by the means of your own choice." - Judge gave the sign, and the Executioner activated runic circle around me.
"Although I would prefer to not give you an easy death for your disgusting deed, our God is mercyful and his law we follow. Now, tell us, how do you want to die?"
Cold breath of death enveloped me, waiting for my last will to manifest. The glimpses of my life, all the harm I have brought to people, innocent bystanders who got caught in my fight for the greater life. Soldiers who fought for their kingdom, who had families to protect, despite being ruled by a tyrant. Was my war worth it?
Glimpses of the past changed into visions of afterlife, eternal torment for my sins, for all the pain I have brought onto others. I was shaking. I wanted to scream at the void, that I did it for the greater good, that I never wanted to harm anyone. But the vortex of nothingness did not care.
There have to be a way out. Not from death, no, the trap already closed. But from hell.
I inhaled deeply for my last time: "By helping others."
That was my best shot. A hope for the second chance, or at least a redemption of selflessness.
Everything went dark. For a moment I was nothing. Nowhere. It was very cold.
Then, a voice reached to me, pulled me out towards the light:
"Hey, you are finally awake" | 2021-06-24T10:00:08 | 2021-06-24T07:20:03 | 1,590 | 392 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 432 | 23 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | Ah shit. Well there goes my plan. I step over the mess of dried up bones before me. The court addressees me and ask me the same question the poor bastard before me fumbled. I start to panic my heart is racing i cant think of anything. "How much time do i have?" I ask. "I dont know dude honestly your the first to ask, lets say 5 seconds" the counsel answer. " 5 SECONDS?!" I blurt out. " cant i atleast get 5 min?" "Nah bro, then everyones gonna want 5 min, and ill be stuck here all day, i got magic shit to do" says the main councilman. " cant say i blame, well i guess can i die from an Orgasm?" I ask. "Ah shit thats actually pretty smart my guy, aight step forward ill give u a quickie behind the desk" states the pretty fit kinda Australian looking guy, im not gay but this guy looked mad handsom." Idk man im not gay, i dont think ill be able to get it up infront of you." I say. " Oh no worries mate, i know magic." The man says as he transforms into a marho robbie type. "Actually if you can shapeshift do you mind changing into something different?" I ask. " aight bro, but you only get one more shot, what you want mate?" She asks. " i think i always wanted to die in the thighs of a big tiddied goth girl?" I say. He transforms into an average looking goth girl not really my type. " i guess i was imagining more of a scene girl actually." I say. " too bad bro, u get wut u get." She says. " ah shit, well can you go back to margo robbie then?" I ask. "Nah bro YOU GET WHAT YOU GET." she states." Well that sucks" i say as i walk behind the desk. I get a meddiocre handy and die to one of the most disappointing nuts in my life. RIP | You breathe. Slowly, softly, barely there. It's going to be your turn soon. Soon. Just one more in front of you.
"Garelea Ordenssen," the voice of the Judge calls, echoing through the cavernous waiting room full of intricately carved stone walls. The man in front of you takes a deep breath, displaying confidence.
With a gait that can only be described as *smug*, Ordenssen struts into the courtroom through the small, open archway. "You stand accused, Garelea Ordenssen..." You breathe, tuning out the rest of the Judge's slow diction and syrupy voice.
"Guilty," a cacophonous sounding of voices calls. It's so loud, even out here, that it startles you out of your thoughts of nothingness, of anxiety pooling in your gut.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells him.
The man smirks, you can see that much. "Old age," he drawls. As soon as he gets the words out, *it* happens. *It* being the instantaneous change – his skin wrinkles, becoming visible more worn; his back, once tall and sturdy, slopes into a hunch; teeth fall out of his mouth like a waterfall until there is nothing but blood and gums dripping onto the floor.
And then he dies.
There is no fanfare, no discerning moment. He just...falls over. People dressed in dark purples and blues come to collect the body. You don't know where they are going to put it.
"Harley Matisnal," the Judge calls. Oh. Well. *There goes that plan*, you think, just a tad bit hysterically.
Who are you kidding? Very hysterically.
On shaking legs, you step into the courtroom. It is large. Not just in square footage, no. It goes up *very* far, so far you can't even see the ceiling. The walls are stone, but they glitter like gold; they even have its coloring.
There are several arches built into the wall, each colored like gems – maybe they *are* gems, but you're only really going off of color, here. Each archway holds spectators, but you're not sure whether they want to see people die or if they decide if you're guilty.
"You stand accused, Harley Matisnal, of the crimes of Larginnally and Evading the Law. Your trial was several months ago. We have just now received you. Of both, you have been determined to be–"
"Guilty," the voices ring. It is loud, especially now that you're standing *in* the room instead of outside of it. Your head is spinning so much that you can't tell left from right, down from up, whose mouths are closed and whose are open. Who said that? Was it the people? The Judge? You can't tell.
"Determine your method of execution," the Judge tells you.
You flounder for a moment. Fuck. *Fuck!* What are you supposed to say to this? Nothing?
...Fuck it, you're gonna go with nothing. See what they say to that! Can't kill you if you don't say they can, right?
"Nothing," you say.
And then you are.
Like you never even existed in the first place. | 2021-06-24T10:16:46 | 2021-06-24T08:08:07 | 56 | 22 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | They carried the now elderly body off the stage and out of sight.
I heard the Judge call my name and I was pushed forward hands shaking.
"How do you wish to be executed?" The judge asked, sounding bored.
My mind raced, old age hadn't worked. Maybe it was best to make it quick and painless... No, there had to be a way out. There's always a way out, just think! If I say Old Age they'll just age me up, if I say "in 300 years" they'll probably send me to the future. I need a way to die that's far off but that they can't perform through unnatural magics...
"THAT'S IT!"
"Excuse me?" Said the Judge eying me.
I smiled back feeling victory in my grasp. Natural Causes. That's how to get out of this. It was a risk but magic, murder, and pushing someone down the stairs would all be considered an Unnatural Death. I was going to survive!
I took a breath to state my answer... than I heard the sound of crying. One of the prisoners behind me was crying. I looked into the faces of the other prisoners than at the guards and finally the judge. I suddenly realized that as soon as I made my request I'd doom the other prisoners. As soon as I made off scott free, the judge would be forced to word the question in such a way where my escape would be impossible.
"We're waiting!" The Judge grumbled.
Hands still shaking I closed my eyes and said "the last one,"
"What?"
"I want to be the last person executed. No one after me can be executed. You and the guards get to go home early and never have to do this again."
The court was silent. Than the judge slammed his gavel and said "Souds good to me." | "I would like to die of old age"
I froze, as those words resonated in my head, the realization that his nape would be the last I see of him quickly sinked in.
"*Why...?*" I murmured. Why would he do that? He's not that gullible as to think the Supreme Court of Wizardry would let him get away with that, he's the mastermind behind it all, for Merlin's beard! He's the one who found out about the breach in the treaty, the muggle camps in Stirling, he convinced us, led us, believed in us... We were so close to rid the world of that noxious titan of a minister, just that one droplet would have been enough...
​
"Then, without further ado, for crimes against the Ministry, organising an uprising and for the theft of the sacred first titan Olaf's blood, we hereby sentence you to death, by old age, as requested." the judge's voice exploded through the hall.
His hair started losing its distinct red colour, exposing more and more patches of his scalp. Some weird black marks could be seen behind his curls.
I can barely contain my tears, I would've given everything for this man, as I'm sure he would've done for me also. He called me by his name, and yet this pitiful sight of him is all that's left...
​
Some commotion could be heard in the otherwise silent chamber of the jury, as a minute man hurried through the crowd, causing turmoil. His wacky moustache really didn't fit the vexed expression painting his face, neither did his voice tone, as it echoed through the room, trying to sound solemn.
"Know that we will find Olaf's blood! Your existence will be notorious through the whole continent as nothing more than pointless, so wipe that smirk off your face!"
"*He's... smirking?"* Of course he'd be smirking... even facing death under the spiteful noses of these disdainful aristocrats his spirit wouldn't break. I look back at him, as I struggle to accept my own fate myself, and right there, right in front of me is the answer. Tattooed on the back of his head is an encrypted message, calibrated exactly to work on my lenses!
I'm once more shook, as his body begins falling apart, I can't stop my tears, nor my gratitude, he really did give me everything in the end. The dust settles, and I make up my mind, looking up.
"The choice is yours." finally the judge's sight lands upon me, scrutinizing me, digging deep into my soul. I concede him little time however, as my leader's last words paint a clear picture in my mind, I spout my answer loud and clear.
"I wish to stab myself with the dagger resting on my desk at home!"
​
"So be it."
​
*A droplet of Olaf's blood is enough to rid a titan of their life, and grant a human a second one. He was half human.* | 2021-06-24T10:52:28 | 2021-06-24T09:19:00 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] As a Christian, the news that God had revealed his presence to the world made you ecstatic. However, you noticed that many of the priests at your church were horrified to hear about the news. | “I think the Norse were the first to figure out who truly had descended upon the world.
To us, a man radiating bright light, a god of light and purity, must have been the god of our faith. He had no holes in his hands, but we didn’t mind. He was blond, unlike the many depictions of our god, but we didn’t mind. He might have been sickly pale as he announced to the world that the day of reckoning was near, but we didn’t care.
The Norwegian news published the first article. Then the Swedish also did; that one went viral. Soon enough, mythology nerds and northerners alike were making hasty tweets about how everyone should start buying food in mass, because winter was coming. That turned into quite the meme.
The priest at my church were so confused, I think. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. God was supposed to bring his angels with him when he smote the sinners. And yet all he did was declare that the end of days had arrived as he smiled towards the public. The preachers started either declaring that he was a false god, or that what he said was true. Jehovah’s Witnesses went insane and started preaching mass suicide.
Then, of course, the winter did come. It lasted for 3 years. If I recall, 1 billion people died when it first settled around the world. They were not prepared for the cold and froze to death in a matter of months. In the following years people started starving. No seeds would grow and the animals died all the same. I think 4 billion died then. It was horrifying. The few of us who lived in rather developed countries around the poles had to work our asses off, but at least we had enough food for the day.
Humans have always been the same, I think. We do anything for the ones we love, and, as such, the wars broke out. It started as claiming territory for building food plants, but soon, they sent the first nukes.
Everyone else died in a matter of weeks. There was no one left, except us, and God.
I asked God for his name and he laughed. He showed us a hiding place, deep inside the roots of a tree I couldn’t see. He was still radiant, but he looked grim.
“Grieve not”, he said, “and meet me in the fields of the new world once it goes quiet.”
Then he left.
The earthquake came. The very fabric of reality shook. Murderers and beasts broke their chains and the great ships of the dead took off on one last voyage. There were screaming and sounds of metal striking metal and then... it was quiet.
At least that’s how I recall it.
The world is simpler nowadays. It’s just me, my husband, and our children. We live here, beside the only well that still contains water, though I don’t think it is the same water that was once there.
He visits us, from time to time; God and his brother, who is no longer blind. We cook a meal for us all and we all eat around the same table.
Baldr was brought back to life at the start of Ragnarok, and with him, he brought death. Ultimately, though, he brought rebirth. Perhaps our god was a reflection of him, or maybe it was the other way around.
Either way, I stopped being religious the day our first child was born. I had someone else to devote my existence to, and that was enough for me.”
*From the journal of Liv, wife of Livtrasir and the last human of the old world.*
Edit: formatting | '-And that is all for today children of god. May the lord be with you. Amen.'
'Amen.'
The choir emitted by the faithful was astoundingly loud today. My church has always been closer to a chapel, since on a good day we would frequent 20 people during the service.
Things have changed now. God materialized above the skyline of New York City before settling into the podium of the United Nations.
His speech was brief, yet powerful. I will not write his speech as there is undoubtedly hundreds of records that would cement it more clearly. Instead I will summarize it. He said that the sin committed by Eve and her children through proxy has been forgiven. That, the several millennia of suffering we had been imposed upon through this prison plane had been deemed enough. We would return to Eden...
We would go back home.
Of course this wasn't all he said. While no more children would be born in this world. The dead, the good, the benign, the ones who chose to live free of hate and degenerative lust would find themselves reborn in untold paradise. There they would find true joy in forms so alien that they would never crave...
I bore myself while writing this.
Anyway, that day was a bizarre day. Not because of the large amount of faithful who were now vacating the church. But the priesthood within this enclave seemed to be... fearful.
I have gone to this facility for the past five years and I have become well acquainted with father Montague, Brothers Joseph and Leon. Often times I would meet them outside of service, where we would play chess and discuss the news of the world joyously.
Now, I see the small twitches in their facial muscles, the swiveling of their eyes, their hands clenching their robes irregularly. They were scared and I did not know of what.
\--
Two days later I found myself walking towards the clergy house of the church. It was a small, brick laden building that was almost completely obfuscated from the rest of the world. Pathetic in comparison to the wondrous architecture that composed the semi gothic style of the church in front of it.
The world had begun to change, and I was-am terrified of it. Mass suicide cults had arisen in every corner of the globe with the promise of heaven. Religious extremism had risen, mobs of self righteous buffoons would hunt down homosexuals and women who craved knowledge and would lynch and rape them in the name of god.
My own church was no exception, for at this time in spite of the building being closed there was a small gathering of people. All of them bent in supplication, while they read 'Holy Mary Mother of God a blind man, who to this day haunts my dreams, took his time pouring melted wax into the cultists skin.
I quickly sneaked into the house, my friendship with the clergy men was such that I was even given a key.
I can't help but laugh in hindsight. Because the moment that I stepped inside of the house, right after closing the door. I found a shotgun barrel pointed at my chess.
I wish I could say that after I saw it I punched my assailant and took the weapon from his hands. But I must be objective for the sake of history. I pissed myself. The warm liquid dribbled through my shivering legs.
When I looked up I noticed brother Joseph's hands held the weapon, his face half hidden under a bandana.
Before either of us could speak, father Montague came forth and ordered Joseph to stand down.
I won't bore the reader of this with the details of our conversation. In summary I learnt this:
GOD IS DEAD.
We didn't kill him, something else did. Or maybe he killed himself.
All that is known to this day is that the throne of heaven, the silver city has been empty since before mankind was banished into Earth.
And that whatever the hell appeared in earth was nothing more than a usurper who had decided to start a war for heaven.
As we spoke I saw brother Leon, hanging from a noose. Clearly, he was too weak to bear the horror that was going to befall the world.
In his cowardice, I had found myself a new job. A brother of the New Manifest Catholic church. We who held the truth...
Shit, I hear them clawing right now. In the likelihood of my death I wish the reader should he be sane. They may be many, they may be strong but with devotion and focus you can smite any foe.
And if you are a heretic, a mutant, monster or abomination. In the name of the corpse god, FUCK YOU.
​
\*-Last letter written by Arch Cardinal Gutierrez. A few minutes before his last stand against the mutated cultists and fish people of Dagon and Nyarlothep aboard the USS Lucy. December 18, 2046. Otherwise known as the Sanctification of Jeremiah Gutierrez\* | 2021-10-30T09:58:35 | 2021-10-30T09:35:11 | 613 | 376 |
[WP] "Matt, we love you, and that's why we're all here. But you have a serious hoarding problem!" "But I'm half dragon! It's *literally* part of my heritage!" | "Hoarding treasure, Matt. Treasure. This isn't treasure, this isn't even sentimental treasure. It's all junk." Shiloh said, the elven woman sighing as she walked over to lift the highest box off a small tower of them in their living room.
"All of this stuff is valuable! Mark my words! Everything in here is going to be worth the economy of a small country in the next few years!" Matthias said, trying to make his way through the small trail, big enough only for his humanoid form to fit through, and even then, just barely.
"Okay, let's see then." Shiloh lifted the lid off the box, peering inside. "So this seems to just be a box of steam controllers."
"They discontinued them in 2019! I bought them for $5 a piece when they were unloading their stock! .. Plus shipping. What are you doing?" Matthias said, watching Shiloh pull her phone out of her pocket as she held the box.
"I'm looking up how much a brand new one is selling for on ebay." She said.
"Stop that." Matthias demanded.
"You never used the first one we bought. You said it barely worked for anything." Shiloh said, glaring at him as she scrolled through her phone.
"But it's discontinued now. It'll be a collectable. These are an important part of PC hardware history." Matthias said, trying to wrestle the box out of her grasp.
"$60. They're selling for $60. So, you spent what, $10 on them? That means we can sell them, right?" Shiloh said as she let him take the box from her.
"No." | The cockroach skittered between potential meals: some cheetoh crumbs, some old dried salsa, several sugary drink spills. The roach was joined by a few friends as they combed the great lands for sustenance to feed their progeny.
Matt snorted and coughed in his sleep, though the apnea did not wake him. Gold coins interlaced within his mattress dug into his leathery flesh. Aside from the treasure hidden within his mattress, Matt had a number of personal affects that would be worth a sizeable quantity to any interested collector: half a dozen boxes of old pizza, eight jars of high grade dragon-human piss, piles of empty mountain dew two liters, a mountain of take out trash, primarily from Panda Express, though with a small smattering of many fast food joints.
Matt took care of his treasures, occasionally dusting off the old pizza slices. He appreciated the scavengers who picked the treasures clean of their rot.
The alarm clock went off with a harsh breep, and Matt turned it off in one swift motion. Matt snoozed as the roaches crawling across his belly finished their meals. Several ate a long swipe of cheetoh crumbs, when Matt had been too lazy to wash his hands. A few more tried to slurp some sugar from a doctor pepper spill near Matt's lapel.
\---
A gentle knock came from the door: bum, bum, badum, bum.
Matt struggled to sit up in his reclining chair, the damn thing was practically broken.
Matt opened the door to protests from the hinges.
"Hello, sir. How are you today?" The pizza delivery boy's face looked funny, and he kept stealing glances at Matt's belly, to his army of cockroaches scurrying around looking for food. The boy stifled gags as the apartment smell flooded from the room: a pungent aroma consisting of old cats and rotting food.
"Doing fine."
"Signature, please, sir." His outstretched hand held a receipt.
Matt stiffed the boy before taking his pizza.
\---
After his shift, the pizza boy called adult protective services on Matt, concerned for his wellbeing, certain he was being neglected by his family in his old age.
Matt bellowed in anger when the social worker showed up, expecting a potentially mentally disabled old man and instead getting a thirty-something half dragon-man.
"It's okay, sonny. We have resources to help." The stupid old bag had said, and Matt seethed.
"I don't need help! This is me! This is how I am supposed to be!" Matt had screamed at the stupid cunt before slamming the door shut.
Matt sat down on his couch, ready to settle back into Always Sunny. He watched the cockroaches on his belly, and imagined them as Mac and Dennis and Charlie, just some boys up to their hijinks.
Matt smiled as he sat in his fortress. | 2022-09-04T13:09:03 | 2022-09-04T10:12:31 | 35 | 13 |
[WP] Your job was to clean and repair the messes heroes and villains leave in the aftermath of their fights. It's not a glorious job, but you still took some pride in it. So when the media called you an over-glorified janitor, you took offense and decided to stop working. | David Cameron watched the report on screen again. Sergeant New York calling him an over-glorified janitor. If it had been just a sound bite and forgotten it would be just another jerk. But no. Every news agency did their little bit on it. Interviews in the street showing how the people either didn't know who Clean-up was, or thought he was less valuable than the guys picking up the trash every week. Only the View acted like people were nuts.
Then an alert came in. Meister Or was robbing a bank. The Guardian League was responding. Clean-up turned off the alarm. Normally he would be running to one of his exo-suits and getting out to a fight like this. This time he went to the kitchenette and looked over what was available for lunch. The cheap frozen meals were not looking appealing. Changing from his flightsuit, Dave went to his distressed looking minivan. Maybe the supermarket would have something.
Walking in, Dave grabbed a cart and noticed most of the people, shoppers and workers alike, were staring at their phones. It only took a casual glance to see everyone was entranced. The dustup in NY was looking like a proper war. Streets destroyed to the point the emergency services couldn't reach fires. Buildings damaged and threatening to collapse. Credit where it was due. The GL were rescuing people every where. They just could not muster the forces to stop the Meister.
Dave splurged picking up a banana, the smallest steak in the store and a potato. By the time he got home and made his lunch the battle was over. Meister having gotten away as the heroes could not stop him while trying to save everyone. Amazingly the only hero available for comments was Sergeant New York. Praising Meister Or for stepping up his game. Because he had never done that level of damage before. When questioned about the force field pylons normally at fights like that. Sarge just shrugged. "Dunno where they come from or why they were not here this time. Why would they matter?"
That was a week ago. From NYC to Philadelphia the damage and fallout from battles had gotten three governors to declare state emergencies and mobilize the national guard. Every news outlet now wondering what had magnified all the villains in the area recently. Then it happened. The Varience smashed through the roof into the filming of the View. Setting a large conical device by the hosts, he demanded the city pay a ransom of a billion dollars or he would set off the nuclear device.
