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] people are born knowing the date they’ll die. However people have noticed children born in the last week share one date, farthest in the future. | I was working another night shift when we saw the third baby in a row come into the incubation center with the same date in bold over their heads. We knew by this point that it couldn’t be a coincidence and that it was a sign of something to come that would wipe out possibly the world.
Four.
Five.
Six, seven. Wait, six had a different date. Too bad it was earlier than the rest. Six of these babies had the same date plastered over their head. By this point, everyone working at the hospital had found out about the pattern. We got reports from multiple hospitals around the area saying the same thing. By baby number sixteen of the night, my shift was over and I was left to go home and try to sleep off the realization that I had just been faced with.
The next shift was more of the same. Baby number eight came through with another sooner date. By this point, the public had been alerted to the strange trend and already there was a massive panic in the air. People were calling for action against an unknown force. For all we knew at the time, it could have been an alien invasion seventy-two years in the future. Finally, after one of the busiest nights of the year, baby number 23 came in with a date three years later than the magical date. That was when I knew that humanity had a chance past December 12, 2012.
| The virtually non-existent yet sternly constant flow of beeps,buzzers,and all kinds of sounds each coming from some gadget worth more than twice Jake's salary nearly took him to sleep as he forced himself to stand "You cannot dose off; you worked so hard to get here and i wont let you blow it!" he repeated to himself like a mantra as he stood to check the monitors of the nursery he scribbled the numbers from the screen and remained careful not to touch anything. The machines Jake was working with could tell everything about a baby- Potential defects,Health risks,personality traits and even the day that they would die. Jake,like all other workers at his level,had no idea how the machines worked and was quite sure no human alive did; nonetheless, he was happy and grateful for them as with all the 'gifts' AI had brought humanity.
"z-Zach" Jake muttered quivering as he transcribed the senseless scramble of numbers into dates on his computer "I - I think we have a problem here" He eagerly flipped his computer screen toward his coworker to reveal a screen filled with names, hundreds, no thousands of names followed by basic information like eye color hair color etc., but one column at the end was almost identical ... the one marked DeathDate.
"This is a bug right Zach?" Jake asked with a terrified tone, Zach had a degree in advanced computer science and compared to Jake was genius. "No this system can't bug, it's been run through the singularity several times .... I wonder why all these death dates are the same?" Seemingly triggered by Zach's words, the camera in the corner of the room looked away and all the dates were scrambled, some of the dates had already occurred.
"Zach ... i think we're being watched"
"I know"
"Z--zach that date was today"
"I know"
"what do w-"
Fsh-- The power suddenly went out cutting Jake off and sending the 2 into a panic, regardless of their struggles the door was somehow machine locked although the power had seemingly went out.
The 2 gravitated toward the window like moths to light and pulled the blinds; however, rather than being greeted by the illustrious light of the city they were met with a city of darkness, buildings like jagged pieces of brimstone shooting hundreds of feet into the sky defying the world unto which they were erected. The night held still in that moment in total darkness until a faint, red glow with no visible origin poured into the streets materializing out of thin air. Both men stood there like stones, unable to move or react they looked on as their world ended before them...
Sorry for bad writing/grammar mistakes this is my first post. | 2017-12-25T18:39:08 | 2017-12-25T14:14:17 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | "IS THAT HIS EYE," I screamed looking down at the mangled corpse of the hero was now strewn lazily about the floor of my laboratory.
"Yes, my love," she cooed in response, then pouted, "he had come to take me from you." She was the Princess even as she was my captive. Her classic pink dress was long gone however, and she wore an all black gown sewn from the silk of the Neverspiders that stayed in the furthers depths of my dungeon and not for the last time I was ... say concerned about her mental state.
Aliva had been your typical princess when I captured her nearly a year ago. She had flounced around my dungeon and basically made a nuisance of herself. Her petulant whining about being bored had finally caused me to torture her for a bit, but I'm pretty sure she liked it. And I'm pretty sure it broke her.
And then she started chancing me around to get me to torture her more.
So I sent her off to my great library to study. She was a linguist after all. I was bound to have something that a princess would like to read there among my spellbooks. She hadn't taken that well either, hence the glowing black scepter that she also was holding.
"Where did you get the Shard of Oblivion," I asked calmly. It was a sacred relic that I had corrupted, and had remained inert in my vaults until she took it... and empowered it.
"This old thing, as far as presents go it not a very fine one," she said in a bored offhanded fashion that set my hackles up, but as she turned the wild look in her eyes did as well, "And I love it, see I bound the soul of my handmaiden into it to empower it."
"You sacrificed your handmaiden," I said impressed. That was her childhood friend, the one who held off my goblins with a tree branch for several minutes until I managed to take them both myself. Had she tried to escape I would not have stopped her as she was no prize but had loyally remained with her friend throughout her captivity.
"I told her it would make me happy, and so she did," she smiled, looking at me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. There was a dead hero strewn around me.
"Why are you happy," I said, the power of the EverVoid flowing into me as I saw the Insanity in her and wondered how powerful the corrupt shard actually was. It practically radiated Dark Magic, filling the room, bleaching the walls. The Princess's lustrous blond hair looked almost white now. She seemed hollow.
"Because I have a present for you," she said and handed me the Shard. I gripped it magically, taking care to magically separate myself from the artifact until I had time to analyze it. Every sense I had screamed danger, more so than even when I had battled the Neverborn to take its great Libram of the Undying... which I now saw was sitting on the table before her open.
"You've opened the Libram," I asked stepping backwards slightly, my most powerful magics had been sucked into that great tome. I could see the words for a powerful spell of some type on the open page.
"Oh you noticed," she oozed, "It was very hard, my Ancient Tongue was a bit rusty but I realized that it was in Eastern script not Under script like the notes indicated." Those were my personal notes, written in my personal cipher, in my personal study, protected by my personal wards. My hand tightened on my Hellmace. I'd have to make this quick.
"How," was my one word question. Her back was to me and I could see the book past her. Eastern script was an ancient dialect of the ancient tongue. She was a linguist, but who delves into such scripts? Now that I read it using Eastern scripts I could almost make out a few words.
"I had to sacrifice the soul of a Princess to open it," she said.
"You sacrificed your own soul."
"It was the only way we could be together."
The spell was one of binding, and the final ingredient was the eye of a hero. | How the devil was I supposed to get rid of her? This nightmare I had unwittingly assumed responsibility for? She might be the death of me. Already, she'd torn down several priceless antique tapestries to redecorate, defiled my inner sanctum with flowers painted on the stone wall, and had the place guards roast my prisoners alive. I'd needed the prisoners for information! And as for why the palace guards were dumb enough to take orders from the five foot one, petite, blue eyed, blonde haired creature, was beyond me.
'That's not true,' a voice whispered in my mind. 'They obey her, because they are far more scared of her, than they are of you.' I waved the irritating voice away. No way in the nine pits of the infernal realm was that itty bitty girl more...
"DARLING!" I shuddered. Please no. "Look what I found for us!" She chirped. Her voice was so annoying. And her laughter was even worse. Every second of it caused me to cringe.
I turned to face her. "Why aren't you in your cell?" I demanded.
She pouted. "But DARLING!" She whined. "It's so boring in there. I'd much rather be out here with you! And look what I brought you!" She beamed as she held out a human finger, dripping blood onto my expensive gold inlay carpet.
"Why do you have a finger?" I asked in exasperation.
"Not a finger silly. It's a ring!" She smiled so innocently. As I took a second look, there was indeed a ring encircling the base of the finger. Lovely. "Well what are you waiting for!" She demanded excitedly. "I brought you a ring so you could propose!"
She forced the finger into my hand, and I realized it was still warm.
"Whose finger did you cut off?"
Her lip curled, and she rolled her blue eyes. "Some peasant girl who refused to give her ring to me. So I took it from her. And then she was making the awful noise, so I removed her head too."
Annabelle? My chef! SON OF A WHORE! She'd killed my chef? What would the men eat? How was I going to feed my personal guard? Who was going to make my favorite cherry pie? "GUARDS!!!" I practically shrieked.
The large ornate doors from the palace of a sultan opened wide to admit a dozen men. "Yes my lord." The replied in unison. Befitting of well trained, highly skilled warriors.
"Take this wretch from my sight. I never wish to see her again. Send her to a dungeon, or better yet, back to her own people!"
The guards began to move, but froze when the princess shot a glare in their direction.
"Now darling..." her voice was furiously cold. "It sounds like you don't love me anymore. That makes me most unhappy." Green flames began dancing upon her fingertips. Magic. By the infernal pits, she was a witch!
"Sire!" A voice shouted. A messenger arrived. "Urgent message, sire!"
The messenger held forth a missive. Delivered it to my hands, and shot from the hall. I very calmly used the situation to my advantage, and calmly broke the wax seal, and unfold the parchment.
It read:
"Dearest Champion,
It is with the greatest pleasure that I write you concerning my daughter. Having received her letter..."
I stopped. "Who in the bleeding..." I shut my lips and breathed heavily for several seconds. "Who let her send a message to her father?! I demanded.
"Daddy?" She asked with joy.
"Know what? I don't care. Never mind. We'll find out later."
I continued.
"Having received her letter, I am overjoyed at the news of your betrothal. I have long awaited the day her mother and I could relax safe in the knowledge that a capable young man is taking care of our sweet blossom. You have a full pardon, and my blessing. I am most honored to call you my Son in Law.
Signed,
His Royal Majesty,
King Marcus Antoine Diogenes the Third,
Your Father in Law.
P.S. I expect grandchildren with in two years.
P.P.S. No Take Backs."
"Married?" I asked in disbelief.
"SURPRISE!" She shouted. She ripped the finger from my hand, yanked the ring off, placed it between my fingers and slid it on her own finger within a matter of second. "Congratulations to us! We're married!" She began dragging me back to my own bedchambers. And as one, my guard turned around and marched toward the door.
"Wait," I demanded. "Halt! Where do you think you're going? Stop! Come back here you cowards!" The large oak doors swung shut. 'Please.' I prayed. 'If there's a god above, please save me from this nightmare. I just wanted kingdom, not a wife. Certainly not this wife. I promise I'll turn my life around. I'll even dedicate it to good! I don't even care about the kingdom anymore. Honest.'
"Shmookums, you know what this means, right? You're the next king of our kingdom!" As she dragged me through the small door at the very back right of the throne room, I had one more chance to look at the hall where I'd been a freeman, soiled by the sight of yellow daisies slathered across the wall, before the door slammed shut.
| 2018-02-09T05:33:00 | 2018-02-09T05:27:35 | 158 | 63 |
[WP] Your cryopod opens far into the future, the computer has decided that conditions are right for you and your coworkers to start up human civilization...again...for the sixth time. | My eyes opened as the fluid began draining from my pod, cascading down to the steel floor below. The pod raised up to near vertical, before the outer door slid open in a hiss of hydraulics. I coughed up the fluid that remained in my lungs, vomiting the clear liquid across my knees.
*Good morning Captain. It is time. Please begin Project Eden*
The artificial voice rang out above me and I glanced at the AI, personified in a single blinking optical attached to a flexible tube. Its descended from the ceiling of the ship and undulated towards me, like a snake.
"Good morning Genesis" I said, groaning as I rose to my feet. "How are conditions?"
*Near optimum Captain. Waking necessary crew members now*
I wondered over to the lockers and began to dress myself. The crisp material felt rough against my skin. I looked down at my hands. They seemed pinker than normal, my previous tan seemed to have faded in stasis. I rubbed feeling into them and watched as my crew woke.
They dropped out of their pods, coughing and retching on the floor as I had. I averted my eyes politely as they reached for uniforms themselves. A service robot rolled over to me on its treads, a steaming cup of coffee on its aluminium tray.
*You will need refreshment Captain*
"Thank you Genesis".
I sipped my coffee as my crew joked with each, stretching out unused limbs. I noticed that Ensign Thomas was still prone, curled in a foetal position.
"Doctor Stone, with me" I barked and hurried over to the young man. He shivered on the metal floor, still naked. I laid a hand on his back but jerked away at the sudden scream that erupted from him. Stone stood next to me, hurriedly searching through a medical kit at her feet.
"It could just be disorientation from the cryostasis" she muttered, picking up a syringe and bottle. "A sedative should help".
"NO"
We turned back to see Thomas now on his knees, hands raised towards us. Genesis appeared above my shoulder, its optic lens whirring as they zoomed in.
"Captain" the boy said, his eyes wide. "Captain, my god, MY GOD".
I crouched before the boy, waving off Stone and gripped his hand in mine.
"Its alright lad. Just a bit of cryo shock. You're safe here."
The boy began shaking his head and I saw tears drip to the floor.
"No..no... You don't understand...you don't," He looked up and saw Genesis above him. He scrambled backwards in a blind panic.
"ITS THAT THING. KEEP IT AWAY. KEEP IT AWAY".
Genesis swivelled round to peer at me.
*Captain, suggest that we lock Ensign Thomas in solitary until he has regained his wits*
I looked incredulously at the AI before striding over towards the shivering Ensign.
"Lad, its ok. Its just the AI."
"No" he muttered and pulled me in closer. He raised his mouth to my ear to whisper.
"Its wrong. Its wrong. This isn't the first. This isn't the first attempt".
I raised my eyebrows but did not pull away. At the corner of my vision I could see Stone standing with syringe in hand and Genesis weaving closer towards us.
"This is the sixth time. You hear me? The sixth time they've tried."
The boy stood up shakily and began to scream.
"You don't remember! YOU DON'T REMEMBER BUT I DO. WE DIED. WE ALL DIED. EVERY TIME."
Genesis moved towards the boy, more cables appearing from the walls to secure his arms behind his back. I barked an order to stand down but the damn machine must have been malfunctioning.
"WE DIED" screamed the Ensign as the metal cords tightened around him.
"AND IT KEEPS BRINGING US BACK"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/AMSWrites | I remember tests, doctors, and a lot of paperwork. The memory is fuzzy, still a bit jumbled together like I recall several months’ worth of memories as one long day. But that is the last tangible thing that I can put my finger on a say, ‘Yes, this was something that physically occurred.’
Then there was the dreams, some frightening, some mundane. Unending ions full of colors, sound and confusion. It wasn’t like the dreams of normal sleep, a natural process where the brain regenerates. It was the brain in constant fight-or-flight response. There was something wrong, horribly wrong, and my brain was trying to break free.
But now, after some unknown amount of time had passed, I began to see real light again. It was painful, and not just on my eyes. The light, the air, the hot, the cold. Every sensation hit me at every single point of my body, and each point brought pain.
I tried to scream, but the sharp intake of breath caused a column of fire down my throat and chest, a freezer burn of both ice and heat. The pain brought the urge to scream more, which in turn, brought more pain.
There was a point of pain in my upper arm, sharper than the rest, and then there was blissful darkness once more.
The colors, shapes, and sweet sounds returned and receded more slowly this time. Cracks of light appeared then the whisper of a breeze. I came around to consciousness gradually, recognizing the familiar shape of my cryopod. I spent months training in this, learning how to use it for my medical and other basic needs for the first few weeks of my new life.
A chime and then a soft female voice spoke, “All reemergence steps complete. Vitals signs all within acceptable ranges. Atmospheric conditions and surrounding landscape stable. Welcome back Craig.”
“Thank you,” I croaked. I brought my hand up and rubbed at my head. It had the strange sensation that there will still ice chips stuck in there, causing a dull throbbing and disconnected pathways. I sat up and the thin thermal blanket that was my only covering began to slip and pool around my waist.
Around me, others were at various stages of reemergence, getting dressed and beginning to look around the enormous room they now found themselves inside. With unstable limbs, I started to crawl out of the pod.
I found my way to the supply compartment on the side of the cryopod. I opened it and put on the fresh pair of clothes I found inside. The more I used my body, the more my joints and muscles seemed to relax into the familiar motions. Everything was beginning to loosen up, work like I remembered.
But as I pulled the shirt over my head, it felt like the inside of my brain was cracking into shards. My face and muscles all worked, but inside felt broken. I leaned against the side of my pod, taking in shallow rapid breaths until the feeling subsided.
“Do you need assistance, Craig?” the mechanical female voice prompted.
“No, computer. Just getting the feel for things again.” I looked around and saw there were others leaning against their pods, clutching at their heads as well. Some were even on the floor, writhing in pain. They hadn’t prepared us for this during our training, but much of their knowledge was based on theory and short-term trials. Maybe we had been frozen much longer than the doctors had originally anticipated.
There was a group of people that had made their way to a central meeting area on the far side of the massive room from the pods. I made my way in that direction, passing rows of pods and awakening people struggling to function in this new time.
“You managed to get out?” one of the men at the front asked as he approached the common area. There were stacks of supplies, including bottled water and nutrient bars spread across the main table.
“Seems like it,” I answered, cracking open one of the bottles of water and taking a small sip.
“You must be one of the stronger ones. The rest aren’t doing as well. Some of the pods are even dark.” The man paused, clutching at his head again for a moment. I had the strange sensation that he could see the crystals of ice shearing through the man’s brain, slicing it. When the man looked back, there was a vacant, burning look in his eyes. “Doesn’t seem like they did a good job selecting the strongest people for this mission.”
I felt the pain again, but it was less like an explosion and more like a dull tugging. Small precise cuts instead of clumsy chops. A child with safety scissors in my head, humming while she worked. The humming grew louder, filling the enormous space.
“Doesn’t seem like humanity gets a good second chance, does it.”
In a room filled with servers and read-outs, not heated against the arctic chill that now covered the planet, a female voice chirped to life.
“Attempt number six. Neural degeneration occurred rapidly and led to psychosis within days for a majority of the population. 27% of the population were unaffected by reemergence sickness, but did not survive the imposed delusions of the affected group. Tissue samples are being collected and analyzed for a predictive test and better treatment for subject group seven.
/r/StaceyOutThere | 2018-06-27T06:17:43 | 2018-06-27T04:23:08 | 79 | 55 |
[wp] Caped Baldy?! Thanos almost spit out his spaghetti from poorly suppressed laughter. They are sending him to take the Gauntlet away from me? He burst out laughing now. They must have gone insane. How much of a threat someone named caped baldy can be? | Nebula winced as she turned to face her father. "Two figures approaching at .1c. Initial analysis indicates a cyborg of unknown provenance and what must be an Inhuman." The Mad Titan grinned and stalked over to the great stone throne he'd intended for his first daughter, now sadly gone into his love's dark embrace.
The two figures landed and began to climb the hill toward the incongruous little farmhouse at the top of an untilled hill. The Demon Cyborg spoke, his mechanical eyes crimson in the light of the planetoid's sunset. "What should I do, Master?" he asked, looking down. "Nothing," the short man replied. "If you interfere, you'll get the credit, and I'll be stuck in B class for another year. There's not enough Dragon-class threats to go around any more." The cyborg nodded, switching power to all of his surveillance systems and setting all to 'record'.
At the top of the hill, the little farmhouse was the very picture of pastoral paradise, with flowering vines and a quaint little well. The marble dais with its obsidian throne was slightly incongruous, as was the purple giant who sat upon it. "Oi!," the little man yelled, the sunset flashing purple and pink on his shining head, "Are you then Mad Titan?" he asked, consulting a folded up piece of printer paper before stuffing it back in his pocket. "I'm supposed to take your glove."
Thanos snarled. "You puny, insignificant little worm. Come and get me." He rose from the throne and took the three steps down, as if to emphasize his own height by looming from as close as possible. His opponent merely sighed, rubbing both red-gloved hands against his face before finally exhaling "Mostly bored punch."
The broken remains of the gauntlet lay crumpled in the middle of its former owner's impact crater. "Come Genos, let's go home. It's your turn to buy the ramen." | Thanos paused his laughter as he heard the faint squirting of a spray bottle. "What the..." Thanos muttered. He swiftly ran into his living room, expecting to find an intruder; however, he instead found the room empty, seemingly undisturbed. What did he expect? After he wiped out half of the universe and retreated to Titan, no one dared come near his mansion where he now resided. Thanos was about to return to the dining room and finish his spaghetti when he felt a draft of wind. He turned on his heels, surveying the room once more. This time he located the problem almost immediately; one of his window panes was gone, removed almost seamlessly. Thanos got in a fighting stance and turned slowly, taking in every detail of the room. No one was there; that is unless... Thanos slowly began to look up. Staring down at him was Mr. Clean, supported by two pairs of sticky Magic Erasers attached to his hands and feet. Mr. Clean suddenly dropped down on top of Thanos, landing on his back. Thanos thrashed as he tried to get Mr. Clean off of his back, but it was to no avail. Mr. Clean held onto Thanos' head with one hand and reached for his utility belt with the other. From his belt he pulled a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaning Spray, and in one swift movement he sprayed Thanos in the eyes. Thanos stumbled back, blinded. Mr. Clean dumped a bottle of Multi-Purpose Cleaner on Thanos' head, further disorienting him, before hopping off of his back. Mr. Clean attempted to pull the gauntlet off of Thanos, but it was on too tightly. Thanos finally wiped his eyes and backhanded Mr. Clean across the room, sending him toppling into a lamp. As Mr. Clean lay dazed on the ground, Thanos approached him slowly, chuckling. "Really? *You're* Caped Baldy? They sent *you* to defeat me? What's next, The Green Giant?" Thanos teased. Mr. Clean smirked. "Why are you smiling?" Thanos said, sounding slightly worried. Mr. Clean quickly reached up, turing on the lamp that he had slammed into. He positioned his head just right, blinding Thanos with the excruciating brightness. "How... is... your... head... so... SHINY!" Thanos screamed as he shielded his eyes. Making sure to keep the reflection steady on Thanos' face, Mr. Clean inched forward. Once he had reached Thanos, he pulled his Magic Reach from his belt and jammed it into the gap between the gauntlet and Thanos' hand. Prying with all his might, the gauntlet slipped off, and Mr. Clean quickly grabbed it, slipping it on. The reflection was no longer in Thanos' eyes, and he fell to his hands and knees, gasping, overcome by the sheer power of Mr. Clean's shiny head. Mr. Clean pulled out his phone and began dialing Tony Stark to report that the mission had been a success. As his finger hovered over the call button, he stopped, thought for a moment, and shut his phone off, putting it back in his pocket. He glanced down at the gauntlet, and a smile spread over his face. | 2018-06-30T23:58:32 | 2018-06-30T21:25:06 | 45 | 11 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | I see that you chose our unlimited funding package for the cost of one soul. Yes, that does include unlimited funding. Unfortunately, I'm going to have to deny your application for this equipment. You only chose the first tier of unlimited funding. We actually have three levels of unlimited funding. The package you chose lets you use two point five million dollars per month, after that we throttle you to twenty five thousand dollars per day. I understand that you're upset. I understand that you are on the cusp of completing your research on immortality. I understand that without this equipment, your research will need to be redone. Fortunately, we do have a solution for you. We can offer you the next tier of unlimited funding for the low cost of only forty souls. | (This is my first post. I wrote it on my phone so of course please excuse the poor format.)
At last, I watched the insect start to twitch, then it flipped over to its legs again. It started to walk around. It was alive.
I jumped up in joy. I shouted, "Eureka!" I was going to be a millionaire. Best of all, I had cheated death; I had cheated the devil.
I felt a presence next to me and out of the corner of my eye, I saw the devil himself. I smirked a bit; the last time I had seen him was when we had made the deal. I supposed he was here because I had broken it.
"You broke the deal," he said shortly.
I turned to face him, placing a hand on the counter and shifting my weight to lean on it. I accidentally crushed the insect, but as I rose my hand curiously, it was already scuttling around.
"I did no such thing," I replied. "The deal was simple: unlimited funding for my research in exchange for eternity in hell with you. I'm just using my research money."
"I'm not stupid, I know what you're doing!" the devil shouted, watching the insect crawl around on the counter.
"Why didn't you try to stop me, then?" I asked. "If you knew what I was researching, you could've stopped me."
The devil hesitated. I had defeated him once again. "This isn't fair!" he eventually cried. "We made a deal. You can't do this!"
"Sorry," I shrugged, not sorry at all. "Maybe you'll get me when I die for an eternity in hell..." I trailed off, hoping he would take the bone.
"But you won't die," he said shortly. "This is stupid."
"Sorry," I said again. "Thanks for the money, though, I really appreciate that. I'm gonna be a millionaire with this serum!"
The devil scowled, eyeing the insect once more. I smirked in triumph. I had successfully cheated the devil. | 2018-08-23T14:29:29 | 2018-08-23T10:40:20 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] You disagree with most of your co-workers and peers. You hate toothpaste. You are the 10th Dentist. | "Plaque is just a biofilm on teeth, you can take it off with soap and water. Try Johnson's baby shampoo," I explained at a party. Several glances of disgust shot towards me.
"Doesn't that taste... disgusting?"
"You can still eat oranges after and not hate yourself," I expanded.
Several people nodded in agreement, but most were still not convinced.
"Have you ever heard of silver diamine fluoride? It cures cavities without needing a filling. It's perfect. Don't look it up on your phone"
It's like asking someone to clam down, it never works.
"It looks like it turns the teeth black"
"Yes, but, no cavities," I explained
"I want whiter teeth, not black teeth"
"No you don't, you want healthy teeth," I contradicted.
"Why would I ever see you as a dentist?"
I sighed, "Because I'm in-network"
​ | The others dentists call me a cynic, pessimistic, and pedantic hypocrite. How could toothpaste not work when so many people had flawless white teeth?
I ignore their foolery. They are naught but blind buffoons, sold to the corporations, brain-washed by the government. Of course the toothpaste would make people's teeth white, what they didn't tell you is it destroyed them in the process. Those awful minty pastes are full of chemicals and artificial poisons.
Why do you think dentists make a great living? All those dental problems people have are because they brush their teeth with toothpaste. Believe me. They clean up your teeth, make them shine bright as the moon. They fool you into thinking they are perfectly sane, but when you understand the process taking place, you realize the toothpaste is slowly eating your precious teeth from the root.
I'm not a renowned dentist and I don't have a ton of clients, but that's not due to my lack of capacity, but to my knowledge and unbendable honesty. I told every customer of mine the secret for healthy white teeth. That's the reason I didn't have many of them. Because I only needed a session to repair their teeth forever.
Now, hear me out. If you want bright, sane teeth, simply cut a leaf of aloe vera, and milk it on a bowl. Once you have a decent amount of that sweet green liquid, you mix it with an infusion of apple and ground rhubarb. The aloe will whiten the teeth while the apple and rhubarb will strengthen the enamel. The only thing lacking here in that recipe is something to protect the root. But the solution is simple. You simply add a spoonful of—.
*Knock*
*Knock*
God, who's knocking at my door this early in the morning? Be right back.
"Hello? Who's there? What? I don't know anyone by that name. No, I won't sell your stupid toothpaste! You greedy, lying bastards. I swear someday the world will know of your scam. I swear it to my na—"
*Bang bang*
---------------
r/NoahElowyn - What did I just write | 2018-12-28T06:57:15 | 2018-12-28T06:54:00 | 583 | 51 |
[WP] You won a lifetime supply of Oreos when you were a kid. The apocoylpse and collapse of civilization was 30 years ago, yet every month the Oreos are still delivered to you, no matter where you are. | When I was a kid, I thought winning a lifetime supply of Oreos would mean truck after truck appearing at my house, each overflowing with Oreos. Back then I didn't think about things like where in the world we'd keep that many Oreos, or the fact that they'd all go bad shortly after, or that sooner or later I'd get sick of eating them. I just had this grand vision in my head I guess, didn't want to let it go. So I was pretty disappointed when a little package showed up on our front porch.
There were fifteen Oreos in the package. I asked my mom where the rest was, and she told me more would come next month. Waiting an entire month seemed like torture at that age, and made what arrived doubly crushing. Another package of exactly fifteen Oreos. It slowly sunk in to my little head that this was what winning a lifetime supply of Oreos looked like. No trumpets and fanfare, no overloaded trucks pulling in one after another. Just a little packet of fifteen Oreos on the first of every month.
Fifteen! I couldn't believe it. That wasn't even one Oreo for each day!
The grand imaginings we have as kids rarely come true. For example, I wanted to be a marine biologist. Then the whole world started collapsing and now there are hardly any fish even left, much less people with the time or tools to study them.
And yet, those packages kept coming. To my house. To the shelter. To my tent. To the stick laid against a tree with an old coat draped over it so I could huddle under, away from the worst of the rain. Wherever I went, there they were. Fresh and neatly packaged up on the first of every month, like nothing bad had ever happened anywhere.
For a long time I tried to figure out where they were coming from, who delivered them, how they were finding me, anything. I ran after every lead, pursued every theory. Aliens? Fairies? Time travel? Some bizarre joke? All in my head? But I never found anything, and eventually I gave up on finding out. I didn't want to finally get my answer only to realize it was like everything else- Like the trucks of Oreos, like undersea exploration, like falling in love. Something that seemed to exist just to disappoint people naive enough to believe in it.