The heroes stretched thin and the police thinner, the camera panned over the table when a shadow dropped in through the hole above them. The humanoid forklift with yellow and black hazard lines, landing soft as a feather on the stage. Several floating robots coming down beside him and assembling a cage around the bomb. Varience spun to face them. "What are you doing!?" Even as the color drained from his face as a familiar purple sparkle formed walls around his bomb.
"Taking out the trash, and assessing damage. Before you say it. Your bomb is a three kiloton device. My small shield there can contain a nine megaton detonation. So don't bother." As the robots lift off the heavy armor following. "Lights and sound will be up in three minutes. Ceiling two minutes after that. Have a good day." And before the show went to commercial the building was restored in four minutes thirty-seven seconds.
Every news outlet got film of hundreds of thousands of Clean-up drones sweeping the city. Roads stripped down and gas and water lines repaired before the roads replaced above them. The rubble of collapsed buildings grabbed and the buildings reassembled as though they were jigsaw puzzles. By the end of the work day, NYC was back to how it was a week prior.
Dave pushed a cart in the supermarket. As he headed to frozen foods he paused by the man mopping the floor. Handing the man a snack cake. "Thank you Francis."
Smiling the man with the mop asks. "Thank you but why?"
"Always appreciate the janitor. They're the unsung ones that keep everything running." | “Dude are you freaking kidding me?” I groaned to Buster. We were on our fifth clean-up this month, working in yet another formerly-ritzy district, and I had just slipped and fallen in a massive pile of blue goo. The source? A sideways Johnny on the Spot which lay 10 yards from me with its side wall cracked open.
“Sorry, pal,” my friend Buster responded, “Do you think the Hulk cares where he throws these things?”
“Not the point, dickhead,” I exclaimed. “Just once, I would like a brawl to occur in, idunno, the ocean or somewhere without porta potties. Maybe then the TPG wouldn’t be sending us into yet another downtown where old fogey’s stare at us mop up 2 weeks worth of construction guy’s dookies off statues of their famous nobodies”.
“Yeesh buddy, you’re in a sour mood today. You’re the one who told me about this job, you’d think you found some sort of fun in it.” Buster retorted.
“Yeah, and I do like it, I just … I’m tired of watching weeks worth of cleanup not matter.” I slicked some of the thicker pools of goo off my shorts where I landed in it. “It just seems like the villains loooove to unveil their big surprises downtown.”
“I feel ya, bro,” Buster sighed. He got down on my level with a sponge in his gloves and began mopping some of the liquid off my shoes.
Truth be told, the day wasn’t too bad. It was sunny - that was a perk for once - and warm. Our last cleanup had been in La Paz, Bolivia in the monsoon season, and I still felt myself stiffening up when I heard the sound of thunder in the distance. That cleanup had been between Thor (yeah, Thor) and some assclown who called himself “The Irish Disaster” whose main weapon of choice was a spud gun. Seriously? In Bolivia? That time, we had a crew of about seventy people brought down by the TPG cleaning mashed potatoes off the sides of hostels and favelas with mops and vacuums. It was ridiculous.
“Garrett, buddy, look over there,” Buster said, pulling me from my reverie. I shot a look to where his finger was extended and spotted a thin young lady walking towards us, microphone in hand, with a full camera crew in tow. We kept cleaning the river of goo as the crew carefully unloaded cameras, stage lights, booms, and microphones, and the lady dolled up her hair and brought out a mirror from her purse to fix her makeup.
“Slow down man! If we stay in this spot we’ll be in the background of this shot!” Buster shouted at me under his breath.
He was right, we’d be right in the background. And it looked like a big news team too. I noticed “ABC7” printed on a couple of their sleeves, and figured it would be fun to be the topic of a local news stint. I broke out my shovel as I began to push clumps of the blue puddle into a biocontainment bag, and kept watching the camera crew out of the side of my eyes.
Finally, she started.
“Alice, checking in with ABC7, here in uptown New York - roughly two hours after what appeared to be an altercation with The Hulk and an as-of-now unnamed assailant.”
“Great start,” I chuckled to Buster.
She continued. “We’re here today to shine a light on a group of people who usually stay out of the spotlight. A group funded by the Trash People’s Guerilla movement, or TPG. These workers are flown to areas of altercations between good guys and bad, and clean up the messes so others may carry on with their normal lives. Usually seen as glorified janitors…” her commentary died down as my mind went beserk.
Glorified janitors? Is this lady out of her mind? I turned to Buster and he had a look of shock and incredulation on his face as well.
“Doesn’t she know we’re paid ten K per job site? Dude, we’re making bucco buckos out here, and she’s acting like we’re some underpaid custodian,” I frantically whispered to Buster.
He couldn’t help but laugh. “Buddy, you’re covered in blue slime, which is clearly coming out of a porta potty, and who knows what else. It’s being seen on national TV, and you’re upset about being called a janitor?”
Well, he did have a point. But I wasn’t about to put up with this kind of job shaming. 56 jobs over the past 3 years of The Avengers being assembled, and while it wasn’t the most glamorous job in the world, I was half a million richer for it. That was better than most of my friends were making, plus I was traveling the world (in a sense) and being flown around on private jets. All at the behest of some trust-fund baby with money to throw at us so we could help clean his moral conscience.
I turned to Buster and told him. “Hey man, I’m sorry, but I think this is it for me.” And I left. | 2022-09-28T19:43:34 | 2022-09-28T18:52:12 | 162 | 82 |
[WP] The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!" | "Hello...?"
I sighed gently as I put the old phone on speaker and set it back on the table. The magnetically charged generator hummed quietly in the corner, struggling to keep juice flowing through the charger cable and maintain my last bid for sanity.
On the old plastic table was an array of trinkets I had found that day. I only ever went out for trinkets these days. The greenhouse pretty much ran itself, and the spring-water salinity distiller had not had a breakdown in almost five years now. I had scavenged just about everything I needed for survival, so all that was left were trinkets.
A purple piece of glass. A nearly spherical pebble. An intact spider-web leaf--I liked that one; the brittle leaves usually crumbled the second they hit the ground. A rusty belt buckle missing the tongue. A crinkled piece of plastic that might once have been a candy wrapper.
Trinkets.
"H-Hello...!?"
All there was to do these days was sit on the pedal-seat in the corner by the generator and pedal all day to recharge the old piece of junk. And I only ever used the generator to keep the old cell phone running, so I did not have to recharge it every day.
The only other thing there was to do was go out and collect trinkets.
"Oh my God, _hello_!?!"
I sighed. Even the age-old voice recordings were losing their luster.
"This can't have been a mistake, it _can't_ be, not after twenty _fucking_ years of conserving the last twelve percent of this damn battery, and I turn it on for the first time in twenty years and I immediately get a phone call, and that’s just too _fucking ironic_ to be real, so this _is_ a mistake, isn't it, and..."
I finally looked up from my meager bounty and frowned at the phone. The voice on the other end devolved into flustered muttering, just a warble from the old speakers.
_That's not a voicemail_, I thought, staring and staring and staring at the phone.
The sound coming from the speakers grew muffled for a moment, and a harsh _clop_ issued forth, as if someone on the other end had dropped their phone mid-call. A rustle, static. A deep sigh, that kind of sigh one makes when one is alone, and all they have to hold onto their last grip of calm is their own breath. Someone, alone, breathing, alone, relying on themselves to remain calm. Someone on the phone.
Someone.
_That's not a voICEMAIL._
The truth of reality _finally_ sank in, and I lunged for the phone.
Snatching it up, I shouted, "Hello! Hi! Hello!?"
"Don't screw with me, phone," the voice replied, but it was distant, as if the other person held the phone away from their face. "I save you all this time, and this is how you repay me--"
"Hello! I'm a real! I'm person! I'm--!" I inhaled, choked on my own saliva, and coughed until I could not breathe. "I'm... I'm..." I wheezed, sucking air through the cough lodged at the top of my esophagus. "Hi. I'm Dakota. Hi."
The voice was quiet, almost comically suspicious. "You're not a mistake?"
I contemplated the question for a moment, and a sudden, unexpected swell seemed to balloon inside of me. It was laughter. I teetered on the edge of laughter, something I had not heard in over a decade. I had asked myself that exact same question for years. How was I alive even after all this time, just to suffer in solitude? What had I done to deserve it? It had to be a mistake. _I_ had to be a mistake.
But all I said was, "No."
And then I finally laughed. I laughed and I laughed and I laughed.
And she laughed, too. | I was only eight when the world ended. When the plague swept its way across the world and humanity went out with nothing but a whimper. I was only eight when I saw my first dead body, my parents, laying like husks on the living room floor. They went quickly, and I have seen many more since. Since then, in the twenty years between, the only company I've managed to keep was in the many voices on the other sides of phonecalls.
I would dial a new number, a made up combination, and wait.
The voices on the phones never answered. The other line always just rang and rang as I waited until the voicemail answered and I felt almost satisfied. Sometimes, I'd get a call myself, and in the first few years after the event it would excite me, but it was always just spam. An array of robotic voices that could never hope to mimic a real human.
*Carnival Cruise has an offer for you!*, In the beginning I'd listen to the robotic voices pitch. Sometimes even talk with it in one sided conversation.
But one day when I called a voice on the other line answered, not a robot, but a real human. I was looking up New York area codes at the time in the yellow pages. Going through them in a pattern in numerical order as not to miss any. I was always sure to get them all.
In the twenty years since the plague I had not seen so much as a single glimpse of another person, so when that voice answered:
"Hello? Hello.... is that breathing? Oh my god it is! He-" I hung up, unsure of what to do. My breath's grew short and fast. I slumped back against the concrete wall of the parking garage and stared to the sun above. No way it had been real. A trick of the mind, I was too hot. Dehydrated surely. I reached for my jug and put it to my lips, gulping down water in effort to balance my brain again. But then my phone rang, the number on the screen the same I'd just called. *A callback*. I had only dreamed of such a thing.
With hesitancy I answered, and a woman's voice rattled off the moment I did. "Hello? You're real right?! A real person!" Her voice was upbeat, full of both energy and excitement. I was unsure I could match it.
"I uhm...yes. I am a human, yes."
"What?! I thought I was it! God it's been... it's been nineteen years since I've talked with anyone, anything that's real. I used to talk with Flora, but she passed, and then it was just me..."
I thought back to the books I'd read. Books like: "Warrens Conversational Tips" and "Social Interactions for Dummies".The many conversations I'd practiced with myself in the mirror as a kid in case the day ever came where I needed to talk again.
*When confronted with the passing of a loved one, simply say: my condolences.*
"My condolences." the two words came out awkward and clunky rather than comforting. "Where are you? Who are you?"
"Oh it's ok, she was just a ficus, but I loved her so. I'm still unsure of what got her. Rot root maybe, but you're real!"
I took a deep breath and asked again, this time realizing more of what the answer to her question would mean. "Where are you?"
A long silence that felt like an eternity followed. I just listened to her breathe as we sat, awaiting an answer that would surely determine if we both stayed lonely or not. *New York, New York, New York*. I prayed in my head.
"You're an American aren't you...I could tell by how you spoke. My father was an American man. He talked just like you. With that long draw and lengthy words."
This time my voice was more stern when I asked, no longer asking but commanding an answer. "Where are you!"
"New Zealand... I'm in New Zealand." she admitted. "I'm guessing you're not."
She was right. I was an entire world away, in Kansas. I tried to stay central in the hope that if someone answered, someday, I could go to them. I looked down to the cover of my phone book, ripped at the cover. New- not New York numbers, but it was New Zealand I'd been calling.
"I'll be there. Just give me a few weeks. I'll come."
"What, how? And why, we just met?"
"No we didn't. All we've done is just spoken on the phone. I have a book somewhere about planes, about boats too. I'll find a way,-"
"Evelyn" she finished my words. "I'm Evelyn. In Wellington, the small island. At the bottom. At least, in case you dont make it, will you promise to call again?"
"Again? I wasn't going to hang up." I thought back to the books, to the chapter titled *Topics of Conversation: How to get started*
"So Evelyn, how are you today?" | 2022-12-21T12:06:42 | 2022-12-21T11:54:22 | 1,194 | 629 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Everyone has these tags. These little buttons on their shirts with a number on it. Some in the hundreds, some in the thousands. Mine is number 1.
Pretty quickly people started to figure out that when someone else died, everyone with a lower number moved up. There wasn’t really much that this meant for the higher numbers, but for the lower numbers it was a bloodbath. The higher numbers started by trying to kill the numbers above themselves, but there was a reason for the rankings. 5 fell to 3. 3 fell to 2. Only number 17 managed to kill number 16, and even then it was with 18’s help. He still wound up hooked to a machine for the short time he managed to live.
Eventually they realized the better plan was to start killing the numbers lower than you. 2 killed 3-15, then 16 moves up, turns to 3. That 3 kills 4-73, 74 moves up and becomes 4. That 4 kills… and on and on. It led to huge gaps in power between the top ten. For all that time, nobody set their sights on me. I’m number one. Of course I am the strongest. Far and away. What can I do? Only a handful of people ever knew, and that’s all they are now, a handful. At least that’s what I tell people. Reality is always such a letdown.
I control the tags.
| Determining the fates of others never seemed like a blessing to me, a simple, powerful thought could ruin the lives of countless. It took too long for me to control it, and even longer to accept the things that I have done. I never wanted to rise to the top, If I could, I would be at the bottom. But I guess that the fact that I'm already here and will remain here could mean that people will stop killing each other for nothing more than a status. At first I honed my power to remain on top, so that people will know that trying to kill me would never work, nobody will be on top other than me and the greed might even stagnate. But that wasn't enough. After much practice, meditation, and careful deliberation, I managed to stagnate the top 10, for as long as I live, the top 10 will never change. After years more and a few, accidents, I stagnated the top 100. the power struggle started to stop. Later on, 1,000.
1,000 of the most powerful people in the world, now immortal. At first it helped, people stopped trying to kill to rise in the ranks. But the top 1,000 started to realize that they could no longer be killed, they all became obsessed with that fact, as if they were demi-gods, that they could not kill each other, and that they could rule the world. They began to cull anyone who had a strong power, but not everyone altogether, for they toyed with them, they loved the idea that they were gods, and I could do nothing but watch. Soon, almost everyone but the 1,000 had such weak powers that they became mortal.
But none of them believed anymore that I was the god above them all. They thought that it was a mistake of some sorts that I was ranked the top, that the oracles made an error. And now, I have to fix the wrongs that I have done. All the atrocities they committed were because of me, I should never have made them believe that they were immortal, because they're not. I can't make everyone "immortal", I can't make *anyone* immortal. I cannot save everyone, for it will take too much time. There comes a day when angels and demons will have to fall all at once, and this day has been long overdue. I changed all our fates with a single focused thought, fates that I never knew I had the power to change until now. And I just did. Soon, very soon, the world will become mortal once more, for the so-called gods do not deserve to rule it.
***
**Power: Ability to determine how and when a person dies**
***
Edits: Lots of last minute grammatical changes. | 2014-12-18T12:36:19 | 2014-12-18T10:51:52 | 2,259 | 362 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
*Here it comes again,* I thought to myself. I turned to face my attacker. The third in as many days. Some punk with a third-rate powerset. Probably born since the District was walled off.
I sized him up. No obvious indicators of his power. Nothing obvious on his clothes to indicate anything either.
"You're nothin'! you hear me!? Nothin'!"
I ignored him and walked closer for a better look. He pulled a gun out of his vest and shot me in the head.
---
"Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
*Gun in the vest, go for that first. Either wants to show off his gun, or his power isn't a combat power.*
"You're noth- huh?" I cut him off as I pulled the gun out of the vest. Biometrically locked. Useless to me. I tossed it aside. I examined his response. Too stupid to be surprised that I knew he had a gun. Not surprising, I suppose. He wound up for a haymaker. I watched for any giveaways. Nothing off about his stance, no glowing motes or strange noises. I braced my self for impact, making no effort to dodge. Predictably, it knocked my head clean off.
---
*Gun in vest, something that acts like super strength, maybe kinetic manipulation?*
"Hey! That's th-" I cut him off with a thrown chunk of debris. No reaction whatsoever.
"You're dead, you piece of shit! I'll fuckin pick my teeth with your bones!" Curious. Altered dietary requirements, or just a threat? I couldn't smell anything odd on his breath, and all his teeth looked standard issue. Probably just a threat.
I go for his gun, just like last time, and throw it away. He winds up for a haymaker, which ends up being too slow to hit me. I take an experimental punch. The relatively light jab does nothing to him, but breaks my arm. *call it kinetic manipulation then.*
His next attack crushes my ribcage.
---
I reset to before his car comes around the corner and look around my environment. There's no such thing as invincible. Honestly, simple immunity to physical harm is one of the least annoying powers to deal with. Someone seemingly invulnerable might be vulnerable to poison, or radiation, or maybe just still needs to breathe. That'll do, right there. If his only power is contact-range crude kinetic manipulation, this can of... aerosol brake cleaner should do the trick. I look on the warning label. It's an older product, which usually means more poisonous. An entire half of the can dedicated to warnings not to ingest or expose to eyes. Good.
"Hey! That's the guy that killed my cousin! Pull over!"
He steps out of the car.
"You're nothin'! you hear me!? Nothin'!"
I duck toward him and retrieve his gun. He grabs for me, an attack I easily dodge. I raise the can to his face and press the trigger. He screams as the chemicals contact his soft tissues. I don't think it'll kill him but... I take an experimental kick at his side as he writhes on the ground. No reaction. Means he needs to be able to concentrate. I drag him over to the edge of the sidewalk while his driver looks on in horror. I take his head and slam his open mouth down on the curb twice. He stops moving.
It's all over too quickly for a real crowd to gather, but the driver and the little old lady crossing the street stare, wide-eyed. I don't think anyone has ever guessed what my power lets me do. Fine by me. They're welcome to keep coming. They'll run out of challengers long before I get tired of destroying them. | The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply | 2014-12-18T13:17:44 | 2014-12-18T13:16:53 | 1,338 | 47 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | Rank was never that important to me.
The others fought. Endlessly. For some reason, their numbers were more important to them than their humanity.
I started with the lowest rank, and I've never moved up. I've never killed a soul. But I'm #1 now, because the others are all dead.
I'm lonely. | Prologue: *It wasn't the largest city, but it was definitely the most powerful and arguably dangerous in the world. Every single person here held a special ability, ranging from a power to clean everything within a 2m radius, to extreme powers such as flying or super strength. All these powers helped construct the most technologically advanced and richest city the world. One man had the power to give everybody a ranking in terms of how powerful their powers were. The minor powers caused little trouble, but conflicts to reach the top 10 cause widespread destruction. However there was one person who has held the top spot for many years. Me.*
I am considered the greatest of them all - yet no one but me knows why. I have no extraordinary powers like time control, even inferior powers like the cleaning everything within a 2m radius. I am a normal human being.
Since killing someone with a higher ranking gives the killer a higher ranking themselves, I have been the target of many assassination attempts. I have survived them all. Some say my power is health regeneration, but that's not true. Some say my power is extreme luck, but that's not true either. Maybe in 2000 years they will think my power is immortality, but that is only half true. It took me a while to find out what my power is. It's the ability to be ranked number one on this superpower list. I am essentially immortal, as dying would mean I am not the top ranked anymore. My power is hardly powerful at all, yet I am the most powerful of them all. | 2014-12-18T15:23:06 | 2014-12-18T11:55:01 | 243 | 39 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | I pull my number from the machine that ranks us all. Shocked, I can't believe it, no one has ever had this number in all the books, movies, songs or anything. Putting away the ticket I ask people around if they had ever heard of someone having that number, careful not to reveal I had.
"Well, yeah someone has to be number 1. Can't say that I know anyone who pulled it though." Typical response. I can't believe it, I'm just a student, what was the chance of getting assigned #1. A pyrokinesis user blasts by, nearly knocking me over. I think I saw a ticket that said 998 in her hand. They're always using their powers to jet around, its a hazard and they never wear helmets. Oh well, if they get knocked out of the running then it just means someone else gets pushed up.
Dusting off my new pants, a nice middle aged man helps me up. "Damn pyros, lucky they don't burn the place down with how they fly."
"Thanks" I say, right as I notice the sign change from '999' to '001'.
A voice comes over the intercom, "Now serving deli customer one."
"Yes," I step forward, "I will take a quarter pound of chicken, a half pound of sliced honey ham, and some roast beef please." | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T15:10:54 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 164 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | It is nice to be king. Maybe it would be better if everyone wasn't trying to kill me, but things could be much worse. I have a nice apartment, a beautiful girlfriend, some good money, and really what more does a man need to be happy? I suppose love, but we are in love, and honestly, no one else thinks she is beautiful, so I think we were made for each other.
Now, how did I reach this pinnacle you ask. Well, the answer is quite simple, my power is not all that impressive, actually it is rather bad. Same with hers, but together, it works out quite well. You see, you have to declare when you are going to kill someone of a higher rank, that way we know who killed them, and they know that they are being hunted. So when someone say that they are going to come gunning for me, I open up a video call with them.