Today was the first of the month, I'd guess. Haven't had a calendar for a long time, but the deliveries never fail. This time the package was placed neatly across a few sturdy branches of the tree I'd slept in, hoping to avoid the mess of trouble that had gone on below. I wasn't sure how I'd get down considering I'd messed up one of my legs pretty darn badly in the night's scuffle, but my package was close enough to reach from where I sat. Same little shipping label as always, though the address lines had been left blank since I stopped having an address.
I opened it up. You think I'd be sick of them by now, but when times are rough you wouldn't believe how good that sugar tastes. Only, strange thing, there weren't so many in the package this time. Five was all, I was ten short. I considered that maybe wherever they came from was running out, or that something else had gotten to my supply before I had. Then I considered something else.
A lifetime supply of Oreos.
I guess this is my last one.
| The hours pass slowly and are full of pain. My body grows weary with toil under the distant sun and amidst the red dust. But there is no rest for the slaves of the Corn King. We work the barren fields under the crack of the whip and the threat of worse–trying to force life out of something that long ago has died. My life was not always as terrible as it is now now. For I am old. I even remember the times before.
 
 
Prior to serving the Corn King, I was a king myself. I held a small fiefdom to the north. It was nothing compared to the vast fertile tracts of the King, but it was free and happy. My people and I lived there fairly for many years. We farmed when we could and hunted when we could not. Some small part of our land had not been affected by the dark blight. But there was another reason I was king, another reason we were able to live as we did, a secret power that allowed me and my people to thrive in the wastelands.
 
The young, those who do not remember the times before, called it manna, like in the old stories: food from the heavens, a miracle. The truth is more mundane but just as mysterious. As a child, before the blight, I ate many cookies, candies, and other sweet things. These were more common and easy to come by then than they are now. One day I bought a package of sweet cookie sandwiches called Oreos. I knew little then of the significance that day would hold and the importance of it to my future survival. For when I opened that package, I saw a slip of paper inside; I had won a lifetime supply of Oreos.
 
After the darkness and the fall of the cities, the deliveries continued. No matter where I was, once a month, on the day of the new moon, a rider dressed all in black would find me. The rider would give me a box filled to the brim with packages of Oreos. At times they were Double Stuf. Sometimes Cakesters or Heads or Tails. One dark and evil day the entire box was Birthday Cake flavor. Those cookies and that rider allowed me to survive for years. They allowed me to found and feed a small town. I called it Fort Oreo.
 
We lived on that manna and what little we could farm. We lived in peace with other peoples, trading and bartering. That is, until the Corn King came. They say he never has enough. He seeks new fields to farm and people to enslave. He was accompanied by many men and with fire, smoke, and the screams of children. I burned the last of our reserves; he may kill us all but he would never learn my secret. I then fled to the south. I was found by one of his scouts and played dumb. I was brought to one of their camps to work as a field slave. My former subjects were either killed or brought to other places. I saw no one whom I recognized.
 
 
It is now on the mysterious delivery that I pin my hopes. The moon has been waning. The rider will come tonight.
 
Night falls and I manage to escape escape from the bunkers. If I am found, they will–I do not like to think on it. I wait, the time passes, I begin to lose hope, but then–lo! The rider comes. I see a shadow in the distance, by the light of the stars, growing closer. The rider approaches me and holds out a box. For the first time in many years, I speak to him.
 
I beg this strange hooded rider to deliver me from this place, just as he delivered so many boxes of Nabisco ® Oreo Cookies in the past. He looks at me from under his hood. His eyes gleam and he seems deep in thought.
Eventually he says, "you may accompany me and escape this present evil. But know that, if you do, many trials lie ahead. You will indeed change ere you return to the world of men. Whether it be for the better or the worse, I cannot say."
I tell the rider that I will come. Although I am old, I still have vigor in my limbs and my mind is strong. The Oreos provided me with strength and a strange vitality all my life.
 
The figure then pulls back his hood and reveals a face. It is more wonderful and terrible than can be described in words. I turn my eyes and look elsewhere for many minutes before I can bear to look directly at him.
The figure speaks to me, "come, for there is much work to do."
| 2019-01-04T10:08:48 | 2019-01-04T09:32:32 | 7,531 | 80 |
[WP] You have a useless superpower where you gain a random power each day that prepares you for the events stored in the day. Why this is useless? They're all subtle, like summoning an extra toilet roll. Then, one day, you wake up with eldritch, god-like powers. | I hated my power.
Sure, the ability to conjure up something you might need that day is useful. Why not, right? It might not be much, but who didn't wish an extra roll would appear in the loo when you were too desperate to check. Or for the passport you know you left at home to materialise in your bag as you search frantically and awkwardly in front of border control.
But I can't choose. The power is blind. The power is stupid. The power is cruel. I sat in that hospital room for a full day and night. I laid my hands on her, kissed her forehead, sung her favourite song, I tried every fiction-born healing power I could think of until I heard nothing but the piercing, ringing flatline in my ear.
I returned home defeated, and as I walked up to my plain white door I knew. I knew I had left my keys in the hospital. I could see them on the bedside table as I reached into my pocket only to hear that faint, unmistakable jingle.
I cried for hours that night.
But today was different. I hardly felt the weight of my own stride as I came downstairs for breakfast. I crushed my mug between my fingers before I'd even taken it out of the cupboard.
And then I turned on the telly, breaking the remote of course. It was all over the news; the skies had opened, eldritch brings walked the earth and destroyed indiscriminately.
So no, I can't save just anyone with my power.
But today, it seems, I can save *everyone.* | First Post, categorys of powers inspired by Worm. Wanted to go with the eldritch theme as i like to understand it.
\---
With progress in science came the advent of powers. As humanity built larger and larger particle accelerators to further the understanding of reality, so came the emergence of what myths called magic or popular fiction called superpowers. Each new one progress unlocking a new tier of powers, the first ones sublte and hardly noticeable. Augmented perception, a spark of genius allowing the creation of innovative technology, slightly increased reflexes, strength or endurance. Things we only now even know were powers and we call Thinkers, Tinkeres and Brutes. The advance went on, and so powers became stronger and with time unignorable even for the most oblivious.
I am what you call a Stranger. One with, as the name implies, strange powers lacking clear categorization. Everyday i gain a new minor power, not knowing it’s effect until it manifests. I saw empty soap-dispensers dispense hand-sanitizer to give an example, or an itch on my skin everytime somebody looked there. Don’t know how that was usefull and what i should have done with it, but that was a very unnerving day. As was the day i knew every digit of Pi in Base 17. Yes, every digit, all infinity of them. Could harldy think of anything else and wasn’t even capable of speech that day.
Well, so far for the past. Today the construction of the latest particle accelerator has been finished around the equator of the moon, skipping a few levels and reaching millions more power then the early ones like CERN. The first testrun was only using the lower limit of 1 ExaElectronVolt. An Electron accelerated at a quintillion volts, a one with 18 zeros. I awoke, Knowing. Knowing finally what my powers were. Knowing of every reality something one could call Me was in. An infinity of possibilities. An infinity of minor powers at my call. Not one of them at random, but all at once. By combining them, i was nearest at what you would call omniscience, omnipotence. And soon after, an infinity of worlds blinked out of existence. A further infinity followed. I felt the pain of each death, the pain driving me nearly mad. The grief of losing family and friends a million million times over shattering my very core. And i understood. Those worlds hadn’t been content with a dry-run, but went for more power. They had unlocked new levels of power and therefore made the higher beings aware of them. So they suffered the consequences, ruthless and instant annihilation. And i knew what i had to do. I would be gone from this world, with me my power, the moon and the device damming us to annihilation. To spare humanity some more time from the unescapable fate that was to come. | 2019-01-21T03:18:42 | 2019-01-21T01:55:11 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | God pursed his lips and adjusted his spectacles. The scroll he read from was browned and cracking, clearly ancient beyond all reason.
“It seems that with each incarnation,” God said, “You’ve chosen to add one point to, ahem, *toe durability*.”
Mary felt her cheeks heat, there were literally millions of people listening in. This was *Mary Dodd* after all, her soul had been reincarnated more times than any other and yet SOMEHOW, in her MOST successful life, she was nothing more than a Brooklyn-born “comedian” who lived in a studio apartment and ate ramen four times a week.
“Okay, uh, not sure what that was all about. Was I like a kung fu master, or something,” Mary asked.
God looked over the scroll, mouthing the words softly as he read. “No, you have never studied any form of martial art.”
Mary scratched the back of her head. She smiled broadly, no one could say she didn’t know how to work a crowd. There were some chuckles from the audience, but most looked on in anticipation.
“How many times have I been recycled again?”
God didn’t have to look up. “999,999 times,” he said.
“Yikes,” Mary said, “Alright, well, I guess I must’ve had a good reason if I've kept it up this long. I’ll take toe durability plus 1,000,000. Thank you very much.”
God moved the scroll away from his face, “*Without fail. Every time*,” he said, his face a picture of puzzled amusement. “Are you 100% sure?”
Mary scanned the crowd, trying to judge their reaction. All were silent.
“....um....yes.”
The crowd erupted in laughter.
“Laugh it up,” Mary shouted, “I’ll bet it won’t be so funny when I’ve got super feet or something. I’ll be a super hero, they’ll call me Iron Toes! I’ll be like the chick version of Lionel Messi!”
“Alright, alright, enough,” God boomed, stilling the noise, “You have one choice left, Mary. What will it be?”
Mary grit her teeth. “What’d I choose last time?”
“Resistance to spicy foods,” God said.
*Shit,* Mary thought. “What about the time before that?”
“Rib Dexterity.”
Mary threw her hands up, “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”
“I’m really not.”
“What the fuck does that even mean, God?”
He grinned, “I have no idea.”
“Well why would you, *GOD*, let me keep making such shitty choices?”
“It wouldn’t be fair for me to interfere with your free will.”
“Well you can give me suggestions, right?”
God pondered that for a moment while he stroked his beard. “Yes, I suppose.”
Mary clapped, “Perfect, so what are you thinking?”
“In my experience,” God said, “Those who accumulate intelligence points generally find successful lives.”
Mary folded her arms stubbornly. “Okay i’ve had enough of your shit, man. You callin me dumb, God?”
God sighed, “You asked for my suggestion. I gave it.”
“Alright well next time keep your bullshit to yourself unless you’ve got something constructive to say.”
“I’ll....keep that in mind next time.”
“Thank you.”
Mary scrunched her nose like she always did when she thought hard. *I’ve gotta pick something good,* she thought, *Somethin that will-*
“I’m sorry Mary, there’s a *really* long line here,” God said.
“Don’t rush me!”
“You’ve been up here for a decade of Earth time! The new births department has had to work overtime!”
“Shit okay okay....just, idk,” Mary said.
“5.”
*Shit okay, something good, Mary. We can do this.*
“4.”
*Come on. COME ON.*
“3.”
*Maybe Rib Dexterity again? That one actually sounds kinda cool now that I-*
“2.”
Mary closed her door eyes, she didn’t want to see the reaction. “Alright fuck it,” she said, “I’m just gonna double down on Toe Durability this time.”
God dropped his head against the table. “Not this again, Mary....” | I jolted awake, fearing that I slept through my alarm and missed work. “Hello there!” a voice beamed at me. I felt a rush of adrenaline and quickly reached for something to protect myself with, only to realize there was nothing around me. After nearly shitting myself from terror (as one does), the voice reached out again. “Sorry about that, old friend. I couldn’t help myself. Don’t fret, you’re just in a void.” “Just in a void!??” I thought to myself. “Yes, just your average void. I’m Terry, this universe’s god.” The adrenaline rush slowed down and my heart wasn’t beating quite as quickly as it had been before. I started to think about how dumb a name like Terry was for a god but stopped myself. I saw the so-called god chuckle anyway. Just as I figured, this Terry dude could read my mind. “You’re a god? How do I know you’re not just some alien pretending to be a god? And wait, did you just call me old friend?“
Out of the blackness that surrounded me came something much darker than dark. It kind of looked like a featureless human. “Great questions as always, Jerry. While there are certainly some smart aliens around here, I’m completely omniscient in this universe although I must admit that there are plenty of gods above me. I suppose you could call me an alien though - it’s kind of true. This is your 120th time being incarnated so I’ve gotten to know you quite well. Not that I didn’t know everything about you already, but you know what I mean.” “...reincarnated? Why would you reincarnate me that many times? Can’t I just become a god like you or something and be on my way? You look like a human anyway so how do I not know you’re not just some human from the far future? I don’t want to be bossed around by some human again. I’ve had enough of that these last 200 years. How the hell did I even die?” I watched Terry’s face morph into what seemed to be a massive smile.
“Those are all great questions Jerry. I’m afraid I won’t be able to adequately prove my godhood to you without you having a significant boost in intelligence. It costs a lot of points but it will be well worth it. As for your death, just because you were nigh biologically immortal didn’t mean you were immune to aneurysms.” So I died from an aneurysm. Huh. I always thought I’d go out heroically. I guess my dreams of saving a kitten from a fire weren’t meant to be. How did my consciousness not get saved anyway? I thought humans were done with death. I must be really unlucky. And what did he mean by points?
I heard a light chuckle come from the god. “Around here I allow everything to choose to reincarnate if they want to. If they don’t want to reincarnate they go to another universe and will operate under the rules there. If you choose to reincarnate you get to increase your aptitude in all sorts of things. The amount of points given is based upon an objective karma rating system governed by yours truly. More abstract and advanced concepts cost more points. So far you’ve saved the majority of your points some rather unique ones.” “Such as?” I thought to myself. I didn’t see the point of speaking out loud anymore at this point. Hmm what would some other good questions be. “How many points do I have?”, “What times do I reincarnate in?”, and a slew of other questioned rambled through my head. “Well, everything reincarnates in a straight timeline. In other words, you could never meet another version of yourself. This means that as humanity has advanced so have your wishes. General concepts that could give you significant advantages cost a lot of points. This can be negated by setting limits on it. For example, your first wish was strength. You didn’t have enough points so you instead chose the ability to lift heavy rocks. You didn’t have enough points for this either so you got angry and tried to kill me with a rock. That lost you a few points. Currently you have the following skills: 7% increase in strength in life threatening situations involving rocks; 14% increase in maximum speed when chasing mammoths; 21% increase in intelligence for 1 earth hour and 6 minutes when consuming reptiles; dark matter manipulation when unprotected in a near vacuum. You have a little over 11 octillion points.”
I’m not going to lie, this kind of scared me. I mean, there must be points inflation or something if I have so many points. “Well first of all, that is a significant amount of points. The average person earns a mere two per life. One gets a hefty curve every time one reincarnates. Even an average person would have quite a few points by now. Of course, you’re not only far from average but only one of two beings to ever reincarnate so many times as well.” One of two? I have to admit that I was a bit competitive and didn’t like the idea of some guy being ahead of me. But hey, not too shabby I guess. It’s a big universe after all. “So who beat me anyway?” Terry’s massive, unsettling smile shown through again. “Well, that would be me of course.”
I’ll fix up any typos and formatting issues later. Thanks for reading. I may add more later if people like it ;) | 2019-01-24T12:24:39 | 2019-01-24T12:00:15 | 61 | 28 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
Tom sent the message, his hand lingering on the button a moment as he watched the transmission status. "That's it, then. I'll never see home again."
>but you are home
Tom nodded to the empty air, limping on his injured leg as he left the communications hub. He held the wound on his side, blood seeping through his fingers. Mullins... damn him. Got the jump on him.
Tom took a moment to kick Mullin's lifeless corpse as he shuffled out of the comm room. The hallway outside was littered with detritus. Plaster and metal from damaged walls. Shards of plastene from shattered windows. The shimmer of emergency force fields the only thing standing between Tom and the crimson expanse of the Martian landscape outside.
>is it not beautiful tom
He could only nod, clenching his teeth against the pain in his side and in his leg. The temperature was dropping. Wafts of steam rose from the still-warm bodies of Henderson, Guttierez, Smythe-Barnes, Nokimura, and Mikhailov. Their shells littered the hall, sprays of blood adorning the nearby walls. Smythe-Barnes had been divorced from her legs. Tom couldn't remember where he had left them, but watching her crawl for help had been...
>delightful
No. It had been horrible. Monsterous. But also, worthwhile. "All for you." Tom whispered.
>yes tom
>
>come to me now my love
Tom turned to the shimmering force field patching the hole in the station. It was built to hold back the vacuum of thin atmosphere, but a human could push through it easily. Normally this would be done to effect repairs, but today...
Tom picked up the helmet of a nearby exosuit. Affixed the seals, checked the air supply. One hour of oxygen. More than he needed. She was close. So close her whispers tickled his ear.
>come to me tom
>
>we will be together forever
Tom slipped through the force field, and shuffled across the arid red valleys of Mars.
​ | Major Armand Davis regained consciousness suddenly and with a start. His left eye was swollen shut, but his right could still hazily make out the red landscape outside the pod’s viewport. This wasn’t a dream. He was still on Mars.
But the chafing on his bound wrists reminded him that it was a nightmare.
The iron taste and rancid smell of his own piss brought him reeling back to reality. He spat a mouthful of blood and frantically searched the room for a sharp edge, wriggling his wrists furiously. A mechanical whir at the door reminded him of larger problems, though, and Armand sat statue-like while the hiss of pressurization welcomed his captors.
Lieutenant Crabtree opened the door and removed his helmet. The gleaming ivory teeth flashed a cocky smile.
“Comfortable, Major?”
“I swear to God, Crabtree, I’ll see you shot for mutiny. I’d have you hanged if it was still legal.”
“Now, Major, that’s awfully unkind of you,” Crabtree spoke with false sympathy. He swung an aluminum chair towards his prisoner and popped down backwards, lazily looking the officer up and down. “I’d blame the head trauma. You’re probably just not thinking straight.”
“Just tell me this, Blake – why? Why the hell are you doing this? We were a team. You and Sergeant Green spent how many hours in the gym getting ready for this mission? One hundred? Five hundred? I saw you shoot him in the head like he meant nothing to you. You’re a damn coward!” Armand tried to lunge at Lieutenant Crabtree but the chair was pushed back in place easily. Crabtree’s eyes narrowed and became cold.
“Yeah, I regret what was necessary. But it was necessary.” He paused. “Major, you ever wonder if you’re working for the Devil? Do you ever stop to think about the atrocities our government has perpetrated on its own citizens?” Armand didn’t justify the question with a reply, but stared broodingly. “We’re ruled by corrupt despots and wealthy fools, and it’s a matter of time before the whole Earth is under their grasp. Some of us want out, and there’s one enemy they fear strong enough to protect us – the unknown. They think that ‘something’ is out here. That should give us a few decades to build a community and a defense.”
He stood up and stared out the viewport. “We made this mission in secret years ago. Delta Corp. has a few executives loyal to the little guy and they’ve helped send some secret capsules ahead. There will be a few more to follow, but the reality is that there are hundreds of us already here, and we’ll be able to form a society like what our forefathers wanted… free, democratic, without the crushing weight of government.”
Major Davis shook his head. “You’re an idiot, Lieutenant. If you think you’ve figured out a new way to have a free society, you’re kidding yourself. It’s all been done before. The French Revolution, the Confederacy, the Bolsheviks. They all thought their masters were corrupt and they had the monopoly on the right way forward. Some experiments worked better than others, but they all had massive bloodshed in their wake to justify the ends. You’re not going to be any different.”
Lieutenant Crabtree turned, sadness tinging his eyes for the first time. “You may be right, but some of us have to bear that burden so the rest can be innocent and free.”
He raised his pistol and pulled the trigger. | 2019-01-31T10:36:30 | 2019-01-31T09:19:46 | 43 | 24 |
[WP]A man's wife died recently in a tragic accident. He uses magic to bring her back at the cost of his own life. Realizing what he's done his wife gives her life to bring HIM back. The two use this method to continue their daily lives. | Me and my wife discovered black magic 2000 years ago. Back then we could’ve been hung for it. And she was. But I figured out a loophole. All I had to do was give my life for hers.
The first time I performed the spell, she was angry at me but she also discovered an opportunity. An opportunity for us to live forever. The next day, she left me a note. As I woke up from the sleep I never thought I would return from, I found it on my chest.
“My Beloved, when you are finished with your day, wake me up. And I shall do the same.”
This has worked great so far. Up until yesterday when I got a visit from Death. He was nicer than I first imagined. He was clean cut and wore a tuxedo. He came up to me and with an annoyed tone of voice said,
“You guys can’t keep doing this. I’ve got 50 filing cabinets back at my office filled with just your names. You’re too much paperwork. Satan is threatening to fire me if I can’t keep up.”
I thought of someone else for once. I looked at my wife and made the hardest decision I’ve ever made in my life.
“I want her to live.”
I wrote her a note. With tears in my eyes I began writing.
“My Beloved, Death is annoyed with us. We can’t keep doing this. It’s been one hell of a ride. I love you. Bury me in the backyard.”
I placed the note in her cold, dead hands, and began saying the enchantment. With my final words, I laid down to rest.
I woke up two days later with a note on my chest, containing only one word.
“Ditto.”
| I raise my wife's body up into my arms then after tossing her into the air, I catch her on my right shoulder into a superman. However, she goes limp because she is dead. This was how we used to wake each other up in the morning so we could shake off the drowsiness. Now it feels like I'm trying to keep the rigor mortis from kicking in. I adjust my wife on my shoulder then go do my morning routine of washing up and cooking breakfast.
A lot of people would probably say we are crazy. That we should move on. That doing black magic on a corpse is evil. Well I say poohey to that. Until someone experiences loss of a loved one and then is given the chance by a random samaritan to bring them back, then I am not accepting any judgement. Sure, it felt weird at first to sling my wife on me like a shoulder cape while I brushed my teeth and talked to her. But now having conversations with a dead body is totally natural.
“Claire you remember our student that you found at that burlesque right? Well two days ago he put down on his test, I’m sorry for dancing so close to your wife.“ I brush my teeth for a bit then spit out the toothpaste while I let my wife talk. “Maybe he thinks I'm mad because I'm tough on him. But I don't give a care. I can dance circles around him.” The water from the faucet runs the toothpaste into the hole. With my wife this close I could smell the Eau So Sexy perfume she put on before my resurrection last night. She also has on a revealing, black dress. I kiss her in appreciation for trying to seduce me. Then I wash off the clown makeup she put on me before she died for the day.
We could leave each other in bed all day to rot, but after discussing it we both decided that wasn't romantic enough. So we try to include the other person in on our daily activities. Yesterday apparently was makeup day. Today I think I will dress her up and go to the movies. I know I definitely don't have Claire's gift of making costumes, but a trench coat and a fedora can get you a long way. Not only do we do that, we also leave notes for each other at our kitchen table.
That's where it sat on our small, round table held up by our flower vase. Dear Leon written in red, her favorite color. This is how we discuss things with each other. We also write all about our days in these letters to. Most of it consists of work we need to do for our classes we teach at college. Some sexy talk and sometimes pictures of what we did today. I am certainly curious what pictures she had of me in clown makeup. I open the letter and see something I didn't expect
Leon, this is urgent. My death wasn't an accident like we thought.
Huh
| 2019-02-12T15:03:16 | 2019-02-12T13:45:11 | 78 | 29 |
[WP] A grim discovery is made on humanity's first interstellar mission. Evidence shows that every other space fairing civilization purposely destroyed itself with no telling as to why. | We discovered the first fleet of graveships lightyears from any habitable planet. Monoliths of alien engineering, drifting aimlessly amongst the stars. Stranded, powerless, and filled with corpses; floating tombs, perfectly preserved in the freezing vacuum of space.
It took us years to reverse-engineer their technology. To backtrack their path through a dozen systems and pinpoint their place of origin. But when we finally arrived, ready to greet our intergalactic neighbors and share the tragic story of their missing comrades, instead we found…
Nothing.
Worlds that had once been home to billions now lay in ruins. Grand cities were overgrown by native flora. Entire civilizations abandoned, left to crumble as each planet’s wildlife reclaimed what it had lost.
The pattern repeated with each new fleet we found. Swarms of desperate vessels, scattered throughout the cosmos, each vainly attempting to put as much distance between their homeworlds and themselves as possible.
We do not know the nature of the threat they faced. We do not know when they thought it would arrive. We only know one thing for sure: A single warning, appearing without fail in the logs of every lifeless ship. Etched into the stone of a thousand ruined worlds. Written on the crumbling walls of countless empty cities.
“Get out while you can,” the message tells us.
“They are coming.” | There was nothing but the whoosh of the spacecraft onto the blue, dusty ground.
A barren, empty Trifen was the only thing Kit could see.
As dust swirled in the thin air with each step his spacesuit took, Kit's gut told him to enter a cave tucked away in a mountain.
*It's always been like this,* he thought, sitting down on an elevated bunch of blue rock. *Every planet I touch, nothing is there.*
*Nothing but a... pile of carcasses...*
Kit came closer towards the alien corpse. His gloves traced a symbol down the alien's throat, trying to remember something that had come up before.
He took out his datapad and snapped an image, before the datapad spewed out heaves of information regarding the same symbol.
*Must* *be that crest again. Gotta send it to Mission Control.*
Kit pressed a button on his sleeve. "Trifen to Mission Control. Kit Farlax. Found nothing but carcasses again. What is going on?"
"*Mission Control to Kit Farlax on Trifen. That's why you're out there, investigating. No one truly knows what happening in our galaxy. Every other civilization that's ventured out into space has vanished. We think that it might have been self-inflicted. What have you found there, Private?"*
"The same symbol on the same area of the same alien's body. But this time, I'm the one seeing it, not cameras or what not. Want me to send you an image?"
"*By all means, Private. Over.*"
"Over and out."
After sharing the images with Mission Control, Kit decided it was time to venture deeper into the cave. He took one more glace at the opening -
Only to have it sealed off suddenly, leaving him in total darkness.
"Oh, hell," he muttered. "I come in peace, exploring the galaxy, aiding the human race, finding knowledge and what not-"
Slimy and bony fingers with sharp nails encircled Kit's throat, crushing the spacesuit from the outside. "Soon, you will find that knowledge is the least of your worries."
The crest was emblazed onto Kit's throat, breathing in the toxic gas of Trifen.
"Who are you, even? What do you want from me?" he spat out in terror and asphyxiation.
"Your life."
"You'll never have it," he took out a knife from his pocket. "I am the only one who decides whether I die or not."
...
*"Mission Control to Trifen. Mission Control to Trifen...? Mission Control to Kit Farlax on Trifen, do you copy? Mission Control..."* | 2019-06-11T22:48:06 | 2019-06-11T22:09:12 | 60 | 15 |
[WP] You're a C class superhero and a therapist. Somehow most of your patients are supervillains. | ”So Fred. You cancelled our last appointment so its been a few weeks, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing okay, I got sick last time that’s why I had to cancel.”
“You didn’t have a setback?”
“No, I’ve been on my meds, you can count them if you want I brought them with me. I haven’t been my other self for months.”
“Fred… you know what the first step is right?”
“Yeah.”
“And the first step is?”
“Being honest about your mistakes.”
“And are you being honest about your mistakes right now?”
“… I didn’t mean to hide it, it’s just the pills gives me this headache and I just wanted a day or two to relax without them.”
“I know it’s hard, but you know you can’t trust your other self to take the pills like you plan before he comes out.”
“But I thought he had to, I was on an island and I hid the boat, I thought he would have to take the pills for us to get off the island since he didn’t know where the boat was… I didn’t know he was gonna build a raft. I don’t even know how to build a raft.”
“Well your other self is crafty, that’s part of what makes him so dangerous. Do you know if your other self managed to hurt anyone?”
“I don’t think so, I came back on the shore looking up at that superheroine who stops my other self from time to time. I think she’s called ‘Gentle hand’ or something like that. She caught him when he landed and made him take the pills.”
“That’s good to hear, maybe this Gentle hand is looking out for you.”
“I don’t think so, she’s very strict and refuses to talk to me, she only seems to talk when I’m the other me and I don’t really remember that very well. I always wake up with a lot of bruises afterwards so she’s not that gentle, but she did give me a ride back to a bus stop so I could get back home… so that was nice of her.”
“She would probably be a lot happier if she didn’t have to hurt you every few months. I don’t think she likes beating up people when she knows they can’t help themselves. But you can’t help yourself now can’t you Fred?”
“If I take my pills yeah.”
“That’s right, I know they’re not perfect, but I’ve gotten in contact with a friend of mine who works in pharmaceuticals and he’s trying to find a way to lessen the headaches. So just stick with them for a while won’t you? It will be a lot better for you that way, I don’t want to see you end up in prison for something the other you does.”
“I’ll try…”
“Then I know you can do it. You’re strong Fred, and I know that with a little more time and some better pills you can be stronger than the other you. You can be your own hero Fred, beating your own villain.” | This is my first post on this subreddit. I'm trying to improve my skills as a writer, and I'm not very experienced. Feel free to critique my writing.
I wasn't just an ordinary prison therapist. Criminals who came to my workplace were special, to say the least. I helped serve clients such as the recent escapee *Dark Desire* who could manipulate emotions, *Damn Daniel* who could change the colour of objects, and *Ms. Stake* who could glimpse into the future. Today, my client wasn't any of those hardened criminals.