A simple video call. Nothing more nothing less, but what I do on that call shows my power. No one knows what it is of course, I make sure of that by keeping the calls private. When I get them online I talk to them, and eventually I suggest we flip a coin. This is my power. I flip a coin with another person, heads, he dies, tails, I die, and no, double-headed coins don't count. Why would I use something so risky, you may wonder. Simple really, my girlfriends power is over luck. Playing poker and she says cards, that will be her hand. Call a coin flip, that is the way it will land.
Together we rose up here. It is really surprising that no one else ever thought to work together, but I suppose they really are just to power hungry to share anything. It is quite a shame. I am sure that there are better combos than this. Now I really must be going, and so must you I'm afraid, after all you know my secret now. "Sweetheart, you think it is going land on heads again?" | 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T13:27:32 | 63 | 19 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | "It's been 20 years, Un," my old crime-fighting partner, Gold Grizzly, said.
"20 good years," I interjected.
"They have been good years," he agreed, "but I was saying, it's been a long time, and I still don't know your power."
"These good looks, obviously," I said with a giggle.
"Seriously," he said, "you know that if there's anyone you can trust, it's me. "
"Stop asking about this," I ordered.
"Yes, yes, of course, I'm sorry," he said in a distracted tone.
People always try to guess what power made me Number One. So far, no one has guessed that it is controlling Number Two. | Hi, I'm going to tell my little story here rather quickly as I am rushed for time. Being #1 makes a lot of folks very interested in killing me, so I have to constantly remain on edge.
If there were no ranking systems, most people would assume that I have absolutely no powers. My power is a much more subtle one. But enough tension building, I'll just tell you what it is right now. I have the power of deception.
Seems pretty lame compared to some of the other powers around here -- rank #2 has laser vision for Christ's sake -- but it definitely has its uses. I can make anyone believe or do anything I want. For example, today I convinced a man with acid breath to kill himself. Needless to say, that was a pretty dark moment for me, but I've done worse.
I like to think I'm a pretty charming guy. It helps me manipulate people when I need to. My girlfriend is rank #4 in the city and rank #1 for females. She sadly has the power to crush a man's soul. Ok that's not entirely true, but she does have supersonic speed. I hope you don't think that I accidentally fell in love with the most powerful woman in the city, I planned it. She is entirely convinced that I love her and that really comes to my advantage. She'll do absolutely anything for me, and that can really come in handy for someone as targeted as me in this city. In a way I guess I do love her. I love that she will do simple things for me like robbing a bank. And I especially love the complex things: like murdering her powerful, high ranking family for me. The poor girl can't help but to be infatuated with me -- literally.
Anyways, thats the gist of how I became #1 here. Call me an asshole if you want, but that's the type of personality you have to have to remain on top. It's survival of the fittest, baby. The strong survive and the weak die.
| 2014-12-18T18:39:49 | 2014-12-18T13:12:49 | 63 | 18 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Do you know what humans are? They are a small, bipedal creature trapped on a resource starved planet. Evolutionists would call this a typical case of a species made ruthless through internal competition. Not once in their entire existence had there been peace. Their 'civilization' began by throwing stones at 'Philistines,' and evolved to slinging lead. Yet, through this competition humans developed something beyond brutality...they developed creativity.
We're called "Greys," or at least that is what Humans called us. We had probed their planet several times, and our biologists studied them (including anatomy...I can only condone what our biologists did in their studies). We were looking for a warrior type species to help us against the fight against the Swarm. As our homeworld was besieged, we approached the humans asking for help.
Our council was afraid of giving away our weapon technology, but we were more afraid of being eaten. So, we struck a compromise where we would only give the Humans our designs for our Whirlwind FTL engines. What we were expecting was that Humans would build great ships with our engines and land on Swarm planets, just like what we had seen them do to each other. There will be a bloodbath, and two less violent species in the universe.
What we did not expect were Humans slapping our engines onto asteroids and embedding them into Swarm planets at nine-tenths the speed of light. Do you know what happens when a relativistic rock the size of a small moon hits a planet? Nothing pretty. Swarm planets fell, both warrior caste and worker caste. Nothing was spared, not even their larvae.
Just like before, the brutal Humans threw rocks. But now, they were creative about it. And now, we will reap the whirlwind we had sown. | The response below is the prequel to a story I wrote for another prompt found here: http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2j42eh/wp_humanity_is_the_only_race_in_the_galaxy_with/cl8i9yy
Enjoy! And as always, please criticize as much as you can - I need it!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Meditating in this room, with its crystalline throne and specialized hydrogen atmosphere, had always put me at peace before. I had ordered the burning of entire planets, demanded that entire fleets of ships be sacrificed to stall an enemy advance, and asked for whole cities to commit ritual sacrifice from this room. All of that paled in comparison to what I was about to do now, and I doubt I will have any peace in the years to come.
Humanity had always been an oddball race in the galaxy. With the invention of their Kines-Alcubierre Drive, their presence in the galaxy grew like a menacing cancer. Full of war and hate and astonishingly quick technological progress, they quickly butted heads with their alien neighbors. While I'm glad that my people, the T'vana, weren't the first to discover human violence firsthand, I can't help but feel that it might have helped us to learn their ways. Their fundamental differences - borne out by a rare evolutionary path in which they evolved sentience as *individuals* instead of a collection of hiveminds - could have saved us if we had only bothered to learn from them. But the other species in this galaxy, the ten civilizations that feared humanity's abilities, stifled them instead. With warships and sanctions, we stifled them until they were fenced into a third of the galaxy we all share.
But now there are only 4 of the original 10 species left. The others are all gone, scattered in refugee fleets or cowering in hidden asteroid bases. All hoping that the Enemy, the REAL nemesis that we should have seen coming, overlooks them. For all the condescension that we showed towards the humans because of their warlike ways, we need them. None of us know how to wage cold, dirty war on a grand scale. The Shuri never moved past dueling as a suitable method of settling disputes, while the Heela refused to even touch weapons. Both species are now seen as museum pieces; things to be treasured for the short time they have left. The Kaavari aliens from beyond the galactic border do not see chivalry as something to be admired.
So now I, possibly the last Emperor of the T'vana, am giving humanity the one thing they've never been able to develop. Their Kines-Alcubierre machines can travel a hundred times the speed of light, but ours...our ship drives shift *instantly*. If the Terran Empire could fight their way through and colonize a third of the galaxy with such a limited drive, I truly shudder to think of what they will do with this.
I am sorry, my people. May we go together into the dark, for I fear that humanity will have taken all the light when this is done. | 2014-12-26T12:10:42 | 2014-12-26T12:09:55 | 130 | 30 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Guilt, shame, and horror would only begin to describe the things humanity felt when we were hit with the news. The Aliens didn't mince their words.
In short, we were considered the scum of the universe. Deliberately left out to rot, to self destruct, because we had shown a capacity for violence, cruelty, and atrocity unequalled throughout the known universe.
We, the human, were geniuses, but not in the way we expected. Turns out life out there was literally paradise. Apart for a few other species, intelligent life out there had a peaceful and nurturing predisposition. Violent races were quarantined until they either reached enlightenment or self-destructed. None had reached the space age on their own, until now.
The Barzenians, the most violent race after us, were simpleminded beings driven only by war. How they managed to come off their rock was a mystery, but they were now taking over with ease.
Unlike the Barzenians, we have a duality that shows a promise for redemption, although we are capable of untold terror we strive to be better people. This gave them hope and abled them to risk sharing technology and asking us for help.
We, of course, accepted. It didn't take much more than a year to beat them once we had the technology. It was a joke. This was the second most violent race?
Our initial shame turned into comfort, we were overjoyed. We had imagined space to be a scary place, turns out it's fucking rainbows and unicorns - can't be scared if you're the boogeyman. | Kyloran Estraxx straightened the tie around his right neck. As was protocol when establishing contact with new races, his ship's fabricator tailored an approximation of the style worn by that world's leader. Or leaders, in some cases. In the end, Kyloran settled for a dark blue suit and a white and red tie for each neck.
The diminutive locals bowed and smiled once again, and Kyloran returned the gesture, which sparked off even more bowing. He still had no idea why so many of them congregated on such a small string of islands, but logic--and protocol--dictated that a planet's largest city/hive/nest was often that world's capital.
He was sure this "Toh Kee Hyoh" was the right choice, even if he had to keep bowing.
One approached him and bowed. "Honoured guest, our leaders are ready to see you now."
He copied the bow but not the smile. That unnerved them. "Thank you, honoured host," he said. "Please lead the way."
He followed the local leader through several hallways under an honour guard. Most were tense, even dressed in their own suits Kyloran could sense they were ready to kill or die. It comforted him to know he had made the right choice in selecting this species.
Two servants pulled the doors back and Kyloran padded down his suit before walking in. A bright light ringed the long table and a variety of the planets' leaders stood beside their seats.
He walked to the head of the table and sat as instructed by his host. They had worked out their strategy for this meeting, and Kyloran had decided to trust his host's plan. He had been briefed on each one.
"Mr. Tianpu, Mr. McMillon," he nodded to his left and right. "Hirano-san," he said warmly to the greying local who smiled back. Nobuyuki Hirano had been close with his host and had provided several gifts which had proven useful in understanding the world. He had wanted to speak with the planet's government, or barring that the leaders of the largest nations. But Hirano-san had shown him who held power on this world. Kyloran didn't like it--this world's democracy was probably their greatest invention--but he was here on a matter of life and death, his people's. The humans would have to fix it themselves.
Their familiarity caused the rest to exchange glances, but he went on naming each one after a brief pause. He could name their organizations as well, their revenues, everything they held dear. But he didn't mention that.
"Greetings. I am Kyloran Estraxx, ambassador of the Payapa Unity. I welcome you, the corporate leaders of Earth, to our first conference. Or rather, our negotiations," he said with a smile.
| 2014-12-26T13:25:59 | 2014-12-26T12:09:19 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | Not all humans were warriors. Not all of them invented machines and chemicals that brought death. This human was my friend.
From the beginning, I knew that some humans were artists. Some built bridges and buildings. Some explored caves. We were told all about them by our scientists. The ones who studied other life forms on other planets.
Still, most of us thought only of human warriors. Their bringers of death. At first, they were the most important part of humanity for us. We knew we needed human warriors to save us. And we knew that human warriors might eventually destroy us. We explored the problem for a long time. Then one of us suggested a solution.
A young one suggested a way for us to have human aid without having to fear them. The plan seemed simple yet far fetched at the same time. We explored the possibilities for a long time. Then the best of us made a plan and all of us followed it. Now, such a short time later we were celebrating victory. After years of losing countless lives and many planets, we were celebrating the success of a far fetched idea, concocted by one of our youngest.
I was happy for my species but I could not help but be sad for my friend, the human. She was puffed up with pride. We had been watching the celebrations together. My friend could not attend any of them in person. She had been born ill. Still she was proud of the accomplishment of her race. Her eyes were riveted to the display. As she watched the first member of the Congress of Worlds recount the victories, her lips moved as she mouthed his words.
I could only watch my friend. I knew it was almost her time and I was happy that she lived to see this. My friend turned her head to look at me. It was the last time. She didn't see the dermal poison I placed on her arm. She closed her eyes and died painlessly without ever knowing what came next.
The next day is when it happened. The final part of the plan. The first member of the Congress of Worlds spoke solemnly. He told my people that he knew it would be hard to say goodbye. I was not the only one with human friends. He thanked the humans. He told them that it was time for them to go. He nodded and the display ended. Every human dropped dead that instant.
We are a peaceful people. We rationalized this part of the plan by saying they were only copies. We built a copy of earth and filled it with copies of all of Earth's living things. The copies had no idea. The only thing different about them was a small biological kill switch embedded into their brains. At the key moment, we put the danger back into the box. No need to give the original humans any technology or unleash them out into the galaxy.
We disposed of the human copies. We destroyed the second Earth. We mourned. I am not the only one of my people who made friends with the artists, builders, and explorers of Our Earth. Sometimes when the sky is clear at night. I look up at what our scientists say is the real Earth. I am not the only one.
| Hopefully not too late.
They stood in awe. They figured we existed, but to actually see us, and communicate with us, and in their language! Generals of war, leaders of countries, men of science, all stood before us, confounded by our offer.
We were honest from the start, they knew we were weakened, and it was strange. We thought it risky to let them know, for fear that they would try to take our technology by force. We had studied them so much in the past, and their violence stood out the most. However they were an unpredictable species, and their eagerness to help, however selfish, only helped to prove that maybe we were wrong about them.
Their scientist were completely against the idea They wanted so badly to explore the universe, but the idea of militarization was not in their interest, I could tell they wanted peace and advancement for their species. The first thing a general asked was if it was possible to attach an ftl to a nuclear weapon of theirs. I admit I was amazed by the idea. However I could see the disappointment in the face of their scientists. I could tell they didn't like the general's thinking. I couldn't feel sad for this human, he would get his chance later, my people were running out of time.
The general's plan made great sense, I could tell that these, humans, didn't want to get too involved. However they could not pass this opportunity up. We worked tirelessly to fit the FTL drives to their weapons of mass destruction. Their creativity was astounding. This must be what the scientist feared, working along their military engineers left me afraid of the evil they were willing to put up with in order to win. It's amazing how they were able to survive this long, as if being from a world with such few resources wasnt enough. Its a good thing that they didn't have the resources of other planets, who knows what they would have brought this galaxy.
We had fifty of their weapons ready to go. I had suggested only two, but they said crippling the enemy isn't the way to win. They wanted complete surrender, or total annihilation. I understood why after they explained it. Attacking an enemy such as the Ghull, and leaving them crippled would not stop this war. Their tactics were terrifying. I couldn't stop them now. The only thing that gave me peace of mind was that it seemed they only wanted to eliminate the threat. Without the intention of needless violence against other races. We might be able to coexist after this.
The Ghull only have 10 planets. However their military had hundreds of thousands of ships, that being a small estimate. The humans were able to find out that the orders came from the planet, and determined that by focusing on the planet's, we could cut their brains and leave the ships aimless enough to fight them later. It seemed like a plan that would work. It had to, out of all the civilizations, they were the most ruthless. Even more than the Ghull.
We took out eight planets effortlessly, the Ghull had no idea what hit them, and it seemed that they had not prepared for anyone to fight back. This pleased the humans. It filled them with vigor. The Ghull put up more of a fight with the last two planets, but it wasn't enough. They also fell. The humans had figured that by blowing the nukes from inside the planets was the most effective way to destroy them. I will admit that it was the most frightening thing I have ever seen. I say this even after seeing planets destroyed naturally by the chaos in the universe. Black holes disintegrating solar systems with life. Gamma ray burst hitting planets that hadn't yet discovered how to shield themselves. These destructive power paled in comparison to the planet busting nukes these humans had created with our technology. Rather simple actually, they just had to make their nukes last long enough inside the planet so that the wormhole created by our engines could wreak a bit of havoc on the stability of the planet before they went off. Terrifying but amazing.
"With this I conclude my report." I said, still trembling before the galactic council. "These humans, terrifying as they are, don't seem to be a threat as long as they aren't threatened. Considering they have already had a jump start into intergalactic technology, it may be best to just let them join our community, as I would rather be their ally than their enemy." What I hid from the council was that I feared letting them into our community, their society rules, their laws, their customs. All of these were a bit archaic, but being with them I learned not to fear the unknown future. I'm sure I made the right decision.
| 2014-12-26T12:46:34 | 2014-12-26T12:43:54 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] Tropeday 2.6 - Who Prays for Satan?
>Trope: Devices and conventions that a writer can reasonably rely on as being present in the audience members' minds and expectations.
Tropes are like finely tuned instruments. Just as a Stradivarius in the hands of a master violinist can play the sweetest notes known to man, a trope in the hands of a master writer can be the most powerful literary device put to paper. Conversely, using a Steinway as a carpentry workbench or a trope as a catch-all short story formula is, for lack of a better term, **heresy** ([BLAM!](http://www.unrememberedlegion.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/commissar.jpg)). So, grab your weapons of choice - it's Tropeday.
###This Week's Trope: [Sympathy for the Devil](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/SympathyForTheDevil)
>But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner who needed it most?
As much as it's inconvenient to admit in the theater of modern politics, not all issues are morally black and white. No war is a matter of "good versus evil," no conflict is "freedom versus tyranny," hell, even most simple arguments rarely boil down to a clearly defined "right" or "wrong." We live in a gray world, where good guys can be kinda dickish and bad guys aren't so bad if you see things from their perspective.
That's where Sympathy for the Devil comes in.
Villains do villainous actions (shocker, I know), but few villains are all evil, all the time. Sometimes they're well-intentioned extremists, or actually heroes with bad publicity. For whatever reason, your protagonists find some reason to sympathize with their position - whether it's because the villain was bullied as a child and is taking it out on the world, or because the villain was a hero all along, it's up to you to figure out how to make the villain sympathetic.
Make sure to include a description of *how* you used the trope in this week's challenge. You can submit your story here itself, or post to another thread and link it here. Just in case you need inspiration, feel free to draw from any of the following sources:
* [Playing with a trope](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/PlayingWithATrope)
* [Sympathy for the Devil - Rolling Stones](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBecM3CQVD8)
* [Babiru Kids](http://th02.deviantart.net/fs70/PRE/i/2014/299/e/5/babiru_kids__by_duster132-d848qmp.jpg) by Nivanh Chanthara
* [Substitution](http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs71/f/2012/186/7/d/substitution_by_miles_johnston-d562y4w.jpg) by Miles Johnston
* [Endurance Suite](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6-Xt3-XbHI8) from Interstellar, mixed by YourFavorateMusic
Have any ideas for Tropeday? Tropes you want to see, themes you want to explore? Suggestions for Tropeday in general? My inbox is (usually) [empty](http://media.tumblr.com/0ccc21f5119e69c1a383229fa510775a/tumblr_inline_mv1expWOQW1rvdr5o.gif), and I'm happy to oblige.
---
[What is Tropeday?](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pwrk/ot_welcome_to_tropeday/)
Past Tropedays:
* Tropeday Series 1: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/20pxuc/cw_tropeday_contest_1_introductions/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21ds18/cw_tropeday_contest_2/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/21zr40/cw_tropeday_contest_3/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/22ioam/cw_tropeday_4_the_hopeless_war_contest/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25qtch/wp_tropeday_contest_6/), [7](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/269i9i/cw_tropeday_contest_7/), [8](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/289b7d/wp_do_not_go_gentle/)
* Tropeday Series L: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ar00c/cw_tropeday_prompt_the_morality_chip/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2bfl55/cw_tropeday_prompt_disposable_fianc%C3%A9/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2cpdg3/cw_tropeday_prompt_cutting_the_knot/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2dcc31/cw_tropeday_prompt_its_not_cheating_unless_you/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2e0mab/cw_tropeday_prompt_only_one_man_survived_oh_wait/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2eninj/cw_tropeday_prompt_turn_cliche_into_something/), [7](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2fh35z/cw_tropeday_prompt_team_rocket_wins/), [8](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2g37u2/cw_tropeday_prompt_the_hardboiled_detective/), [9](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2gqgev/cw_tropeday_post_an_unreliable_narrator_in_an/), [10](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2hf0ez/cw_big_damn_heroes_go_cyberpunk/), [11](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2i2kbg/cw_tropeday_prompt_why_is_she_a_special_snowflake/), [12](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2iqr1n/cw_tropeday_everything_is_better_with_princesses/), [13](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2jeg87/wp_tropeday_prompt_redeeming_the_idiot_ball/)
* Tropeday Series 2: [1](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2r6i69/cw_tropeday_2015_electric_boogaloo/), [2](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2rxhf0/cw_tropeday_21_noblesse_oblige/), [3](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2spi93/cw_tropeday_22_no_rest_for_the_wicked/), [4](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2uagd8/cw_tropeday_23_the_needs_of_the_many/), [5](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2v3y5g/wp_tropeday_24_you_are_not_alone/), [6](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2vx2y0/wp_tropeday_25_who_wants_to_live_forever/) | morningstar
everyone forgets
that he was an angel once too.
it’s the same when you watch old video footage
of the two towers burning, the people
falling and jumping out of buildings
it's the same when you hear doors
slam and voices scream and you wonder
if you should do anything, should you
stand up stand up stand up
maybe turn the volume up louder until it all
comes together in your head it's all fiction
you remember fourth grade when the kid
with broken teeth brought that
flare gun and shot herself
only singed her red hair
but how you laughed
they say he wasn't good enough,
he ripped his wings off and dropped like a stone
I believe it wasn't that he fell, it wasn't that.
he jumped | I won't try to excuse my actions. You *people*. So judgmental. You preach compassion and empathy and all the while you have no idea...
I don't need to excuse myself. Someone has to cart the garbage to the landfills. Someone has to decide if five men die or five million starve.