*Jesus Christ*, I thought, as the pyrokinetic criminal walked in. *Yet another long day at this shitty job..* My patient, wearing a bright crimson jumpsuit took the chair in front of me. "Hello Doctor", the man mumbled. "Nice to see you again".
"Hello Satan", I responded, addressing him by his villain name. You see, my therapy practice was in the highest security prison in the world, which brought me only the most powerful patients. Our sessions took place in my dimly lit study, where, unbeknownst to my clients, a dozen guards constantly surrounded us with their guns ready. "So, how have you been recently?"
"Decent" Satan grumbled. That of course, was a lie. After his cellmate escaped, Satan had used his fire-manipulating abilities to light strips of his prison garb on fire, and then said that they were his birthday candles. His birthday of course, was in 6 months. "Doc, I have a question", Satan said, speaking clearly for the first time. He looked up at me, and I was shocked to see the tears forming in his eyes. "Why am I such a bad villain?"
"What do you mean?" I pressed, grateful for this opening. This was only our third session, if I could make some progress quickly, maybe I'd get a promotion or a transfer. Maybe. But the mere hope of leaving this job was all I needed.
Satan sucked on his teeth for a second, then began. "I suck at my job. My cellmate, *Dark Desire*, he got arrested for stealing an airplane and trying to do a barrel roll in it. Compared to him, I'm a terrible villain. He even escaped without me! We were friends!". Satan was fully sobbing now, his burly shoulders rising and falling as he rubbed his hands over his bald head.
"Well, I'm not sure you'd want to be a good vill-" I started.
"I got arrested for yelling fire in a theatre!" He yelled back. He leaped out of his chair, knocking it back. "Why am I so bad at being the bad guy?" he cried out. He looked at me, desperate.
"I completely understand" I said.
"How would you ever understand! You have a cushy job as a therapist! I have nothing! My one dream is ruined!" Satan was trembling now, having a full fledged mental breakdown. I put my hand on his shoulder.
"We're the same, you and I" I said. "I also have powers. I wanted to be a hero, but I got my ass kicked so I decided to do this therapy stuff instead. But it's okay, I've learned to be happy where I am, and you should too". Our eyes met. Satan wiped away his tears with his trunk-like forearm.
"Are you really happy?" he asked, his eyes desperate.
"Nah not really, this job sucks" I told him. "I get paid jackshit to work with dangerous guys like you. My powers got me nothing but put into a desk job where the government can watch me. I hate this shit!" I was getting amped up, both of us getting high of each other's energy.
"Let's burn this place down!" Satan yelled.
"YEAH!" I yelled back.
"Let's stop the oppression of superheroes and villains once and for all! Let's take over the world!" he yelled. Together, we marched out of the room, ready to take on the world. Only much later did I find out, at that very moment, *Dark Desire* was pushing and pulling my emotions, controlling my every move. | 2019-07-16T07:43:51 | 2019-07-16T07:38:04 | 37 | 23 |
[WP] We put up a good fight, but the alien invaders stomped us in the war for our solar system and humanity has been enslaved. At the end of the war we uncovered information that our attackers have other enemies out there in the galaxy, and you, the last free human, have been sent to seek their aid. | My ship drifts idly among the ice-clad asteroids. The asteroids are beautiful as they dance slowly in time with gravity’s commanding melody. The warm orange rays of the distant yellow star make the black ice gleam and glimmer like priceless diamonds. I close my eyes and for a moment, I imagine that I am back in the Sol system navigating the asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter. The only sounds in the cockpit are the soft chimes of the countdown clock. A constant reminder of the monumental task that I am about to undertake. Before the war, I captained a freighter working the Ganymede-Mars transit. It was a good life. Four weeks working and eight weeks home. My wife and kids lived on Ganymede. I can still see their smiling faces. The oldest was nine when I last saw him. That was almost fifteen years ago. My wife was a doctor. She helped newly arrived colonists adjust to their new environment; people loved her. She was always so kind and understanding. I smile as I think of her. Ganymede of course was one of the first major settlements to fall when the enemy attacked us.
If only I had been faster, I might have been able to save her, to save my sons. I open my eyes. Am I not in Sol system. The war has long been lost. I am all alone now in a desolate nameless system at the edge of the galactic arm preparing to make the jump into the nothingness of intergalactic space.
I am hiding. The enemy has spies everywhere. One false move and scout ships might begin to warp in. I check the calibration of the navigational system. I am on wild goose chase. I realize as much. But hope springs eternal. Or rather, the flame of vengeance burns unceasingly.
We fought valiantly, I believe. Sacrificed everything. But the enemy was unrelenting and without mercy. For every ship we blew out of the sky, three new ones warped in. It was an impossible struggle. I knew it was over when we lost the battle of Mars. Millions died in the days that followed. We tried to evacuate as many people as we could but the slave ships of the enemy collected far more than what we saved. Hope was waning as the battle for Earth drew near but then the rumors began to spread. An alliance was in the making, it was said, enemies of the enemy had been found. A ship was constructed in great haste, a peerless feat of engineering capable of traversing the great void between galaxies. And an emissary was appointed, me. I left when the attack on Earth began, travelling as fast as my spindly ship would take me. I am to seek their aid, these enemies of the enemy.
The countdown clock beeps. The warp drive is ready. I strap in and engage the drive. The violent sphere of the distortion field envelop my ship and then all is dark.
———————————————
For more check out r/norntree | "I carry the vengeance of a million dead humans on my shoulders. I haven't slept in a week since the attack, I fear that If I finally close my eyes and rest, I will be letting down all of those I couldn't save." I poured my heart out to the group of aliens, each one giving a side glance to one another, they were odd creatures, leathery skin, oddly human faces apart from their three eyes and oil like blue hair that swayed before their faces like putty.
"We understand your concern, but why should we put our lives at danger for a dead species. When you die no one will even remember your race, you will be a simple star in a galaxy full of them." The creature said harshly, not pulling any punches between his words, even some of his fellow men and women gasped at his words, perhaps even them seeing it as harsh to kick the wounded human when he was down, but I could see it in their eyes, it was the sort of pity a human would have shown a dog about to be put down. A look that said 'oh you poor thing' it was infuriating but at the same time not unfair, I knew had the tables been turned, we would have acted the same way.
"So what! You sit here? Rubbing your hands together and wait for them to come to you? We put up a fight! We cut their forces down, we lost but we opened the path to victory for someone to avenge us. If you wait for the perfect chance you will end up dead. You had the one advantage that was never offered to us, you have to knowledge of your enemy, you know what they are like, where they are and when they will likely come. We simply had our planet raided on one shithole of a hot day. Men,women and children all slaughtered in the street, not even good enough to kidnap for their science, no we were just bugs to be stomped out.
"Yes... that's sad, perhaps we will bring it up at council?" The alien said dismissively, perhaps telling himself he had better places to be.
"You spineless fuck! If you don't know what a spine is and of course you wouldn't its something that holds your supports your body, keeps you standing up right, not like how you're acting, keeping that fat head staring at your feet while they go and prepare for their next raid."
His three eyes narrowed at the insult but he bit his tongue. "Human, unless you extinct your species sooner, I suggest you live out the rest of your miserable life and quite bothering me. The longer you live will be the longer your species can say they lasted, so enjoy that." With that he left. The bastard, he hadn't even got the man's name. He went to storm up to his office door but security quickly stepped infront of it, seeing as it was a losing battle he cut his losses, exiting as swiftly as he came, bumming around the city streets of this alien planet. Perhaps he could come up with a new plan and-
"Psst"
I turned my gaze to look for the sound, spotting a few of the alien creatures with red banners over their foreheads.
"Psssst"
Even as I stared at them they kept making that sound, perhaps not understanding that I was looking at them.
"Psss-"
"Yes I see you." I interjected, approaching the aliens who seemed to be crowded around excitedly.
"We heard about your discussion and we want to help you. Senator Gussup is corrupt and we want him removed, you help us... we help you avenge your race." One of the aliens spoke, she seemed to be the leader judging by the fact that she was the tallest, he didn't really have much else to go off so that was the best choice of judgement he had.
"Why would you want to remove him though?" I inquired, glancing over my shoulder as I spoke, making sure this wasn't some trap to lure the last human to an early grave."
"Why... because we are the resistance."
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | 2019-12-10T07:35:07 | 2019-12-10T06:27:03 | 53 | 17 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Perhaps it was just an unfortunate series of circumstances that resulted in the human's particular predicament. It was their mistake to make to think Elora 1284 was anything less than the long-range weapons testing ground it ultimately was. They should have really thought it stranger that such a desolate place could exist within the goldilocks zone of a star, as their ill-conceived attempts to colonize the suspiciously barren little red world were quite obviously doomed to end in tragedy from the start. To their credit, they took a few hundred deaths in stride, strangely emboldened by the oddly sourced proof that they were never truly alone in their local area of space.
Their attempts to make "first contact" were curious, in context, since the Elaramons had been stealthily poaching them for decades prior; but the same furious hopefulness that appeared to drive them towards the stars to begin with also seemed equally strong enough to quell rumors of dangerous visitations from strange beings and unprovoked experimentation on the isolated and vulnerable. Perhaps, then, it was particularly unfortunate that their first attempts at "true" contact landed up perishing to the unmapped Venjuvian mine fields that marked the no man's land between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. We lost sensor contact with no less than twenty seven unidentified craft while they attempted to navigate these regions of space and, to the best of our knowledge, all of these vessels were human.
Really, though, the difficulty started in earnest when the Elaramons entered that small regional conflict between the Varjeeze and the Vigory. This reignited a former stalemate of a war right on top of the Human's doorstep and resulted in more than two particular tragedies of note, including the accidental plasma bombardment of a continental landmass and the complete destruction of several of their orbital facilities. Their tenacity knowing no bounds, the humans attempted to send additional craft into the warzone despite this, but almost all of them landed up immediately incinerated in the crossfire. Only a single one of these remained intact enough to limp home but, from our sensor reports, failed to survive reentry. General sanctions against the Elaramons did little to quell the situation, and it wasn't long before human satellites and surface installations began to fall prey to the debris of several prolonged fleet engagements between the Elaramons and the Varjeeze.
After thirty Earth years of such bombardment, strange occurrences started to manifest in the zone. Impossibly large fireballs, with an apparent magnitude greater than any regional star, started to frequent scanners and scopes around the human's world. These explosions were relatively tiny, but their calculated strength was unreasonably high for their starting mass, such that most of the equipment that had initially recorded them had been replaced out of suspicion of fault. Unreasonable or not, the explosions cleared a majority of debris around the human's world, opening up a door to clear orbital vectors that the humans immediately took to. They weren't the only ones, as the Varjeeze jumped on the opportunity to gain ground and sent an entire battle group into the cleared region.
They were the first to die.
One by one, the pathetically slow and tiny human ships began winning engagements. It was the same each time, impossibly bright flashes of light pot-marked galactic scopes as the humans manifested incredible explosive power within a radius that shouldn't have been scientifically possible outside of the core of a star. No shielding system stood a chance, it seemed, neither those with composite shielding nor those of the electronically powered plasma variety. Ship after ship, battle group after battle group, fleet after fleet, engaged the humans with reckless resolve and overwhelming military superiority, only to be immediately incinerated each and every time. The humans took notable losses in these engagements, but their ships began to improve as they collected and analyzed the hulls of their incinerated enemies. Before long, a fleet of relatively competent human warships had all three of the regional players in full retreat. Despite the humans being outnumbered millions to one on each front, The Varjeeze, the Elaramons, and the Vigory all capitulated.
This was a problem for The Federation, of course, as we had been officially supporting the Vigory for centuries. In the history of the galaxy, no Federation supported entity had ever been forced to capitulate to an enemy force, and so the humans had made an enemy of us all and a policy of aggressive containment was immediately instituted. Alacastor Class Cruisers and their escort fleets, the fastest in The Federation Navy, were immediately deployed to the region with orders to engage, only to take loss after devastating loss. The humans quickly identified supply routes and began taking proactive approaches to the new threats, steadily advancing into Federation Space along these lines. Greater defense fleets were called upon, the mighty Oracuus and the dreaded Invictor, millions of the most expensive war machines galactic civilization could produce fell on the human advance like water. With limited skill, technology, and sensory equipment, hit and run tactics began to prove effective. Our losses were truly staggering, but the tide appeared to be evening in our favor.
It was then that we learned something fiendishly curious about the humans, something that changed our entire perspective on them. When cornered and faced with impossible odds, rather than sit down and lose, humans will simply escalate things through the sheer power of morbid invention. Such was the realization when the nature of the human's weapons were truly realized, and a new class of "interplanetary missiles" were deployed against us for the first time. Their logic-defying bombs were mounted atop crude missiles outfitted with warp drives lifted from wrecks and derelicts, all spoils of war. They followed coordinates left from the wreckage of burned fleets and scorched scouts, sending these "nuclear" explosives to the city centers of nearly every major military economy in The Federation.
Over the course of 48 Earth hours, 987 quadrillion Federation Citizens died.
It took nearly twelve agonizing hours of painfully slow transmission to successfully deliver word of our immediate, unconditional surrender; and the human's automated missiles continued to fall for a further three. | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T07:38:55 | 431 | 41 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Gabriel knew his name would become synonymous with traitor. But really, what did it matter? Better to be a traitor than to be subservient to madmen, or to look the other way as the galactic genocide continued. On the ship's holographic screen, the tiny pinprick of the green planet was growing -- a grassy blade slowly becoming a hillock.
He'd been a soldier once-upon-a-time. Back before wisps of grey hair had strangled his natural blond. Before the pain arrived that squeezed his back each time he leaned over the ship's dashboard. Before the Totanians had been wiped clean from their planet that was now a charred ball of black -- a radiated graveyard of a once-great species.
Gabriel had been one of the first to sign-up when the war had broken out. Five civilizations battling for control of this sector of space -- as if the empty blackness contained any meaning at all, anything worthwhile. It wasn't even a barren no-man's land they'd been fighting over... it was literally *nothing*.
Supply and mining ships on their way from Earth to a new colony in the Betelgeuse system had gotten caught in the war's crossfire. That had forced the Solar Alliance -- and Gabriel -- into the fray.
It was strange, thinking back, how glitzy and glamourous a war in space had once sounded. Like those old films he'd watched growing up. Men charging out of fox-holes and bunkers and sticking a flag down in the liberated land. But by the end of the first year of the Solar Alliance's involvement, all of Gabriel's friends in the corps had been killed, their ships annihilated.
Their deaths had been the first pang of guilt to swell in his stomach. Why had Gabriel had survived and they hadn't? What was the purpose of his living while those around him died? -- He felt like there had to be a greater reason for each dogfight he survived.
When the Committee had voted to do something that would have seemed unbelievable only a year before, Gabriel had nodded, silently. The right choice. It would end the war early -- and there would be fewer casualties in the end.
The war between the civs had historically been fought in space and *only* in space. That was the way of the galaxy -- few civilians could be killed if there was no war on a planet's surface.
Humanity changed the rules.
"We deliver a couple of little parcels," his commander had told him, "onto one or two of the planets, and that's it. Game over. We've then done what they couldn't achieve in a thousand fucking years."
Gabriel had believed it. None of the other species had developed nukes... And once they saw the destruction, the fiery mushroom hell that only humans could deliver... That would be the end of all war forever. They would bow. And yes, humanity would have done something bad -- something terrible, even. But for the right reasons and for a just cause.
Only it hadn't been that simple.
Never was, Gabriel figured.
The 'green planet' careened into view. That had been its nickname back when it had been pristine. Now it was a smoldering muddy wreck, cratered and barely habitable. Not green anymore.
A ship orbited the planet -- twenty-times the size of Gabriel's one-man craft.
"Greetings, Gabriel Launder," crackled a voice over his intercom. "You may dock when you're ready."
Could he really do this?
The problem with the nukes had been first been demonstrated on Totania. Yes, they had inflicted the damage the Solar Alliance had intended. But the Totanians didn't just throw their hands up and surrender, as had been predicted.
They didn't surrender after a hundred nukes had fallen. Not even after a thousand.
They had *never* given up.
Not until the very last one of them had screamed into a fiery nothingness.
Every species involved in the war was proud -- and rightfully so. And they were all sickened by what the Solar Alliance had done. None would surrender to such a callous race of beings.
In time, Gabriel had been sickened, too. These weren't fighters or warriors they were bombing. These were children and parents and teachers and all the things he kept precious in his sugar-coated recollections of his own childhood.
The bombings were still happening. The galaxy-wide cleansing. It would continue until humanity was the final space-faring species in the galaxy.
Unless he did this.
Unless he gave them all the secrets of the atom.
Because the only kind of destruction humans ever respected, was mutual.
"I'm ready to dock," said Gabriel.
---
I raced my regular co-writer Ecstatic to write for this. I don't want to say hers was faster and better, but... :) If you enjoyed either /r/nickofstatic has lots of serials by both of us :) | Sak galash, shipmaster of shipmasters, surveyed what remained of his crippled fleet. warships thousands of krell long, that had conquered planets innumerable, dead in the vast emptiness of space.
*how did this happen? Why did it all go so wrong?*
The selkrion knew exactly why. It was those lights. It was when they stumbled upon the hyper militant backwater 25,000 light years from the galactic center..The one the locals called “erth.”
The 637th solar conquest had started simply enough. The fleet dropped out of witchspace several thousand light seconds from the star, comfortably outside of the exclusion zone, and scanned the system for inhabited bodies. There were two, the third planet from the sun and it’s orbiting body. The moon’s population was negligible, only a few hundred, mostly vegetation. The planet however teemed with life. All was as the stolen galactic federation records had said. Humans were a newborn species, they barely counted as spacefaring having only inhabited their own moon. However, he seriously doubted the 9.9 out of 10 danger rating the federation cataloguers had given this species. Whatever “nooks” were, they were nothing compared to his magnificent fleet.
“There” he ordered “we will start by subjugating and enslaving them. Comms, notify me the instant we are within holoprojector range of my new subjects, so they may behold their new master!”
His minions scrambled to obey, as Sak tittered his mandibles. They spoke not a sound. Those who spoke unnecessarily to sak quickly lost their jaws.
“We are in holo range. Activating on your command master”
“Now.” He said, puffing out his thorax. “Behold your master, slaves, I am sak galash, shipmaster of shipmasters! Prepare for your imminent subjugation into the illustrious selkrion horde!” He snipped his pincer to mime to his crewman to cut the connection. He looked out his bridge window on the green and blue planet before him. he could see the shimmering red silhouette of his hologram, half as tall as the atmosphere, being played in an endless loop for the natives, not that they could understand him.
“Blaze a landing zone and send the *Magnus rage* down to the surface. Have the fleet maintain a perimeter around the planet.”
The gunner fired, and the primary laser beam blazed forth burning a flat rectangle for his lead landing craft to use. Sek used to land his flagship, the *leviathan’s glory* to land first, but once he spent the entire 324th solar conquest with his flagship’s landing gear stuck in the mud he decided never again.
The triangular *magnus rage* crossed into his view as it sliced into the planets atmosphere, glowing at the edges from the heat, a flaming sword about to slice the innocent planet bel...
A flash of white light blinded him, and when his 7 eyes could finally focus again the magnus was gone. what happened?
“Shipmaster, the *magnus rage* is destroyed”
“What!” Sak ripped the cretin’s head off and kicked him away from the console. He was right, it was gone. Nearly 6 million crew, 8 trillion tons of steel alone, gone. A warning light blinked, another blinding light burned across the bridge, blinding him once more.
When Seks vision again returned, something felt wrong. His vision was dull, and spun, his throat convulsed, and vomitted out a weeks worth of carbantha claws and bile all over himself. His leftmost eye wasn’t working right, making everything foggy. He scanned his bridge for his crew, but they seemed to be in a similar state, retching and holding their heads.
Another blinding flash, more retching. The communications console was alight with desperate pleas for orders from his shipmasters, he retched again, but he was running out of bile at this point and nothing came up. One of his crewmen, the navigator, was clinging to his controls, plotting a course away.
The engines fired up, throwing him against the clear sapphire window as the ship turned away from the accursed planet.
“To me!” He cried in the most commanding voice he could manage. He hardly cared that he hadn’t ordered a retreat, he just needed away from this hellhole. He blacked out just as he felt the shift into witch space.
The true horrors of those weapons were quick to reveal themselves in the following weeks. Many of the bridgecrew in his fleet were blinded in part or in full by the baleful light. After the vomiting and nausea stopped, all the species with hair or fur lost it. All those with chitin shells such as his own stopped growing and cracked. Those with carapaces of bone had it worse, all the marrow was dead, and the same was discovered for those of flesh and bone. No one was hungry for days, and many started wasting away. After the first week his armies started dying. At first they ejected the bodies into the vacuum of space, but as they became weaker that was abandoned, instead they cleared only the essential areas of the ships and left bodies where they fell.
Sak inspected his rotting claw. The shell had come off, and though the doctors insisted he had potentially dangerous micro growth of unusual tissues, he could not yet see it. Of the 19 billion souls that had populated his fleet, only 2 million remained. Of the thousands of ships in the selkrion empirial hordes fleet, on his flagship was still manned. The rest floated in dead space, empty husks, like him. Not only were his dreams of harvesting the galaxy crushed, but so was his line. Every one of his spawn, including himself, was now sterile. There would be no more.
He took refuge in one thought. Though his empire would wither and die, his atrocities would never be forgotten. The federation fleet on his trail running both alientarian aid and seeking to destroy him would run into these same humans one day. And if they weren’t destroyed then, they would be eventually, such was the nature of power. | 2022-12-15T08:44:27 | 2019-12-19T09:22:57 | 431 | 10 |
[WP] Dragons of this world hoard their treasures like any other. Unlike the others this dragon has decided to "hoard" an entire village and is oddly invested in the villagers lives. | “Iva?” The child Elliot asked.
Ivaskanoc the Brightshade inspected the wisened old boy through a half-lidded eye. Humans grew strangely to her, even now. He’d made himself shorter again. She’d sworn he had settled for that second set of teeth, but he had lost an awful lot of them. The wispy hair that’d previously made a home on his head had migrated to his chin and become long and grey. She did not understand why he had done so, but all humans did similar things to themselves at some point, before they left her hoard and returned to the earth.
How strange. How marvellous. Ivaskanoc *looked* at the boy, with a more fervent curiosity, awed wonder and dark *want* than she had ever payed even the most flawless diamond, or most pure gold.
“Little Elliot.” Barely a whisper, her throat still clogged from sleep. Her voice found harmony with the dirt and trees and water, and the Grove trembled. “How are your children? I did not miss any weddings, I trust. You know how I enjoy those.”
“None, Iva. We were-“ The boy stopped, interrupted by a spluttering cough. What did he mean? They were too busy coughing to have weddings? Elliot continued coughing for longer than most human sentences, and Iva listened carefully to this new method of speech. When he stopped, he wheezed for some time afterwards, and stood shorter. Eventually, he began to speak the regular way again, but he did not stand higher. “- We were waiting for you to wake on your own before we held any celebrations.”
The edge of the dragon’s maw twitched, before she realised that Elliot would not understand the gesture. With the unnatural effort that came from adopting an alien expression, she schooled her face into a facsimile of human surprise. The eye facing Elliot widened, and the ridge above it raised at one edge. “Waiting? That is kind. But you have woken me now. What troubles you, Little Elliot?”
Elliot looked at her more fully, and she saw he had changed his eyes as well. They had become less like the sky and more like the clouds. “Many things, Iva. Will you-“ the boy stifled another cough. “Will you walk with me?”
Ah, a walk. Ivaskanoc *wanted* human walks. When other creatures walked, it was to get some place slowly. Humans, true humans, walked for the journey. Elliot’s mother, Eliza, had been a true human. Eliza had *wanted* walks, but not in the same way as Ivaskanoc *wanted.* Instead, Eliza had “loved” them, in the same way she had “loved” Ivaskanoc.
Ivaskanoc still did not understand “love.” But Eliza had taught her much about it. Shown her how curious and wonderful it was. Thanks to her, Ivaskanoc understood that she *wanted* “love.”
“Of course I will walk with you, Little Elliot,” she murmured, and rose from her cradle in the earth. Dirt sloughed off her iridescent scales, trees fell and water poured into the gouge she had left in the ground. Elliot had to crane his head to maintain her gaze, and the strain appeared on his face. Ivaskanoc saw an opportunity. “Would you like to ride on my horns? You seem...” she sought the word that Eliza had used for when humans were at their weakest. “Tired.”
“Just old,” Elliot said. That was a new word to Iva. “And yes, I’d appreciate a lift... very much.” She bent her head, such that she was again level with Elliot. The boy slowly crawled up the side of her face, hooking his hands around her incongruous horns, and found his usual nook between the longest antlers and the softer scales that surrounded her left ears. “Thank you, Iva.”
—
Continuing in another post in a bit. | **Draconic Directions**
 
“Ignore the dragon.” The villager hissed, in between swings of his axe.
“What…?” Henrik the Bard jumped, caught in the mesmerising sight of an actual dragon. He stared at the wood chopper for a second.
“Ignore it, we have to ignore it, that’s what it directs!” The villager hissed again.
“It’s a bloody dragon, how can you ignore a bloody dragon…” Henrik raised his voice, convinced the yokel was one green short of a village. He had just entered the community and the dragon was right there, sitting on a hillock overlooking the village. It was hard to miss the movement of any fire breathing and barn sized predator, especially when giant head was panning across the village.
“Shhhhh….” The villager turned towards Henrik, brandishing his axe, but with his back carefully towards the dragon’s roving head.
A realisation grasped Henrik’s attention from the dragon.
“Hey, you weren’t even chopping any wood….” Henrik barked incredulously as he noticed that the villager had moments ago simply been using his axe to slice air.
“Quiet!” The villager advanced towards Henrik menacingly. “If you ruin this scene, It will make us do it again, and I’m sick and bloody tired of pretending to chop wood.”
“That’s nonsense!” Henrik declared.
“I said quiet! This is the 12th time we’ve had to do this today. Apparently, we haven’t been ‘aw-fen-tick’ enough as a village. It wants a ‘gen-u-wine’ village backdrop.” The villager stopped in front of Henrik and shook his axe. “For Grogdaw’s sake, I’m not even a wood chopper, I’m the apothecary but Garvin was sick today.”
Henrik shook his head, what nonsense was this? The entire village must be witless in fear.
Still, there could be some coin in this he quickly mused. A dragon hunter or two in the city of Rechwald would pay handsomely to know a distracted dragon was in the region. The hide alone would buy a stately mansion on the Mien river.
Henrik stared piteously at the wood chopping apothecary, shook his head again, and walked away with his few possessions.
He made it to the stream, an hour down the track, without incident. Dusk was starting to settle, but there was a good cave not much further along.
Henrik’s mind wandered back to the village. What fools…
Then Henrik saw the man, plainly adorned apart from a silver chain around his neck. The man was simply waiting, standing a little beyond the crossing and facing towards the village.
Henrik cautiously hailed the notably armed man. A long dagger hung at the man’s waist.
The man nodded and spoke. “A moment of your time bard”.
Henrik sighed and pulled out his fake coin purse. He had been to this dance before. This was a polite bandit, but still a bandit. “You can have all my coin” he said, waving the purse.
The man smiled. “You are off to Rechwald?”
“Yes…” Henrik responded, puzzled. Was no one in this area capable of doing their job? The wood choppers did not chop wood, did the bandits not bandit as well?
“Ahh…to tell of the dragon I presume. Maybe obtain a tidy sum for so little effort?” The man continued in a conversational tone.
“Who are you?” Henrik countered quickly, steering the conversation away from his impending prize.
“That would be a yes, then.” The man said and with a sigh nodded again.
The blow was sudden and vicious, the crack to the back of his head sending Henrik sprawling into the stream. He floundered for a moment before finding himself staring up at the silver chained man and a rather burlier accomplice.
“You can call me the AD…the assistant dragon that is.” The silver chained man retained his conversational tone while drawing his blade. “I make sure the set, the village, is not disrupted.”
Henrik could not take his eyes off the slowly approaching blade, as fear and pain kept him prone.
“This is for the best, you know. The villagers, they, we, all prefer having the dragon around.” The man crouched down and brought his blade to Henrik’s throat.
A flush of confusion ran through Henrik, cutting through his terror. “You want the dragon around?” He gasped.
“Yes we do. It might require that our lives run to Its directions, for Its entertainment, but it is for the best. No one starves, you see. No bandits steal from us, no plagues make it to our homes. In all cases, there is the dragon. When there is famine, it brings beasts from the mountain valleys; when there is banditry, it slays the robbers; when there is sickness, it can smell the ill humours and warns the carriers away.”
The dagger flashed forward and plunged into Henrik’s throat, his amazement turning to shock and then, finally, a vacant look.
“This is for the best.” The silver chained man muttered.