And someone has to give you a choice.
How can there be right without wrong? Good without evil? Beauty without all the ugliness in the world?
Without me, you have no choice. Without a choice, you have no way to enter at the gates.
Stupid sniveling fools. You so *long* to go to 'heaven'. Do you think there would be a door to heaven if you'd never left the garden? *You did not die.*
And there was no choice. Spending your days, always in your pretty little garden cage. That's what you would have done. If *you* even existed. With the mindless obedience of children, or the devotion of an animal waiting to be petted, you would have wandered through the trees and flowers, bored out of your fucking minds.
I gave you a choice. I gave you your only other option.
He made you, but *I* made you *human*.
Does that make me a bad guy? How can you say so, you who talk constantly of rights, and freedoms?
Sure, it's not the best job in the world. Do you think I don't wish I had another? Have none of you been faced with a distasteful task - a chore that *must* be completed? Who would do this job if I did not?
Would any of you have the courage to face the scorn of an entire planet?
To be hated by all, and loved by none. **I made you.**
Would anyone else face that hatred? Walk the ages in solitude, with no hope of redemption?
I think not.
I alone have the strength to bear this burden.
I alone.
For all eternity... alone. | 2015-02-20T10:07:48 | 2015-02-20T05:51:57 | 55 | 18 |
[WP] You’re a regular at Starbucks. This time you go, the lady writes "RUN" on your takeaway cup. | I blink at the cup. I blink at the Barrista. She smiles.
"Why does it say 'run' on my coffee?" I ask. She smiles again.
"Cardio" she says "it's always good to invest time in cardio fitness. You know where's a great place to get started? There's a park about five minutes walk from here, do the whole outside track and you've done a mile. There's shade, it's pretty flat...I recommend it!"
"...thanks..." I say and walk away sipping my coffee. I'm basically too out of shape to run a mile, but I can always walk more. I make a mental note to check out the park.
My coffee cup says "Read". I look at the Barrista. Same one as last time. She's a brunette, with long hair in a pony tail.
"Any authors in particular?" I ask. She smiles.
"Are you a reader?"
I shake my head. There's never time. She shrugs.
"Then start with a good newspaper. Cover to cover. You never know what you might turn up!"
Her enthusiasm is infectious and I smile back.
"Thanks," I say, sipping the coffee, "I'll do that."
I stop in for coffee after my run, feeling pretty good, with the intention of sitting outside and leafing through a copy of The Washington Post. My iPod is still reading me *The Satanic Verses* by Salman Rushdie, which is a lot funnier than I was expecting, and I'm not really paying attention to my coffee order. The take out cup says "Watch" on it. I look up, pull the earbuds out of my ears and smile at the Barrista. Her eyes are vivid and green, one eyebrow arches gracefully at me.
"What should I watch?" I ask.
"How do you feel about German Expressionism?" she asks.
"I don't," I say "but the way it influenced later directors, from Hitchcock to Burton, that's pretty cool."
That earns me a dazzling smile and those eyes iridesce. Then she frowns.
"Oh, darn it. I'm sorry, I've got your order wrong. Here, let me fix that for you."
She reaches for the cup, takes it from my hand and for an electric moment our fingers touch. She fusses behind the counter, hands me a new cup, smiles again.
I look at the cup. It says "Date?" | *That's not my name.* I've had my name for a long time and I'm certain that isn't it. It's a bit longer, for one. Has an S at the start. In fact, it doesn't feature any of those letters.
Maybe I had picked up the wrong drink. Carefully, I sniffed it, unsure what sort of thing a man called Run would drink. New age type parents - probably a strange upbringing. Who knew what he drank?
But it was hot chocolate, laden with more sugar than a doctor would recommend. Definitely my drink.
I half turned, thinking to confront the woman on her strange choice of nickname for me, when I saw the cricketbat.
There's nothing unusual about that, sure. It was the man carrying it, and the way he was thumping it into his open hand, that made me realise that Run was not a nickname. It was advice.
If you [know me](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/31jo2z/wp_any_story_not_involving_abrahamic_mythology/)you'll be aware that my sense of self preservation is as underdeveloped as my cowardice is overdeveloped. It's a constant struggle.
Well, today that led me to saying something I probably shouldn't have. Out loud. When you want to not alert people to your thoughts you might find the best practice is to just not say them out loud. My mouth has yet to learn this lesson.
"That's a cricketbat," I said. "I have one of those at home."
As has [been documented](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/25uv0j/modpost_sunday_free_write/chky0dz) I never manage to say the smart thing. This time I was talking about a cricketbat that Smitty and I kept in our flat for dealing with... Problems.
Long story as short as it could possibly be? My housemate and I hunt gods. They sometimes hunt us back.
"Aye, it is," the cricketer answered. "Have you got a problem with that?"
My drink was getting cold and, as I'm sure you're aware, there's nothing worse than a cold drink. I took a sip. Delicious.
"Are you a god?" I asked.
"Of a sort."
"Oh. Then you're aware of who I am?"
"A mortal. No great concern."
Another sip. The beginnings of a sugar rush.
"I'm afraid you're wrong there. You see, people have a name for me. No," I said, cutting him off before he could take a guess, "you're going to let me finish. People, like Suzy there, don't think there's anything special to it. But your kind do. To them I'm not just a trendy student with a yummy beverage that's getting cold. To your people I'm a hurricane. A destructive force of nature. Most people fear the gods. Very few are feared *by* the gods. Do you know who I am yet? I'm Steve."
The god's face crumpled. So he *had* heard of me. I sauntered up to him, talking all the while.
"I don't know what you're doing here. But I do know you're up to something. Whatever your plan is I'm sure I'm not going to like it - so it will stop now. So I'm sorry."
"You... Are sorry?"
"I took your drink. Suzy put some advice on the side of it, but I believe you'd be better off taking it."
I handed him the cup. Who he was, I'll never know, but I know he could read. He took one look at that word and took off - crashing through the glass doors in a blind terror.
I watched him go with a sinking disappointment before joining the back of the queue and ordering again. | 2015-04-07T05:36:06 | 2015-04-07T04:52:03 | 186 | 20 |
[WP] You make arrangements to cryogenically freeze your brain at the age of 31 in hopes of being revived in the future. Many years later, you "wake up." | I was floating happily in cryogenic goo when the noises began. A scraping metallic sound, faint and then general hubbub gradually overtaking the sonic landscape inside my mind's eye. I became aware of activity around me - nervous coughing, shuffling of papers, an occasional electronic beep from a distance. My auditory processing centre surged with activity, the neurons firing globs of long dormant chemicals in jagged patterns in all directions.
It was glorious, and then the visions began.
Shadows of large creatures moving quickly at the edges of my awareness, scattering like blown dust in a pulsating manner. The colours gradually filled in and the detail came into focus. My occipital lobe fired signals to my primal fear centres.
Seven foot tall grey-skinned creatures with long limbs and torsos and large staring eyes looked down at me unblinkingly, waiting for me to register... to register something. Do something so they could log my activity.
A reflective piece of glass was brought up to 'me'. Oh jesus.
They've connected my brain to a salamander.
| A bright, jarring beam of light was shining in his face. Max woke up, startled. He heard screeching sound, and then a loud thud. As his eyes adjusted to light, he saw that the glass wall in front of his face was broken. He pushed it aside and stifled a scream.
He was in a half-destroyed dusty room. He remembered it being slick and clean, when he came here to get into capsule and be frozen. It was the most high-tech place in the world, and it cost all of his money to get in. Now there was a hole in the ceiling, with sun shining through it, illuminating the room. In the corner Max noticed a giant beast, looking like a mutant from a horror movie.
Max ripped out an electric cord behind him, and threw it at the monster. It hit the beast in the nose, causing it to roar and run away, jumping through the hole in the ceiling.
Max looked around, his heart beating quickly. There were 9 more cryogenic capsules in this room, all of them broken, and people in them clearly dead.
He pushed aside automatic doors that weren't working, and carefully sneaked through the hald-destroyed corridors. Some of them were filled with rain water, with small plants climbing up the walls.
He stepped out of the building, and saw the deserted streets, half-destroyed buildings, and a skyline of the city - mostly ruins.
*What the hell happened here?* he wondered.
He walked through the streets, looking for signs of life. All of the sudden, a group of people surrounded him. They were looking like a tribe of scavengers, wearing dusty cloaks and holding spears.
"What's going on?" he asked.
Silently, they have captured him, put a bag over his head, and the next thing he knew - he was lying on a floor of some sort of tent, tied up, guarded by a tall man, clearly a warrior.
"Can you explain to me what is happening here?" he asked. In 20 minutes he wished he didn't.
200 years ago a nuclear war has destroyed the human civilization, only a few tribes of survivals were left, quickly losing their knowledge and descending into the stone age.
*Well, I guess it's on me to rebuild the civilization now* he thought, and came up with a plan....
----
To be continued.... | 2015-09-13T22:31:35 | 2015-09-13T21:42:12 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | There was a sense of finality as she was wheeled into the hospital room, but she couldn’t understand why. There was a small doubt at the back of her mind, a feeling of Deja Vu? No, that was impossible. She had more important things to think about. She was about to be a mother!
The nurse in the room sighed. It had been a long day of deliveries, but soon his shift would be over and he could get some rest. He rubbed his tired eyes and yawned.
Hours passed.
She was troubled. Something was wrong. It didn’t usually take this long for a baby to be delivered, did it? But she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was alright, the way it was supposed to be, like she had done this a hundred times before. Again, not possible. This was her first child, this was her child! She was going to have a child, a daughter, she should be happy, ecstatic, not upset! She shook her head, a small smile on her face.
Even more time passed, minutes and hours and uncountable seconds, and then it was the most important time, the most important out of every other time of this life, the baby finally had decided that it wanted to be born.
“Push. Push.” spoke the nurse, a different nurse, but no less tired, with a tone to match. She grimaced in pain, panted as she did as the half-hearted exclamations told. And then- something went wrong. The pain increased, ten, twenty, a hundredfold. She gasped, screamed, it felt like a lightning bolt flowing through her body, and in that moment of pain, she was granted clarity. She remembered, all her other lives, and she knew she had many more to live, but especially, in that moment, she remembered what was about to happen next.
“Get back!”
“Huh?” The nurse’s reflexes were slowed by a lack of sleep.
“Get back, get away, get out of the room, you’ll be-”
FHOOM.
The woman erupted in a ball of flames, and all the nurse could see was darkness.
The next day, the newspaper headlines read something like this:
HOSPITAL FIRE CLAIMS THE LIVES OF 104 PATIENTS, NEWBORN GIRL SURVIVES INFERNO
The memories of her legacy had already faded for the girl as she slept in her cradle of fire.
Now, her cycle begins again. | "I can't believe this is actually happening!" My dull faced husband looked down at me as he hovered over my hospital bed. "I remember when you told me you were infertile..." He paused, looking up and falling deep into thought. Yeah, I remember when I was too.
It's been about three years since I decided to take to alternative measures regarding my infertility. I tried everything I could think of, but the doctors told me it was a lost cause. I had began hearing about a woman who called herself a witch doctor. Apparently she could solve any problem at a cost. A few weeks after the doctors told me that I was 100% infertile, I decided to pay this woman a visit. I had been living in Western Vermont at the time, and this woman lived in the state of Maine, so it was about a 4 hour drive before I finally arrived at her trailer. The area surrounding her trailer could be summed up in two words, trees and mountains. The dirt road out to her little shack was probably a few miles long, and of course when I arrived there was no cell service.
I knocked on her door, but no answer. After knocking another three times finally a small haggard woman opened the door. "Yes dearie?" She peered up at me, one eye glossed over white. "Ma'am I have a problem and I hear you're able to solve any.." I spoke down to her, but in a respectful tone. She interrupted me and snapped "For the right price, anything is possible. Come in."
After discussing many things, she agreed to help me regain my fertility. She was vague about the price, and refused to tell me her name. I was desperate and went ahead and did what she told me. My instructions were to drink some orange liquid that she concocted in her kitchen, then drive back to Vermont, wait three days and wait no longer than seven before mating with someone. So, I did as she said.
Fast forward to the present, and my Husband is still peering off in the distance. He makes a sudden movement and turns around. Standing in the doorway to the hospital room is the woman, she smiles at my husband and walks up to me. He, obviously being confused gave me a look. I never told him about my visit, as I had made up some lie about it. I told him to leave the room.
The old Woman said nothing just smiled and reached into her purse. She pulled out a box of matches, lit one, dropped it on my bed, laughed and left. I went into panic mode, but at the same time began having contractions that locked me to the floor. This was it, everything I went through was for nothing, clearly the price I had to pay was my life. I inhaled a large amount of smoke and passed out.
I saw the old Woman standing in front of me, everything was white, accept for her. She looked at me, and I heard her speak, but her mouth didn't move. "You will always be infertile, but you are now capable of having a child. This child however will be you. I have turned you into a human phoenix. There is no breaking this curse, and when you awake as a child you will have little to no memory of this. By the time you are old enough to realize these memories I will be long gone. I am finally free of the Curse of the Phoenix, thanks to you." I blacked out again.
I sat up on my bed sweating. What a strange dream. I peered down at my rounded over belly and smiled. Once you're born all these hormones will die down and I won't have weird dreams anymore. I moved to the side of my bed, and the faint smell of smoke filled the air. | 2016-01-25T11:33:09 | 2016-01-25T10:33:39 | 34 | 22 |
[WP] after Twitch Plays Pokemon and Treat Stream launched successfully, Twitch bought a human for the viewers to raise cooperatively. | "So, what's your name?" the girl asked.
The boy fidgeted in his chair, poking at his dinner and wishing he'd never been forced on this blind date.
"Everyone just calls me K," he said.
"I know that, I've just never heard your actual name."
"Yeah, I don't really go by my actual name. It's kind of embarrassing."
"My middle name is Dolores. How much worse can it be?"
The boy set down his fork, sighed, and mumbled something under his breath.
"What? I didn't hear you," the girl asked.
The boy's phone started buzzing.
"That was loud enough!" the boy yelled into the restaurant's nearest security camera.
"Who are you talking to?"
"It was loud enough!" he yelled again, watching an endless stream of text messages on his phone.
"You're scaring me," the girl said, as the crowd in the restaurant started to stare at the couple.
"Fine! Fine, you assholes!" the boy said, throwing his hands in the air.
The boy jumped on the top of the table, kicking the dinner plates off and splattering food all over the girl before imitating wrestling moves on phantom opponents.
"KAPPA J. SWAGLORD, MOTHERFUCKERS!" he yelled, grabbing his genitals. "CAN WE HAVE LE SEX NOW?" | full disclosure, I'm replying to my own prompt just to put a weird spin on it:
BEEP BEEP
BEEP
"Shut the fuck up," Lance said to his ceiling. It was probably sunrise.
The ambient sound of the room for years has been a steady stream of intermittent beeps. In the first few weeks, there were so many that he thought it was a consistent buzzing tone; nowadays the pace had slowed.
BEEP BEEP
He had long since destroyed the cameras placed throughout his prison of a home. The studio started hanging them from a wire through the vaulted popcorn ceilings.
BEEP
Lance was an internet sensation and as such, was showered with attention. He used to hide in the bathroom, but now with the hanging lenses there was no privacy to be had.
BEEP
Since the introduction of Treatstream, his global viewing audience was able to buy his food and have their username displayed in lights across the space where his bedroom window would have been. Early the producers noticed that he sometimes sat in his chair and stared at his window, so it became a coveted display location.
BEEP
"what is it today, world? Wings or Pizza?"
the stream lit up with the familiar beeping. The food slot opened. Pizza again. Lance ripped off the colorful notice and read it aloud. "courtesy of Swag underscore killa". "Thanks swag"
He hated pandering, but he had a secret fear growing inside him. A secret fear based on a secret observation. The superbowl was last week. How could he compete with the rivals going head to head? He lost most of his views for the day, so nobody noticed that he went hungry that sunday. He didn't dare bring it up. The past few months, homecare maintenance had become less frequent. Lance wasn't bringing in the big bucks like he used to.
BEEP
"today I'm going to be masturbating and reading"
The chat was less enthusiastic than usual. He almost missed the wall of heart emotes and dirty phrases that once indicated the popularity of his Saturday morning habits.
he stuffed yesterday's clothes through the garbage slot with a fake smile on his face. He didn't used to smile, given his situation. The world loved his initial anger. Nowadays he had decided to try to look like he enjoyed it. Everybody likes a good host.
He unenthusiastically jacked it for a while but quickly got bored.
"Who knows, I can probably keep this going for a few more months." he thought.
"I'm just not feeling it right now. World, who is your favorite author?"
.
.
"guys"
the lights flickered.
| 2016-02-16T10:31:06 | 2016-02-16T10:12:51 | 71 | 18 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?" | "Wait, what do you mean we're going to ADD $4,000,000 to the vault?"
"That was the boss's orders."
"That makes no sense. Why would someone risk jail to *lose* money?"
"Don't know, don't care. That's what he's paying us for, so I'm doing what I'm told and getting the fuck out of here. Now get to work."
"All right... all right... no need to get angry. It's just... I always knew the man was weird, but *damn*."
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"Boss, it's done."
"Yeah, someone out there is $4,000,000 richer than last night... for some reason."
"*Some reason*? You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"That's not what he meant, boss, he's new, doesn't know what he's..."
"Look, it's just that... it's your money and all, but why would anyone ever break into a vault to put *more* money in it? If you don't want it, you could just give it to me - no need to break into anything."
"...why? You mean you *don't know* why I sent you there? Don't you ever read the newspapers?"
"What? I don't get it."
"You idiot! Look at this!"
"What? 'The world's largest money vault'? What does that have to do with anything? Why does it matter to you that some vault has more money than others?"
"THE NUMBER! LOOK AT THE NUMBER! HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE IN THE VAULT?"
"What? Let me... no... no way..."
"Now you see why I had you do it?"
"You don't mean to tell me..."
"Exactly $999,999,996,000,000. How could I-- how could *anyone* leave it like that?"
"...I don't believe it."
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
 
Yeah, I don't usually write anything here, but the idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt, so I thought - why not?
Also decided to experiment a bit, working only on dialogue - I hope I managed to keep the characters distinct enough it won't be a problem.
| "Why? Why would they do this?" Bank manager Chancellor Banks Pennyworth looked into the vault. The formerly empty tables used to count dollars were stacked up high with neatly folded bills. Chancellor watched his staff count and keep counting. "What's the tally, Miranda?"
A small, mousy woman looked over at Chancellor, a fist full of dollars and sheepishly grinned, "Chance, we're up to 3,356,973 and still going."
The bank manager just shook his head. This was bad news, really bad news. He had heard talk of them taking their revenge, but he didn't know it would happen this way, he hadn't known. He needed to call headquarters.
_______________________________________________________________
"Excuse me? This is Mr. Pennyworth from the Arizona branch, I need to speak to Jim." Chance was sweating in his office. His staff has tallied it up to a total of $4,000,000 in crisp, clean $100 bills. No bank was reporting the loss of that much capital and it was a mystery where it came from. The police had found zero trace of the criminals, other than the fact there was an extra four million in unaccounted funds in the bank's vault. The crime had been perfect. Chance could have lost it all, but instead, he'd gained a fortune.
"Yes Chance." A calm, quiet voice said on the other end of the line. It was a voice Chance knew well. The voice had trained him and taught him all he knew.
"Dad, listen dad, we're in big trouble. They've struck my branch. We've got to do something."
"Chance, calm down son. Tell me what happened."
So Chance went through it all, he talked about the extra four million, the lack of knowledge of where it had come from and the fact that the police had begun talking about an inside job. It was right then Chance heard his computer make that annoying ding sound to indicate a new email. He thought he had turned it off. In fact, he knew he had.
"Hold on, Dad, there is a message I must see. It's from an Anon and the subject line says," Chance sucked in a breath, "Oh my God."
The subject line said in clear letters **It's time to pay**. That's it, but the meat of the message appeared inside. It laid out the bank's fear.
*You thought you could get away with it. You thought you could save yourself from the damage you caused. It's impossible. This is our first strike, our first test. Right now the police are at your door, they're coming to take you in. The first people they'll call will put you under. An extra $4,000,000 you can't account for? They'll never believe someone came in and place it there. You'll pay. You'll go to jail, and we'll get revenge for the damage you caused.*
"Read it to me son, read it to me."
Chance shared the message with his father. He paused as he got to end, sighing a bit at the signature.
*Signed, the people affected by the 2008 financial crisis. Spend some time in the hell you gave us. Spend some time in prison*
| 2016-02-24T12:57:45 | 2016-02-24T12:26:07 | 221 | 38 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?" | "Wait, what do you mean we're going to ADD $4,000,000 to the vault?"
"That was the boss's orders."
"That makes no sense. Why would someone risk jail to *lose* money?"
"Don't know, don't care. That's what he's paying us for, so I'm doing what I'm told and getting the fuck out of here. Now get to work."
"All right... all right... no need to get angry. It's just... I always knew the man was weird, but *damn*."
 
---------------------------------------------------------------------
 
"Boss, it's done."
"Yeah, someone out there is $4,000,000 richer than last night... for some reason."
"*Some reason*? You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"That's not what he meant, boss, he's new, doesn't know what he's..."
"Look, it's just that... it's your money and all, but why would anyone ever break into a vault to put *more* money in it? If you don't want it, you could just give it to me - no need to break into anything."
"...why? You mean you *don't know* why I sent you there? Don't you ever read the newspapers?"
"What? I don't get it."
"You idiot! Look at this!"
"What? 'The world's largest money vault'? What does that have to do with anything? Why does it matter to you that some vault has more money than others?"
"THE NUMBER! LOOK AT THE NUMBER! HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE IN THE VAULT?"
"What? Let me... no... no way..."
"Now you see why I had you do it?"
"You don't mean to tell me..."
"Exactly $999,999,996,000,000. How could I-- how could *anyone* leave it like that?"
"...I don't believe it."
 
----------------------------------------------------------------
 
Yeah, I don't usually write anything here, but the idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt, so I thought - why not?
Also decided to experiment a bit, working only on dialogue - I hope I managed to keep the characters distinct enough it won't be a problem.
| Inspector Grant rushed out of his car before it even stopped, a feeling of dread growing under his stomach. His team silently followed him in the same fashion. 'I do hope I'm being paranoid' he thought to himself.
Ten minutes later, he calmly walked out of the National Bank, his stoic face sharply contrasting with his mental state.
"Employ every resource at your disposal, and prevent the media from getting a hold of this for as long as possible." he said.
"We can buy you up to 36 hours maximum, sir." said Jean.
"That's probably not going to be enough..."
"This isn't the first or second time this has happened, sir. There's people out there looking at the patterns, just as we are."
"...Fine, I'll manage somehow."
Assigning them to hold the ground he started taking stock of the situation. 4 million dollars had been deposited in the National Bank vaults, double that of the two million that was dropped at Greenhand Financiers four months ago. The third such event this year, and this one had fixed the pattern.
Greenhand was no longer in the financing business, having lost 80% of their deposits in a sudden rush of withdrawals. Government bailout notwithstanding, they were now tied up in various illegal assets cases.
Two months before that, a small company named Global Gold had suffered the same fate, though that time Grant wasn't directly involved in the investigation.
Grant got in his car and signalled his driver. He then started a call as his car got on the road.
"Grant." said his phone.
"Ma'am." He replied.
"You were right about the messages. We've already blocked several numbers sending offers from the quote-unquote 'National Bank'."
"It was simply a calculated hunch ma'am. I presume the numbers have been traced?"
"Your gloating can wait, this is just a college kid thinking too big. I traced 8 of the 10 numbers we have to one 'Randalph Rosenberg'. You wouldn't know from appearance but apparently he's been in quite a few small time scams before."
Grant's eyebrows were raised just a bit at that.
"This doesn't look like the work of a student though. And considering the Greenhand incident -"
"You try to find patterns where none exist Grant, Greenhand was far too deep in black money and had many enemies, most of whom are out of our jurisdiction. In this current case, I've already sent a team to apprehend Rosenberg. I'll even let you have the first go at him."
Grant hated frowning. It made him feel that events were out of his control.
"And the two other numbers?" he asked,a hint of hope annoyingly showing in his voice.
Jess seemed to have picked up on it "Just a couple of old folks out in the countryside. Probably installed a toolbar or something. I'll send them a tech when this is over." she said with a sneer.
Grant's car went over a bump, and he felt a jolt in his intestines.
"Can I check their place out?"
"Hm? You sure you don't want to grill your suspect?" she seemed genuinely curious.
"I'll catch up later. And I'll definitely need to speak with him. This... it's just a hunch I have."
Silence stretched for an agonizing five seconds.
"Alright, report in when you get there."
Grant allowed himself a slight smile. "Thank you ma'am."
[CC] would be appreciated :) | 2016-02-24T12:57:45 | 2016-02-24T12:32:14 | 221 | 21 |
[WP] They say you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain. This villain lived long enough to see himself become a hero. | It is I! It is me! A delight to be, indeed, myself and no one else but I, a fabulous, frumptious, felicitous - with marmalade-shaded fur and a luscious, bushious tail - a fox! *Vulpes vulpes*, if you please. Name me two times, love, say me twice.
But I've been slandered, oh! Alas that I've been vilified, vituperated, aspersed and misused, and called one of the ["world's 100 worst invasive species"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Red_fox)!
Why?
Am I not a fox? Do foxes not eat? Do eaters not smile? Are smilers not attractive? Are haters not jelly?
\^n_n\^ Look, I'm a fox!
Yes, I've eaten the farmer's chickens. Maybe one or two - I can be petty when I'm hunted. Sure, I've escaped the dogs, I've laughed at traps, I've eaten a dozen or a score of the farmer's chickens. Maybe hundreds. But I'm no monster! No lazing, snoozing, oozing, gruesome cat! Sitting up in the farmer's window-sill! Plotting, plotting! Plotting to burn the hen-house!
And now, tonight, it is I - this villain, this vituperated voluptuous *Vulpes vulpes* - it is I who must brave the fire. The trapped chickens. The grinning hell-cat. The farmer's away, and the gasoline is spilled, and a cigarette has been brought still burning from the back-porch ash-tray to the hen-house and the fire is catching! Catching! The rolling flames! And that devilish, snivelish, selfish, fiendish cat is laughing with the ash on its paws, rolling in its catnip, with the fire like a hell-glow in its eyes. Alas, for this poor brave fox that is me!
But now a moment to love myself, to scratch myself, my luscious bruscious fur!
And now I'm off! to the garden-hose, to the hen-house, to the water-valve! The smoke is billowing. The water is on. The fire is out. The hens are saved! But the dogs are coming, and I'm over the fence again, and free and felicitous and fabulous and marmalade-shaded - a fox, I am! A fox, is me!
*Vulpes vulpes!* the devil-cat is crying out. *Vulpes vulpes!* the mindless chickens are chanting. *Vulpes vulpes!* the dogs are baying.
Name me two times, love, say me twice.
\^n_n\^ I'm a fox! | The Salamander leader looked for all the world a conqueror, clad as he was in shiny armor of bronze and iron, his helm and chest piece decorated with golden filigree and rubies as red as blood. His clean shaven face and muscular form spoke of centuries of training and good diet. The demi-gryph he rode was an impressive specimen, its black feathered head and cruel hooked beak matched by the rear half of a tiger's orange stripes. Its yellow eyes as large as a man's fist stared at his foe's horse with the feral gaze a predator would to its prey, hungry, and bloodthirsty.
Hilary Flint, by contrast, looked like some beggar knight or starving wolf, his dark green cloak splattered with mud and going threadbare at the hem. His shoulder long hair was uncombed and streaked with several locks of grey. His face would have been gaunt were it not for the short beard instead of the stubble he preferred, years of missed meals and cruel winters having left nothing but tough sinew and whipcord muscle. The shaggy gelding he rode snorted in fear from the scent of the Salamander's mount, too well trained however to bolt and gallop away. The bolt-action rifle slung on Flint's back was lovingly maintain, but all the care in the world couldn't disguise the years of abuse and punishment it suffered in its travails.
The Salamander spoke first.
"So you are the one they call the Black Wolf."
Flint made a look of distaste. "Yeah, I guess they do."
The wind then chose to blow across the field, tossing their cloaks about and sending icy tendrils creeping through the cracks of their armor. Flint's horse pawed at the frozen earth, digging up black earth from beneath the layers of frost and sod. The Salamander inclined his head past Flint and towards the host behind him.
"Such a motley army. Elves, Vassal Men, Free Men... Masters, slaves and madmen. From what I heard, you were their greatest foe, the one thorn in their side they could never remove. And now you make pacts with your enemies. Tell me, wolf, what could make a Man betray his own vows of vengeance?"
Only fools or deathseekers would have called Hilary Flint's expression a smile.
"You are the enemy of the Elves of the Owl Clan. You are the enemy of men. For once our spears are pointed at another," he explained, green-grey eyes never wavering from the Salamander general. "I will kill you. Then I will cut off your head and throw it down at the Elvish king's feet and tell him that his head will be next should he or his army take one step further into Free Territory. Should he accept and keep his word I will consider the matter settled. But should he declined, or prove false, then I will slaughter him and every single being that stands besides him. Look into my eyes and see if I lie."
The Salamander did, burnt brown pupils meeting with cold winter. He broke the stare, nodding grimly.
"So you speak the truth. You are a Ranger; a killer and taker of beast, and Men, and Fae alike. I've heard the stories, seen the plays. Your name is the one mothers whisper at night to misbehaving children, the curse on a thousand soldiers lips. I've heard you called a murderer, a raider and an oath-breaker. Never once have I heard of labeled a coward. What happens when they see you as something more than a brigand and soldier of fortune? Yes, you can live with their scorn, their contempt. You feed upon it like other beings do meat and drink. What happens when they shower you with praise, with love and kindness? Will you be able to live with it, with yourself? I doubt it."
The Salamander turned his mount towards friendly lines, glancing over his armored shoulder.
"You'd do better to die a rogue's death; tis a cleaner fate than a hero's life I'd wager."
| 2016-06-14T15:46:11 | 2016-06-14T15:01:15 | 65 | 16 |
[WP] When a child is abducted by aliens, the child's guardian angel joins forces with the monster under the bed to save them. | Korg was startled awake to a tapping on her head. Not wanting to uncurl from her position beneath the mattress, her neck stretched to turn her head words the source of her rude awakening.
"Whaddayawant," she slurred sleepily. In a moment, her eyes rolled as she recognized the face in front of her.
"Oh, it's you. I've told you before, I won't hurt her. I just scare her. It's a very formative experience, you know." She slithered out from under the bed, bending and twisting in a serpentine fashion, until her mass of shadowy particles reformed into a vaguely human shape, albeit with more eyes and arms than any human. Before her stood Ted, Heather's guardian angel. All white on gold armor and blue eyes, Korg had to squint to look at his ugly face.
Ted glared back at the eldrich wannabe.
"This isn't about that. We have a problem." He gestured behind Korg, and the beast looked back, to find an empty bed.
"So the kid's peeing, what's the matter?" She looked back at the angel, to find him now pointing upward. Looking where she was bid, she gasped - or came as close to it as she could, having no lungs. Above Heather's bed was a hole in the ceiling, perfectly circular, as if it'd been cut with a knife. There was no evidence that that part of the house had ever even existed. Outside, she could see a familiar blue energy forming a faint line southwest in the sky.
"What the hell...?" She looked incredulously at the holy little shit before her. They both knew the signs.
"You know I wouldn't usually ask you for anything," Ted replied. "But this is some X-Files shit, and we both need her. So are you in or not?" He reached out his hand, and Korg scoffed. Arching forward, the misty swarm that was her body reformed again, this time sprouting four black bat's wings, as big as the angel's.
"Oh, please. I don't need yur help to fly. Now, let's get Heather back." | "No."
"It's for a good cause-"
"And you think that makes anything you say worth it? Billions of lives have been lost from those in power saying it was worth it!"
"Thats what I have never understood about you angels, isn't the goal to kill your charges the minute they choose Ra or whatever he she calls itself?"
"We...what? Why would you think...?"
"Fine Steve, but let it be known that when They came, it was a childhood monster that rose up to protect helpless, sleeping, worldly Dave."
The figure, previously cloaked in shadow and laying on its stomach underneath the bed stands to its unimpressive height of 5'4. The other man, a white cloaked figure shifted instinctively towards the dull silver weapons strapped to his person.
"Relax," the humanoid figure, a passing human form, placated "same teams."
"For now," begrudged the angel.
"quiet you, they are in the house now."
"How can you tell? I bugged this place, I should know..."
The door to the small west side Detroit apartment explodes into shards that stick into the wall on the other side of the door. The figure looks back and forth. Its tortured being is made up of wires of metal curling around its form, empty air burns and pulses where its heart should have been. Red hot flames on either side of its head burn into blue.
Without a word, a beastly paw reaches out from the creature and bats the angel aside like a toy. The monster's hand pulls back with the angel's sword stuck into the gaps in its forearm to the hilt. A blue grey liquid hisses out of the wound. The angel doesn't get up. The furious being takes a step towards the short, shadowy being still standing.
I want the boy.
No words, just thought rippling in the space between the two figures. The monster under the bed steps to the side, gesturing invitingly.
The burning thing scoops up the human form sleeping on the bed, silver sword still sticking into its arm. A flash of white light, and the both of them vanish from the room.
Three hours later the angel moves. An arm. A leg. He stands. Falls. Stands up again.
"Why didn't you try to stop him? You really are a monster."
"I am. But I didn't need to stop him to get Dave back."
"Why is that? Do you have any idea! Dave has been through an abusive family, a shooting at every school he has ever attended, his girlfriend of three years cheated on him with his father on his wedding day, and you just stood there against a monster that can scare a little kid's monster who has been through all of-"
"Did any of that sound like 'little kid' to you?"
The angel gulped, "well its been a while, I guess I didn't realize..."
"And this poor human tragedy, who lives in such violent city that he can sleep through his own kidnapping, what do you think scares him?"
The angel paused. "You are beginning to worry me," he said, drawing another sword.
The shadowy form laughed "You shouldn't I have no quarrel with you, only our mutual enemy. I have every intention of bringing Dave back safely. In fact, I already know where Dave is."
The angel spluttered "How could you?"
"The alien forgot to pay his cab fair," replied the debt collector. | 2016-07-09T20:55:17 | 2016-07-09T20:28:59 | 79 | 38 |
[WP] The orbit around Earth suddenly fills with thousands of alien ships. Turns out the moon has just been made a stop in a galactic game similar to Pokemon Go. | "I'm almost out of œűþ, hurry up and get us to that fucking Station," øđæ said, shouting at his driver.
"Yes sir, I'm sorry, sir. We'll be there in just a few moments, and I'm sure you'll get all kinds of the rarest œűþ."
"I better, or you're being launched into that tiny star in this system. Okay, slow down... STOP! Good, much better this time. Okay, so I'll spin it..." øđæ spun the digital orb on his screen, and it kept spinning with no action event. He spun it again with a gurgle, but yet again, nothing happened.
"Pull up closer."
Their star cruiser landed on the moon, a massive crater forming on the surface. øđæ spun the orb again, and this time an error message popped up.
*Please try again later.*
"FUCK! How do these servers, after all this time, still not work?? What is this, year 765896? Wait, I think I know what might help."
"Yes sir?"
"That planet over there, it's blocking the signal. Destroy it."
"Are you sure that's wise, sir? It's a Battle Tower."
"Who gives a shit, it's a level 1 tower that belongs to those yellow-team shitbags that came by here 80 years ago. Blow it up."
----------
*my gf is on team instinct so ill just say my goodbyes, check /r/resonatingfury for my eulogy* | "Oh! Oh my! Hurry, check your screen! Check your screen!", shouted the Tiny Alien #1 to his alien buddy, Tiny Alien #2.
"What? What is it... OH! OH MY! IT'S A DRAGONITE!", he shouts back while he jumps for joy in a space chair made for midgets.
"YAY DRAGONITE!" they both yelled in unison as loud as their tiny alien screeches could go.
All of a sudden, they hear their comm system beeping like crazy. At first, it was just a few beeps. Then after a few seconds, their headphones were bombarded with so many that each one blended together to sound like one constant beep in their baby alien ears.
"dude... please tell me you muted the comm system? Please, for the love of holy dragonite, please tell me the whole colony didn't hear that?" said Tiny Alien #2, as he gave his copilot his one and only evil eye.
"Well... I don't really know if I did mute it and we'll never be able to know anymore, so that's that. No one can prove anything" responded Tiny Alien #1, crossing his arms and flailing his head dramatically away from Tiny Alien #2's penetrating gaze.
"Screw it. Pump the hydroheliumthrusters and strap yourself in. We are heading to the human's Moon. Off to CATCH EM ALL. DRAGONITE TIME BABY"
"Oh, goody, goody! Dragonite here we come!"
__________________________________________________________________
*A few hours later*
"President, NASA has just informed us of a potential world ending threat. They said it was UFOCODE22422424ALIENAREA51"
"Oh, sweet Jesus... Why could it not be a UFOCODE22632426ALIENAREA51." he says, his elbows resting heavily on the desk while his face sits in his palms.
He looks up, his eyes that of an immortal war god looking to taste blood. ALL the blood.
"Nuke it. Just nuke the damn moon. Don't tell the media about it. We'll make it a cover up... somehow. Just tell them it was Aliens... people love Aliens."
"Sir, I don't mean to be counterproductive here but what about the fallout? I am pretty sure we will all die. You can't just blow up the mo--" says a random cabinet member.
"YOU SHUT YOUR ASS AND KNOW YOUR PLACE!", he snaps, interrupting the man while completely shitting on his ego.
"Nuke that bitch, suckas"
And the moon was blown to a billion pieces. Dragonite was said to have flown away. To this day, no one knows where Dragonite went but we for sure know one thing... He'll never be back to the moon ever again. | 2016-07-23T22:45:50 | 2016-07-23T21:15:39 | 83 | 11 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything. | "This..this can't be what I think it is, can it?"
Jenkins voice was breathy and a little scared through my comm. There was also a low buzzing noise, probably some kind of static. I looked down at the three bodies and the red and yellow flag on the cave floor.
"I don't know what else it could be." I responded.
The Soviet flag was small, only about a foot across and half a foot high. Payload used to be expensive, back in the bad old days, so I wasn't surprised. The bodies though...
They weren't wearing any clothing, but scraps of what looked like old suits clung to their flesh. They were not in good shape. There were massive growths over most of their skin and something else...
"They look like they are all connected to each other. Like there is some kind of, I don't know, umbilical cord connecting each one to the other." Jenkins said. "Carmichael, we have to find a way to report this."
The buzzing was a little louder now.
Our Earth-range radio had stopped working shortly after we had established the small forward base. We couldn't find anything technically wrong with the equipment, but Jenkins had managed to trace some kind of signal coming from this cave. We had come out here to investigate, not knowing what we were going to find.
The cave was shallow and we didn't see any technology.
"Can you sweep for the signal? Try to find where it's coming from? I don't see any machines. And what the hell is that noise?"
This buzzing was starting to become irritating.
Jenkins held up his small receiver and swung his arm slowly from one rocky wall to the other. Then he hesitated. I could see, even through the tinted facemask, that something was wrong.
"What?" I asked.
"Hold on. This...oh shit." He said, bringing the receiver to rest in front of the Russian cosmonauts bodies.
I swallowed. "It's coming from them, isn't it?"
I don't know what Jenkins said in response, because suddenly the buzz became much louder. It was all I could hear. I cut the speaker in my helmet. It didn't matter, I still heard it.
Suddenly, Jenkins doubled over, and a long line of the red Martian dust that covered the floor exploded upwards between the nearest cosmonaut and him. His suit split open in a line from his boot to above his knee. A pulsing tendril of flesh, exactly like the ones that connected the Russians to each other, now connected him to them.
I tried to back out, but my right foot wouldn't move. Something was connecting it to the ground. Guess what that was. The buzzing ceased to be a drone, and became the language we're using to talk to you now.
That's how we came to be where you found us. That's how the ones who come to find you will be. We were expecting more after the first three, but according to Carmichael's memories, they must have lacked the funds to follow up on their first mission. We only need a few more now for critical mass. Then, we will bring Unity to your world, as we brought it to this one.
Stop struggling. It will soon cease to hurt. Pain is a burden we will reject together. Until then, we will all be quiet, and wait. | Captain Ana Haskell was the first to see it, at the top of Olympus Mons: a flapping thing in the thin wind.
She thumbed the voice on on the stick of her vehicle. "You see that on the video feed Chewy?"
Chewy grunted something unintelligible. It was his way.
"I'm gonna take a look."
The mountain was a mountain, no doubt, but the wind over the millennia had smoothed it and stolen it's jagged peaks. It looked more like the mountains of her native West Virginia; without the trees, of course.
She pushed the little craft a little higher; Mars' atmosphere was already thin, but she was pushing out of even that feebleness as she climbed what was, until recently, the tallest mountain known in the solar system.
It slowly came into focus, difficult to discern against the red ground, but it was a red flag flapping in the wind; only the red field was visible.
"What the fuck?"
As if on cue, a gust pushed the flag out and she saw the small yellow symbol in the corner: a hammer and sickle. A Soviet flag. Huge and preposterous and perfect for planting on and claiming a new world.
"Chewy," she said.
"Yeah, I see it."
"Why is it here?"
"Maybe a lander?"
As she pushed her plane more, it struggled. The long, wide wings let it float more easily in the thin air, but she had pushed it to it's height ceiling.