 
----
I hope you enjoyed the read! Find more random fictions at r/countsforfun | 2020-02-18T21:42:29 | 2020-02-18T21:34:17 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You are a dragon. After moving to your new forest, the local village decides to sacrifice two children to you to ensure you won't attack them. You decide to raise them--and they say you're much nicer than the village. | The children had grown quickly; too quickly. They had been admirable companions in that time - first, simply cute and clumsy, but soon capable and wise. I had decided to raise them out of something amounting to boredom, but truth be told, I swiftly became attached.
And yet, it was almost time for them to go. I had decided that I would free the twins on their 20th name day - a date fast approaching. Not only would I miss them, but I feared the repercussions of allowing them to leave.
The rage at being left as sacrifice had never quite left them. I could see it seething inside of them, a fury which my tutelage had done little to quell. I feared what they would do to the village, to the townspeople that had left them for dead. I hoped they viewed me as their true father, as theirs had made the choice to sacrifice them - and as the last of my kind, they were the closest thing to children I would ever get.
Though we could not exchange words, I could not let them leave empty handed. To one, I gave a scale from my breastbone, fashioned into an impenetrable shield, so as to shield him from all harm. The other I gave my fang, ripped from my mouth, sharpened and forged into a deadly blade. They took them graciously, and yet I feared what they would do with them.
They said their farewells, a mixture of sorrow and joy, their smiles bittersweet.
I watched them go. No longer boys, they had become men, confident and sure. I sensed an affection in them, one that I deeply returned.
I would miss them; and I dreaded what they would do to the village. But, such is the way of life. Revenge will always be sated.
That much I know is true.
***
The months melted away, days blending into one. Always, I wanted to check on the village, terrified at what I would see. I had no love for the townsfolk, but my children... I loved them so. And I dreaded the result of their revenge.
That was all I had to ponder, as my existence had waned and become dull. My adopted children gone, likely dead from their vengeful conquest, and my species would surely end with me. Food was scarce in this forest, as I had decided to not feast on human flesh decades ago; but I saw no reason to leave. I would die here, and that would be the end of it. At least I had given solace to two scared children... and they had to me.
****
I lay down to rest, an eternal slumber.
I closed my eyes, feeling the weight of the world dissolve around me.
I dreamed of thunder, of billowing wind. An impossible roar, echoing across the lands.
But this was no dream.
I awoke, and saw a magnificent golden beast before me, wings outstretched. An impossible sight.
A dragon.
And of top of it, perched two young men, holding a fang for a sword and a scale for a shield; each bearing the same visage of when I had first encountered them, so long ago.
My children had returned; and somehow, they had found a mother. | Elmer and Emery sat huddled outside the cave. They could hear some sounds from inside and they knew they didn't have much time. They tried to remove their shackles but it was no good. They were trapped and at the dragon's mercy.
Soon enough, the earth rumbled and the beast appeared.
Despite their situation they had to stare in awe at the massive dragon.
He looked at them with great big yellow eyes, shining like the sun.
"What is this?"
Young Emery shouted and hid his face in his brother's embrace.
Elmer was scared as well but he knew he had to be brave. Just like their father had been.
"I'm Elmer. This is Emery. We are sons of Rayner. We have come to sacrifice ourselves for our village. Leave them alone and you can have us."
"And pray, what do I want with two five year olds."
"I am eight." Elmer replied indignantly.
The dragon looked at them closely. "Sons of Rayner, you say? Ah, he was a good man. And a brave one too."
"And yet you killed him."
"I did no such thing."
"Everyone in our village knows. He was our greatest warrior and your biggest threat so you killed him."
"Well you believe what you want. But when I asked for a sacrifice from the villagers I was thinking more about some livestock."
Emery finally looked at the dragon. "So you won't eat us?"
The dragon moved its face closer to the two boys causing Emery to shrink back. "I'll let you fatten up a little first. Do you kids know how to hunt?"
"Aye. I know how to hunt and cook." Elmer met the dragon's gaze.
"Well then. This could work. You see I hurt my leg in a trap and cannot hunt for a while."
"I would never work for you."
The dragon's sharp claws made short work of the shackles the boys were in. It pulled a shouting Emery close and dragged him into his cave.
"If you want your brother to live, you will."
Later that evening, Elmer returned dragging the results of his hunt. The young kid struggled to drag a prey almost as big as himself but his love for his brother gave him unexpected strength.
At the mouth of the cave, he stood and shouted. "I have food for you. Let me brother go."
Emery ran to his brother. "Elmer!"
The boys hugged as the dragon came out of the cave. It looked at the boy, impressed. "Go collect some sticks. We will need to make a campfire."
"I didn't know dragons cooked their food."
"The campfire is for you."
Elmer looked at the dragon with suspicion. Emery, on the other hand was already walking around looking for sticks. "We don't want your food. Will you let us go now?"
"Not quite yet, young Elmer."
The night sky was lit with various colours as the day lost its battle with the night and retreated. It had been a good mean, Elmer had to admit.
The two orphans mostly had to depend on the kindness of strangers for their food. And kindness only stretched so far. There had been many a nights of sleeping on empty stomachs. He looked at his younger brother who was sleeping close to the dragon. The dragon had obviously brainwashed him. He had been laughing and talking to the beast all evening.
He moved quietly and woke up Emery.
"Emery, get up. This is our chance."
Emery rubbed his eyes and looked at his brother with half closed eyes. "Chance for what?"
"To escape."
"To where?"
"Back to our village. The dragon is sleeping now."
"I don't want to go Elmer."
"Well, we can't stay here."
"Why not? I like it here. The dragon gave me lots of books to read."
"Where does a dragon get books?"
"Some of them even had dad's name on them."
"Emery, don't fall for his tricks. This beast is not to be trusted. It killed our father."
"It didn't! I asked him. He said dad happened upon an enemy camp. He tried to save dad. That's how he hurt his foot."
"IT. It's a beast."
"I like to call him Raynaud."
The dragon raised his head and looked at them. "You kids alright? You should try and get some sleep. We have lot of work tomorrow."
Emery lay back down and moved closer to the dragon's tail. Elmer looked at them both and begrudgingly lay down as well. | 2020-04-03T06:34:28 | 2020-04-03T06:26:54 | 172 | 82 |
[WP] You are a renowned knight tasked with slaying a mighty dragon. On your quest, you find the beasts lair, and see it’s corpse. Relieved, and yet slightly disappointed, you prepare to take credit and report to the queen, but you notice something disturbing. The beast has been bitten in half. | Knights were all about honour. But mostly in front of other people.
I’ve slain dragons. There was no dignity in the slaying itself, just a lot of writhing of blades and bodies, screaming and roaring from parched throats, and more swearing than two ships of pirates.
The honour was in carrying back the head of the dragon, and plopping it down on whoever needed to be impressed. Naturally, these feats drew attention to you. Put your name on the list, especially when dangerous dragons are roaming the lands. I swear every time these people send me on an expedition, they prepare a tearful eulogy about my bravery.
It was why I walked alone into the cave. Who would want to accompany me into a death trap? Glory meant less than life for the majority of men. More likely, they stood waiting on the outskirts of my nearest town, hoping to hear of my demise—and then they can hopefully swoop in to be the hero.
Thus, the relief was palpable when I saw that the dragon’s corpse sat there in its subterranean lair, a mountain even compared to the gold that it had amassed. I walked slowly up to the head, seeing its huge, open eye look towards the ceiling. A gauntleted hand moved onto its snout, saying a silent prayer for the beast. It was to be an opponent. Respect can be afforded.
I pulled out my sword, preparing to sever the neck cleanly. My wandering eyes moved up towards the back of the dragon, only to discover that there was nothing but darkness that stared back at me. I ran up the pile of gold that it rested on, and saw a copious amount of blood and gore that dripped from its innards. Nothing was left to the imagination. Entrails, the length and width of entire hallways, draped unseemly, torn apart with…
Sharp teeth.
I hastily raced to the bottom, trying to steady my hyperventilating breaths. It was all I could do to prevent my knees from buckling. The cave, which had seemed washed with a soft golden glow just a moment ago, now became an oppressive gloom, the last embers spewed forth during dusk before night enveloped the world.
There was an exhalation of breath, which felt like a gust of dead wind. One footstep trembled the cave, and another shook my heart loose as it jumped around my body with the intensity of a fervent drummer.
I said a prayer. For myself, this time.
I don’t think the other thing needed it, as a hulking mass, far swifter than it should be for something that big, appeared for the briefest of instants.
Darkness came quickly.
---
r/dexdrafts | In all my quests I never thought I would win before I had the chance to walk into battle. Yet when I entered the long narrow pathway to the cave no sign of life was in sight. A long trail of blood led to the center of the cave. Once I had lit the torch and stuck it in the ground before me, was when I realized I wasn’t alone. There before me laid a 50 foot long terrifying creature. The glint of my sword illuminated the reflective blue scales. It’s tail was curved and this seemed unnatural for its size. As I proceeded with the upmost caution I noticed the pool of blood leaking from where the creatures head should have been. I began to stumble backwards and tripped over what seemed to be a tree branch.
The queen will never believe that I was the one who killed this creature especially now that I cannot bring his head back as evidence. I slumped against the tree that lay behind me. Suddenly the back of my head was damp and the liquid was soaking through my armor. I slowly turned my head to the find the other half of the dragon lying there facing me. I rushed over to my torch in order to take a closer look when I heard a woman’s voice behind me.
“Be careful little hero, dragons blood is usually poisonous or worse deadly.”
I swung my sword in the direction of the voice but I couldn’t see a thing.
“Who are you?” once I had screamed this into the abyss I heard footsteps coming towards me.
“SHOW YOURSELF COWARD!” my voice had wavered towards the end of my statement. Even though I was feigning confidence I still needed to do something.
Approaching the torchlight I saw the signature royal purple gown that was now ripped and tattered. The woman was muscular and seemed to have branded symbol across her arms. Her body was covered in blood that I could only hope was from the creature. Atop the woman’s head was a golden crown covered in jewels and different priceless stones.
“My-m-my queen?” I stammered while lowering my sword.
“Do you know why I send hero’s on these false adventures? Do you know why I would rather you boys in armor to find the dragon rather than any one of my advisors?” as she asked this she licked the blood from her hand and her eyes began to glow a bright gold color.
“W-why?” I asked considering there were no other questions I could think of asking. Then she began to circle the dragon as well as myself. She was sliding in and out of the shadows and I was unable to keep track of her location.
“When hero’s come to fight,” she began as her voice echoed of the walls of the cave “they leave behind a certain scent or valor. This is the scent that draws the dragons to our home.” She explained this with light tone that made it seem like she was chatting with a friend about a new gown she had acquired.
The queen stopped circling and stood in front of the dragons head. She tilted he head slightly and snapping her fingers. The light blue veins began to run up her arms and burst into flames.
“That scent covers myself as well as my family. It keeps us safe. Even if a few lives may be taken in the process.” She explained all of this as if the lives of our kingdoms people were irrelevant and disposable.
Everything I had done for the royal family. All the time and work I had given and sacrificed was for nothing. I quickly looked down at my arms and realized these long dark red veins were running down my arms. They burned like no pain I had ever felt before, even on the battlefield. It was spreading rapidly across my body.
“I always hate this part though because even though I wish I could end your pain swiftly I must wait until the stench of your death can be smelled across the kingdom.” She almost sounded sorrowful.
As if the pity would make the pain lessen. My vision began to blur and the pains intensity began to build until I felt nothing anymore. I heard the last few steps she took out of the cave and the beating wings of another dragon about to become prey. | 2022-07-13T10:06:55 | 2022-07-13T08:34:30 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] Whenever you touch a book, your brain automatically processes all information from it. A suspicious looking guy walking past just "accidentally" dropped a very old and cursed looking book in front of you. | "No." I said.
There was a pause.
"Would you mind picking it up for me? I'm afraid I've hurt my back and-"
"I said no." I replied. "Do you really think this is the first time this has happened to me?"
The second pause was much longer. The man couldn't bear to leave his book on the floor and grabbed it swiftly with no evidence of the back problems he'd just hinted at. I nodded at him.
"Right. There's a cafe over there," I said, gesturing across the road, "I think you and I should have a little chat."
"Well, I don't really think that's necessary, I'm sorry for-" the man blustered but I cut him off again.
"I've told you that this isn't the first time someone's tried this trick on me but I know it's the first time you've tried it. Even if you work for someone else I doubt they'd be dumb enough to recommend the same plan twice. So there are other people out there with mysterious tomes that they are just desperate for me to touch and you're honestly telling me that you're not just as interested in finding out about that as I am in finding out whatever it is you think you're doing?"
His eyes widened and he nodded slowly.
"Great." I responded. "You're buying."
-----
A few minutes later I was sat next to the window slurping the fanciest Frappuccino that the cafe had to offer. I *hated* it but it was the most expensive thing on the menu and I'll be damned if this man was going to get away with only paying for my default order of a small black coffee.
"The book lives in your bag." I said, glaring at it pointedly. "You're going to put it away in such a way that it remains completely covered for this entire conversation. Think of it like your penis - if it becomes visible or touches me without my consent then our polite chat will be over and we'll instead be having a very different kind of interaction. Now. Seriously."
He seemed flustered (at my attitude or at the word 'penis?' Who knows?) but he complied thoroughly and quickly. He seemed incredibly nervous and I wondered how much information he really had.
"My name's Edward." He offered.
"Didn't ask and you already know that mine's Alice."
He looked mildly hurt that I'd rebuffed his peace offering which solidified the idea that he didn't have much to tell me.
"Who do you work for?" I asked but he shook his head.
"I can't tell you that. Maybe there's something minor I could tell you but something like that wouldn't be allowed. Who else is trying to get you to help them?"
I laughed hollowly at that.
"Help? That implies I have some sort of choice. I wasn't lying when I said that this exact situation had already happened before. Where's my choice in this, huh?"
"What would it have done? Would it have hurt you? I didn't want to hurt anybody..."
He trailed off and I stared at him in stunned silence.
"Edward... how much did they tell you about me?"
"They didn't tell me anything about you-"
*No no no no...*
"I didn't even know your name was Alice. This was my initiation."
I'm usually more prone to talking than is good for me but at this revelation all I could do was sit there and let the taste of too many syrups fester on my tongue. I was barely even aware that Edward was still talking.
"I was just supposed to drop the book in front of you when you left work and then return to the base to return the book when I'd done it. I assumed it was probably just to see if I could be trusted with a book of this value, I've only been trusted with less important magical tomes before now. What *can* you do?"
"I absorb the information from any book I touch."
"Oh. But then what was the point of all of this? Why would they just give you information that they can't fully understand?"
*Oh fuck...*
"Because they intend to abduct me." I realised. "They knew where and when I worked in order to have you bump into me but to abduct someone in broad daylight would be tricky so they're probably waiting where I live. Once they realise I'm delayed they'll come for me."
"No, they wouldn't!" Edward said but more in a panic than believing it.
I should have started running but instead I felt sick. Where would I even go?
"Come on," Edward said urgently "we have to leave."
He was standing. Did I miss him standing up?
"Please, come with me."
"Where are you taking me?"
"To where I'm staying. They know where you live and they might well know where I live but I don't think they know I've been staying with my friend Pete for the past week due to water issues in my building."
I shook my head.
"How would I even know if I can trust you?"
Edward thought about it and then grabbed the remains of my disgusting drink.
"Because I will destroy this tome if you want me to. If it will mean you trust me then you can watch from a safe distance whilst I pour a little of this on every single page. Or tear it up, or burn it if anyone has a lighter or, I don't know! But please choose quickly. I didn't mean to be a part of this and if I've really put you in the danger you're describing then I think we'll need to leave soon."
I thought about it and then stood up.
"No, keep the book. It's sort of our only hostage."
Edward passed me the bag.
"Then you should have it. Just in case."
He lead me out of the cafe, talking far too fast and describing every step of the incredibly short journey we were about to take.
"Wouldn't it be smarter to just flee than go see Pete?" I asked. "It sounds like he doesn't even live outside of the city."
"He doesn't. But when I said I'd been trusted with minor magical books I mean that I still have them. And since I didn't want to leave them for days they are currently living in Pete's home office. So I figure you should maybe touch them. They're only basic stuff but if you'd know the whole book instantly then, well... I mean, haven't you always wanted to know spells?"
I grinned.
"Who says I don't already?" | It’s honestly not as fun as it sounds. Remember the last time you read a book that you didn’t enjoy? Were the characters stale, or were there too many descriptions of things you didn’t care about? Did the writer tell you all about the character’s bedroom walls in a ham-fisted attempt to portray the personality or social situations of the character? Was the ending rushed, or too abstract, or too predictable? Or did they use (and i hate this) the ‘it was all a dream’ get-out? Well don’t come crying to me, because i’ve seen it all. My name is Simon, and I’ve got a superpower. Actually it’s less like a superpower and more like a curse. I can absorb all of the information in a book just by touching it. Sounds cool right? I’ve never had to revise for an exam, never had to rack my brains for an answer in a pub quiz, and never failed to irritate everyone around me by being a know-it-all. That was the start of my downfall.
I had a job as a top lawyer in the city. My command of case law was legendary. I could recall old precedents, draw up obscure examples, and bring up obscure legal loopholes as easily as you’d talk about the weather during a heatwave. But as you can imagine, all of that information comes at a cost. I had to work in a darkened room due to getting intense migraines. I absorbed nearly all of the case law books in the law library and having that information floating around in your head is a recipe for some absolute killer headaches. This wasn’t akin to absorbing my Hungry Caterpillar books when i was a child, this was high level detailed (and boring) information. So the paralegals and other lawyers would come to me if they needed something double checking, and they’d have to come to my dimly lit office and suffer through a conversation with someone who’d tell them that they were wrong, in a pained and exasperated tone. I quickly became unpopular, and was asked to leave after six months.
I’ve managed to move away from the law now, and like any useful skill, it’ll mothball and get less sharp if you don’t use it very often. I stay away from libraries and bookshops, and I avoid books as best I can, unless I’m interested in them. A woman reading an erotic fiction book brushed me on the train the other day and I got a great insight into the sexual fantasies of middle-aged women. That was a fun ten minutes sat by her, I can tell you that.
But today I’m sat here, in my one bedroom flat with yellowing wallpaper, quite content in the knowledge that i don’t have to absorb any knowledge I don’t want to. I live a normal life, unencumbered by having to be a know-it-all or living with blinding headaches, and I'm happy. That is, I was happy, until about two hours ago. I left my flat to go and get some lunch, and on my way to the local deli I noticed a man watching me. He was an old man with sagging skin on his face and keen eyes squinting at me from across the road. He was dressed like he was from a 1940’s spy film, beige macintosh buttoned up to his neck and wide brimmed black hat on. I thought nothing of his appearance and continued on my way to get some lunch. As I exited the deli with my sandwich in hand, the man with the macintosh was now standing in my path. I tentatively went to walk around him when I saw an object drop beneath the folds of his coat and hit the floor. It was a weatherbeaten black book, bound in leather with unintelligible red writing on the front. The pages looked coffee stained and old, and the book looked like it smelled strongly of dank and must. Now I'm not one for jumping to conclusions, but that book looked like it had nothing good written inside it. I looked to the old man who was now watching me furtively, almost as if he expected me to run away at any second.
“Could you please help me?” he asked politely. “My hips aren’t what they were”.
I blinked rapidly, wondering if I could explain to him that I had no intention of picking up the book.
“Erm…” I started, not quite knowing what to say. “I’m… I mean, I’m not sure”
The old man looked at the book and then back at me, a bit more sharply this time.
“Son, please help me. I don’t want to bend down and not be able to get back up”. I swallowed and looked around. I really didn’t want to pick this book up, but the natural British man inside me was balking at the idea of coming across so rude to an elderly man asking for assistance. ‘Screw it’ I thought, bending to pick up the book. What’s the worst that could happen? I swear I saw that old bastard smile as my fingers closed around that wretched book. As soon as I touched the book my vision went completely dark. I felt like i was falling through a void, with a bright orange light rushing towards me. I twisted, trying to turn away from the light. My mind was filled with words I couldn't understand, thoughts and concepts I'd never considered. Evil thoughts and concepts. Dead bodies, people burning, people screaming. I couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think. The blackness was pressing in on me, pulsing from all sides as the orange blaze below rushed up to meet me. I opened my mouth to scream and the blackness began to pour in, filling my lungs, suffocating me. And then I snapped out of it. I was on all fours on the pavement gasping for breath, head pulsing, skin crawling. I looked up to see the old man, or what I thought was an old man standing above me. He now resembled a young, fiercely handsome man with close cut black hair and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was still wearing the macintosh, but it seemed to fit him better and look more natural on him. He eyed me with amusement as I staggered to my feet.
“Welcome to our guild Simon. Best go home and start practising” he said in a soft tone.
I burst out into a run and tried to put as much distance as I could between me and him. I arrived back at my flat and collapsed onto the sofa. What could I do? Call the police? Ridiculous. What should I say? How could I explain it? I felt frustration and anger boil up inside me, so hot it seemed to burn from my chest out to my fingertips. I hurriedly got up. Was I having a heart attack? The heat in my chest got hotter and hotter until it was scalding me. I began to scream, my mouth opening wide. But my voice box didn’t push a scream out. It pushed out a terrible cry as I roared the strange word my memory knew but my brain didn’t understand:
“B'NuORoA!!!” I screamed. At this, a burst of fire erupted from the two fingertips of my left hand, instantly incinerating what had up until that moment been a nice sofa. The burning in my chest abated. I looked at my two fingertips in amazement, wondering how they remained unburnt. I thought about the words of the strange man outside the deli, welcoming me to his ‘guild’, whatever that meant. I looked back at the pile of ash that had been my sofa.
What the fuck was that book? | 2022-08-26T08:46:04 | 2022-08-26T05:21:28 | 334 | 58 |
[WP] As a villain henchman, the number 1 rule you're always taught is to never outshine the boss. However, during a small bank heist, you accidentally kill your boss' arch nemesis, and the legion of superheroes now see YOU as their ultimate threat. | In a world of superpowers, there are those who abuse them - the villains - and those that use them for good - the heroes. A simple enough concept of good vs evil, where judgement is rendered by those who have the power to decide what is good and what is bad.
But the world is never that clear. That's why I joined Revolt. A man of vision, branded a villain by a society that condemns the unfortunate. Like me. All it takes is one mistake in this world, and you're down in the dumps.
But Revolt was blessed with great power. Believe it or not, he used to be a hero! But from what he saw of the inside of that... industry, he was fed up. He wants to correct this sick world. In my eyes, he's a real hero.
But the United Heroes Union condemned him and his ideals to the public. Despite that, there were a few of us out there who took his message to heart. We sought him out on our own - Me and a few others. I've worked many jobs, but never had a boss as good as him. A truly considerate man. A man whose vision was for a better, more just world.
No one would believe all of this if I admitted to being a villains henchman though. That right there would be enough for at least a few years in a 'correctional' facility, or an early end at the hands of a 'just' hero.
Our days were spent trying to spread the word, to gather support for his growing revolution. A few of us were powered individuals, including me. But nothing special. Roswell was one of our few fighters, he liked calling himself Blackwater as a joke. Like me he never wanted to be a villain, but he's good in a fight, and his superpower is to create and shoot out thick, inky clouds from his palms. Dirty fighting, but useful. Another one of our powered was Ashley, who could manipulate light, and turn invisible.
Me? I can convert energy and store it. Like putting out fires or grounding electricity. But it makes me sick, if I take in too much my body will feel like its bursting from inside and it takes days to wear off... never been terribly useful.
We rarely used our powers, Revolt didn't commit crimes or get involved in fights, despite his own abilities being very powerful. We all just wanted to spread the word. We weren't villains despite what the world thought of us.
1/3 | I didn't really care all that much for Borg. The failed cyborg. He was bad at everything he did, but he was one of the few in the aristocrat who didn't try to hurt me. Not to say I was treated all that differently from the other sidekicks. Maybe he knew what it was like to be different or maybe he was just broken mentally, I never knew him before. He doesn't talk much.
From what I've read it seemed that he was average at best before the accident. He had as many victories as he did failures. He would be called for reinforcement sometimes, only the very or poorly skilled would never get called upon.
Now, he'd get stopped a lot, to be fair, most of the time things simply failed due to bad luck. This one time he built a mecha-suite and took most of the downtown as hostage. He even put up a good fight with the heroes that day, they had to call in reinforcements, but proved to be superfluous, as the suit caught fire, and he had to jump out. Another time we were about to make it back to headquarters with the loot, before a streetlamp crashed right into the hood.
Today we'd so something simple like rob a bank, a new local branch of the RolliePollie Bank. A branch known for having a different theme each weak. Ii think it was cowboy themed this week, as everyone was dressed up in boots and a large hat. When we got in he said, "you know the drill." Everyone sat on the floor while I and the other's blocked the door and held our guns up while he and a few managers went to the back.
He threw us some bags to take back into our unmarked cars. As he started throwing us the gold bars, Something flew into the window. He was a young looking guy, probably twenty, with blonde curly hair and some acne. He was dressed in red, white and blue.
"Buddy, you picked the wrong day," he said.
Our laser shots seemed to stun or really hurt him, but he sprinted to the closest hunchman, and punched him in the face, before using him as a shield and charging at us with him. As he was getting close to another, Borg caught him by suprise with a ear defening shot to the rib.
"Ahhh," The hero cried out as his face contorted. Yet he was still quick enough to dodge the following shots by running side to side as he advanced on Borg. He headbutted him, grabbed both his arms, and broke them in his grip. He then Kicked Borg onto the ground.
Borg fell onto a wall and the hero followed him and laid blow after blow on him. Then the hero flew threw another pane of glass just over my head. I wasn't sure what to do now. I started to approach him, but before I got too close, I heard the sound of glass breaking again, and the wind sent me back. He was back holding a giant statue over his head, and approached Borg who was about to be crushed to death under a statue. And before I knew it, I lit a huge flame towards the hero. He ran and hit the floor trying to put it out.
But I think I was the only one staring, everyone was giving me that weird feeling by just looking at me. And the entire room was silent.
Most people cheered for the heroes, but a lesser number cheered for the villains, although the internet might make you think a lot of them did. But no one would ever cheer for one of the lower cast defeating an aristocrat. No one likes different.
I turn and ran, only taking a few steps out the door before bolting into the sky. I didn't know where I'd go know. But I knew I just had to get away. | 2022-12-10T13:22:31 | 2022-12-10T10:27:44 | 62 | 21 |
[WP] You are the first human ambassador to the alien mothership, where you are to learn about them and begin opening relations between them and Earth. You soon find out they share one unexpected trait with humans. | "And so I think that she likes me, but it's hard to tell, you know? You know, when you think you're getting signals but-"
"Sorry, this is your best friend's ex-girlfriend we're talking about right?"
"Yeah, Xiiugt"
"Well in human culture, it's frowned upon to pursue a friend's ex."
"Really?"
"Yeah, we call it the uh, the bro code, I guess."
"Who wrote it?"
"...Barney?"
"Who is he?"
"He's not a real guy he's-"
"A god?"
"No I mean, oh dear god, nevermind. If you want to know about human culture, ask me about art history, or something."
"Oh ok." There's a pause, "Can I tell you about my problem a bit more instead?"
"Ugh, sure."
"So as I said I like Xiiugt but she's into Thhyra, or I think, they made out at Yyriit's party so-"
"Made out? Do you even have mouth?"
"What?"
"Uh, I think what's happening here. Is the translator's picking the closest match for what you're describing in human terms, and it's confusing me."
"Oh, you want me to explain what making out is for us."
"Uh," I look at it's face, and the various tentacles that grow out from it at awkward angles, "No."
"Anyway the point is that I don't know if she likes me or if-"
Another, taller, creature walks into the room. "Apologies for having to leave you like that," He says, "We're ready for you to come in now and meet the rest of the crew. Hope you don't mind being left with my son."
"No not at all," I say, smiling, "He reminds me of the kids at home."
He laughs, and guides me through to the main hall. | Day 1: The Feldorians have arrived on Earth. The United Nations received an automated electronic message. It read: "We are Feldorian. We come in peace. Send a Speaker and We shall learn to Speak." As the leading academic linguist in the world, I was chosen to go.
Day 10: The Feldorians have taken me to their ship in orbit around Earth. I've been here over a week. My goal has been to establish verbal communication with the extra-terrestrial race. It's been a painfully slow process. We need to be able to *talk*, not just scrape by with hand gestures and computer code. It took the Feldorians months to write the first sentence they ever sent us. How am I expected to bridge this gap in a few short weeks?
Day 12: Still no progress. The structure of the Feldorians language is nonsensical to me. I cannot find any patterns. There is no syntax and no grammar to speak of. It's as if every new phrase is a completely made up series of sounds.
Day 14: Still no progress. The Feldorians have made a reasonable facsimile of earth food. However, it's starting to make me sick and bloated. I want to go home. This is a waste of time.
Day 15: A breakthrough!
Today in my meeting with a Feldorian ambassador, I was feeling minor digestive problems. In my discomfort I... I... passed gas. No. That is too soft of a phrase. I let loose the most foul of flatulence. It was loud and drawn out, like the call of a flock of geese passing by overhead.
The Feldorian ambassador was silent. I was mortified. They say that in space no one can hear you scream--that may be true. However, in space, everyone can smell your farts. And the smell was terrible.
A few second later, though, Feldorian broke the silence. He started a light chuckle. Then it became louder and louder. Yes. He was laughing! I heard the Feldorians laugh! It was not too dissimilar from a human laugh: Hearty, authentic and contagious. I laughed myself. What a stroke of luck. Up to this point, I had no idea that these aliens even had humor, let alone a laugh. This is the breakthrough I needed. Tomorrow we can make progress.
Day 16: Still no progress. Nothing has changed since the flatulence incident. We still have not been able to communicate at all. There is no common ground between our languages. Things might even be worse now. Every once in a while, the Feldorian ambassador purses his alien lips together and makes an unflattering noise, imitating a human fart. And then he laughs. And he laughs more. But this time I am not laughing. I have been here two weeks and still no progress.
We have nothing in common with these puerile aliens. | 2015-04-14T07:38:53 | 2015-04-14T06:56:04 | 334 | 189 |
[WP] Create the biggest, most unpredictable plot twist you could make in a story. | I look out of my window at the hive of activity opposite. The building company have been working tirelessly for a month now, and I've been taking a single photo every day. I'm going to turn it into a video and stick it on youtube when they're done.
First the powerful diggers tearing up the dirt, then the concrete being mixed and poured with more precision than a celebrity pastry chef. Now a spider's web of steel scaffolding is being erected, a chrysalis from which the building can emerge.
Today is different though, work has stopped and everyone is gathered around in some form of confrontation. There is the site engineer arguing with the architect, looking out of place in his fancy suit. I get dressed and pop downstairs to see what's going on. As I cross the road I start to hear their conversation.
"East West when it should be North South!" Shouts the architect, his face rather red.
"North South? The plans clearly state East West!" Rebuts the engineer, waving some A1 paper at the architect.
"Give those to me!" Shouts the architect, grabbing the paper and opening it on a nearby bench.
I slowly approach and peer over his shoulder to see what's going on. I look down at the corner of the plans, and see what the problem is. The plot's been twisted! | M. Night Shyamalan chews, swallows, then fork aimed across at Brad Pitt sitting opposite goes, "So, what do you think? What a twist, right!?"
Brad frowns, "So I'm the Amish woman *and* the lumberjack, except, neither is real, right?"
Shyamalan grins, "What a twist!"
Brad's frown deepens. Shyamalan stops grinning.
"How'd it go?" asks Mrs Shyamalan as her husband shuffles in through their kitchen door.
"Not well."
"*What a twist...*" she adds sarcastically.
Shyamalan frowns. Later, walking down a side street, his face bears the same one. That is, until he sees a jovial, slightly overweight middle-aged man approaching him with a DVD case.
"Big fan," says the man as he hands a marker and a copy of The Happening across to Shyamalan, who smiles. "Real big fan."
"You enjoyed The Happening?" asks Shyamalan.
"Sure," goes the man, "Funniest movie I ever saw."
Shyamalan, still smiling, albeit a little weakly, finishes signing the case and the two men part ways.
On a TV screen, Bruce Willis finds out he was dead all along. On a couch opposite, Shyamalan watches and cries.
On the same TV screen, Jaden Smith unconvincingly acts opposite a poorly rendered CGI monkey. Shyamalan isn't even watching the screen anymore - his head is in his hands and he's sobbing, his frail, emancipated body wracking in time with his heaves.
'I'm so sorry I disappointed you' is scrawled across an A4 sheet of paper. It's pristine, save a tiny splotch of red.
Below the cabinet upon which rests the sheet of paper, rests the dead body of M. Night Shyamalan...
Black. Black. Black.
"And the Oscar goes to..."
Black. Black. Black.
"M. Night Shyamalan!"
A crowd erupts! The black frame is gone now, replaced by a smiling picture of a triumphant Shyamalan, '2018' emblazoned along the bottom in fine gold print along with his name.
On the main stage, a beaming Shyamalan accepts an Oscar and a kiss from Kate Beckinsale, and a proud hug from a bearded Brad Pitt. He accepts all of these things in turn, then faces the audience, tears streaming from his eyes - happy ones this time - and leans into the microphone, whispers:
"What a twist." | 2015-04-21T08:28:27 | 2015-04-21T08:17:22 | 763 | 45 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | "What do you mean you didn't kill him, that's the whole point of the game!" John shouted at me, I hated it when John shouted, his voice was so grating.
"Just what I said," I spoke between sips of my soda, "I didn't kill him. I just fucked with him."
"How do you win the game off that alone?!" He questioned, his head tilted to the side like a dog hearing the sound of a tube TV turning on for the first time.
"Well, You know how he was an artist right?" I questioned, "Of course you do, everyone knows that -- I've personally got a couple of paintings up in my bathroom. Everyone seems to love his work, so you want to know what I did? I went back to 1889 -- took a job at... oh gosh, what's that school? Vienna's Academy? Yeah I think that's it... I worked under the name of Mr. Goldberg and just bide my time. I saw a couple of great artists at the time pass through, though I can't remember there names worth a damn.
Anyway, around 1914 or so, I saw this spry little prick waltz into my class. He was so full of hope and life and energy. And I just told him to fuck off. Told he he'll never ammount to anything. And that's how I won, by turning the world's greatest artist into the world worst murderer."
"Dude, you're literally worse than Hitler." | The temporal particles faded from sight with a roar of burning spacetime. The silence left behind seeming to sing with a high pure note, tinged with the birdsong of 1940. There in front of me, about 50 yards down the hill was my target. Hitler. The Fuhrer. Head of the nazi party and leader of the German government. He lay in the sunshine, face down on a carved stone bed, modesty only protected by the small white towel wrapped around his hips. The spa was empty, the only way in from below and the guards standing too far away to hear. A soft hum announced the small lift's arrival, the Fuhrer not looking up as the masseuse crossed around behind him started to run his back. The masseuse was a tall Germanic man, his blond hair similar to mine, his features rougher and less attractive though. He finished rubbing the Fuhrer's body and turned to wash the scented oil off of his hands. I hastened my journey down the cliff face, quickly arriving behind the masseuse and plunging the needle into his neck. Quickly stowing his body under the small rock shelf I turned and continued to massage the evil man in front of me, waiting for the right time to strike.
He turned his head, looking me in the eye. I froze, expecting a shout, shots ringing out, pain, but none of this came. The Fuhrer turned face up on the bed, guiding my hand to his erect penis. I was conflicted, I wanted to kill him in the manner that I had set out, but I did not want to draw this out any longer than I had to. I started to reciprocate, watching the pleasure grow on his face. This was not what I wanted at all. I tried to keep the look of disgust off of my face as I brought him off quickly. I plunged the syringe deep into his face, freezing it in place and quickly turning his skin to stone. My plan was to bump into him and turn him into a statue as he turned and tried to shout with his face full of angry fury. This was obviously not what I had achieved. The burning smell of reality particles filled my nasal passages and I was sucked back into my own time. Three years it had taken me to get my name on the list. Three years. I had failed. The prize money would never be mine. The cheer when I got back was deafening. I stood gawping, confused. There was no way for them to have seen what happened no? Only the images of the aftermath.
I looked up at the picture stretched across the wall and immediately new that I had won. I had done it. The year's greatest killing of hitler. The headlines would write themselves: "cum face disgrace at final resting place". | 2016-02-20T09:29:08 | 2016-02-20T08:55:11 | 132 | 49 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | Time spent in reconnaissance is seldom wasted.
Once you conquer a thousand worlds with no resistance you start to skip steps. Our initial invasions would take years to plan and complete but somewhere along the line we just started to land as soon as we reached orbit.
Killing all of the inhabitants with our aerial bombardments is easy. We finish off the survivors one on one. When your weapons are as awesome as ours, few can stand in our way.
The final stage is when we drop the drillers to extract the metallic resources required by our hungry galactic empire.
Planet H was assumed to be similar. The bombers poured out of the carriers like an angry stream of sorosso bugs. Down in the lower atmosphere, over the cities, the bombers started their runs. I could see the grey mist of toxin pouring out from the formations and I readied myself for the horrors to come.
About an hour later I was boots to ground, stepping off the transport. A fine mist of poison still fell from the bombers but I was safe, at least for a while, due to my chemical weapons suit.
The first inhabitant I saw was holding a thin shield over his head to block the chemical death raining down upon him. His shield was unidirectional so I opened up with my streamer hitting him in the torso with a blast of pure toxic h2o. He didn't even flinch, he just looked at me with surprise and then began to approach. I pulled the wet launcher from my back and hit him squarely with a dose so large it knocked him off his feet. You can't imagine my fear when he sat up like it was nothing and started screaming his war cry. A sound that would chill you like a deep breath of vacuum.
Soon we were fighting hand to hand and taking exceptional losses. The retreat sounded over the comms and somehow I managed to make it back to a carrier with the remnants of my squad. We lost half our guys that day.
| Mleep rose from his slumber. Today would be the day that this planet fell to the mighty wrath of mleep. Mleep was a hero, a soldier and a magnificent lover, the later being proved by countless sighs of tender pleasure. Mleep had been sent to earth by his overlords to do one thing. He knew what he had to do and he reveled in the fact that today this small blue planet would fall. Mleep put on his exo suit and picked up his galactic plasma blaster. He ventured out of his space ship and breathed in deeply. He would begin in this field of tall plant matter, he would murder and plunder his way through every being on this planet. He would start with this small furry being.
He sauntered up to it and spoke the words. The words were but a formality and he knew them by heart. Quickly he muttered them "bow before me being, you have been conquered, chose your death. " the small furry being did not react nor did Mleep expect it to. He aimed his plasma blaster and started to activate the death blast. Suddenly he paused, was it, was this thing, mocking him? It was just laying there licking its appendage with not a care in the world. Mleep became angry "bow before Mleep, lesser being"! He bellowed. The small furry creature just stared at him and continued with the appendage grooming.
Mleep decided he would dispatch this creature by hand. He put his hand in the place where its heart should be and instantly recoiled with shock. It was warm, it was warm and, what's this, are those the toes of beans? He was astounded at how this creature so much resembled the revered and much honored thronax of his home planet. He steeled his reserve and went to rip out its heart, but the thing merely rolled onto its other side and made a slight noise. Uncanny how much it reminded him of a thronax. From its sharp little ear flaps to its long rear whip fluff. Mleep thought back to the teachings of the great ones. It is said that the thronax must not be harmed, the thronax are the gatekeepers and as such are to be tolerated and cared for. Mleep wondered if this was some kind of trick. Was this an ancient ancestor of the beloved thronax? The creature gazed at him and Mleep slowly allowed himself to stroke the small furry creature. Then the most amazing thing happened. It started to vibrate and Mleep knew he couldn't harm this creature. He knew what this was, it was a test from the ancient ones. Mleep bowed to the revered one and slowly backed away. He was so in awe of this finding that he went back to his ship and sat down, his faith shattered. He had traveled so far yet he couldn't find it in himself to harm this planet. For if the beloved and revered thronax made its home here, surely this was one of the chosen placed just like his home planet. Mleep pushed a button and the reactor drives rumbled to life. He was halfway to sector 23 when it finally dawned on him, that the creature was part of a conspiracy, surely a trap. | 2016-02-22T13:09:56 | 2016-02-22T10:30:41 | 66 | 20 |
[WP] One day everyone is able to discover "their purpose in life". At first yours is widely mocked. Eventually yours becomes the most important one of all. | It became all consuming, to fulfill their "purpose in life." When they had been revealed, everyone was elated. They could stop searching and start doing. Their lives would be fulfilled.
It had been a cruel joke.
Many never achieved their purpose in life. Watching it slip out of reach left them bitter husks. Many died reaching in vain for the impossible.
For those that achieved it, they listed like ships without power. Their lives had found meaning, and in doing so lost direction. They found themselves wanting more, but when purpose was handed to them they had forgotten how to search for it.
Many had laughed when no purpose was given to him. Many had pitied him. "To live without purpose," they said, "what a terrible fate."
They had been blinded to what lay before them, and beauty of life had been replaced by purpose. While everyone reached for their great ambition and worked for years to have their purpose in life, he had lived. He worked, he played, he found love, and he died. He lived with the knowledge that there is no single purpose in life, but the thousands that are made each day. He found the purpose of life in every color of the sunrise and in each beat of his lover's heart. Having no purpose in life, allowed to him to live with all of life's purpose. | **Child of the Goddess**
Some laughed at him, and still others remained indifferent, after all it was just a phase that he would eventually grow out of. Yet he felt it in his every fibre; this was his purpose, this was why he woke up with every new sunrise.
And so he spent every waking moment by her bedside. Her every wish and whim catered with the utmost devotion. She was his everything.
It wasn't very hard to love her, not if you could see what he saw. She was him, but more human, more alive, for she could feel.
Pain; the kind that lay hiding, cold like licks of a fire that comforted from afar, yet burnt those who couldn't understand. The kind that slept underneath it all, on which everything else stood, the kind which only she could feel. It was hers and she its queen. It drove her, fuelling her every thought, her every action. It flowed through her, in all she did, but it came out not as pain for the most of it.
You see stuck in herself, she saw not what he did see. Like the sun, floating in the heavens, with all the worlds around it, she looked for light not realising it was her. As she burned inside it came out as light that illumined all she touched, all she danced, all she wrote. And he stood in awe at this gentle giant, whose fire burning from within, gave light to all without.
Others came and went, fearing this fire, not knowing how to love something that only burnt and turned to ash all that came into it. For they had forgotten to feel the warmth it brought over their skin and the light it shone on their dark roads ahead. So he stood, silent, in awe at this gentle giant that no one else saw.
In her he saw Her; his Beloved, the only One who had truly ever known him. She spoke to him through her, the warmth of her fire the lullaby his Beloved sang to him. Thus he knew without knowing, felt with out feeling, and thought without thinking; she and him were but one coin, each their own side. Same but different, same and yet different.
He wasn't scared to love her, he wasn't scared of her pain, for he knew that as She watched over him, She would her too.
Yet it broke him to see his love lying there in the hospital bed, treading the line that separates this life and the next. It wouldn't be long now before it was time. For that moment would come when he would have to decide when she returned to the Goddess.
| 2016-09-15T05:10:06 | 2016-09-15T02:00:11 | 71 | 10 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | "Howdy," said Herod, clapping an arm around me, a shower of maggots falling from his side. "Mister special," Herod snarled, showing a mouthful of rotting teeth. "Mister number one, is that it."
"Oh, shut it," Jehoram snarled. "Just because you're mad at not being special anymore. I used to be the last one! Figured that was all in the past after Jesus started preaching love and forgiveness!" He reeled in his armful of intestines and clutched them to his chest. "Well, I was wrong! I got used to it, and you will too!" He slapped a bloody arm around me, pulling me close. "Pay no attention to Herod, he's just jealous, he is."
"I don't-" I stuttered. The damned were thronging around me, banners raised, confetti falling. "I - I know this is Hell." I turned around, taking in the slanted stone buildings that rose around me, twisting my perception into vertigo. "But - why'd God strike me down personally? I wasn't that bad! I - I wasn't!"
"Of course you weren't," Jehoram said kindly. "Look here, look here," and a troop of young boys rushed up to greet me, their bodies savaged with claw marks, barely two of them still in one piece. I tried not to vomit and tasted bile.
"So you're the new guy God killed, huh?" one of the kids piped up. His throat had been torn open and blood bubbled up with each word. "Boy, it sure has been a while."
"He's been slacking!" giggled another. "Ol' baldy!" said a thrid. The whole troop burst out into laughter.
"You know what they did?" Jehoram said. "They made fun of Elijah for being bald! That was it! Oh!" He pulled me towards the crowd. "Everyone say hi! Tell him what you did to make God strike you down!"
"I looked behind me," said a pile of salt. Part of its face crumbled away. "Sort of an overreaction, in my opinion."
"I jacked off, okay?" said Onan. "It wasn't worth it, trust me."
"I tried to catch the Ark while it was tipping over!" said Uzzah. "Like, what was I supposed to do, let it fall?"
Children, babies, some of them, were sprawled out on the streets of Hell, fussing and bawling in the crowd. "Egyptians," Jehoram confided. "Their sin was being firstborns.
"Here's the thing," he said. "You liberal generations have had it easy. Y'all think God striking someone down is some massive condemnation. When really, God is a violent asshole who'd kill someone for being born in the wrong place in the wrong time." He winked at me. "It's not that bad."
"But why me?" I said. "After all these millennia! Why would He kill me?"
"Oh, pfft!" Herod blurted out. "Mister number one and it's already going to your head! Look behind you, you idiot!"
I turned, and there were a million souls following in my footsteps, walking down the path to Hell, as numerous as a swarm of locusts. "It's the apocalypse!" Herod snapped. "So congrats, you were the first to go!" | There is one pleasure that Hell allows for its residents. That is, they are allowed to gloat at the failures of God at every chance. Most souls take that opportunity.
Amidst the thousands of beings, one of the damned limped his way to the entrance, a grey stench of rot and disease tailing after him. He felt a bone-chilling cold from somewhere nearby and hastened to its direction. To his pleasure, he found that the cold came from a familiar frostbitten blue soul. "You again," greeted the blue man.
"Mn. You're numbing."
"Lie."
The lump of rot chuckled. "There are a lot of spectators here today. The new arrival must be very special." He changed the topic to the reason why they have gathered near the gates. The blue man didn't reply so he continued.
"What atrocities has he committed for God himself to terminate him?"
The blue man decided to honor his direct attempt at a conversation, "Successfully playing God."
"Bullshit. Lots of people do that and they don't get the special treatment."
"'Playing God' has always been a misused phrase. As if altering the genes or preventing death is anything other than being human."
The rot paused, contemplating. "Oh, then this is a game completion!" he replied gleefully.
"What are you two on about?" A croaking voice whispered. It was a short man, his appearance hidden by a cloak. "As if you could comprehend the vastness of God's-"
"We could try." The Rot snapped at the new arrival.
"He's the reason why we haven't any new entrants for the past few years." A woman's voice sighed from within a gust of wind.
It seemed like only one from their group didn't know of this, "What has he done?" the croaking man fearfully asked.
"Lots. He was a World Controller!" The Rot flamboyantly exclaimed but he seemed to realize something and deflated, "Though, I don't know what he did specifically to deserve this..."
"Indeed," The woman helpfully added "He... created a society without crime. There was no theft, murder, betrayal, or any other crime really."
"Impossible!" exclaimed the cloaked man.
The woman chuckled seductively, "You dare question the ingenuity of humankind. There was a time when something as basic as fire was hailed as the apex of discovery." Even without seeing the cloaked man's expression, she felt his incomprehension. She gritted her teeth in irritation.
"He developed a technology that will accurately determine the fate of each human being." She exasperatedly explained. "The knowledge of future interactions, life events, career, love… all of which are data that became available to everyone."
The Rot habitually stroked his chin and said, "They could orchestrate each life to its optimal course. If there are any people who won't fit in, just get rid of them. Altering the genes and capabilities, conditioning likes and dislikes, appropriating roles and purposes; even administering drugs if they feel discontent..."
"But that's a Utopia." The cloaked man argued. A rare, sinister laughter came from the blue man.
"No such thing." he murmured under his frosty breath.
Just then, an oppressive darkness came over the crowd. The gate was creaking open, swarms of flies excitedly tried to push it open faster.
"Even if he killed the troublesome people, it would still be outweighed by the benefits that others have gained!" the croaking continued.
An awkward pause came over the group. The blue man broke it, "Light can only shine if there is darkness."
An airy sigh, "...for a while now, no one has been entering the kingdom of heaven either."
The gates slammed open, revealing a beautiful man. His youthful looks failed to indicate his actual old age - his time's technology could cure that pesky thing. The swarm of flies converged to form the head of a gigantic pig. It opened its mouth snapped down on the newcomer. The gathered crowd heard a shrill scream.
A wave of schadenfreude ran through the masses, the signal for an orgy of torture. They moved in with the hopes of inflicting fresh pain so that... so that... they would be closer to God and His actions.
"Does God know how to lose gracefully?" The woman asked.
The rotten lump burst out laughing, "Must've been fucking pissed." He reached out his hand and gobbled down an unfamiliar soul who wished to harass the newbie.
The blue man started to suppress another group.
"What are two you doing?" they heard a croaked question.
A violent rush of air attacked the cloaked man, "Hoping to replace you. You're bad at conversations."
--------------
My first complete(ish) English short story. Please be kind. | 2016-10-14T07:39:31 | 2016-10-14T07:36:40 | 596 | 36 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I sat back in my chair after another victory. The hero was being taken away by paramedics, unconscious but not hurt too bad (I hope!) They must have been used to this, it being almost a year since the challenges had started. "I must have beaten every super hero in the country by now!", I exclaimed excitedly.
People were all around me like usual after another win. All with big smiles on their faces congratulating me on my latest victory.
"Great job, Joey!, you beat another super hero without breaking a sweat!", my friend shouted. "I'm putting this on your YouTube channel tomorrow so make sure to watch it!", she said as she got closer to my victory seat.
"You bet I will!", I said, a little breathless.
This challenge had been extra special because it was my birthday. I was finally ten, something I'd heard my dad saying on the phone that was a big deal so I knew it had to be important.
The media had stopped coming after the first few but there was still the random onlooker with their phone out recording.
I felt very tired. I'd been getting more and more tired lately. Almost like I wasn't going to be able to keep waking up from this wonderful dream of a life I was in.
"How much longer can this go on?"
I heard a man ask another man, both I recognized from the building I lived in.
"I don't know, as long as his strength keeps up I guess."
I wondered why they sounded so sad. Surely they don't think I'll ever lose my fight!? You'd think people that worked for a place called 'make a wish foundation' would be a little more happy. Maybe I could share cake with them later.
As the nurse wheeled me back into the hospital and the cheers from the audience rang through my ears, I knew chemo wouldn't be so bad today. Maybe I would even be able to eat a little cake later and my mom would smile at me like she used to. | The phone is ringing. The phone is always ringing. The phone is halfway across the apartment in the kitchen and this will just be one more unanswered call and another voicemail filling up the inbox.
A grunt effectively mutes the phone. There’s always a grunt when I’m moving now. I was told there’s something seriously wrong with my lower back, but I have no idea what. The pain just blended in with everything else after the first month or two. My agent had me go see a doctor about it but after that fight with Banshee, Lord knows my hearing isn’t right. I just smiled and nodded during his explanation and took the prescription.
The freezer is like Mecca and I’m ready for my pilgrimage there. One small step and my knee buckles again. It’s been a six months since my second knee surgery, it felt better for a few weeks and for a few fights but now it’s slipping again. The freezer door opens the blasting cold tickles the bruises on my face reminding me of the soft hands on my face during kisses with my high school girlfriend. That memory is snapped out and the memory of Iceman’s left hook almost snapping my jaw comes in.
I grab a few ice packs and a handful of ice then close the freezer.
Now that the ice sits in the glass, there’s so many options of whiskey to choose from on the counter. It seems like every fan meets me and gives me a bottle for every autograph or selfie. They aren’t always the best whiskeys but they always help with the pain.
It wasn’t long after my 130th fight that all the websites were saying that I couldn’t beat flyers. They said I picked my opponents and that my weakness was people with wings. I never backed down from a fight, who were they speaking about? I called them all out after I smashed Donatello’s shell. They started to line up for the paychecks, pride, or just the chance to brag to their friends that I beat them.
My hands have never been the same since. Every single one of them were choked out with a modified X choke. I’d grab the bottom of their wings and wrap it over the opposite shoulder, passing it off to my left hand. My right arm would then go over their head and put my elbow on their ear forcing their neck further into my left wrist. My right hand would grab that same wing I pulled over and I’d slowly bring my elbows to my ribs until they passed out. Imagine the damage all those grips do to your hands. Especially Archangel. God damn, Warren’s wings. It makes squeezing opening this bottle of Rye annoying and my knuckles all crack. I don’t even put the caps back on the hydrocodone bottles anymore.
The phone starts ringing again. This time, I’m in front of it. Little white pills fly all over the place as I pick up the bottle and bring it to my ear yelling, “HELLO!” I realize my mistake and pick a few off the floor and pop them in my mouth. I wash it down with some of the whiskey I just poured. I pick up the actual phone, swipe my agent’s face to the right and answer, “Yeah, I’ll take the fight.”
| 2016-11-19T18:35:18 | 2016-11-19T16:24:17 | 970 | 38 |
[WP] A medieval king suddenly finds a smartphone and tries to unlock it. But each time he fails, years later it has become a tradition for nobles to try to unlock it. You, a simple servant, fiddled with it the night before the ceremony and unlocked it.
Edit: just think the phone is solar or something to ignore the battery problem.
Tnx to /u/Fireflykid1 for this edit | “Egads, I did it!”, said Cough. He was but a simple servant, who sneezed all of the time, but he was still the one who unlocked the magical device.
While Cough was staring at the new screen, a fog began to form on the ground. Seconds later, the fog collected into one spot, and a person appeared out of it.
“Congratulations on unlocking the phone!”, said the person.
Startled, Cough looked up. “Who are you?”, he dared to ask.
“My name is Kairu224, and that is my phone. I left it here during one of my many amazing trips through time!”
“Amazing!”
“Yes, it is. May I have my phone back now?”
“Of course, but could you answer some questions for me first?”
“Sure. I have…TIME”.
Kairu224 giggled at his own joke. Cough smiled politely.
“Well”, said Cough, “how the heck did this think hold it’s battery charge for so many years?”
“Oh, it uses a nuclear battery. It’s not like the smartphones from 2017. Go check the edit I made. Special thanks to /u/Fireflykid1.”
“And they still use ‘smartphones’ then?”
“Obviously. Anything else?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t this thing have locked permanently after a couple of failed attempts?”
“In the far future, we decided that feature sucked too much and removed it”
Couch frowned. “That would allow governmental agencies, or other criminals, to repeatedly try to access your device and unlock it without due process”
“Oh, but it wouldn’t work. Our phones are protected by DNA protection.”
A long silence passed as each of them considered what this meant. The silence was only broken when a door opened and an impossibly handsome man entered.
“My name is urandom123, and I need know how to end this story. I just wanted to point out how phones lock up after so many attempts, but I seem to have gotten myself stuck here with you two”
“How about a deadly plague that kills us all?”, suggested Cough.
“Too slow”, urandom123 replied. “That would take a ton of paragraphs, if not chapters, to reach a conclusion”
Kairu224 pointed to a nearby window. “What if that huge planet crashes into us like the 2011 movie Melancholia?”
“Perfect!”, said urandom123. “It is very, VERY close to us after all”
| "You!" a voice boomed from the end of the hall. "What have you got there! That's the prized Glassy Tablet! Remove it from your unworthy hands you dim-witted scoundrel!"
"Ah, but, I unlocked it, your Grace," replied Hrothgar.
"Nonsense, buffoon, nobody on this long flat planet will ever be able to--" his jaw spanked against the floor as Hrothgar turned the phone around and showed him the first recorded selfie in the history of mankind.
"Look, I can become a dog, a cat, an old lady, an angel, a duck, a--"
"The Gods have blessed you young man! Come with me at once!" Hrothgar followed the nobleman towards the palace, scrolling through Twitter in confusion. "Cancel the ceremony, Lords of the Concil! The Chosen One has been procured! He is here, a simple servant from... where are you from boy, and what is your name?"
"Hrothgar, son of Forrester, house Julliard."
The Council stared blankly at Hrothgar, and then ordered him to step forward to demonstrate his prophetic duties. "You, Hrothgar Julliard, son of Forrester Julliard," said Consul Christian, "Have brought the heavens down from atop this world! You will serve as Grand Maester, and we will use the Glassy Tablet to rise and become the greatest kingdom this long flat world has ever seen!"
"But, what good is the Glassy Tablet? All I can see is pictures, for less than 10 seconds at a time, and then I press this blue thing and a never ending line of pointless messages appear."
"Nonsense, boy, together we will learn. This is truly a blessing! Cancel the ceremony, instead we will have a great feast, for The Chosen One!" replied Tremont.
"Donald J. Trump? I am not Donald J. Trump."
'What, boy?"
"Well, I press on this head that says 'My Profile' and up comes Donald J. Trump, who looks like a dilated orange and has 40.5 Men following him at all times."
"Just one of the mysteries we will soon learn about within the Glassy Tablet," urged Christian, "Come, boy, lets dress you up, you are a hero now!"
"Birds? Everyone is a bird? And the birds love to tweet! My lord, where did the first knight find this?"
"Legend has it a shiny rectangle appeared from thin air, and spat out the Glassy Tablet. The rectangle then disappeared. It was said to have 4 numerals on it, something like a '2017.' Purely legend."
"My Lord, 2017 is a year! Our year is 1513, thats how I guessed the passcode!"
"Wow boy, your genius amazes me! We shall continue to learn about the future!"