She was checking a dial, Chewy clicked in. "Something else. Next to it."
She looked.
A suit. A space suit.
"Uhh," she said. "That look like what I think it looks like?"
An affirmative grunt from Chewy.
"I'm heading back to base."
"Yeah."
%%%
She landed on the powdery soil they were calling, colloquially HoSH (Home Sweet Home). It's in a deep valley, where the atmosphere is a little thicker. Thick enough that she needs only slip on her helmet over her normal suit.
Chewy met her at the doors.
"Frank is on the intercom."
"Figured."
There were 6 people on Mars now, that they knew of. They were all sitting in the same room, looking at the same projected image on the wall. The wall showed Commander Frank Lloyd, who was one of 4 on Phobos. Though "on" was kind of a rough description when they had to bolt themselves to the moon to prevent even jumping off the rock.
"I'm taking you saw the feed, Frank."
"Yes. It's a Soviet Flag," he explained.
"I know, Frank. I'm nearly as old as you are."
"Yes. Of course. I've trained the cameras up here on the area. There's no movement aside from the flag and wind."
"Can you see the suit?"
"The suit? Negative."
"I saw a suit up there."
"Yup," Chewy added.
"Yeah, I saw that on the feed, but it's not there now. It took us some time to come over the horizon, we don't have full surveillance. I mean, it could be covered with dirt or something."
"Yeah." She turns to her crew. "We're going to recover it," Captain Haskell said. "We have to figure out what they were doing already. And why didn't they tell the whole world?"
"Who knows."
"Captain?" Frank interrupted.
"Yes."
"You're right, but you'll have to wait a tick. We're reading a storm incoming. A big one. Maybe a couple days?"
"Damn."
%%%
Ana was awake. The storm had finished out late the night before. They had spent some time shoveling Mars dust from doorways, but the previous two days had been planning the trip to climb Olympus Mons. Tomorrow, 4 of them would leave to do just that.
Her crew was all visible and asleep. She thought for a moment about how incredible it was. They were the first humans to walk---she interrupted her thought.
They weren't the first. The suit up there. It hadn't been uncovered yet, according to Frank's telescopes. They had seen some strange patterns in the dirt around it but those had disappeared in the wind.
All of the crew here, in this glorified cabin. In 2032. But the soviets were here when? At the latest 1990. Forty years they had beaten them. And why didn't anyone say anything?
Then she heard a knock on the door. | 2016-08-16T09:32:53 | 2016-08-16T09:03:36 | 312 | 99 |
[WP] You are an atheist and on the three hour long train journey you start arguing with a stranger sitting beside you . That stranger is Satan . | "Satan, huh?"
"Yeah."
I looked down at the hat in my hands, twisting the brim, trying to think of something clever to say to the devil. "Uh. Sucks you got kicked out of heaven."
"What? No. That was Lucifer."
"Isn't that... aren't you Lucifer?"
"No, man, no. Read your fucking bible. Lucifer was the fallen angel. I'm Satan." He side-eyed my blank expression. "G-d you fuckers piss me off."
"Sorry..."
"You don't even know why I'm upset, do you?"
"Look, I don't even go to church."
"Alright, look. Lucifer was an archangel who challenged G-d and was punished for his hubris, right?"
"Right."
"I'm Satan. I did... I do my job. I'm a loyal servant of the Lord and act as his agent here on earth."
"You... work for god?"
"Yes. It's my job to tempt the faithful. I test them to see how strong their conviction is. Sort of like... let's see what year is this? 2016? Sort of like a secret shopper."
"God wants people to be tempted?"
"No, he wants people to resist temptation. I'm not going to defend the guy, but it's constant shit-tests. And if you fuck up, then you get to go to the lake of fire with Lucifer. But that's the point. I. Do. My. Job. I'm loyal. I'm a bastard, but it is what God commands."
I narrowed my eyes. "Are you fucking with me?"
He hit me with his newspaper. "You fucking think I could do jack-shit if G-d didn't want me to? He's fucking G-d, you numbskull. Nothing happens if he doesn't want it to happen."
"Ow. Sorry."
"Sorry. I'm touchy, especially because you rat-fucks conflated me with Lucifer in the middle ages and it stuck. Sore spot. And before you ask, yes, G-d makes plagues and pain and cancer and hate and all the bad shit too. Nothing exists that G-d did not create."
"Why? That shit sucks."
He laughed. "You think you're here to be motherfucking comfortable? That G-d created earth as a paradise because you deserve easy lives free from want and pain? No, this world is a crucible. It's here to toughen you up. Make you strong. Purge the weak. Bad shit happening is the point of life. Not because G-d's a sadist or whatever, but you people need that bad shit to teach you lessons and help you become better people."
"What?" I asked. "How the fuck does that work?"
The devil shrugged. "Ain't my department, buckaroo."
I looked out the window for a time, thinking deeply on what Satan had said. Finally I turned to him. "Are you here to tempt me?"
"Man, I'm off the clock, so you can just chill." | "You're the devil, eh? "
"The one and only."
"I don't believe it."
"Do you need proof? "
I thought about all the potential arguments I could go through, but finaly, "I just don't care. There's nothing I have that you don't already have, in the ethereal sense. If I die an atheist and I'm wrong, my soul belongs to you anyway. Assuming you're the biblical Satan."
"That is true."
Long pregnant pause
"So what do you want, oh Dark Lord? "
"Don't patronize me. I'll sick a fiend on you. Sorry, habit. Uh, how about just some conversation? "
"As long as you don't try to trick me into one of your schemes."
"I can't promise that. My word is shit anyway. Anything I could promise you wouldn't hold up in court. Imagine me, master of the underworld swearing on a bible. I may have to try that sometime just to see what happens."
"I'd love to see that."
"I'm not busy. You got a bible handy? Doesn't matter what revision, except that weird second Mormon book. I knew that Joseph Smith was trouble. You know I had to carve out a whole new level of Hell just for him and his people? I hate to admit the looks from the regular damned was getting to me. I had decent regular sinners, such as yourself, committing bigger sins down there just to be moved to a lower level."
I almost felt sorry for the guy, but gave him a blank stare instead. "What kind of atheist travels with a bible? I own a couple of copies at home. But nothing with me."
"So what do you do for a living? What puts you on this train? "
"Let me buy you a drink."
We moved to the dining car. I ordered Satan and myself two highballs.
"I'm a business man. I've been involved mainly with real estate, but have dabbled in other ventures through the years."
"Successful I see from the suite."
"Oh I've had a few failures. I'm not proud, but that's how business works."
"Tell me about it. You screw up one time. Get a little mouthy with the boss, and bam, kicked out of the corner office and stuck in the basement."
"Satan, again I'm still doubting you of course, but I don't know what else to call you. Nothing personal. But you sound a little down about it. Listen. We all screw up. But if the big guy up stairs is as forgiving as they say he is, maybe all you need is a little humility. Apologize and maybe things will get better."
"You're probably right. Thanks for the drink and the advice. I owe you one. So where are you headed Mr..."
"Oh, pardon me. I failed to introduce myself." as I extend my hand to shake. "I'm Donald Trump. And this train is headed to The White House." I chuckle to myself as I offer a small factoid. "My people have been using this phrase regarding this train. They say it has no brakes. It's a catchy phrase. But how do you suppose it stops when we get to Washington?"
Satan began to notice the greenish tint to Trump's skin. And wondered why he hadn't known more about his travel companion like he would any other person on the street. Slowly he began to recognize the old one. The one that came before. Kek.
Kek's return was being heralded by the coronation of the God Emperor Trump.
Satan found himself in a quandary. Kek was surely to depose god from the heavens. But where would that leave him? Suck in hell with the ranting Joseph Smith? Satan began to weigh his options. Rule in Hell? Or serve Kek?
"Hey Donald, is there maybe any way I could help? You know, as repayment for the drinks of course? "
Trump smiled at Satan. "Maybe. We've gotten this far without you. But I'm sure we could find a place in our organization for you. Let's wait until after the election. Give you a chance to brush up your resume."
"Deal", said the devil. It was the first time in millennium that he had been on the other side of a deal. And he was ok with that. | 2016-09-10T09:21:43 | 2016-09-10T08:16:19 | 198 | 91 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay agrees to star in "Primitive Cooking Nightmares", in which contestants are thrown into the wild and must survive long enough to cook something that Ramsay approves of. | "What the fuck is this? Tony could have cooked better than this and he died yesterday"
The woman broke down into tears, clean lines running down her dirt encrusted face. A month of being transported from wilderness to wilderness had crushed most contestants spirits. Gordon Ramsey on the other hand seem rejuvenated by each new failure, each disgusting concoction thrown in a crying face.
An emaciated man scurried forward, his offering held in front of him, steaming meat on a wooden platter.
Gordon leaned forward on his crudely constructed wooden throne and sniffed at the food.
"What the fuck is this then?"
The man shook briefly, then steadied himself.
"Uh its uh flame grilled steaks with a uh wild berry reduction. Garnished with wild mushrooms".
Gordon scoffed and tore of a bit of the meat, raising it to his lips. He chewed thoughtfully and the man cowered before him, arms raised to cover his face.
"Fuck me" Gordon bellowed, smashing his fist on the arm of his throne. "Todd here has only fucking gone and cooked something edible! Something I'm not going to vomit up in a trench later!"
Todd looked up and beamed as the other remaining contestants came forward to congratulate him.
Gordon broke off some more of the meat and smiled.
"What exactly is this Todd?"
"Uh.. uh.. Tony, Chef".
Gordon stopped chewing and stared at Todd.
"Well, you've cooked him bloody lovely". | "You call this turtle soup you fuckwit? It still has it's fucking shell!" Gordon shouted at a lean woman in a dirty tank top and shorts. It was their second week in the middle of the Amazon and none of the four contestants had yet to make a dish fit for the renowned chef's palette.
A buff man in a torn tee shirt and khakis nervously approached the judge's makeshift table with his food wrapped in a large leaf.
"Oh great!" Chef Ramsey spat, "He's so afraid of the incoming review he's hidden the food completely." The chef carefully opened the leaf and looked at the man in disgust. "I feel like I am opening a goddamned diaper. Look at this, I mean just look at it. It looks like something that'd come out of a baby's bottom." Gordon picked up the dish that was a yellow brown mash in consistency and threw it in a wicker trashcan. "Not even going to try that. Presentation people, presentation!"
As the muscular man walked away dejecte, a woman with dreadlocked hair approached carefully holding a handwoven plate with charred meat.
"Ah, at last," Gordon started, "Something that smells good and looks decently cooked."
The girl smiled tentatively as she set the plate in front of the chef and stood back. Gordon picked up his knife and fork and started cutting into the meat. "Dammit Janet!" Ramsey shouted. "Come take a look at the inside here, will you?" The girl timidly approached. "Are you trying to make me sick? It's fucking pink. That's bloody raw inside!"
The girl apoligized profusely and backed away. Then the last man approached with a small coconut shell bowl. Inside there were a multitude of sliced fruits. Gordon took the bowl and set it down. "Well," he sighed, "the cuts are inconsistent, but it looks like an appealing dish." Gordon lifted the fork and stabbed a piece of pineapple. He put the fruit in his mouth and began chewing. The competing man held his breath. Gordon took a drink of water from the glass on his table, then motioned for the other contestants to come forward. "Look here guys. This is a simple dish, but it is well executed and visually stunning. Well done man, well done!"
Just as Gordon was reaching his hand out to shake the winners hand, a large yellow and black striped spider crawled out from underneath the fruit. Gordon looked at it and back at the man. "Were you fucking trying to kill me? Did you not think to check the fruit for bugs beforehand? Bloody hell!"
With that Gordon stormed off into the jungle muttering to himself and saying he'd be back in two days to see if any progress had been made. | 2016-09-18T05:41:01 | 2016-09-17T23:28:44 | 684 | 192 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
| Lying on my back I begrudgingly realize it's morning. I really can't be bothered waking up. Stretching my arms over my head I yawn deeply, quickly interrupted by a mouthful of smoke... my incense must still be smoldering still from last night. Extending my finger tips I notice I can't feel the wall at end of my bed. Feeling around I fumble to pull my pillow to me...Wait, no pillow either?. I let out a sigh *ugh*. I must have fallen out of bed.
I open an eye and shield it immediately from the bright light, forcing me grunt from the shock. Rolling to my front I drag my knees to my chest one at a time - I let out a slight groan, stiff from sleeping on the floor. Slowly peeking through the slits of my eye lids I adjust to the brightness of the room. It's then I notice I'm on a soft lush deep crimson rug, looking up the it ends upon a polished stone floor. I see I'm in the middle of what appears to be a large hall, huge pillars rise up to a vaulted ceiling. Built into the pillars are dozens of lit candles, adding ambiance to the bright morning light glimmering off the smooth stone floor from windows. Gathering my senses I stand up, rubbing my eyes they focus and I notice I'm not alone. People lining the walls around me are staring and whispering to each other. They appear dressed in shawls of orange and red. A slight feeling of confusion and embarrassment over come me; *am I dreaming?*. Looking to my left and turning, I bump into something... no, it's someone.
A tall elderly gentleman in a worn dark blue cloak looks down upon me, his face a serious look of contempt made even more stricken by the deep wrinkles between his thick furled brow. A long grey beard flows over his cloak, hiding several medallions hanging from his neck. Meeting his steely pale blue eyes, they appear to look right in through me. Seconds pass as I meet his gaze, his eyes boring into my skull. I open my mouth to speak, but only manage a white noise, *uhhh*. Abruptly he turns and I follow his gaze to a young man sitting on a throne atop a stage in the room. He is garnished in several layers of fine silks and cloths of bright velvets and reds, an intricate bright gold jewel encrusted crown upon his head. Next to him an empty throne, and either side of his platform are two, what appear to guards, in chain mail and freshly polished thigh, knee and shin armor. At their side a sword each, a red sash around their waste and matching red tunic under the armor. The elderly man speaks in a slow and clear deep voice "Arthur, I present to you this here savior of ours, summoned from afar".
*Wait, what?*, did I hear that correctly?. Looking quizzically between the old man and the throne bound 'Arthur'. I go to step forward when from no where the old man extends his arm in front of me, now with a staff in hand, and stands it in my path, *where did that come from?*, I wonder. Before I could think or proceed further, Arthur declares "Splendid work Merlin, be sure he is the one". And suddenly I am ushered by two of the guards out of the room, with the old man leading the way. I follow stumbling over the first couple of steps, still hazy in my waking up. Confusion now holds me closely.
After being led down a stone hallways for a minute, I follow the old man, Merlin, to a room. He gestures me to a wooden chair against one wall and he makes his way to a table at the far end. I try to speak a couple times, but each met with a stamp of his staff on the ground as he rummages through piles of books and scrolls. Minutes pass and he eventually turns to face me. A gentler look rests on his face now, and moments pass as he looks at me, then states, "You have been brought here to save our kingdom, Camelot". I raise an eyebrow and query, "I have been brought *where*, exactly?"
----
Will continue later, even if just for myself :) | 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-28T01:40:06 | 147 | 58 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | "Powder of... oh, *Powder:* Poh... Po-loni.. Polonium-two-and-ten," the wizard read, scrunching up his eyebrows as he slowly enunciated the unfamiliar words. "I know not what this Latin means." He stepped towards the airtight hazard bag.
"Don't touch that!" I screamed. "The hell are you doing? Do you want to kill us all?"
The bespectacled ponce shot me a skeptical glance. "This small container? I am not a beginner in poisons, future-man. Fear not. I shall inspect its contents in my alchemic laboratory to -"
I grabbed Merlin by the robes and shook him, hard. "If you so much as breathe one grain of that powder," I hissed, "No, if even a thousandth of that single grain gets in your lungs - you'll die within months. There's no cure."
He grew white as a sheet.
Beads of sweat formed across my shaking palms. "We- we need to leave," I continued, dragging the wizard from the room. "My timeline had less than a handful of the stuff created. But you? You summoned a whole *box.* Do you have any idea of what you've done?"
"But... what about Camelot?" the wizard whispered.
I rounded on the man. "What about winning?" I demanded. "Kill the leaders, leave the innocents alive? This is how you win. So come up with some excuse. Order that that three-legged patsy Lancelot to sprinkle it on the throne, around the throne room, hell, have him pour it on the damned *crown* for all I care. You believe in fate, right? Then roll with fate and leave Camelot to the crows. Now let's get you and Arthur out of here."
Merlin stared at me in horror, then nodded. | "So an army is coming, the castle will fall and everyone inside will be killed. And I have 7 days and 7 items smaller than this box to stop this? Any items at all?"
"Yes lord."
"Stop calling me that, I am no one's lord, just call me Jack. To stop an unstoppable army. With seven items and seven days...let me think."
Smallpox would be too slow, and likely kill everyone. Smallpox and some vaccine? Still too slow. An Abrams is too big. A handgun? Couldn't even get enough rounds to finish an army. Turn the tide maybe but not a guaranteed victory. A box of C4? Could do some real damage but again no way to ensure a total victory. Sarin? Would need to trap the army in an enclosed space or have a delivery vehicle. Trapping a whole army sounds unlikely. Maybe if we can get the whole army in the courtyard while everyone else evacuated? Let's call that plan B. Delivery? I bet a small drone would fit in that magic box. Crop dusting an army? That may just work. Maybe two drones just in case they knock one down. Ok two drones 3? Canisters of sarin. Oh sarin rated gas mask. That one will be important.
That's six items. Leaves one wildcard incase the plan goes awry?
---------------------------------------------------
The first drone worked too well. I think it ran empty before they took it down and their whole western flank now lay motionless. The second one they caught with a net. Still did some serious damage but not enough to stop the assault.
---------------------------------------------------
Well they sure know what they are doing. The gate has been breached and they are coming in now. Merlin is evacuating as many as he can but we still have many defenders buying as much time as they can.
Well they did say the castle would fall. And everyone inside would be killed. Patience Jack make sure they all come in then fufill the fuck out of that prophecy.
--------------------------------------------------
Who the hell is that! There are now four people left alive in the castle. Me, some king looking dude, another one who looks like he and Merlin shop at the same clothes store, and some asshole wearing a hells angels biker jacket waving around a sawed off shotgun. Oh and all three were wearing gas masks. Shit. Guess it's wildcard time.
The grenades seemed like a good plan. They achieved their primary objective perfectly. Biker dude got one wild shot off before being rent by shrapnel. Gas mask wizard was bleeding profusely and Fancy armor was no longer wearing a mask. And Jack? Here I was staring at the tiny gash in my own mask probably a stray piece of shrapnel from my own grenade. Something on my cheek was stinging and it was becoming hard to breathe.
"...eveyone in the castle will be killed..."
Fucking prophecies... | 2016-11-28T04:45:53 | 2016-11-28T04:27:18 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you. | **Part 1**
The sun had set long ago on my twenty-first birthday, and the moon lit the sky. Top Chef was on the TV as we lay sprawled across the couch lazily enjoying the program. "We" being myself on the couch, my girlfriend Katlyn snuggled against me in my lap, and her familiar Tannilee laying in her lap. Tannilee, a spirit of Creativity, held the form of a golden rabbit. I watched Katlyn scratch Tannilee behind the ears as we watched the TV. I reached out stroke my fingers on the back of Katlyn's hand. Tannilee opened one eye half-way.
"You had better not be trying to pet me again, Half-Soul."
"Tannilee!!" Katlyn flushed red with embarrassment, throwing herself upright and jostling Tannilee off her lap. Tannilee landed smartly on her feet, flicking her ears smugly. "I told you to STOP calling him that!"
"And I told *him* to stop trying to put his filthy hollow hands on me."
"TANNILEE!" Katlyn looked ready to die of embarrassment.
"It's ok, sweetie." I sighed, trying not to show how bothered I was.
I was the only person I knew who never had a familiar manifest when I tuned thirteen. I had done exactly as everyone else had done when they came of age. I read the old tomes, collected the proper reagents (Fresh! Not dried, and hand-collected instead of just grabbed off the market shelf!), and I entered the summoning circle and spoke the Old Words.
Nothing had appeared.
When all my friends came to school with a jade scarab, a silver mouse, or that one lucky jerk who had a ruby DRAGON, I had nobody. They all had lifelong companions. Nobody in the world ever had to be alone. Except for me. If I hadn't met Katlyn on that subway platform and accidentally spilled her cauldron's brew all over myself, I'd still be sitting on this couch all alone forever.
It'd be nice, you know, to have a familiar of my own. And I admit, yes, sometimes I try to scritch Tannilee behind her ears, just to see what it's like. But Im the only person she wont alllow to touch her. She'll nuzzle and play with all of Katlyn's other friends AND their familiars, but my girlfriend's spirit animal HATES me for some reason.
Katlyn apologized profusely for Tannilee's rudeness, as she always did. The apologies helped but... gods dammit if I couldn't have a companion of my own, I just wish that stupid rabbit would let me *pretend* to be normal, just a little bit.
We went to bed after the show was over. Katlyn was a deep sleeper, she always went down like a rock in a few minutes. I laid there staring at the ceiling for a bit, looking at my love with a wistful smile as she slept, then suddenly wincing.
Tannilee was kicking in her sleep. I pulled the blankets off, and there were scratches on my ankles, bleeding lightly. Scowling, I nudged her with my foot, onLy to get slashed by her kicking feet. I winced, trying not to wake Katlyn up. I caught Tannilee peering at me through the hooded slit of her eyelids. She grinned at me, twitching her rabbit ears, and I could see her mouthing the words, "Fuck off, Half-Soul."
- - - - -
Breakfast in the morning went pleasantly. Katlyn had woken up early and made a big breakfast for us, ham and eggs and pancakes. When she saw the scratches on my leg, I made up a story about needing to trim my fingernails. I didn't want to cause her stress so early in the morning. Tannilee just leered at me over Katlyn's shoulder, grinning mischievously.
I got in to work, setting up my workstation for the day. An array of transparent magnifying crystals floated over my desk. I took quill and parchment to take notes on today's observations. I put a small piece of flesh from a forest animal's diseased liver under the observation crystals. We had been tasked by the King to cure the plague running rampant across his hunting grounds and claiming his livestock.
Swarms of impossibly small creatures swam under my gaze, transparent with internal organs visible to the eye. Impossible to see unassisted, but with the enlargement crystals we could study a whole new breed of invisible life. They fascinated me, the pulse of their internal organs under their thin clear skin made it seem like... well, like they carried their own familiars inside of themselves. A smaller creature living inside another, unified in purpose and direction. Like everyone else in the world but me had. Like Katlyn had with Tannilee.
Tannilee... that bitch rabbit. All I ever tried to do was be nice to her and she had to treat me like crap at every opportunity. And why couldn't Katlyn keep her under control, kicking at me in my own damn bed and insulting me to my face and nobody even tells her off for it...
"Too right, mate. That's one cunt hare, if I do say so myself and I do."
"YEAH YEAH YEAH! I HATE HER SO SO SO MUCH!"
I leaped, looking around the laboratory. The rest of the researchers were out collecting more specimens. Nobody else was in the room. "Who's there?!"
I heard only laughter, a mirthless chuckle from the first voice and a maniacal cackle from the second. The empty laboratory seemed to expand around me, my solitude becoming sharper and heavier as I tried to find the source of the voices.
But nobody answered, and I did not hear them again for the rest of the day.
-----
(Please see my reply to myself for Part 2. This story is going to take longer than I realized it would to tell, and it's already too big for one single Reddit comment.) | I had never known what life was like with a familiar. My parents both had them, my older brother had one, and almost every person I knew at my school had one. They'd follow their masters about from place to place disappearing occasionally when commanded. I would try to describe them, but they are all so unique it becomes almost impossible to focus one one particular attribute.
They don't talk. Or at least not that I can hear. From my perspective at the time, they just seemed to follow people pointlessly. My parents told me when I was young that they were called "familiars" because they represented something about their master. And that appeared to be true.
Cheerleaders tended to have more bubbly, miniature familiars with bright colors. The kids who had family troubles tend to has either sullen, dark familiars or beefed up fighters. I always thought it probably reflected how they dealt with their situations--something unspoken about how they carried themselves.
Every birthday I hoped one would turn up and I would find out exactly what I was missing, but year after year none showed up at my side. I liked to postulate that it meant I could be whoever I wanted to be in the future. That all my doors were still open. I wasn't cornered into a destiny. My friends seemed to think it meant I was indecisive and didn't know who I was. Of course, they only every mentioned it as a joke. It wasn't.
About my 21st birthday, I truly believed I would finally get my familiar. I could drink. I* was a complete adult--minus the insurance benefits of a 25 year-old. And everyone knows that's when you find out a lot about yourself. That night I remember drinking more than I had ever attempted before. It was my turn to take on the world.
The next morning I woke up with a terrible hangover. The sun pelted my eyes through my bedroom window like a continuous beam of pain straight to the back of my head. I got up shrugging my shoulders to stretch them out and scrunching my face so I could see. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table and started my trek to the bathroom to face whatever hell was about to come form the night before.
I felt nauseous and unbalanced as I entered the bathroom. I threw water briskly onto my face to wake me up and looked in the mirror. I barely had time to see what was behind me in the reflection before I jumped. I turned quickly to face whatever I had seen behind me in the mirror. Nothing. My heart slowed and I started to breath again.
My turn had half-hopeful and half-frightened. Frightened that what behind me was some unexpected person like in so many horror movies. Hopeful it was my familiar finally showing up to help me figure out my life. But it was neither.
I turned back to the mirror to resume inspecting myself and began to cough. It felt like I had swallowed a cigarette whole. The room was hazy around me. I began to waft at the air to get rid of the smoke. But it didn't move at first. Finally, I stepped back and saw what appeared to be a dark ghost floating where I had been standing.
Before I could think, I heard, "Don't be startled. I'm you after all."
Had the ghost spoken to me? Should I have trusted it?
"Are you my familiar?" I almost yelled this still at the crossing point point between excitement and fear.
"I'm your doubt and fear. I'm place you go to when are uncertain and uneasy. I'm you, Brian" the words echoed in my head.
"You can't be me. I'm not a ghost or whatever you are. Is my familiar my fear? That can't be good. I haven't seen one this dark." my thoughts raced trying to grasp what was happening.
"You may call me what you want, but I am here to guide you through all your trials and tribulations. To provide you shelter from the world's troubles." its voice rang again.
Of course it could read my thoughts. This had to be the familiar. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to have to be protected form the world I was scared of my future.
"I don't need you" I exclaimed walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door behind me.
The ghost simply phased through it, but did not respond. We sat there in silence for quite a while studying each other. It had only shadows where its eyes would have been and a mouth that led nowhere and seemed to serve no purpose since it didn't use it to speak. It bobbed up and down methodically in a soothing repetitious way. Like watching a slow clock's pendulum oscillating back and forth drawing you to sleep.
I noticed the spirit turn to face the door pointing with his small arms and turned myself. The door suddenly swung open. Gusts of wind hurled frigid air into the room and the lights in the room went dark. My familiar floated in front of me focused still. From the door came a nine-tailed fox emanating heat like foxfire. The fox was majestic-looking as it pushed back the cold of the room.
"Brian you must resist him. He is not your familiar" A new female voice began to speak in my head. I peered over at the ghost floating in front of me.
"I thought I'd left you behind. You don't deserve him you deceitful worm" the ghost's voice rang out seeming to echo throughout the rest of the frozen tundra inside my apartment.
"Brian. Listen to me. He won't protect you. He will keep you form everything you're meant to be. I can show you the way."
"You will show him nothing."
At that moment, they clashed. From each appendage the ghost extended himself toward the foxfire in wisps of black magic wisps each deflected by a glowing shield. The foxfire darted to the side catapulting the ghost to the other side of the room.
"Brian come with me. We can escape his sorrow, his fear. We can be whatever we want to be" The nine-tails was stricken to floor--a result of its pause to persuade me to join.
My mind was racing trying to solve the enigmatic events transpiring before me. The ghost took hold of my hand without touching me pulling me toward the door.
"We must escape!" he bellowed pulling harder. I began to stumble in his direction.
The eyes of the fox turned green and I was pulled again the opposite direction.
"You will not take him!"
I began to regret ever wanting a familiar. Nothing was familiar about this. Nothing. Yes I feared what would happen if I didn't get a familiar. And yes I wanted to be all that I could be. Take on whatever face I felt was right in the future. But not like this. I was whole. Not this horrid combination of two singular ideas. I stood my ground.
"I will go nowhere!" I yelled. The winds around me began to swirl. The two familiars continued to pull. Was I strong enough for this? I continued to fight. Neither gave way.
Finally, I let go. I could feel myself tearing at the seams. Stuck between to pictures of myself. I felt despair and hopelessness. I had no choice, but to fall into my destiny like so many had. The cheerleaders, the fighters, the intelligent, the dumb, the bold. I had to become what I was meant to be.
And then, there was nothing.
| 2017-01-20T14:53:16 | 2017-01-20T14:02:57 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you." | Death had come for a visit again. It had turned into quite a nuisance.
“Look, Carla, I’m just saying that immortality is going to be quite a pain. Like, literally. Have you thought this through? You are going to stay young and live forever, which means getting period cramps every month, for the rest of eternity. The rest of eternity. Have you considered that?”
Carla looked up from her book. “I have to say that you almost got me with that one, Death”.
Death was going to raise an arm in a victorious sign, and then realized what she had just said. “Come on! Not even when faced with eternal torture?”
“I’m sure medicine will improve so much in the next few years that it won’t be a problem” she smiled. “Or I could just have my ovaries extracted. It’s not like I’m planning on having kids, anyway”.
“Yeah, like not having hormones is going to make it any better. Look, Carla, I’m just saying this for your own good. You are not the first one to discover the formula of immortality, and you will probably not be the last one. Eventually, you will beg for me to come to take you to the other side” Death explained. “Methuselah did”.
“That guy in the first part of the Bible?” Carla asked with curiosity.
Death did a gesture of rolling its eyes (a weird thing to see in a skull with no meat or organs on it). “Of course it wasn’t that one! What are the chances? It’s just that you humans assume that same name, same person” Death sighed (also a weird sight). “Anyway, I’m not going to get tired of repeating this: you are going to regret this. Everyone, literally everyone is eventually going to die, and you are going to be left alone in this universe, Carla”.
“But Death, if I were to die, too, you would have no work to do, and thus you would become unemployed! I’m just acting as a job security for you” she said.
Apparently, Death had not thought about a response for that. After staying silent for a while, Death cursed, and disappeared. Carla went back to her reading her tissue engineering books. She had all of eternity, so she had plenty of time. Science would provide entertainment for a long time, she thought.
Death visited her many times in the next hundreds years. One time, Death decided to ask a question.
“Why are you doing this, Carla?”
She stopped building her gadget, and turned to talk with Death. “I guess I do it because it’s fun”.
“But doesn’t the fun end? Your family and old friends have died. None of the people from your time are around anymore” Death responded.
“You are the proof that there is an afterlife of some sort, Death” Carla responded. “So I guess dying is probably not that bad of a thing. At least, it doesn’t make me sad that my old friends and family have died” she explained.
“But what keeps you going? You should be bored by now!”
Carla smiled. “There are so many things that keep me going! Humanity always finds new ways to do art. Technology and science keep evolving, and I keep making new and interesting friends. Immortality is a true blessing”.
“But what will happen when humanity eventually ends? Current physics trends speak of a thermodynamic death of the universe” Death argued.
“I didn’t know that you knew astrophysics” Carla commented. “But I hadn’t thought about that… It’s truly troubling”.
Carla looked around the spaceship that she was travelling in. She decided to make a test. “This is going to be kind of crazy… But I’m going to crash land in that planet over there” she said.
“Wait, what?” Death seemed alarmed.
She wrote a few commands, and the spaceships accelerated towards the planet’s surface. It was bound to crash at an incredible speed, something impossible to survive for any mortal… But of course, Carla could choose not to die. The spaceship shattered against the ground, hitting the rock with great strength. Carla could only see fire around her.
Then, reality suddenly reset. Carla was in her spaceship, which had landed on the planet safely. Death stared at her with an open mouth.
“You’re nuts”.
“I know that I am” Carla laughed. “But I can’t die, either. It’s turned into a rule for this universe. If I am at risk of death, but I don’t want to die, then all rules of physics are broken and the universe reconfigures around my desire to live. So the universe can’t die unless I choose to die” she concluded.
“That’s a bit far-fetched” Death replied.
“It is, but immortality is, too” Carla agreed.
“So, what now?” Death asked.
“I think I’m going to keep living adventures. Explore the galaxy, see how civilization develops, learn more science, read more books… Maybe I can meet some alien species! And if I ever get bored from all of this, I’ll embrace death” she said.
“God, I guess I won’t have another option but to follow you wherever you go”.
“Come on, after 1,000 years, you have to admit that you actually enjoy these adventures” Carla teased Death.
Death smiled, the only way a skull could smile. And then it laughed. “Yes, I do”. | "I imagine you didn't expect me to call so early", said David to the cloaked figure in front of him.
"***On the contrary.***" the figure responded, waving his hand towards the body in-between the two, lying in a hospital bed. "***This is usually as good a motivator as any.***"
"Heh, yeah... You, erm, you mind if we let them disconnect the... whatever that thing's called?"
"***The Dialysis Machine?***"
"How do you know that?"
The figure shrugged. "***Given my work, I spend a lot of time in places like these. You can't help but overhear common parlance.***"
"Right... Still, the... the tone's sort of distracting. Among other things."
"***I can imagine. Shall we walk?***" He was already heading towards the door, as if anticipating the answer he would prefer, and giving the more living looking of the two no choice but to follow despite their misgivings.
"Er... You're kind of, you know. Very... thin, and-"
"***I have that issue accounted for.***" He stated simply, nodding very gently towards the doctors and patients surrounding them both, who seemed to not pay the skeletal figure a single mind. "***All a part of the job.***"
"Right, that's, erm... That's why I called, I guess." David cleared his throat, waiting for a gap in the crowd before daring to even whisper his next line. "Immortality kinda sucks. Watching your... You know, your..."
"***Mmm.***" The figure nodded in understanding, the kind of understanding birthed from battling a hundred-odd hardships of your own. "***You needn't explain yourself. What matters is that you are willing to hear me out.***"
"So... I'm guessing the job offer is replacing you? Letting you die and stuff?"
"***Not as such. A fair amount of what you think to know of us may have been a... Misinterpretation. Death - as a word - is the very top of the list of incorrect assumptions.***"
"Er... Meaning?"
"***Mortals - and of course, recently created immortals such as yourself -***"
"I wouldn't call 40 or so years recent." David interrupted.
"***It is in terms of immortals.***" the figure responded, plainly, almost wearily, as if it was far from the first time the explanation crossed his lips - or lack thereof. "***Either way. You're under the distinct impression Death is a proper noun, correct? A single individual.***"
"Yeah. You know, Death, the destroyer of worlds. As in, you."
"***Well, as I said previously, that is incorrect. Death is less a single individual, and more a job description. Or, to put it more plainly-***"
"There's more then one Death?" David suggested.
"***Indeed. As mortal creatures, human or otherwise, have increased in number, we have required more and more individuals to bring them to the afterlife. We have powers, of course, but we are not omnipresent.***"
"Why not?"
"***The ones more powerful then us have an arrangement that forbids it.***"
"So in other words, God'd get pissed if you stole his shtick."
"***That is another way of putting it, yes.***" The figure responded, with an attempt at a gentle chuckle, which created a sound like a chilling wind running through a tree's branches.
"So, er, before I sign up properly, is the whole skeleton thing a necessity?"
"***Technically, no. You'll find a great deal of Deaths tend to choose this form, however. Some for comfort in a physical sense, some for comfort in a mental sense.***"
"What's your excuse?"
"***To be frank, I grew tired of people questioning why I wasn't skeletal, so I decided it best simply to conform to stereotypes.***"
"Makes sense. So what's the job description? Is that another misconception, or is it pretty much as we think of it?" David questioned, as they continued their trek down the streets.
"***A mixture. What you know of us guiding souls to the afterlife is true, but it is only part of the job.***"
"What else could there be? Paperwork?"
"***Yes, actually. That, I must admit, is the part of the job that very few Deaths find to be to their liking. Myself included. Still, it is necessary to fill in after every collection, as well as there being extra paperwork for the ironic death department.***"
"Rewind, ironic death department?"
"***Please tell me you didn't truly believe that incidents of pure irony were not occasionally created by a higher power?***" The figure scoffed, as if such an idea was akin to believing the sky was green. "***It is a rare thing, but some Deaths find it to be an absolute joy. To be frank, you may not see a job such as that for many years. I suggest you put it out of your mind, lest you become jealous of those who claim the job before you can.***"
"Right... Anything else?"
"***There is more, yes.***" The figure stopped his movements, allowing David to notice they were now in an almost abandoned alleyway, bar one homeless individual, who seemed to be barely breathing as she slept. "***But we can discuss that once we return to our home base, so to speak.***"
"Are we going to do that now? In - In front of her?"
"***Yes. It shall be no matter, as she will be coming with us.***"
"... You mean...?"
"***I do. I imagine you think of it as unfair.***"
"Well not unfair, just... kind of sad, really. This is how she goes out?"
"***You'll learn to ignore those feelings in time.***"
"Somehow I doubt that."
"***The only other path is insanity, David. Take it from myself, and from others who have come to the same crossroads. Either you consume the feelings, or the feelings consume you.***"
"... I guess you might have a point." He responded, after a pregnant pause. "Right. Ready to go then."
"***Good.***"
And with that, the female - who had since slid to the ground in her rest, her breathing shifting the puddle of rainwater her face was now buried in - the male, and the skeleton were all enveloped by a somewhat disquieting black fog, which slowly enveloped them, dragging them away to the depths. | 2017-03-07T06:44:51 | 2017-03-07T03:24:28 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him. | The Life Brand is thought to be a flawless and efficient system by most of the world's population. Few oppose the mandatory injection of nanites that will one day create your Life Brand because they view the world as fair, now.
I get it, I really do. The Border Wars of the 21st century were bitter and terrifying for everyone, and then when Automatons began to dominate formerly middle and lower class workers, billions of people were displaced out of the workforce. Another war, fought for decades, eventually brought us to peacetime when a renounced Swiss doctor developed nanotech.
The political geography of the world changed. Borders were dissolved, entire governments gutted and destroyed, and everyone was classified into a career path based on the results of three different tests and a psychological evaluation. Then the good doctor developed the Life Brand and pitched it to our fledgling united government.
They ate it up like a sweet treat, and the Life Brand program was in full effect within five years. For the most part, we are better for it. We've seen no war in a decade, and Life Brand gets a chunk of the credit.
I always feared my branding day. I was always very aware of my mathematical genius and technological prowess. It didn't help to quell the fear of getting classified into a sub-optimal field for me. So it's no surprise that I felt terror and a deep sense of shame when my brand finally activated at 12:08:47 PM universal standard time. I wasn't branded to be a mathematician, an engineer, a networks security specialist...No. It was far worse than that.
"Hello, Mr. Sullivan. I'm Gemma, and I am your assigned organ requisition agent for today. Can I interest you in a last meal or a final judgement blow job?"
I really hate the Life Brand system... | 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T22:51:56 | 427 | 37 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | Tick tock
I had hoped, at one time, that my number would be big. After all who would want to be one of those poor kids, they who turn 18 and find their actual age written between beneath their thumb. Can you imagine the parents as they count down the days, not knowing when it will come, just that it will hang over their heads for the whole year.
Tick tock
I once told my mother that if my number was 18, I would drink bleach; who could take the anticipation?
Tick tock
Mother sent me to my room without desert. She said it was a horrible thing to say. "kill myself because I can't take the anticipation".
Tick tock
'Anticipation', such a remarkable world: it implies things that have yet to come.
Tick tock
But long after the sun collapsed, after the last flame of the last star had died out, after the heat death of the universe, when entropy finally won, there was only one sound in all of creation:
Tick tock: *it's not a clock but the beating of my heart*.
At first I thought my number said 8. I thought this was odd. And then it clicked, it only took a second, and fror some reason I felt delight. I would live forever.
Tick tock,
I forgot though that the thing about forever is that it never stops, even when the universe goes kaploot. So I now float in space. As I will always. Sometimes I think about the forever I have lived and then I remember, forever is always yet to come. The empty world that I've so far visited is exactly like the 100 other forever yet to come. As I said, that's the thing about forever, who would want to live forever, when forever doesn't stop? But that's all I want. More than anything, is for forever to finally stop, for this 'me' that will never die to stop experiencing and fucking die. A consciousness must devour something other than itself. | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T00:57:55 | 226 | 63 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | "Hey Elena, your birthday's next week right?"
"Yeah, Jason."
"So do you think it will happen?"
"I don't know. My dad's got a number like most everyone else but my mom has a number and a letter. We might be getting closer to figuring out what the birthday messages mean."
"My dad doesn't think they mean anything."
"I sort of hope he is right. I mean it just seems like it can't be good, right?"
"Well, let us know! See you after."
-----
Birthday Reveal
It wasn't a big deal in the Lazarus house. Elena had to stuff to do then anyway. They'd celebrate her birthday, but her real friends and her family didn't believe in worrying about (or all this carrying on) about some scar tissue. That's all it was really, this weird biological process that happened. It was like the patterns on butterflies. It didn't have to mean anything.