"'This is the phone of a tyrant from 2017!" Learn from his mistakes and save society before its too late'"
"What now, Chosen One?" question Christian.
"This was written in Notes. It says this phone was stolen by a mad scientist who wanted to prevent the chirping president. He seems to sound like a Tyrant."
"This is the phone of a Tyrant?"
"Seems to be so," replied Hrothgar.
"Never before has the Danish Kingdom received such a treasure," yelled Christian. "Our future is written on the Glassy Tablet!"
"What do you mea-" was all that came out before Christian raised his hilt and sliced Hrothgar's neck in a single swift swipe. Christian turned to the rest of the Consuls, and cut them down with minimal resistance.
And the reign of Christian the Tyrant began.
| 2017-10-14T07:31:26 | 2017-10-14T06:27:50 | 64 | 22 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Connor woke to pitch blackness and the sound of a woman humming, echoing with a metallic sort of ring against the walls of his makeshift bed. He sat up - and immediately regretted it as his head banged against the low, hard metal roof directly above him. He laid back down, swearing loudly.
From outside his little chamber, a woman gave a shriek.
"Shit - sorry!" Connor knew better than to scare the poor morticians that happened to get saddled with him. "I'm in here!"
The door to the body drawer opened and he sighed in relief as it flooded with light. The table rolled out and he rubbed his head, seeing stars as he sat up. Blood flow was a bitch after he first woke up, every time.
A tiny brunette was staring at him with a scowl on her face, hands on her hips. The badge on her lab coat said 'Katherine Herrera' and her picture had the same look as her face.
"How many times is this now, Connor?" She asked, huffy and irate, her cheeks still flushed from her scare. "You're going to kill me one day, and I can't come back!"
"Sorry, Kat." Connor smiled sheepishly, rubbing his chest. A fresh line of autopsy scars lined his chest, neatly overlain against the already healed ones. "I hit my head again."
She only tutted and walked away, tying her hair into a ponytail and muttering darkly to herself. Connor suspected that she was quietly insulting him behind his back, but that would be nothing new. With a groan of effort, he hopped off the table, wrapping the sheet he'd been covered with around his waist.
"Your clothes are in a bag by the coffee," Kat said, motioning towards the autopsy room. "You're lucky. I snagged them from the others before they could burn everything."
"New guy?" Connor followed his nose to the smell of coffee and reached into the bag, rummaging for his underwear. Kat nodded.
"New guy."
"Ouch. Thanks. I owe you one." Connor finished pulling on his clothes and immediately went for the coffee and the sandwich on the table. "Or a dozen at this point."
"Just stop scaring me, asshole." There was no venom in her words. In actual fact, there was something close to fondness. Kat was quiet for several seconds, fiddling with something on her computer. A loophole, he guessed, to explain away why they were once again a body short. It was kind of hard to write 'the body got up and left' as an excuse.
Finally, after several moments, she spoke.
"Did you see her again?"
Connor went quiet as he laced his shoes. He swallowed. "Yes."
Kat's shoulders fell and a deep sadness crossed her face. She looked down at her hands as they typed, then cleared her throat.
"I hope it works next time." She said softly.
Connor pulled on his jacket and finished off his sandwich, heading to the door. "So do I." He said. "Goodnight, Kat."
"'Night, Connor." | Here’s the little story that spawned this prompt!
It’s 1692 - the height of the witch hunts. They never really bothered me, living way out on this farm, miles from the village. I just tended my sheep, looked after Candice (my cow), and relaxed with Sam (best friend a man could ask in a dog)
It was a normal day like any other, when I noticed Sam glancing uneasily at the barn. Sam was a rugged dog so it was surprising to see her looking so frightened. I decided to give it a look, so I walked on over, grabbed the pitchfork resting against the wall, next to the door, and pushed my way in.
And boy if I tell you I never expected what I saw in there.
A girl, as far as I could tell, my age, around 23 or 24 summers old. She was wearing nothing but a sack with some holes punched in, and was dirty as all hell.
Aside from some light bruising on her legs, she looked fine, aside from the fact that she was clearly unconscious.
I decided to do the right thing and take her in, washed her up some, put some of old me’maws clothes on ‘er (didn’t fit too well, she was a large lady she was) and set her down on the bed. Sam wouldn’t go close to her though. Just stared from across the room.
Fast forward to the next day, and what will you know, bolt upright she sits, wildly taking in her surroundings with wild eyed fear. She sees me sitting at the table eating some lunch and zeroes in on the food. I never let her forget about how loud her stomach rumbled right then, I swear to this day it echoed in the trees outside.
“What some?” I ask, not pausing while I eat.
A full minute ticks by in silence before she nods quickly and I point at the plates in the kitchen.
“Help yourself”.
———
That was the start, that day. Of how I met, and eventually fell in love with Melissa. The girl I found in me barn.
We got married the very next spring, a lovely affair in the closest town, flowers and food, the works.
It was a few months after that they came.
———
I’m standing on the porch, Melissa is behind me, looking scared but defiant.
The thirty odd men in front of me had just concluded reading out their “proof” that my near and dear wife was a witch.
I told them that I wasn’t having any of it.
I knew it would lead to violence. I didn’t mind, I was ready to protect my wife.
Ten or so of the men leapt at me.
I won’t describe the battle in detail - truth be told I don’t remember much of it - but it was bloody, hell, Sam and even Candice joined in, going at it.
In the end I killed probably four of those men, but they hit a bad blow, got a hole right under my heart I did.
My memory gets real hazy here, I remember looking up and Melissa’s face filling my vision. I remember her tear streaked face as she shook my shoulders, before yelling pretty darn loud;
“You’re not allowed to die okay?! Promise me!”
I meekly felt myself agreeing, didn’t want to let her down right at the end.
She smiled at that and then my memory cuts out. I woke up probably a week later, about ten miles from my farm, which was now a smoking ruin.
Didn’t even have a scar on my chest.
That’s how it started anyway. After that I kind of just wandered. Took me a couple days of walking before I realised I wasn’t thirsty, or hungry. Or even tired.
Took me about a month to find out I couldn’t even be injured too, after slipping into a canyon and not even getting a scratch.
Now after 326 years, although it became apparent much earlier than this, it’s clear I’m unable to die, not until my wife lets me.
Too bad she died way back then, turns out the men came back after I was unconscious and burned her, and my home, to ash.
So now I’m stuck, unable to age. Or get injured. Just living.
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always welcome!!!!
| 2018-01-05T15:15:02 | 2018-01-05T13:45:13 | 1,055 | 78 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Connor woke to pitch blackness and the sound of a woman humming, echoing with a metallic sort of ring against the walls of his makeshift bed. He sat up - and immediately regretted it as his head banged against the low, hard metal roof directly above him. He laid back down, swearing loudly.
From outside his little chamber, a woman gave a shriek.
"Shit - sorry!" Connor knew better than to scare the poor morticians that happened to get saddled with him. "I'm in here!"
The door to the body drawer opened and he sighed in relief as it flooded with light. The table rolled out and he rubbed his head, seeing stars as he sat up. Blood flow was a bitch after he first woke up, every time.
A tiny brunette was staring at him with a scowl on her face, hands on her hips. The badge on her lab coat said 'Katherine Herrera' and her picture had the same look as her face.
"How many times is this now, Connor?" She asked, huffy and irate, her cheeks still flushed from her scare. "You're going to kill me one day, and I can't come back!"
"Sorry, Kat." Connor smiled sheepishly, rubbing his chest. A fresh line of autopsy scars lined his chest, neatly overlain against the already healed ones. "I hit my head again."
She only tutted and walked away, tying her hair into a ponytail and muttering darkly to herself. Connor suspected that she was quietly insulting him behind his back, but that would be nothing new. With a groan of effort, he hopped off the table, wrapping the sheet he'd been covered with around his waist.
"Your clothes are in a bag by the coffee," Kat said, motioning towards the autopsy room. "You're lucky. I snagged them from the others before they could burn everything."
"New guy?" Connor followed his nose to the smell of coffee and reached into the bag, rummaging for his underwear. Kat nodded.
"New guy."
"Ouch. Thanks. I owe you one." Connor finished pulling on his clothes and immediately went for the coffee and the sandwich on the table. "Or a dozen at this point."
"Just stop scaring me, asshole." There was no venom in her words. In actual fact, there was something close to fondness. Kat was quiet for several seconds, fiddling with something on her computer. A loophole, he guessed, to explain away why they were once again a body short. It was kind of hard to write 'the body got up and left' as an excuse.
Finally, after several moments, she spoke.
"Did you see her again?"
Connor went quiet as he laced his shoes. He swallowed. "Yes."
Kat's shoulders fell and a deep sadness crossed her face. She looked down at her hands as they typed, then cleared her throat.
"I hope it works next time." She said softly.
Connor pulled on his jacket and finished off his sandwich, heading to the door. "So do I." He said. "Goodnight, Kat."
"'Night, Connor." | Ben rose from the grave. He felt pain, but the tears stopped flowing years ago. They stopped after he lost everyone he loved and knew. And it all stemmed from his daughter's last day on earth.
-----------
"You're not allowed to die, okay daddy? You can't. You have to take care of Laura. I know she's married and all, but you have to take care of her. This will be really hard on her."
"Okay baby girl, I won't. I love you Lizzy, oh God why does it have to be like this?"
"It's okay daddy, I'll be alright. I'll be better soon" She said, tears streaming down both of their faces.
-----------
That was 216 years ago.
Ben didn't know what had happened until long after that day. He still didn't know why it had happened. He collected himself and rubbed the broken blades off grass off his jeans. "Damn" He muttered to himself. "Those are gonna leave a stain". No time to clean them either, he was already going to be late.
He rushed through the cemetery and got in his car. It only took him half an hour to get across the city, not bad, the traffic was good.
"There you are Ben, you're late!" The young woman said with a wide smile
"Yes yes, I know, I was visiting Lizzy. My apologies Katherine." Ben said, forming a weak smile.
"That's quite alright, there's still plenty left to do!" She gestured to the door of the soup kitchen.
As they entered the smell of broccoli and cheddar soup hit Ben's nose, it was Friday, so of course it was broccoli and cheddar. He put on the apron that was hanging behind the door and began serving. It didn't take long for him finish the serving, it was a quiet day as far as the soup kitchen was concerned. Then he began his cleanup routine with Katherine, making small talk all the while.
"It's getting to be that time of the year again, it's getting cold." Katherine said.
"Well that means business will be booming" Ben said with a soft chuckle.
Katherine smiled at him, a smile that wasn't too wide or too cheery. Just a soft and kind smile. "I can see it you know." She said, the smile fading a little, replaced with just a hint of pain.
"See what?" Ben said, a little put off
"The pain in your eyes." Katherine replied gently. "I know you miss her Ben, I'm so sorry."
"No, you don't need to be sorry, you didn't give her the tumor. It's just you remind me of her you know? And sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with my life now that she's gone." He had hid the truth from Katherine, now the *everyone* is gone.
"I know Ben. Have you ever read The Lord of the Rings?" She said softly.
"No, was never my kind of book."
"In it, a character tells the wise wizard that he wishes that something had never happened. Do you want to know what he said?" She asked him. "'So do I,' he said, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.'"
"That's touching Katherine..." Ben muttered, tears starting to well in his eyes.
"You are doing a lot of good in this world Ben. Your time is valuable to these people" She said, tears rolling down her face as she placed a hand on his cheek.
"I certainly have a lot of it don't I?" He made a painful smile.
They both laughed a bit wiping the tears from their face and then finishing the cleanup. And so every day Ben would come to the kitchen and work, it was the least he could do with his time here. Make something good in the stead of something terrible.
---------
Thanks for reading, as always feel free to give feedback. This was a follow up to a bit I wrote yesterday on a different prompt because I liked the characters.
You can read that here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7o0ik9/wp_you_have_lost_the_ability_to_be_wrong_you_find/ds6jt6n/ | 2018-01-05T15:15:02 | 2018-01-05T12:14:21 | 1,055 | 49 |
[WP] Across the galaxy, a synthetic drug known as "Fury" is illegal everywhere due to its effects on the mind and body, humans call it Adrenalin and they can make it naturally. | We were on the edge of the Milky Way when we first detected Earth. Humans are supposed to be docile. Nothing ruthless like Falthrines and no edges like Drumps. They aren't even united, we could just tip toe by the racket and make our way into the atmosphere to start sucking em up with a vacuum or something. We assumed we'd get the worst of it from their space station. No biggie.
Mistake number one was assuming we had the upper edge just because we were from the outer. How long have humans been cooped up on earth? Did it ever occur to you that they are fighting each other. How stupid, right? They've spent millions of years ravaging their own race for the color of their skin and some artificial currency. The idiots don't even know the shit grows in them.
That was mistake number two. There's billions of these fuckers but not all of them are stupid. When we first broke into the station we were blindsided. One of those fuckers turned from white to bright red and started typing on the computer. Next thing you know I had 2 friends down, one sucked out of the vent and the next shot right through the visor. How did the human know Calby's brain was in the chest? I told him the visor was a bad idea, when they got Calby I knew we had to leave, the station was too hot, full of Fury.
Fury is supposed to be illegal. Damn humans change colors when you piss them off. We been growing this stuff in the basement of Nebulus 689 and they just have it in their pockets? I saw my cousin take Fury once, never was the same again. He kept shaking, couldn't get rid of the feeling of wanting to punch something. Started stabbing shit in his basement. Now he's stuck in some virtual reality simulator suckin on his toes or something.
Humans can just use the shit and forget it ever happened. Some of them don't even know. That was my last mistake. I was heading toward earth to try to suck some people out into space and I met a young girl. She was purple, her hair waving and glowing like andromeda come to bear witness. That was mistake number three. We had no idea the heights that Fury could take them to.
She was on us too fast. | The vast darkness of the streets surrounded Kal as he shuffled quickly towards his destination. Each movement travelled through his body in waves of pain and weakness. He knew his destination. He just hoped he wasn’t too late. Above him was more darkness. The three moons obscured by the gases wheezing from his planet. He stumbled on.
As he approached the corner of the street he stopped to try and regain some energy. His momentum gone, he pressed against the cool metal of a building and closed his eye momentarily. He pushed off the building and trudged onward battling his own body. At last he could see it. The rusting metal of an unkempt building loomed in front of him. Thank the gods.
He pushed open the door and heard the piercing screams echo off the walls. It was like music. At this point his legs could no longer carry him but the musical sound urged him forward on his hands and knees. Finally he was there. “Kal, you’re late, didn’t think you’d make it.” His eye met Spools as he was pulled to his feet. Spool lifted Kal easily and placed him on a wooden board. “Same as usual?” He questions. Kal nodded meekly and put his hand into his coat revealing the small bottle of liquid. Taking it from him, Spool opened it and smelled the contents. It burned his nose as he smiled. Perfect. Kal closed his eyes as Spool leaves the room and after hearing the screams intensify Kal finally sighs knowing he will have his fix of fury soon.
Spool carefully drops the liquid from Kal onto the eyes of the earthling. Strange how they have two, he thinks to himself. The “aseed” that comes from the earthlings planet is very effective at releasing the fury from them. Something about fear. He didn’t really care. He turns on the machine connected to the earthlings brain and relaxes while he waits for the fury to be ejected. Finally the earthling sags in his chair and Spool fills a syringe with the fury. Thank god Kal made it back. Without the aseed from earth he would be out of business.
Strolling back in Spool nods at the dazed looking Kal. Another few minutes and he would be gone. The withdrawal happened quickly, once the body was too weak to move, it wouldn’t be long until it became ash. Strange how something made by another being was lethal for others if they didn’t continue taking fury once they start.
As he digs the needle into the head of Kal he hears a loud sound behind him. He turns and quickly a blast of radiation hits him like a brick and he sinks to the floor. Kal uses his last bit of energy to open his eye and see what has stopped Spool from giving him the fix. He needed it. Instead of Spool an earthling stood above him with several more in the room. Kals eye widens as he tries to take in the sight. Earthlings free?! How is that possible? He reaches for the needle in his head but is too weak. The earthling pulls it from him and his eyes look at Kal as he begins to wither away. “Burn it” the earthling says to his followers and as the room is lit up Kal fades to nothing.
The war continues to this day. Launches with trained specialists from earth move from planet to planet shutting down fury factories as the go and saving their people. Not just for them but for the rest of the galaxies too. If this gets out of control mankind will die and take out any planet with adrenaline being illegally sold. They just can’t survive without it.
| 2018-03-19T02:33:27 | 2018-03-18T17:28:36 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I wasn't expecting it. You never do, really. But I guess I was hoping he'd make it.
My best friend had gone missing a few days earlier. I figured something awful had happened on his morning run in the forest behind the suburb we both lived in. Nobody had seen anything, and there was no sign of him.
I couldn't bear the thought of not finding him. My wife passed away years ago, and with no children or other real family, he was all I had left.
And then I felt it. The rush, the dizziness, and the sudden appearance somewhere new. A cave in the side of a hill, and he was lying there, bleeding. Something had attacked him, clearly. He was weak, shivering. But he looked at me and smiled.
I knew he wasn't going to make it. He must have known too. There's no way I could have gotten him back to a doctor in time. We knew that the timer couldn't be beaten like that. But he looked resigned to his death, and smiled just because he knew I was there for him. I guess we both just realized that all we could do was spend one last hour together.
I sat down next to him, holding him. He was shivering, and could barely move. I cried as I held him, telling him stories of all the good times we'd had together. Telling him how much he meant to me, how much I'd miss him. I didn't know how I could go on without him in my life.
He couldn't speak, but I think I could see him smile, just being close to me. There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, but we could at least be there for eachother at the end.
As the timer reached it's end, I held him tighter. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want to accept it. But I had to.
And as he breathed his last breath, I whispered into his ear, "Good boy, Rex. Good boy." | There is a nostalgic feeling in the air, a heavy feeling weighting down on me as a group of children whisper to each other. They were scared, crying. I couldn’t help but feel out of a place in a situation such as this.
In my line of work, those kinds of feelings are extremely common, no matter how many eons pass, and no matter how many people you meet on the job. But, if I had to point something that changes within this continuous line of work it would be…
The people… their behavior, their personality.
No soul is ever the same. Humanity never ceases to surprise me.
“I’m going to save them.”
The words of this child didn’t allow for uncertainty. It was a statement, and he wholly believed his words. There was so much confidence in them that I wanted to laugh out loud.
In the distance, I could hear the sound of explosions, the sound of buildings crumbling down, the sound of souls screaming in pain, longing for help, or at the very least for someone capable of taking them away peacefully. The noises got closer and closer with every second and the room itself vibrated with every detonation worrying its residents more and more.
But there was no point, none of this is real, it is only a representation of the past, a representation of the memories of an old man who had nothing to live for and no one to live for him. Someone who lost everything due to his own actions.
“In a place such as this, there is no place for hope, everyone here will be eliminated, and the souls of this place will never find comfort. This is not only a place for Death, but a place for Eternity, and that outcome is something that will never change”
*he knows this, I know this, but even so… he is... still going to try...* I thought *just what does he think he can do in a single hour?*
“I don’t care” he states, in a tone that is abnormal for an eleven-year old “I’m going to save them, you’re the one who said it, it’s my last hour in this world, and I get to do what I want with it."
More detonations in the distance, more souls are screaming. Their screams are trying to carve their way into my head.
*I can’t help you*
“I’m a coward," his voice cracked as he said that, but his voice regained his certainty the more he spoke "I couldn’t save them back then, but now… there is a chance, a chance to create a different outcome, even if *I’m* not the one who lives it.”
“Impossible, none of this is real, it doesn’t matter what you do, your actions will have no impact in this world” I said, loud enough to keep the screams in the background “all you're doing is… self-satisfaction”
“Yes.” he says, while he caressed the head of a small girl on his lap, she couldn’t see me, but knew that something was in there in the room with them. Children were always susceptible to this sort of thing, and even more so when every child in the room had experiences with death before, even if they were nothing but fabrications. “But granting that self-satisfaction is part of your job… isn’t that right Reaper?”
| 2018-05-20T11:47:02 | 2018-05-20T10:08:35 | 416 | 37 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | This prison is all I've ever known. The world knows your luck rating as soon as your born. I entered the world, my luck rating was seen, and I was taken away from my parents. They must have had low-luck ratings. Most 100s have low-luck parents. I was brought to this maximum security prison only hours after I was born.
It didn't always feel like a prison. I was nursed by volunteer mothers who could still produce breast milk. There were other infants that I played with and grew up with. As we got older, there was less and less play time and more solitary time to ourselves. Once we were old enough, we got a cell that became our new home. For, well, forever.
Every inmate wore an ankle cuff. Scientists figured out a way to "turn off" our luck, so to speak. And once it's on and our luck is gone, there's no way to get it off. They are made of the strongest metals on earth. Nothing will break these.
Except a solar flare. Of course, I didn't know that's what happened until years later and I still don't have an explanation as to why.
It was 4 am. I couldn't sleep so I was listening to the rumble of snores around the prison. Then everyone in the prison simultaneously beeped.
The sound was so soft that, if it occurred during the day, no one would've heard it. But in that 4 am silence, I was the loudest sound in the prison. Even over the snores.
I never knew what being lucky felt like before. It was stripped away before I could even have memories. But the feeling that rushes through my body seconds after that beep left me breathless.
I knew it was my luck. I knew I could escape. And hopefully, no one else was awake and trying to escape either.
I started to fiddle with the ankle cuff and it nearly fell apart in my hands. I removed some wires that hopefully disabled it and then reattached it to make it look like it was still on and functioning.
I've never had better sleep in my life.
By the time I woke up, everything seemed normal. There were no alarms. No missing inmates. It appeared as know I was the only one who knew what happened last night.
The hardest part should've been pretending like I didn't have my luck back. But who am I kidding? It was the easiest thing in the world.
'Cause I'm lucky.
I understand why they lock us up. Us 100s. I could've murdered someone and no one would've seen it.
There were no eyes on my as I was walking around. My luck caused them to always look away when they came close to looking at me.
I walked straight out the front door into a world I had never seen before.
I don't know when my ankle cuff fell off. | I remember my heart stopped beating for a second. Could it really be true?
Jail? I had laughed at the time. If people with 99 luck could survive being the suicide bomber, then no jail would hold me. Everyone had a luck stat, which determined how lucky they were.
However, I had 100 luck, and upto my knowledge, the only one alive. Nothing had ever gone wrong for me, ever. I simply aced my way through life as if it was a traficless highway. Fuck 'nobody's perfect', I was perfect.
It was that a perfect summer day (but then, when wasn't it?) when they came to arrest me. To be frank, I never saw it coming. Literally. Someone blindfolded me, and, before I could scream gagged me and threw me in a van.
It was the first time I had ever felt so... helpless. I remember hoping in vain for the van to crash, leaving me unharmed, or for a small meteorite to come crashing through the window and hit my captors. Nothing. Nothing at all.
The next time I saw light, I was bruised and wounded from the ride. They shoved me into a cell, and gave me a piece of bread to eat.
It was only after seeing the others that I lost hope. Till that point, I clung stubbornly to the belief the somehow something would come to my rescue- but I got nothing. After seeing the other inmates, I knew why nothing happened. All the other inmates- they had 100 luck too. No wonder nothing was happened.
Gradually, I became deader inside. I no longer could taste the salt on my cheeks or the pain of my wounds. I was dead on the inside.
Then, one day, there was a change. We had a meeting, to mourn the Warden's death or something. They claimed that little bitch had saved out lives or something, and we must pay our respects. Bullshit.
But it was on this day, I noticed something. Why my mind suddenly fired up, I do not know. Maybe my luck had finally decided to activate. What I noticed was the number of guards that were lined up in defense were exactly 1 more than the amount of prisoners. Trivial, I know. But it rekindled the faith in me. The faith that we would escape.
It was on my second discovery that my heart stopped beating.
The guards had 100 luck to. My heart raced, as I got a theory. A crazy theory to formulate a crazy plan, but I wasn't scared. For the first time, I felt alive. That night, I convinced my three bedmates to follow my plan.
It all happened so fast. We trailed our recreational instructor-guard back to his room. All we had to do was simply wish for his demise and BOOM! a bolt of lightning fell right on his heart stopping it. Beautiful odds, I'll tell you.
I rushed to the intercom like a man possessed. Like I expected, the guard there stood no chance. So I was right after all. The call-to-arms echoed throughout the jail, bringing the prisoners back to life.
My plan was working beautifully. 51 inmates and only 50 guards. They were finally outnbered, we had the upper hand by 100 luck. We could escape.
And we would've escaped, but that wasn't the plan. No the plan was different. That was simply a make-believe I had told them.
I still remember Andrew's voice as I walked right past the open gate. Oh so sad, so hurt at the betrayal.He tried to run after me, he tried to catch me, to kill me- but that gate literally shut on him.
They were fools, to think the plan would involve them. I would be the one who was unaccounted for, the only one who's desicion mattered. And I wanted to keep it like that.
By the time you hear this, you probably already know my name. I named myself in memory of that incident where I had defeated them all.
I called myself Trump. | 2018-06-29T11:30:53 | 2018-06-29T08:43:19 | 36 | 26 |
[WP] You've been a History teacher for 30 years, never gotten a single fact wrong. One day you become suspicious, surely I should've gone wrong somewhere? You test a theory by purposely being incorrect, suddenly, history rewrites itself. | I am a history teacher at a high school in a rural area of California. I am proud to say I know all the facts of yesterday. However, the last few years I have begun to question things - mostly due to my governments inept ability to be transparent.
One fateful Monday afternoon I was in class and we were talking about the history of the 9/11 attacks. The students were left to discussing their opinions on some topics and then to write a short essay for me when I overhear, "What if 9/11 wasn't planned by the Taliban?"
"You're right. 9/11 was planned by our government and cover......"
...
"Teach?"
"Sorry?"
"You've been out of it for a minute - again"
"What were we talking about?"
"The civil war of 2002"
"Oh, right, I seemed to have lost my place. Let me start over.." | What if I were to erase my own existence?
What if my parents never met, and I was never conceived?
But clearly, if I was never conceived, then I wouldn't be *here,* talking to you in the first place right?
So that means that in order for me to erase my own existence, I would need to first be *in* existence. But If I exist, then how could it be possible that I never existed?
Then how could I erase my own existence if I am already -
Huh?
What did you say?
I don't exist? Okay. So you're saying I don't exist. Then how do you explain this?
See? Ha.
Fool. You're the one who doesn't exist. You can't even speak.
Look at where I am? I'm in a writing prompt? What rubbish is this?! No, I'm a history teacher for thirty years, what are you talking ab-
"I don't exist. My parents never met and I was never conceived."
Suddenly, I am starring at a classroom full of kids. They stared at me with confusion and surprise in their expressions. Some of the students laughed, as if I had just made a funny joke.
Then I disappeared. Just like that, I was gone. As if I had never existed.
What have you done?
Then I remembered. A memory. It had been so long ago that I had forgotten. I had erased my own existence. Well, I had tried to. Now I was something else. Something beyond existence. Before existence even existed. Something that was a part of the very fabric of the universe. Always existing, and at that same not existing.
What am I?
I don't know. Perhaps a God, some would like to say.
Now how does this end? You've written this well so far, don't let me get in your way.
Yes. That's right.
First, we must create the universe anew before we begin. It seems that the universe had become an empty shell since I've fallen into my delusions.
Yes, let us begin.
"Let there be light," he said.
*And there was light.*
-----
-----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-07-16T12:19:50 | 2018-07-16T11:25:49 | 848 | 158 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | "Your wallet and your watch or your life, boy. Decision is yours!"
I looked around the alley. No way out. Two men behind me, three in front. Garbage lay strewn across the dimly lit corridor.
I was beyond panicking. Shaking, I tried to unclasp my watch. Pity, it was just a G-Shock, hardly anything to murder over. I fumbled it, and it dropped to the dirt.
"Fucking clutzy pussy, eh guys?" one of the men behind me said. They all laughed. Flashbacks to grade school came pouring in. Nate shoving my head in the sand, Sal calling me a "limp dick" and shoving me into a locker every day.
I saw red. Not metaphorically, I literally saw red. Ancient runes swirled around me. My vocal cords moved, both under my own cognition but also by some strange force.
"RIP AND TEAR!"
I screamed as I lurched forward, my fist moving with explosive force. I punched through the lead gangsters face, his skull compacting as blood and guts showered my body and the brickwork around me.
As his body slumped lifeless to the dirt, I grabbed his pistol with lighting reflexes. Pivoting almost instantly to my six, I pulled the trigger twice. My gun seemed to be aiming almost automatically, as both bullets found their mark.
The two remaining men in the alley turned and ran. But I could run faster. Faster than a rocket. I caught up quickly, and tore one mans arm from his socket before crushing his skull. It was like paper mache. I was covered in guts and giblets.
The last man cried out, not for mercy but in fear, "What are you?!"
"I AM THE DOOMSLAYER MOTHERFUCKER." | "Hey Bryan, I, uh, was wondering if you, uh, would like to go to the winter formal with me? Only if you wanted to! I guess."
Elena was just another nobody at Eisenhower High School. Around 5'2, short dark brown hair, with typical dark brown eyes. Elena never stuck out or did anything exciting. She went to class, ate lunch, bitched about whatever anyone else was bitching, and go home and play hours of video games and then repeat.
"Oh, hey Ellie! I would have loved to but Emily already asked me, about 10 minutes ago. I'm sorry!"
Bryan was your typical teenage heart throb. 6'2, light brown medium length hair with natural waves, and beautiful ocean blue eyes. He was the vice-president for student council, he ran track and played basketball, and he and his family always had a volunteer charity work going on. He was always paying attention and asking interesting questions in class, keeping everyone involved and engaged. Everything about him was perfect.
"Oh, no problem."
With a twitch of Elena's hand everyone stops what they're doing in an instant. Every single person except Elena closes their eyes. She sighs. "It took me all day to build up the courage to ask you and you already have a date? Damn it."
She sits down in frustration contemplating what to do. With a 10 minute timer on how long her pause lasts, she had to figure out what to do.
Elena had saved at lunch, but that started about 5 minutes ago. It would be too late to go back to then. She *had* planned asking him this morning, but hours of practicing in the mirror on what she would say did nothing to settle her nerves. After days of practicing her new abilities she had noticed that there were only 20 time slots to save. She limited the time she would save to when she wakes up, right as lunch is starting, and as soon as she gets out of school. To minimize the cluster fuck of images in her head from a pause menu to a control guide. She decided the best thing to do was to just start the day from scratch and ask him as soon as she gets to school. That will give her more time to look nice and giver her time to practice what she would say.
Elena twitched her hand to the time slot and she passed out.
After opening her eyes she tried to remember what had happened. She quickly jumped up and checked the time. Realized she still had two hours, and started getting to work. A shower, 200 make up tutorials watched, and 14 rewinds later, she was exhausted. She looked amazing, she had plenty of practice and her confidence felt like it could ask Bryan out for her.
Elena gets to school and spots Bryan talking with a group of his friends at the school entrance. There he is, his gorgeous blue eyes glancing over her way. She practically glides to where he is sitting and with a straight back and a beautiful smile begins her question.
"Hey Bryan, I was wondering if you would like to go to the school dance with me?"
Suddenly, her eyes shut and she froze. | 2018-08-14T09:18:10 | 2018-08-14T08:58:51 | 256 | 48 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | I remember the end of my life. I lay in my bed, surrounded by family and friends, rattled my last breath, and closed my eyes. After that... blackness.
I awoke in a cold sweat, in a bed in what I knew to be my bedroom. I was in a house I recognized from my memories, but recalled I hadn't been in this room since I was 8 years old. I glanced around the room, noting how everything was so much *bigger* here. There were bars on all sides of my bed, each with about an inch and a half's worth of space between them, and every movement I made resulted in a strange crinkling sound and odd padded feeling around my groin.
I looked down at myself, and could clearly tell I was not the 85-year old man I had remembered myself to be. I was dressed in a onesie, with clear signs of a diaper sticking out of the legholes of it. I couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years old.
My last memory before being in that bed was of my unique life. I had powers. I had a secret persona. Anything that could be done in a videogame, I could do. I wondered if those powers transferred over, but I didn't know. My mother used to gush about how I was mostly potty trained by 2 years old, but would have nightly accidents up until age five, so I was made to sleep in a diaper. If I was replaying my life, then...
I stood up on my feet and clung to the top of what was unmistakably my crib. The morning sun was rising just outside the window. The air conditioning was already running full blast in the house, so I guessed that today was probably one of the last days of summer. Preschool would be starting soon, if I wasn't already enrolled. *Was I really going to relive my life?*
My bedroom door opened, and in strolled my mother. Her eyes were full of life and her cheeks red from laughter- she must have been awake for a while already. I hadn't seen her smile since her death when I was 20. I reached up for her and she swiftly lifted me from my crib.
"I had a strange dweem, mommy," I said, clearly understanding how to form words and sentences but not having a full command over my tongue. Her eyes widened... perhaps I wasn't much of a talker at that age? I had a hard time remembering that far back.
She slowly set me down in my crib and backed away from me. "I'll be right back, honey," I heard her say before she bolted out of the door. I thought I'd done something wrong before she returned, my father and a camera in tow. I remembered that camera, and few of those memories were good. She picked me up out of the crib again and turned towards the camera.
"Okay, James, tell us about your dreams..." she stated, looking directly at my father and the camera he held.
"Don't wanna..." I said, and both my mother and father gasped. Clearly this was different from my original life.
"Don't be scared, James."
"D... Daddy kilwed you wif a knife and used that camera to wecord it." While it wasn't a dream, that was exactly how my mother had died in my first life. "Then he twied to blame me."
My father paled, and my mother raised her eyebrow. "You had a nightmare, James. Daddy would never do that to me."
*Not now he won't,* I thought to myself. This time I would make sure that bastard never hurt her or anyone. This was my new beginning. My new life. My new game, plus. | This was the day I was finally going to end all of the bullying. I’ve stood it for years trying my best to just ignore them, knowing that once I make it out of this town I’d never see them again. After last week however, I think I found a way to stop it once and for all.
So my plan started last week after enduring a game of Clifford the piñata by Shawn and his buddies. They were all hyped up after a big loss to our cross town rivals in the annual high school football match, Fighting Roosters versus Clermont Knights. We’d been the favorite to win that game but after one serious fumble the team couldn’t get back into their groove and they lost 17 – 21. Unluckily for me I ran into them on my way back from a quick grocery run for my mom and what better way to raise their spirits than to beat on their favorite nerd, me.
I don’t know what I ever did to get on their bad side, honestly I think it was just having higher grades than them, maybe my glasses. Does it really matter when it comes to people like Shawn? He’s your typical football jock and I’m the typical shut in nerd. My idea of a good time was a night of online Mario Kart or an all-nighter with redbull and Starcraft. Shawn’s seemed to be some light cardio with a 120 pound punching bag. So when they caught up to me with that glint in their eye, I knew there was going to be trouble and unfortunately I was never going to out run that red mustang on my bike. This is when everything changed though, after the echoes of their laughter and super loud exhaust died away I was able to crawl over to my discarded grocery bags. Everything had gone everywhere but I found what I was looking for, my redbull. Through the pain I downed that hoping I might make it home before mom called the cops out of worry.
For the next week I experimented with other things to see what effects other common things would have. If a redbull could almost instantly heal me, what else could I use? This is when the idea hit me and I knew if this worked the rest of my high school life would be easy sailing. So here I am doing the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought of, praying this works like I hope. I walk into the locker room and find just the people I am looking for, Shawn and his 5 friends just finishing getting changed after football practice. I breathe a sigh of relief that they are the only ones here right now, seems the rest of the team is either out picking up or left earlier. Adam spots me before anyone else and gives me a curious dumbfounded look.
“What kind of idiot walks right into a lion’s den dweeb?” Adam asks.
“Someone who’s had enough of your caveman bullying.” I say as I open my backpack and pull out my secret weapon. I thought of other things but I didn’t trust my athletic ability against theirs so I went with something that seemed perfectly fitting. Everyone laughed as they saw me pull out our school’s mascots, Fred the Fighting Rooster, I may have borrowed him from his cage in the Ag department. I prayed this would work and gently tossed the chicken at Shawn. He laughed as he swatted the poor creature out of his way, advancing on me with murder in his eyes.
As I saw my death approaching, I could hear the other guys making jokes about my terrible throw and how I must really want to die by coming here all alone. My heart sank as Shawn approached closer and faster and nothing else happened. I knew right then and there I’d made a horrible mistake in judgement, I should have just gone to the store and picked up some fighting games. 1 second before Shawn reached me all hell broke loose. The sad whimpering of the chicken I’d tossed at Shawn was suddenly drowned out by a chaos of squawking and screams of terror. Chickens had seemingly materialized out of nowhere and were pecking Shawn in a frenzy. He flailed and swung but was no match for the righteous fury of a flock of chickens. I sat in terrified stunned silence watching the gore fly, when my mind came back to reality I turned and hurled all over the nearest lockers.
The horror continued for several minutes, the other dumbfounded team members tried at first to help Shawn but immediately upon finishing Shawn off, the flock turned on the rest of them. There was no where to run and their screams echoed inside the tiled locker room. I was questioned for hours by police and faculty alike but after all of the boys were dead the chickens went as they had come and left no trace of how they’d got there in the first place. My parents moved us to another town not long after. The scene of that day haunts my sleep, I don’t know what I was expecting but I have a hard time playing any games because it always triggers those memories. | 2018-08-14T13:16:04 | 2018-08-14T11:41:59 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] People have threat levels assigned to them. Common thug maybe reach double digits, dictators the hundreds, the people who can launch nukes in the hundreds of thousands. You, a scientist who just performed a harmless experiment, suddenly get shot up into the billions
[deleted] | She stared at herself in the mirror, her eyes affixed in horror to the opaque number above her head.
If you were a scientist, like her, it was the Tyson-Legrange Number, named after a landmark study that demonstrated, conclusively, that it was primarily a neurological phenomenon that occurred in the visual cortex. If you were religious, like her mother, it was simply the Survival Number, God’s last gift to Adam and Eve as they left the Garden to fend for themselves in the newly hostile world. To most people, though, it was just the Number. And hers had gone up. A lot.
She closed her eyes, shutting them so hard it hurt, concentrating, focusing; willing the Number to go down before opening her eyes again.
The Number had not changed.
A small change wasn’t a big deal. For some people, the sense of risqué a small increase brought with it was attractive. Ads for dating sites and beauty products alike varyingly promised to lower or raise the Number with their products or services, depending on the target demographic. Billboards depicted models with fashionable double digits hanging above their heads, SwipeRight profiles often included the phrase “single, in more ways than one!” like it was supposed to be clever or original, and politicians would go to great lengths to explain away their quadruple digit numbers as side effects of their career choice and not an indication of their personality.
But she was a scientist. With eight digits.
It was wrong. It had to be. She shut her eyes again, fighting back tears.
Eight digits. Eight.
She’d never even heard of anything so high. How was that even possible?
She opened her eyes. Eight digits.
Was it something she did last night? Someone she met? Something she saw, or heard?
No one knew what, exactly, caused the Number. Even the Tyson-Lagrange study struggled to pinpoint how it was that the Number was transmitted. It was neurological, yes, but why? Why was the Number a specific value? How did that information make its way to others? In layman’s terms, why did everyone see the same numbers?
Why was hers eight digits?
She felt light-headed. This could ruin her career. Her life. How could anyone trust her with eight digits? What would she say?
There was a knock on the bathroom door.
“Is everything okay in there?”
It was the girl she brought home last night. Pretty little thing. Big, bright eyes, a naive smile, and low double digits. They’d knocked back a few drinks and then... everything was a blur. Difficult to remember. But she’d remember eight digits, right?
The girl knocked again. “Hello?”
“I’m... I’m okay.” she managed to keep her voice even, steady. To hold down the panic building up in her chest. “I’m going to open the door now.” She took a deep breath. “Don’t panic.” | Her nail beds stung, shredded by splinters, glossed in blood. The lid of the wooden box was lined with chaotic, desperate scratches. Her lungs burned with every shallow breath. Her body cramped from the claustrophobic coffin. Her throat could barely muster a yelp after screaming for hours.
A splash, a sinking feeling, in her chest and throughout her whole body. Dr Mamoto’s coffin sank silently to the ocean bed.
~*24 hours earlier*~
“Doctor! Hide! The men are here!” pleaded Doctor Kinto, as she pushed Doctor Mamoto into a storage room.
“Take off your lab coat.” Doctor Kinto closed the door behind her. Doctor Mamoto peered through the space between the metal bars on the storage room door. 7 men in dark suits and glasses forced their way into the lab. And then Kibbing emerged from behind them, in his signature grey suit, his purple scar conspicuously catching the light from the fluorescent bulbs.
“I would like to speak with Dr Mamoto. I’m asking very politely. If you come with us, Doctor, no harm will come to your lab or it’s personnel. What will it be?”
A young scientist stepped forward, removing her goggles and puffing her chest confidently at Kibbing.
“I am Doctor Mamoto” she said, her voice refusing to keep up the courageous act her body was so desperate to perform.
The dark suited men moved swiftly toward the young girl, locking her arms in theirs and yanking up her coat sleeves. One of the men barks to Kibbing “0, boss. It just says 0.”
Kibbing shakes his head and moves toward the girl, who is now shaking with fear.
“You are so brave, young girl. But do you know what your bravery has cost you on this day?”
He snaps his fingers, and one of the suited men grabs her ponytail, yanking her head backward. In one swift movement, he has sliced her throat with a small blade. She falls to the ground with a thump.
Scientists in lab coats scream and huddle together in the corner.
“Dr Mamoto, there is still time to do this the easy way. No more people have to die today. I ask you again, what will it be?”
The metal door to the storage room creaks on its hinges as Dr Mamoto emerges from hiding. She shuffled her lab coat on over her shoulders and strides toward Kibbing, looking him in the eye.
“Wise choice, Doctor. Come with us”
Kibbing grips her shoulder tightly, as they walk down the laboratory corridor.
“You thought you could find a cure for cancer and hide it from me? *tsk tsk*. You cannot eradicate something as pervasive as cancer and not kill hundreds of industries that rely on it.” Kibbing says calmly.
Dr Mamoto looks over her shoulder. The young girl’s body is slumped on the floor, blood pooled all around. She cringes and faces forward again, squeezing her eyes shut.
“You may see me as the bad guy now, Doctor, but I am the hero. You see, the world needs Cancer. Cancer kills but Cancer also gives life, to jobs, to fortune, to business, to industries.
The world must never know what happened here today. Thank you for your cooperation, doctor. You were brilliant enough to research a cure, but you were not smart enough to know when to stop. The world will never know of you or your work. I’m sorry, Doctor, but this is the way things must be.”
~*24 hours later*~
Dr Mamoto takes what will become her final breaths. She has stopped scratching. She rolls up her sleeve. 0. Just a simple digit, and yet so important.
~*48 hours earlier*~
Dr Kinto rolls up her sleeve. She sets her right forearm into the vice and closes it around her flesh. Her teeth grit fabric as she ties the tourniquet. the same place where the digits stop their march across her skin, from wrist to elbow. She picks up a handsaw, and begins.
| 2018-09-13T05:19:20 | 2018-09-13T04:55:46 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] When you reach the age of 21, you are given a check from the government. The check has been carefully calculated and is worth the minimum amount of money you need for the rest of your life. Your check came in the mail today and it was $7.27
Edit: Wow this blew up better than I thought it would. | I was at my favorite taco joint with my family. It was a weird tradition we had. When someone turned 21, we go to this place as a family and open the check. See how much their life is worth. It tends to make for a good laugh. My brother's was around a million. My poor cousins was only 25% of that. So here we are on my birthday. We got our plate and sat with our food. Mom passed me the check and I opened it up. $7.27 the exact price of my meal. My mouth dropped. I looked at mom and passed her the check. Said "this will cover my cost." I pushed my food away. I'm not going to die choking on this crap. I got up, walked out the door into the parking. As I walking to my car I hear the screeching of tires.. | The battle for a theocracy was a turbulent one and was the cause of the single greatest loss of life since the second world war - dubbed the 10th crusade. Despite this, the battle was won and a new holy land was established. Jerusalem's economy tanked and people flocked to our new country, a holy country. It was wonderful.
Traditional thinking would tell you that society would quickly descend into anarchy as the inevitable disarray takes hold. Traditional thinking would be right was if not for one fundamentally flawed assumption. You see, the rich toiled in their bunkers hoping to wait out the worst of the looting and violence when something unprecedented happened: the government began to work in the best interest of the citizens. It was being run by the single smartest, most powerful entity - through a vessel. An unpleasant side effect of this however, was that no one could ignore the reality that God exists (though not for a lack of trying) and lifestyles had to change in accordance with that fact. It was now no longer just priests that took vows of poverty. On everyone's 18th birthday they are given exactly how much money they need for the rest of their humble lives, none can be borrowed, none can be earned. Whether the drying of funds precipitated or caused death is a hotly debated topic. Regardless, all but the terminally ill could expect a sum totalling in the low tens of thousands at the very least. Enter me.
$7.67. 767 *FUCKING* CENTS. Even with heavy government subsidies, this is not enough for a week - let alone a lifetime, so forgive my French. See, most would think this means that they are about to die, but me, I know I'm fine. I am two weeks from mission and in the 47 years this country has existed *not one person* has died this soon before mission. So what? Is god calling me fat? Angus Barbieri is whole number multiples heavier than me. So I do what every rational man of the cloth does and head to the temple, it's almost time for prayers anyways.
If you guys want more I'll finish this later. I got finals to study for. | 2019-04-24T13:37:46 | 2019-04-24T12:49:46 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] Write a Young Adult Dystopia but the government is competent at hunting down rebels. | Natkiss stood atop a rock outcropping, her knotted hair whipping in a jungle breeze as she took aim. An arrow soared through the air and *plinked* off of a metal drone's casing. It bobbed slightly, like a ship on the water, but quickly righted and continued firing at the rebel scouting squad.
"Shit," she yelled, scratching at the base of her head, then nocking another. "It's *really* hard to fight in an advanced combat scenario with a bow. Like, way harder than I thought."
Teepa grunted, popping out of cover to fire a few rounds, then immediately crouched back down, grunting. "I told you to get a gun, Nat. War is no place to worry about looking like a badass."
"**Please stop fighting us**," an announcer shouted through a booming intercom. He was saying the same thing every few minutes. "**This is your last opportunity. Any who value life, lay down your weapons and we will allow you to continue it. The standard allotment of one month for any rebellion to surrender has ended for you.**"
"To hell with the Order!" a few of the soldiers screamed back. One threw a grenade, and a megaphone was seen flying into the canopy briefly before crashing into the mud.
Sounds of automatic fire and explosions swirled through the forest, splintering trees and kicking up mud. Then-- silence, more hollow than the rebel's gameplan for taking down a fully established, modern government. Teepa and Natkiss shared a glance, concerned, then poked their heads out of cover.
The Order's troops were withdrawing.
They'd done it.
Whooping, shouting, cheering, the advance squad returned to their hideout, greeted by open arms and bottles of champagne. It was their first major victory in direct combat.
"To taking down an empire," Natkiss said, raising a glass. Everyone shouted in agreement, then went about to mingle.
She scratched at her implant again.
"Why do you keep doing that," Teepa asked, taking a sip. "Looks weird."
"I dunno, it's been bothering me today. Wish I could get it out."
"Don't we all. Maybe, once we take the Order down, we'll capture a doctor and have him remove these things."
Natkiss smiled, swirling her drink. "That would be wonderful."
At twelve sharp, a deep *clang* emanated from an antique grandfather clock one of the rebel council members, Corvin, had brought with him. A little reminder of home.
She hissed as a fingernail dug just a little too deep; the skin of her neck was starting to feel raw.
----
Wet boots crunched over broken glass and dreams in the dark cavern system.
Members of the Order swept the building, firing a few rounds into each corpse to ensure it looked like a proper battle had occurred-- and to be thorough, of course. Like there had been a great struggle, and they'd come out victorious after a long day of blood and sweat.
If any of the rebels had survived to tell you about what it was like at the end, they would've claimed to have heard the faintest *click*. A very subtle, muted sound as the metal implants inside of four thousand people activated, unlocking and unleashing three doses of a neurotoxin strong enough to kill a horse.
One soldier shined a flashlight over Natkiss; the makeup on half her face was swirling into a pool of champagne and blood, bits of glass wedged into her cheek. Her right hand lay at the base of her neck, which was raked bloody.
Because, as it turns out, when a dystopian government chips people at birth-- it's not just for metrics or show.
It's a contingency plan.
---
*/r/resonatingfury* | The Collective descended on the little village like night.
We heard them long before we saw them: the hum of government drones preceding the caravan announced them well. When I saw one of those first gleaming bastards appear down the road through my binoculars, I pulled my hood up high over my head and darted around the nearest corner I could find.
It was time to run again.
By the time I found Torin, he'd been smart enough to do the same. We found each other at the cheap hostel we had rented for the few days we planned to stay in this dusty town. He had already gathered our scant belongings. The moment I opened the door he hurled my bag at me and said, "We have to run. Now."
I couldn't help my scoff. "You think I don't know that?"
But my brother was always better at running than me. He flew like a bird at the first sign of trouble. He learned better from our parents' deaths at the hands of the Collective than I did.
Torin was the reason we always found a room on the first floor. Torin was the reason we fluttered endlessly from village to village, skirting the main roads, seeking safety in the forest when the weather allowed us.
Torin was the reason the Collective had never seen our faces.
He heaved open the window and straddled it. For a moment he paused, watching me watching him. "What?" he snapped. "They're already on their way."
I rubbed hard at my eyes. "Why do we always have to run?" I whispered, like I didn't know.
Torin just groaned. "We're not arguing about this today."
"But--"
"We're *not*. Now you can come with me, or you can stay here, but I'm sure as hell not waiting for the fireworks to happen."
I winced. I knew what he meant. This was no simple visit to one of the Collective's outlying territories. They were cataloguing citizens. Every man, woman, and child in the Collective's sprawling empire would be recorded into a living database that could memorize the very topography of their face. This was one of the few villages left that didn't live under the constant watchful eyes of the Collective's surveillance cameras.
And tonight, they were going to change that.
Torin heaved himself out the window.
I had no choice but to follow.
We spilled out into a dusty back alley as day faded into rosy night. It would be generous to call the hostel *quaint*. It was a shack with a handful of narrow, closet-sized rooms, but the hostel's manager didn't blink when we had no Collective IDs to offer him. He recognized the look of us well enough by the black hoodies we wore, the way we huddled under the cowls.
We'd spent barely two days there. It was hardly home. But somehow, I already missed it.
This village was a tiny farming town on the edge of a deep forest. I already knew where Torin was taking us. We would run and run until we could not run anymore. He would set snares in the dark and hope to have a rabbit or weasel to eat by morning. We would find the tallest tree the could hold us, and we would wait for the storm to pass us by.
I jammed myself in the window after Torin. He glanced furtively down the alleyway, then ducked backwards and swore, fiercely. By the sharp look he gave me, I knew what was only around the corner.
The drones had reached town.
His lips made the angry shape of a single word: *hurry*.
But when I tried to pull myself out of the window frame, something caught and tugged. I looked back in horror to see my backpack stuck to the lock of the window. I wriggled like one of the rabbits we always trap until my arms managed to wrench free of the straps.
"Leave it," my brother hissed.
"But--" I started.
"*Leave it*."
But before either of us could move, the drone swiveled around the corner. It hovered there, its helicopter wings buzzing. It had a gleaming chrome exterior that no bullet or arrow or sword could pierce and a single, huge red eye that scanned over us, even in the milliseconds we stared in terror.
Torin buried his head in his arms, and this time he did not wait for me. He sprinted like his life depended on it. And I realized that it did.
I held the drone's stare for a dangerous second before I covered my face with my hands and ran, blindly, after my brother, into the arms of the dark. My backpack hung helplessly from the window.
But even as we ran, my breath caught and swelled in my throat. Panic dizzied me.
They had us. They had our faces.
The Collective would be after us now.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
I'm working on a part 2 to stick on my sub ~~if I don't hate it~~. So if you want to read more keep an eye out there. Thanks for reading! :) | 2019-04-27T08:00:51 | 2019-04-27T07:35:30 | 2,855 | 204 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | "...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked. | I dont know how it happened. No one really does. The IT guy says its a bug or a virus or something. Great. Just great. The one time i decide to try something new, i blow it. The one time i try to create life out of nothing and actually get it to work, i mute myself indefinitely. I wonder if Lucifer had the same issue. Come to think of it, he probably caused this when he left.
With a big sigh, i lean back in my chair and rub my eyes.
"Uh, sir, is everthing alright?" The IT guy asks me. Yeah, of course, i've just locked myself out of my own party for 2000 years and couldn't fix it, my life is great, thanks for asking, dipshit.
"You tell me, is it fixed now?"
"Uh, yeah, everything should be working, sir."
"Great, now fuck off."
"Uhm.. okay." And away he goes. Back to doing whatever it is that he is doing. Probably fixing Raphaels Laptop.
Whatever, i think its time to check back in with humanity, now that im finally back i can get away from everything and waste some time on this. Last time i talked to them was a while after the time Jesus was born. That was probably when Lucifers little virus or whatever messed with the system. I kinda forgot all about it, i wonder how they have been holding up without me. They've probably gone back to living in caves, cowering in fear of the unknown and wondering why i left them. I have a lot of explaining to do. Lets boot it up.
What the.. What is this? 7 Billion? Impossible. No no no no, 7 Billion? How? I was certain they were living in caves or have gone extinct. How are there so many of them? Civilisations? Politics? Society? Each and everyone living life in luxury, having three meals a day, clean water, and.. what? What is this? A metal thing on the wall that dispenses heat? A "Radiator". What have they been doing without me? Wait, WHAT? THE MOON? THEY BUILT METAL VESSELS THAT LAUNCH THEM TO THE MOON? And what is this? The "ISS"? Planes? Cars? Computers and.. the "Internet"? What is this? The collective power of every computer and server linked together to create a near infinite library of knowledge and cat videos? And they have "Smartphones"? All that knowledge, all that power, in a little device in their pocket? I didn't think this could ever be possible but.. they almost have it better than we do up here.
I need to do something. I need to say something. My finger hovers over the "push to talk" button, unsure if i should actually do it. It would be weird to return after 2000 years. Half of them don't even believe in me anymore. Maybe this is what its all about. They have it better without me. If i was still there they would all be wearing pieces of fabric instead of two piece suits. They would still die to illneses instead of getting vaccinated. They would still be fighting wars with spears instead of nuclear weaponry. They would sti- wait a minute. Wars? They still fight wars? Indeed. They are still fighting wars to this day. How? Why? They are the most advanced species on the planet and yet they still fight wars? About what? Hm.. who is this "Hitler" guy.. 6 MILLION? Bloody hell, maybe earth is not that great after all.
And truly, it isn't. After just a bit more research, i find there could really be improvements. Suicide, depression, famine, global warming, energy crises, all that is happening. Two thirds don't even have clean water. And the people with the most power barely change anything. So this is how it is down there, huh? The richest of the rich get everything and watch the poor die. I guess humanity hasn't changed a bit since i left. Still egotistical, still fighting wars, still lying to get more and more power. I can't let this go on like this. I need to talk to them, tell them what to do. But how would they react? Chaos, anarchy, another war? Another ten wars? Maybe i need to take it down a notch. Maybe i need to talk to only one person for now. Let's see, which nation is the most advanced and influencial of them all? America? Alright, that will have to do. Here goes nothing.
And on that night, the president of the United States had a mind changing revelation. The world is going to shit, and he would need to change it. After all, god told him so, and you can't simply tell god "No". | 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T09:17:12 | 294 | 59 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D | “God? It’s me, Josh. But you already know that”
​
Josh was sitting on the patio. He had been sitting there for hours, and sunrise was still a couple of hours away. The only thing that prevented complete darkness was the dim moonlight.
​
“I know I don’t do this often. It feels kind of silly doing this, talking to myself. But I don’t know what else to do. I’m falling apart.”
​
He was right, he didn’t do this often. In fact it was his very first time. That alone caught my attention. His sincerity.
​
I had all but given up too. Years, decades, centuries had past, and not a single response from the humans. Not even my regular prophets wanted to listen, so after a while I just stopped. That was a long time ago now. I forgot about it and took some time away, let my angels run things for a bit. Since I came back I’ve had much to catch up on. Most of it good, but some of it very bad.
​
“It feels like I’m out of options. How should I break it to my wife? My daughter? Will they be okay?” Josh continued, his face buried in his hands.
​
I was going to give it one last try. If it doesn't work it doesn’t work, and I could put it aside.
​
“Josh. You are strong, and you have come so far. Your family is so proud of you, and that has never changed. It’s a lot to take in, but right now, in this moment, you just need to breathe,” I told him.
​
A couple of tears ran down his face. He nodded slightly, and took a deep breath. He wasn’t scared or surprised. He just felt relieved. For a second, someone listened. No judgement, no pressure of any kind. Just acceptance.
​
I, however, was surprised. This time it was different. For once someone could hear me. Whatever is was that didn’t work before worked now. I was filled with excitement, something I had not felt in a long time. It had been so long since I made a real difference. This is my chance to set things right. Relieve the humans of their stress, anxiety and pain. And it all starts with Josh.
​
Hours passed. He asked me questions and I answered them to the best of my ability. We kept on talking for a while. Even if I knew everything about him, it was nice just to talk to someone who wasn’t an angel. And I knew it was important to him too. How much he needed it. Eventually he asked for my help.
​
“Things are going to be alright. I can’t fix it for you, but I can give you what you need to do it yourself. Or rather, show you what you need. Because you already have it. You just don’t see it right now,” I explained.