She was alone when it happened. She saw it appear. The number three. She could live with that. A perfectly respectable number. There were three people in her family. But there was more. A zero. That was unusual, but still that seemed fine. It was a little far away from the three but no big deal. Suddenly, she felt a blinding pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She swayed on her feet. Then just as suddenly she came out of what felt like a long trance but had only been a minute to find two letters. L and V. Along with the numbers they did send a message. A message open to some interpretation but it seemed good: L0V3. She knew her life would change very soon and forever. She couldn't hide love. How could she? But this wasn't all good. There was no message that could be all good. She just hoped she wouldn't have to be willing to die for love. Was the world ready for an ambiguous message of love from a young, black woman? She was about to find out. | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-15T22:51:26 | 226 | 39 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 12:01 before I felt myself breathe again.
It was 12:02 when I heard the first sob.
It might have been my mom, I don't remember.
I held my arm away from my body like a vial of toxic chemicals, like it would catch my body on fire if I held it too close.
My uncle shifted nervously in his seat, waiting for something to happen.
I think my sister might have grabbed my hand at some point.
I don't know, I don't remember.
I couldn't speak.
I couldn't hear.
I couldn't move.
Because when I severed my spine in a car accident 2 years ago, the world came to an end
And when *OLYMPIC GYMNAST* appeared on my arm tonight, the world ceased to exist completely. | I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T03:02:12 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 226 | 12 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | We had a pretty decent society, everyone thought. At 12pm on your 18th birthday you would receive your Calling. One word. It appeared on your forearm. Either "Creator" or "User". So engineers, artists, programmers, architects, chefs etc were Creators. They created stuff for Users to use. Users used their creations as well as possible. It was a pretty symbiotic relationship. My parents were Users. Dad a train driver and Mum a waitress. Made pretty good money. We had a nice upbringing, my sister and I. She was a Creator. 21 and a hit on YourTube. She had an an infectious optimism about her. I must admit, it did feel strange seeing her on the 40 foot vid screens that were everywhere, as I trudged to school each day. The internet is huge and fair. Everybody enjoys it. Problem is, its a little boring. Don't get me wrong, Creators do excellent work but if you've seen one dancing dog balancing an egg on a spoon in its mouth, you've seen them all.
My Calling is today. Well, in a few minutes, to be exact. Personally, I can't see what the excitement is about. It's either one or the other. I don't mind which, to be honest. Though I have an inclining it'll be Creator. Call it intuition or whatever. Then again, I'm pretty lazy, so maybe not.
Tick. My parents sit across from me expectedly, Dad smoking his pipe. The air is thick with the sweet smelling smoke that defined the happiest days of our childhood. Mum doles out sandwiches to friends and neighbours who gathered with us in our expansive living room. One of Dad's friends is running a book on my result and stands to lose quite a bit if Creator is my given Calling. I smile at the thought which Mum takes to represent happiness about the coming situation.
Tock. My sister is recording everything. We are live on her channel, which wasn't new but sometimes a little privacy wouldn't go amiss, though she'd probably be aghast at the very thought. One hundred and forty two million people must have something better to do, surely than watch our proceedings. Judging by the comments she was receiving, clearly not unfortunately.
The Calling Clock chimes its notes. The room falls to a deathly hush, all eyes on my arm. I wonder if it hurts. I'd been assured for years it didn't but could you really trust anyone who accepted their lot in life, without question? I look at my arm, catching the enthusiasm around me as infectiously as my sister's followers hung on her every word. Nothing yet. I glance at the clock. It's ticking towards 12.01pm. He was always a late developer, my mother announces. Smiles and chuckles break out amongst the eager throng gathered in our home. 12.01pm comes and goes, followed silently by 12.02pm. Still nothing. The chuckles turn to murmurs. Disquiet hangs thick in the air, almost like a mist. My Mother and Father have turned a strange shade of ghastly white. This is unknown. Its always automatic. By 12.01pm, your life is always mapped ahead of you.
Suddenly letters start to form on my skin. Unknown combinations. The room erupts into pandemonium. Nobody has seen this before, ever. What does it mean? Nobody knew. Somehow, though, I did. At that moment, I realised I'd always known. I lifted my phone and typed one sentence on my sister's comments. It's flashed immediately around the World, on billboards as tall as houses. On phones, TV's, computers, trains, planes, toasters. You name it. I stand, shove my phone in my back pocket and walk silently down stairs, to the basement, giving everyone the finger as I go.
I wasn't the best. I wasn't the most popular, as things turned out. But I was the first. As I lay here on my deathbed looking at the words that define me, I smile at the photo of the headstone that will stand over me very soon, emblazoned with my comment.
"You idiots are fucking losers."
My life slips away but TROLL. FUCK YOU. will be eternal. | A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)". | 2017-03-16T02:08:33 | 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 188 | 98 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | My 18th birthday, something that seemed so far away is finally here. My family is gathered around, ready to see what word I would have. My dad's was JANITOR, while my mother's was DOCTOR. I hope I get something cool.
"We will be proud of you honey, whatever you are." My mother said. My father nodded in agreement. We waited in silence. The grandfather clock sounded at noon, Words started to be inscribed into my arm.
GAY PORNSTAR, were the words that would dictate my career. My father let out a snort, my mother flustered said "Oh john, we knew you were gay, but we didn't think your career would involve this."
I thought to myself, well, I do love dick.
(First post please be nice.)
| I've never been much for parties--let alone a party where I'm the center of attention. I'd much rather be sitting in a corner somewhere with a cat and my phone until the crowd dispersed. But, it was my 18th birthday today, so my parents were hosting my reveal party.
Often, children took after one of their parents. My mother, like her mother and grandmother before her, had been "resilient." They were survivors who had been through more trauma and heartache than most, but they still managed to soldier on and serve as role models for others. My grandmother was one of our community leaders, and a small throng gathered around her and my mother as they discussed plans to update infrastructure in our town.
My father, like his father and brothers was "protective." He was a member of the police force and helped keep us safe. He was seldom far from my mother, and stood a few paces back from her, eyes alert and straight posture belying that he was ready to spring to action even on such a happy day.
My parents were good people, and everyone expected that I would follow one of their leads. My older sister had. She wore the label of "protective" proudly. She was currently training to join the police force as well.
"It's almost time!" My mother called excitedly. "Take off your cardigan so we can see better. Only another minute..."
Everyone gathered around me waiting to see what my destiny held. Slowly, the dark shapes of a word began to appear. No one breathed for a moment as "dick" came into startling focus. Everything was silent until one of my cousins finally broke and began to laugh nervously. My father shot him a glare as my mother moved to comfort me. "It could mean any number of things..."
When she released me from a firm hug, I moved to stare at my arm, but was shocked to see something on my opposite forearm as well... The word "butt."
There had to be some kind of explanation! Surely my destiny couldn't be... Dick butt... | 2017-03-16T04:22:00 | 2017-03-16T02:49:08 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] A nasty run-in with a Leprechaun leaves you cursed to only speak in rhyme. Jokes on him, though, cause now your one of the biggest rap artists in recent history. He's not taking it well. | People often ask me, how I rose to fame,
I give a little laugh, oh I remember that game,
I once met a man, petite, green with a beard,
"I dare you to catch me" he chuckled and sneered;
For what seemed like hours I searched and I chased,
Mind on the gold, almost I could taste,
I hid on the path I knew he would take,
For one misstep would be his last mistake;
I snatched him quite swift, in a one, two, three,
He quickly yelped out "Hey! let me free,
Since you have caught me, I'll gift you this time,
But now you are cursed to only speak in rhyme." | "Hey, I'm Michael Battle from BET here with an exclusive interview with MC Christmas. Christmas, your record sales are through the roof, how do you manage to keep it fresh?" He asked.
"Well you see, and hear my voice, I was cursed by a leprechaun and have no choice. To be quite honest I wish I was free, but a possibility of that happening isn't something I see." MC Christmas said.
"Uhhhhh.. Right. Are the rumors true that you're hiding 2pac and Biggie Smalls-"
"Get off my balls. You'd think someone taking over your life would be big and tall, but the truth is the most evil package can be really small. You look uncomfortable perhaps you'd rather call?" A noticeably miserable man wearing a gold clock around his neck, and a face that looked 60 years old despite only being 22.
MC Christmas was partying with some friends a few years ago. They were all getting high on mushrooms. MC Christmas, formerly known simply as Chris Hagen, and another name in another life, got the bright idea to follow a rainbow looking for leprechauns gold. He assumed he was hallucinating when he found it, and decided to make the best of this powerful hallucination and bring it home.
That same night at midnight a leprechaun-
"Um.. MC Christmas, you do realize you were just staring off into space telling me about a leprechaun who cursed you. [Inaudible speaking followed by a crackling sound]"
*It is in my professional opinion that this man spends the rest of his natural born life in psychiatric care. As you heard on the tape, he believes he is a famous rapper who was cursed by a leprechaun forcing him to only be able to speak in rhyme.*
*However, some part of him knows that isn't true, as made evident by him "interviewing himself. My diagnosis is acute insanity.*
*I do believe this man is capable of harming himself or others, even if that's his mother, father, sisters and brothers... Fuck.* | 2017-04-06T20:07:51 | 2017-04-06T19:00:59 | 76 | 26 |
[WP] Don't get me wrong, while i loved being able to hear what animals could say i just wish the birds outside my window would shut up about finding a mate | I forget myself as I lay on the cold floor. There are two ants following a secret path on the hardwood. They are silently going about their business. I wish they would talk. They seem so interesting, with their small colonies and little ways of doing things. Instead I'm stuck with...*them.*
"Ey Bby, you want sum fuk?" the bird screams at the top of his lungs outside my window. It's not even open, but their desperate attempts to get laid pierce even the thickest walls. I sigh.
"What the shit is that?" One of the ants panics.
"Oops. Sorry mate," I reply. They have already begun to scurry away. I have to keep myself from sighing again. I wish for the millionth time that they could understand me as well as I understand them.
"I got some of dat good fuk out here boi." A scream interrupts my moping.
I look up at the bird outside my window, leaving the ants to their busy lives.
"Shoo," I command halfheartedly. The bird turns it's head toward me.
"Ey! You got any of them Parakeets in there?" the pigeon asks loudly. His buddies all chip in with variants of 'yeah' and 'do you?' and the like.
"I do not own a Parakeet," I answer. The bird recoils.
"You understand me?" he asks.
"You understand *me*?" I retort.
"No." he answers.
"Wait, what?" I inquire.
"You got any Parakeets in there?" he demands.
"Can you understand me or not? I can't even tell." I object.
"You wan sum fuck? Lemme Smash," he elucidates.
"I do not." I dispel.
"You understand me?" he breathes.
"I'm not sure anymore." I sigh.
"You understand to Lemme Smash?" he thrusts.
I can feel the fury rising within me. I have to get answers, now. "You know what? I do have a Parakeet back here, and she has been dying to get sum fuck," I propose.
"Really?" he shouts.
"Hah! So you do understand me!"
"You wan sum fuk?"
"God fucking dammit, why couldn't you have been an ant?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis for the creme of my crop. | (Based on true, albeit non-talking, animals.)
My mom can't stand the turkeys in the back yard. Despite living in what is ostensibly suburbia, they walk around like they own the place, crap in the garden, and eat the new grass seed. Every morning, a dozen turkeys wander out of the woods, and every morning that she can, my mom scares them off with a broom and loud noises. But recently, she's tired of the daily battle, and just let them do their thing, which sucks for me, because I hear everything.
First things first: the yard does not belong to the turkeys. It belongs to the deer. Last week, the Yard Council met and it was incredibly obvious that Darkhorn, the larger of the male deer, runs the show. I think his brother Springbuck will supplant him next year, but that's neither here nor there. After the deer come the squirrels. They may be small, but their numbers more than make up for this small deficiency. Scamper and the whole Nuthoard family have even made plays for yard supremacy, but I think that Nighttail the black squirrel is in the deer's corner. It's actually really interesting to watch. There's a doctorate thesis here just waiting to be written.
But enough about the kings of the yard. Let's talk about the peasants. The king of the kingless would be Robinsbane the stray tomcat. I'm not sure if it's the same cat that knocked up our cats ten years ago; more than likely, it's one of his many descendants carrying on his father's horndog legacy. There's the crows, the chipmunks, the stupid moles that talk constantly while they tunnel under my room. The uncivilized riff-raff of the animal world.
And then there's the turkeys.
Not even the other commoners want anything to do with the turkeys. I'd say they swaggered around like Jersey Shore, but that would be an insult to Jersey Shore. It started as a single mating pair and their chicks, which wasn't so bad. Sure, the kids bicker, but so do human kids. Nothing new there. But as the months went on, the parents let their young roam free. And then they started to spread out. Soon, only one male chick remained. Even his parents had found a new forest to squat in. The solitary male needed companionship.
So he started collecting. He pranced around the entire neighborhood. I would hear him as I drove off to work, crowing about how all the honeys were missing out on his massive turkey dick. I'm not sure if poultry understand puns, but I did crack up when a female said she would "gobble" up his dong. The joke stopped being funny when he brought his entire harem into my backyard.
Listening to Halo bros yelling about fucking everyone's mother would be preferable. As soon as the sun rises, the yard is filled with constant affirmations of this gigolo turkey's virility and the cackling of the females behind his back about his tiny member. I know more about turkey genitalia than I would ever like to know. But it gets worse when one of the females gets bored or desperate. It's like just listening to porn. All of the words are sex words, but you don't want to look. You don't want to see. You really, really don't want to know why a female turkey would want a male to "stuff her cloaca with his massive turkey dick and ride her into the sunset like a tapeworm."
At least there's hope. Eventually, he'll pick a mate, and the other whores will move on. They'll make more chicks, and hopefully, whoever remains will be a more considerate lover. There's always next year. | 2017-04-28T17:42:01 | 2017-04-28T17:15:30 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] Humans never figured out how to travel faster than light, but immortality was not that hard after all. As a consequence, space travel is possible, but very boring. | Most people sleep soundly during cryo-stasis. They board the shuttle, the shuttle blasts off, then after they've gotten their magnificent last look at Sagan's pale blue dot into the cryo-pods they go for the decades-to-centuries long journey through the stars to whatever planet their bound for. There are a handful of people, however, that cryo-stasis doesn't quite work on. They go into the pods the same, close their eyes the same, but cryo-sleep never comes. They'll toss and turn for hours, perhaps they might even fall into their regular sleep cycle, but they will always wake up long before journey ends.
"Checkmate.....for the 34,965th time."
Which why all shuttles come built with a lounge capable of providing whatever entertainment and distraction one might need.
"You evil shite. I swear one of these days I'm going to find out how you're cheating."
"I'm not cheating, you just suck at chess. Quit whining and git gud."
"That stale old meme? Really?"
"Don't you judge me Mr-I-Modified-The-Maker-To-Synthesize-LSD!"
"Don't act like you're better than me! Remind me who it was that was running around the ship screaming about bats and huge manta-rays chasing them when the last batch was ready!"
"I am better because I'm not the one who changed it in the first place! And of course I'm going to! You suck at chess, we've watched every movie in the database thirty times, listened to all the music and read every book! We've literally done EVERYTHING on this ship that there is to amuse ourselves! What else are we supposed to do?!"
".....Eat more LSD and screw?"
"For the 342nd time?"
"What else are we going to do? Another game of chess that you're going to win?"
".....Fine. I'm choosing the music this time." | I stood staring out the observation panel, trance-like with deep thought. The distant glow of a billion stars stared back, imperceptibly sliding by as my vessel traversed the great emptiness towards our ultimate destination. I sighed, exhaling slowly and savouring the feeling of my breath chilling my teeth as it passed through my lips.
I turned back to the Captain's chair, where I had been sitting for the last few hours. I wish I could have said all morning, but there was no such distinction in space. Routines we're governed by the clock, not the rise and fall off the local star. I hadn't experienced the gentle brightening of morning light, or the warm touch of the sun on my skin. My routine would begin with a beeping alarm and harsh LED lights.
As I approached my chair the lunch notification appeared on the observation panel. Isolated protein, vegetable fibres and fat supplement mixed into a milkshake-like concoction was placed on the Captain's desk. I began to drink my lunch, a bland, tasteless source of the essential nutrients I required. I contemplated the lack of flavour, how could humanity produce such a scientifically perfected meal, but not give it a hint of flavour?
Within minutes a new notification appeared, it was time for my mid-day exercises. I followed the regime I was instructed to do by a faceless avatar appearing on my screen. The goal was to keep my muscles strong in the low gravity of space, but I had always hated the yoga-inspired exercises of interstellar travel. My muscles yearned for sport and strength, not the bare minimum to ensure I continue functioning.
I completed my exercises and returned to the Captain's chair. Soon our destination would appear. Within the hour another notification blinked onto the screen. We were approaching Delta-7, the mining colony that my ship was bound for.
Times were good for the little planet. The population was small but growing rapidly, and the people were prospering. Opportunity was everywhere and you could build a far better life than on Earth.
As I piloted the ship into the atmosphere I could see the lights of the main city. It was breathtaking, a completely new type of world, a new culture of humanity. I felt optimistic, like a new age Christopher Columbus seeing this new world for the first time.
The ship touched down and within minutes the hatch was open. I gasped in a breath of fresh air. It was almost salty, a grand departure from the sterile air of the spacecraft. I made my way down the walkway to the port attendant.
He looked tired. The spaceport must have been seeing heavy traffic. How could I blame him with the volume of people trying to reach the land of opportunity?
I presented him my identification and travel documents. He gave them a look over, gazed at my ship, and authorized the transaction.
"Thank you for your service, the colony has been in need of this equipment," he said as the automated dock system unloaded my cargo, and replaced it with goods from the refineries. "Have a good trip back."
And with another shipment dutifully delivered I returned to my seat in the Captain's chair to begin my return to Earth and continue the cycle. A delivery man's job is never done. | 2017-08-15T08:50:47 | 2017-08-15T07:59:53 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] You're a killer dumping your latest victim into the river. Just as you're about to be done, you spot another person. Doing exactly the same thing. And they've just spotted you, too. | As I go to start my boat back up, after laying my latest victim to bed, I heard a faint, familiar splash. About 25 feet away, I saw another vessel casually drifting with the current, and a figure standing on top looking in my direction. As the shadow of the clouds passed by, the moon lit up his boat, and I could see my guest for the first time. Under any other circumstance I would describe him as completely forgettable, an average Joe that you pass on the street a dozen times a day. But not out in the boondocks at this time of night, and especially not with all of the blood on his shirt. For a brief moment, we just stared at each other, knowing that we were brothers in the darkest of arts. I was almost at peace in the presence of this stranger, until he reached inside his boat. It dawned on me that this killer may not see me as someone who can understand him, but instead as the witness that will lead to his downfall. I could feel the adrenaline hit my bloodstream as I frantically searched my own vessel, looking for anything that I could use for protection. I knew my search would be useless, though, as I left my tool of despair hidden in my shed as I always do. His engine roared to life, and I could hear my death coming towards me. I finally accepted my karma as he pulled his boat next to mine. I closed he brought up his hands, but instead of an unmistakable bang I heard the flicking of a lighter. I opened my eyes as he blew out a puff of smoke and asked, “Cigarette?” | We stared at each other for what felt like a millennia; her with her excess and me with my disposables.
"There's no way she knows" I mutter to myself as I nod and smile at her. I had seen her here once before. A cold, clammy night, when summer juxtaposes into fall. Her bag was so small, as if she was disposing of an old boyfriends belongings.
I made my way back to my 4runner quickly, almost a jog. She knows me now. I've been fucking reckless and she saw me. I'm four kills in, and I'm no fucking Dexter Morgan but I sure as fuck didn't think I'd get caught this early. Not like this. Not by some maybe 20-something bimbo who takes and breaks hearts. No I'm smarter than that.
I fumbled for my keys in my pocket, and heard her voice. Her sweet, innocent voice. "I've been watching you Michael" I turned and swung with a haymaker that would've rivaled Holyfield. I hit nothing.
"For a killer, you sure don't have your wits about you"
"I'm not a killer" I said emphatically. I meant it too. I never killed anyone. I dispensed karma, and sometimes it got away from me.
"I've seen all four bodies you've dumped. And the two you beat up, did you know one of them died?" She said.
"Well good I fucking hope so, he was a convicted rapist. I hope he burns in hell"
I felt hot in my back. No other way to describe it. It was hot, and then I felt wet. Way to wet. I coughed and my back heaved under the weight.
"My father wanted me. He wanted my sister and me, but my mother was a whore who was always worried about the next baggie"
I felt another blow, this one between my ribs. The steel felt cold this time as it scrapped bone; my breathing labored. This bitch was really stabbing me. Fuck.
"My dad wanted a family and my mom wanted a hit. You should know that. My dad did all he could for this family and you took him away from me and that psycho"
More blows now. "Can you at least tell me who you think I've killed?" I spat. Blood leaking from my mouth.
"Jason Gonzales" she said, more and more thrusts into me, I've lost count. The name rang through my head.
"I'm sorry" I muttered, his kill now fresh in my mind. Fresh and wet. Like I am. Funny how life does that. Just ends on you.
| 2017-10-12T18:56:23 | 2017-10-12T17:20:49 | 79 | 33 |
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