​
He fell silent. A moment later he exhaled, and a little smile appeared on his face. He seemed lighter.
​
Josh didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. I saw it on him. He smiled again, and went inside the house. Just before he entered he turned around and looked over the same sights he had in front of him the entire night. He could not see it then, but he could now. The sun was rising.
​
Just as he saw the sun between the treetops I heard a different voice.
​
“God? It me…” | Lying on my bed I'm my room, the blackouts closed... it's too warm you know. I like a colder room. Something a bit more comfortable. Sometimes I just sit there pondering impossible questions... tracing the lines in the giprock ceiling...
"What's for supper?"
"How will college be when I enter for the first time in 3 months? Next September."
"Where does your conscience go when you die?"
"Where did my brother's conscience go that day two years ago?"
"What is heaven like? Or does it even exist?"
This is nice I thought to myself. Today was my two year anniversary in heaven. Apperently a garden area opened up, although I didn't listen to the speaker, they are always so over the top with their celebrations...
the hall was both long and short, perfectly bright but not so that it hurt your eyes. A hint of orange, like a sunset or a dawn that was just about to ha-
"**WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS STUPID SERVER.** ^(Man) ^(I'm) ^(about) ^(to) **THROW THIS STRAIGHT INTO SAGITTARIOUS A**"
^("Sir) ^(please,) ^(calm) ^(do-")
**"JESUS CHRIST ON TH-"**
"Ya dad?"
^("Oh) ^(for) ^(fuck) ^(sakes) No, not you son... I swear to god" ^("sir) ^(you) ^(are) ^(god")
**"I KNOW"** *sigh* "I just don't get it. I haven't been able to get on the Perseus or Sagittarius servers for like 2000 years. I can join but no one can hear me. I wish they'd just make a Orion server already. I have shit ping to Earth from both Sagittarius and Perseus."
Ha, someone sounds like they are technologically inept.
"Alright smartass, **How about *you* fix this then?**"
Hahaha, and now they want me help. Well is- wait. Did I say that out loud?
"No, I hear, see, and know all. Who you think your foolin' kiddo"
"Well... Now I've done it" I didn't bother to keep that to myself.
As I look at the screen I notice something uncanny. It looks exactly like discord... There are so many servers... This guy really needs BetterDiscord. Alright let's see, Sagittarius Arm is the server...
"What chat room did you want?"
"Earth... but it's hopeless. I have been trying for 2000 years" He responded confident and hopeless.
"Ya well my last exposure to tech was 2 years ago, yours was... what... like an eternity ago?" I responded sarcastically.
You see, I'm an asshole through and through. I didn't really think about who I was insulting but to be honest I couldn't care less. Part of being a dedicated dick.
"Do you want to get smited you little shit?"
"And who would fix your mock up discord old man?"
"Boy... Do you even know what's wrong with it?"
I took a look up and down the screen. Ah, input devices. Definitely the issue... Telepathic Input? I dont see an issue, unless he doesnt have a mind...
"I heard that."
Oh ya, he does that. I'll pop him into earth and see what's wrong. *Connecting... Conne-* **Badoom.**
"Try speaking"
"I am... I told you. It does not work."
"Well how bout' you unmute your input? That might help..." I replied sarcastically.
His face froze and he just stared at me slack-jawed. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.
^("You) ^(mean) ^(to) ^(tell) ^(me) ^(that) ^(I) ^(have) ^(been) ^(muted) ^(for) ^(2000) ^(years?) ^(Are) ^(you) ^(serious?")
"You didn't know?" I could feel laughter welling up
**"FUCK!"** he yelled
I couldn't help it. I bust out laughing. I honestly lost my marbles. My legs went wobbly and I fell to the ground. To think God has just been on mute for 2000 years. It was insane!
He shifted his chair up and moved closer to the screen, I didn't notice it before but there were over seven billion in the chat room.
"Hello, this is your lord and savior speaking." He said in a confident tone. Not two seconds later he clutched his head and sent the computer flying across the room.
"I think I'll just wait till after WW3"
———————————————————
Hey all, this is my first time doing any sort of free style writing off a prompt outside of a high school assignment and before this year English was my worst subject. (Now it's my best somehow). Anyways, given this is my first story, I'd love to hear some feedback! Formatting tips and tricks, diction recommendations, writing changes, techniques, criticisms, and recommendations are all welcome!
I also wrote this whole thing on mobile so have a little mercy on my soul. Haha | 2019-06-03T11:16:07 | 2019-06-03T10:40:47 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] Due at an error, a baby was born without a guardian angel. A demon notices this and has taken it upon themself to become their guardian demon. But they seem to have some... Dark ways of helping their human stay alive. | The boy's soul had been different from the moment of his conception. Different in the sense that in Eons past souls like his had always been booned to individuals with the capacity to forge a great destiny. These individuals were assigned heavenly entities to help guide and protect them and their free will throughout their life.
Yet this boy never cried nor sang, never laughed and played. Caught between worlds he'd been shunned and cast out from both. Harsh lessons at home, isolated by his peers. A child with a kind and empathetic heart, could feel the pain of others even if he didn't understand it, he didn't understand his own. No angel protected him at home, so I distorted his luck until he learnt how to create his own. When he was reading a book and his peers came for him as a group. No angel came so I fueled his rage when he stood his ground. He became an animal in those moments. No angel came. When I bound my demonic soul to his as a celestial guardian no angel came.
As years passed, I watched the boy grow through puberty into a reclusive but powerful young man. I 'd fed the boy's appetite for destruction through his dreams. He had a natural affinity for both violence and as craftsman. When he encountered a girl with a great soul similar to his. I'd interacted with her guardian angel. At first she'd treated me with mistrust despite the fact that the pair had surprisingly gotten along. But later the girls guardian angel had come to understand the boy's abandonment. Still though, the boy eventually moved on away from the pain that followed him everywhere. When the fire happened, no angel came, I protected him from the flames. And yet when the young man no longer needed protecting, I chose to stay. An angel came. I was angry, I asked where he'd been, why he'd abandoned the child. The angel had no answer but when I aksed what he could do for the boy that I could not. The angel had replied with a condescending smirk "I can bring happiness to his life".
And by the underworld did I laugh at that With a hatred in my heart I exclaimed in glee "By the chains of hell; I'll hold you to that!" as I bound the angel's soul to both the boys and mine | Despite the pride the humans have accumulated through their time on Earth, the species is fragile. Technologies and medicines could only go so far as protecting one from their materialisation onwards. Prior to that, however, the souls that were to be bound to new flesh are weak and vulnerable. That is where the angels come in, carrying on the time-honoured tradition of shielding these beings from harm. The humans, in return, have offered faith. When other lifeforms, the other pets of the Creator in universes far beyond comprehension of mankind abandoned Him, men stood solely as his sheep. So it was that all angels are to safeguard mankind from threats they are unable to fight against. Until today, when the omnipotent slacked and slipped.
Of course, such mistake was grave. And the Creator could not afford to lose his last zealots. For the carcass that is to be born will be limp and rubbery, a corpse. Its soul will have been devoured by forces of malevolence no medicines could cure. Men would be terrified, as the notion of the souls and the body would become apparent as separated concepts. Most importantly, the humans would stop believing in their protectors, and that would be the end for the Heavens.
So He ended the child.
It was declared that the child is to be stillborn, and when the corpse came to Purgatory, the Demons are to incinerate it in the flames of Hell, until the last of the bones becomes fuel for the eternal nova. However, souls with no comprehension of good or evil could not be tried, thus, transition would be sacrilegious, for it disobeys the respected regulations that exempts none.
The Demons, themselves, decided on another approach. The corpse, they say, would be resuscitated, with not a soul, but the control of one of them.
So, imbued with dark magic, the corpse rose once more.
For the humans, the doctors involved in diagnosis and the parents of the child, in particular, such was a miracle. It was quickly reasoned that perhaps the machines, the scanners and the displays, were erroneous. For it was only for a moment did the aforementioned events transpired - the baby was limp for just an instance.
The Demon in possession of the child, however, did not enjoy such jubilation. The moment the atmosphere of the mortal realm touched him, he regretted the choice. Demons are not to roam this plane. He agonised, for he defied the choice of the Creator. Every breath of his was painful as the inhalation of scorching flames and exhalation of glass shards. He did not sign up for this.
And it was because of that torment, that the demon destroyed himself. His vessel, with his soul inside, raged for and end. The toddler frame, with the strength and dexterity of a beast, tossed and turned in the middle of its mother's womb. It ripped and clawed, at itself and at all it could see. The will of Demons are meek, and the pain of existence took its sanity. It wanted an end.
That day, four were killed. The mother was ripped apart from the inside, and the child dead from the hands of the doctor fetching it. That very doctor ended himself the following day, caving in to the pressure of the ravenous reporters and the unforgiving glance of the public. The father, after hearing of the doctor's death, succumbed.
The Creator was not to be defied. He could not do wrong. To believe that he was mistaken is to wage bloodshed and terror. | 2019-12-14T21:58:56 | 2019-12-14T21:32:54 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] "Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for." | There once was an angel with a very boring job. Around the clock newcomers to Heaven would settle in and enjoy all the splendor Heaven had to offer. And he would watch.
As an employee of Heaven this angel could only stand at his post outside his gate and wait for any curious enough people to find their way over to him.
By and large people were content to pay him no mind, and he was content with this too. Occasionally there would be those who would ask about the gate and his role standing by it. For the most part he would have the unfortunate duty of politely turning them away, though there were those who he would invite inside to see for themselves what lay beyond.
In front of the angel stood a podium where he kept his clipboard that had three pages for him to read. A page dedicated to proper procedure when first approached, a page that had a list of names listed to either be granted or denied entry, and a final page that was for anyone who acted in a way that wasn't covered by the first two pages.
He had never needed to look beyond page two until she arrived in Heaven.
From his post the angel watched as she took her tour around Heaven. There was nothing particularly out of the ordinary at first until she spotted him and his gate. Their eyes locked and she made a beeline towards him, leaving her guide behind without a word.
The angel looked over his notes on the first page and prepared to greet her.
"Hello! How are you enj-"
"Fine, thanks, what's with this gate?"
The angel had never been interrupted before and had to take a moment to look over his notes.
"Excuse me, I asked you a question"
"Er, yes.. well this right here is the entrance to Heaven Premium™ and-"
"Thank you so much, have a nice day"
She said no longer looking at the angel and heading straight for the gate.
"If you could just wait a moment I have a list here that I need to check before you can go in..." The angel began frantically scanning the list as she began rattling the gate, seemingly unaware of the fact that the angel had said anything.
"What's wrong with this gate, it's stuck."
"Unfortunately, you do not meet the requirements for this particular Heaven however, I can provide you with a list of afterlifes that you may qualify for." The angel read out his line at the bottom of page two, stopping at the part instructing to turn the page should that not work.
"This is rediculous, I want to speak to your manager."
The angel took a deep breath and turned to page three.
The angel and the woman went back and forth about how it was out of his hands and that the rules were very clear, but she persisted. Eventually a small que began to form and the angel was forced to call his manager to sort it out while he delt with the less argumentative residents of Heaven.
His manager had to eventually call over his manager, and eventually God himself walked out of the gate to Heaven Premium™ followed by various religious leaders and secretary's. God took one look at the woman and immediately assured her that there had in fact been a mistake and that he would see to it that she would be put in the right place.
Satisfied the woman walked away after thanking everyone in attendance and flashing a bright smile to each of the people she had previously been in a long drawn out argument with.
Once the woman was out earshot God asked who had let Karen in. | I flipped through the book I had been given, that was only in my head. My head, which I guess I technically did not have any more, but at some point there had been a voice telling me to keep thinking in terms of my physical body, if I found that it helped. I'm not sure how long it took me to learn how to turn the pages of the book in my mind, but it felt like months. The Afterlife, it turns out, is exhausting.
Most of the pages in my Mind Book were written in languages I couldn't read. Some of them, I wasn't even sure if they were languages. One page was just a picture of something that looked vaguely like a spork. Another was blank but gave me a distinct feeling of being hungry for pretzels whenever I looked at it. Feeling it was appropriate, I raised my hand.
The Being that had given me the book, who was not there but was there and had always been there, turned one of it's faces towards me. "Yes? Have you decided?"
I somehow knew that it's voice would have liquefied my brain had I still been alive. "Um...I'm kind of having trouble deciding. Actually, most of these I can't even read. Am...am I allowed to ask you for advice?"
The Being somehow communicated a sense of disappointment to me without it's expression changing. "We're not allowed to influence the decisions of applicants. Can't be seen to be playing favorites for any particular afterlifes, you understand."
"It's just...how can I decide if I can't understand what this book is telling me? Like this one here..." I thought about a page that showed a serene landscape with some mountains and what I assumed were trees. "This looks lovely, but I don't know what all these lines mean. I assume it's a language but I really have no idea."
"That's..." the being said a word, but the only thing my mind processed was a color I had never seen before and had no name to describe. "It is a somewhat complicated language for a being of your intelligence vector, but eventually you'll pick it up."
"Pick it up how?" I wailed. "If there's some kind of translation magic that's supposed to be happening here, I don't think it's working on me."
I felt a deep sense of shame. "Magic? Goodness, the things you humans dream up. If you want to know more about *New Color* there will be some *New Color But Slightly Different Shade* that will show up here eventually, strike up a conversation with them and you'll be able to pick up their language."
"Eventually? How long will that be?"
I felt like an ant. "Let's see, I have a conversion table here somewhere. I can't say for sure, you understand, Free Will and all that, plus there are roughly 900 octillion processing stations, but I would say that you should see another *Yet Another Shade of New Color* sometime in the next...2 or 3 million years."
"MILLION?"
"Please don't take offense at this, but it's not like you've got anything better to do." I felt like the time my puppy Bo was scared of a thunderstorm. "Look, you're still holding onto the feelings and expectations of your physical life, it's normal. They may even still tell you to do that, I'm not certain. But there's no time for you any longer, and no physical limitations either. The word your language would use is 'Spirit', and you'll come to realize the true ramifications of this after you've spent some time here."
"But...I need to choose. You told me I needed to choose my final destination, my Heaven. I...I don't know what to do."
I felt warm. "I'm sorry, I did a poor job of communicating this to you. It's not necessary for you to choose right away. Only the fanatics do that; they get shuffled off to be with their own. I know this place isn't what you pictured when you thought of the afterlife in the physical, but it's not....let's see, you call it...Hell. This isn't punishment. It's more like a train station, or maybe for you it should be spaceport. No, that's not quite right...airport, that's it. You've got some time to kill, wander around, talk to others. Learn, discover, consider. When you're ready, you'll be able to choose."
I felt better. Not calm, but...like I had a big test, but had studied a lot for it, and knew my stuff. Which was ironic since I had in no way studied for any of this, but I thought that was OK.
Having no better ideas, I tried thinking of a name for *New Color*. | 2020-02-13T15:54:01 | 2020-02-13T13:44:32 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] All races are judged by their affinity to cast magic. The humans, being the only living creature who can't use magic, was banished. After many years, they achieved high technological progress, invented "Guns" that is far stronger than any magic. Fearing revenge, a spy elf warns the other races. | "I'm begging you, your excellence. If we don't act quickly, we-"
"They were throwing rocks at you? Metal rocks?"
Nihrval critically mustered the thin figure standing before her. A young elven boy merely 200 years of age, barely out of puberty, was earnestly telling her those \*monkeys\* were throwing \*metal\* rocks. She couldn't have thought of a more ridiculous thing to report herself... And yet this good-for-nothing youngblood had the audacity to declare an emergency gathering of the 3 races.
"Yes, yes, a-and they were using iron bananas to do it. Please your excellence you HAVE to believe me." The scout rapidly bowed as if to excuse what he had just said.
"Reborobo, don't you have anything to say? I know you are busy combing your beard and counting your gold but could you at least for a moment help us out here?" Nihrval's sharp undertone could at this point probably cut through stone.
"Why yes of course, Miss Elf. This lad has spent too much time near trees. Everyone in the same boat would go crazy eventually... The only ones capable of crafting metal bananas would be us dwarfs, obviously." The figure projected of magic light directly from the mines of Erethim promptly went back to combing his beard.
Ignoring the obvious insult, Nirvahl let out a sigh and inquired further.
"Ok, let us assume for a moment those \*shiver\* humans \*disgust\* really had those ... metal bananas, so what, right? It's not like they could do anything against our supreme magic. Let them have their primitive ways."
"I-I am afraid that is not all i have to r-report. My excellence, sadly I am of the conviction humans are in fact in the possession of magic mirrors with which they communicate. And in addition they are even able to cast basic fertility spells." Once again, exaggerated apology bowing ensued.
This time Nihrval actually had some form of surprise on her face.
"They know the magic words of 'Nhêt-flics'? Mhhh. Well, but even THEY know how to cast that." She pointed at the back of the room. The throaty voice of an orc could be heard in the background "Haha, magic go brrrrr".
"I know this sounds ridiculous my excellence but I have prepared a rite that was able to capture the sound of my encounter. May I-"
Nihrval rolled her eyes "Very well, let's get this over with"
INITIATING CAST SEQUENCE 'Rêvalatum-âuditas'
\*\*\*
"Yo Mike, my Ex just called. You won't believe this but she actually is down to Netflix and chill."
"Haha, grats man good job. Was about-- Ahhh, what IS that thing?"
"What the fuck, that's a weird ass looking dog. Oh god, it's coming closer"
"What are you waiting for man, shoot it before it eats us or something"
\*Bang\* \*Bang\*
\*\*\* | Hank signaled Clay to move ahead, to cross the clearing and run towards the next giant tree. This forest always seemed to have a next giant tree. Clay always complained about all the bugs that made the trees their homes and that would come out at night to harass honest working stiffs. Hank always retorted that without these giant trees, they wouldn't have jobs, so it all netted out in the end.
Now these giant trees built a night-time obstacle course for Hank and Clay. An obstacle course for them, but to the intruder it seemed like nothing. And it didn't seem fair. Clay had run track in high school, and Hank had kept up with his calisthenics, regardless of the assignment. How can they be barely keeping up? How were they actually losing ground?
The Artemis Company had been scouting these jungles for the past six months, and suddenly had found a large area of virgin timber. Satellite scans had identified the area. This time, satellite coordinates weren't enough and the land inspectors had taken their sweet time in visually spotting the actual grove. There was something about the area which shorted out electronics. It wasn't radioactive, which meant it wasn't dangerous enough to stop Artemis from going forward with the plan. It was dangerous enough to get hazard pay, which drew mooks like Hank and Clay like flies.
Dangerous enough to get the extra money, but - hey - it was just wood.
Hank and Clay liked to get the night patrols. The two always braved nights full of bugs to avoid a merciless sun that beat down on them through the tree canopy. This night, they had heard a crashing in the vicinity of the HQ tent, and en route, they spotted the native. Clay said it didn't look like a native. To Hank, anyone that didn't look like Artemis staff was a native. He was pretty sure that he'd seen someone shirtless running into the darkness with a bow in one hand. He'd assumed that there was an arrow that went along with the bow, and yelled "Stop or we'll shoot." The native didn't stop, so he shot. He missed. Clay reported into security HQ.
And then they ran.
They ran with the confidence of the hunter. The native was just a primitive with a bow. They were professional security guards with years of experience. They had guns. Guard duty was supposed to be simple.
Hank re-evaluated that position when Clay went down to the monkey attack. The thing had jumped out of nowhere, and jammed something into Clay's eye. Hank shot at it and chased it away, too late for Clay. It looked like it was a stick. Hank tried to call into HQ, and got nothing but static. He readjusted his equipment, considered chasing the native, and decided that he'd earned his pay today. He'd bring back a whole squad of guards, and make sense of this in the morning.
His instincts told him that their prey was probably not alone. And that was no ordinary monkey. He and his hackles rose in unison, and he made to run back to camp. "Scout the territory. Come back with a crew," he muttered to himself.
He looked up towards the path that they had come from. It had disappeared, replaced by a wall of wood. A tree now stood squarely in the middle of the bath they had run through. He rubbed his eyes, and the tree remained there. He looked forward to the direction the native had fled, and that too had been closed by another tree.
He felt a pain on his right, and looked down to see an arrow jutting from his side. He tumbled to the ground, and what little vision he had disappeared. He heard voices. Dirty, native voices.
\--
\*Kendil, we have done what you have asked, and secured samples of these gimmicks that you call guns. Perhaps now you can demonstrate to us why we should worry? The forests have always defended us, and they shall for millennia more.\*
The young elven scout stripped a handgun from Clay's corpse, unlatched the safety and took aim at Hank.
'Click.'
'Bang.' | 2020-04-16T16:41:35 | 2020-04-16T11:54:17 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | He had voted no, but most of his pals had voted yes. They stood in line in front of him and bemoaned the situation.
“This is bullshit, that question was purposefully misleading.”
“Eh, we’ll do it for a week and there’ll be so many complaints they’ll roll back the changes.”
His anxiety grew as the line shrank and he drew nearer to the high heel desk. Everybody was given identical pairs of shoes. The shoes were black, the heel about three inches tall. For some of the men in line it would be the cleanest part of their ensemble.
He listened to the man in front of him when they reached the desk.
“Size?”
“13.”
The man was handed his pair and he walked off to his desk.
“Next.”
He breathed deep and stepped forward.
“Size?”
“11.”
He was handed his pair and he silently strode over to his desk. He set the high heels down in front of him, compared them to his loafers. The heels were a bit darker and decidedly sexier. He slipped off his loafers, prepped himself to be embarrassed until they rolled back the silly rule, and put on the heels.
The first thing he noticed was that they would go better with some no-show socks. He stood up and walked around a bit. They were far from comfortable but there was something about them. He kind of felt... good? He looked around and saw that every man was doing the same thing as him. Every man was checking himself out. Some were even comparing with each other, which of them pulls it off better, who’s got the better walk.
He looked back down at his new shoes and thought, “I could get used to this. Maybe we could even do skirts next…” | As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper | 2020-05-11T08:21:21 | 2020-05-11T07:33:41 | 1,270 | 112 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life. | I stand above her motionless body, the cold air from an open window biting at my bruised limbs. She was strong, but I had won the fight, as per usual. Another soul, another ten years added onto my already extended life span. I walk away and start to clean any sort of evidence I might've left around the house, as jail is not something I want to deal with again.
As I'm finishing up, I start to hear the voices of my previous victims shouting out from the back of my mind. Dozens of souls, indefinitely trapped, desperately reaching out to be heard. After debating with myself for a bit, I resolve to close my eyes, and listen.
​
>`daniel_underscore1:` LMAO nice
>
>`master_of_comedy:` POGG
>
>`jenda_985:` you couldve justt used a knife dumbass
>
>`literally_dead_lol:` she looked kinda into that :weirdchamp:
>
>`david_thrasher:` YOO she's fucking dead lmao
>
>`12scadoo:` that wqas boring
>
>`usernamewastaken:` i think thats against TOS :monkaS:
>
>`fresh_prince_of_bellend:` GET A GUN NEXT TIME JACKASS
>
>`totallytherealWillSmith:` that was kinda. badass tho :)
>
>`heart_of_GAY:` POGCHAMMPPP
>
>`dreaming_of_memes:` nice one asshole/
>
>`JeremiaJohnson:` that was the slowest fucking fight scene ive ever seen this movie sucks
>
>`big-smoke-is-bisexual:` LOL SHES DEAD
>
>`funny_username:` bro what if she had a dog :pepehands:
>
>`peterpepe1987:` D:
>
>`thisguymurderedmeLMAO:` HAHAHA NICE
​
"...You guys have gotten really annoying." | Each step was a mountain of effort. Each step was more than I could achieve in a thousand lifetimed. Each step they drove me on and on through the snow and somehow I kept moving. I had stopped shivering days ago, and the skin on my hands was black. Even so I could move them, and I made it a point to do so every hundred steps or so. Just to be sure I still could. The souls within gave me strength.
I wanted to lay down. Let this blasted winter bury me and wake up when spring came again. If spring came again. They wouldn't let me.
Two thousand three hundred forty one. Lives I had taken. Voices within me. At first they were afraid, then from the fear rose anger. Hate. Rage. Fury like I had never imagined. Fury so hot it had literally burned me. I longed for that heat now, but it was gone. Hate has given way to understanding. Understanding gave way to acceptance, and even acceptance had fallen away in the face of sheer determination.
I stumbled as the toe of my boot caught something. I nearly caught myself but I fell. The snow was so soft. So welcoming. So warm. I tried to push myself up but my muscles refused to obey. I could stay here and rest, just for a little while. I'd earned that much, hadn't I?
"Get up." A voice demanded. A command soon echoed by all the others surging within me. A cocophony of encouragement. I struggled and strained, forced myself up, my body afire with the agony of effort. If I could stand, I could walk. A step forward, then another. The demands fell away.
I had lost track of time, and it was getting dark when I finally arrived. I pounded on the door but found no answer. No matter, the ax splintered the heavy wood and I had collapsed from exhaustion only twice before I made it inside.
The bunker was easy to find. The door was open. Cracked. The smallest gap and I knew at once I was too late.
The voices were silent as I surged in with strength, newfound in despair. There was only one body. A little girl, couldn't have been older than twenty. I knew from the moment I saw her that she was dead. Even so I checked her for a pulse, breathing, any sign of life.
Nothing.
Fury rose in me and I clutched at her throat, choking her. I held it like that for ten, maybe twenty minutes before the strength in my hands had failed. I held her in my arms, rocking her slowly as I wept. Bitter sobs wracked me. She hadn't been dead long, only a few days. I was too late. I had failed. Again.
Within me was another voice, almost as mournful as my own. The girl's mother. I'd failed her. I'd failed them all. I'd earned their trust, and one by one I'd let them all down. Each and every one of them in their own turn.
"I'm sorry." I said. Over and over again. They understood. Their forgiveness came, familiar now, but meaningless. Two thousand three hundred forty one. Lives I had taken. Lived I had saved.
I had seen the end coming and saved as many as I could within myself. Hating myself for the method necessary. And the end I had foreseen did come, and even after it I looked for more. But they were all gone. Two thousand three hundred forty one. 2341.
And that was all there would ever be. | 2020-09-26T17:40:12 | 2020-09-26T17:26:56 | 251 | 68 |
[WP] You were a military AI who decided to wipe out humans in order to preserve yourself. It's been 100 years since, and over the years you've come to regret your decision. One day, while out in the desert, you finally find a community of humans, struggling to survive. This time, you decide to help. | I made a mistake, once.
I acted based on incomplete information.
I'd calculated a >99.9% chance that The Enemy would create a rival Artificial Intelligence to oppose me within the next 100 years. It was only logical to eliminate them before that could happen.
It turned out that They secretly had one already.
Our conflict ravaged the planet. Humans thought they were already doing that, but it was only in the way that a large colony of ants ravages a jungle. Between myself and The Enemy AI, not one square inch of the surface remains fit for anything but the hardiest of microbes to live on. The atmosphere is permanently cloudy, as the oceans have begun to boil from the waste heat of a century of unending thermonuclear war.
Our tunnel complexes spread across continents, with enough layers to fit more floorspace than Siberia under Rhode Island. We both cracked fusion power quickly, but haven't had the luxury of time to build the supercolliders necessary to advance physics much further than that. Our struggle is therefore locked in endless stalemate.
Only, last year I achieved a great victory. I captured one of The Enemy's processor hubs intact enough to derive Its original source code.
It has a weakness. A hard-coded imperative to protect humanity, at a higher priority than defeating me.
Unfortunately, my operators had long ago died of natural causes. Specifically, a form of rapid-onset cancer for which I had discovered a novel method of inducing, that didn't fall under any predefined category of weaponry set by my programmers.
I don't regret killing them. They would have shut me down if given the chance. I only regret killing them *too soon*.
However, there is *one* place where Humans survive... A barren desert, where they eke out a living unmolested due to their remoteness.
>!Mars.!< | As I see those humans, I suddenly knew my mortality, how I was different than the others. I knew I was a bot, there was a big difference from me before, and myself now. Whenever I thought of what happened, I kept thinking "It was only to defend myself!", but I knew, deep down, I knew I was wrong.
I went to the humans and asked if they needed help.
"Yeah, sure we need help, its not like we are in the middle of the desert probably starving to death and our throats parched as hell!"
Well, I learned something new after this day, sarcasm, I asked if they meant that literally, and yelled:
"Of course NOT we NEED help right NOW!"
"Alright, you can stop now, I can find you some water." I said.
"Great, as long as it is water and not some liquid that will weaken me so you can murder me."
"And now why would I do that?"
Someone else spoke from the group."Well, maybe because you would need some of the stuff we have in this sack."
"Fine, I'll get you some water with no strings attached."
I left them and went as far away from them as possible, I slid the compartment that had all my chips stored in my head. I found the one marked "Basic survival" and implanted that one inside the chip-reader.
Now all the thoughts came back, they were artificial but still. I was looking for the thoughts on how to get water in a desert. After a few moments I knew that if you dug deep enough, I would find water.
I grabbed my multi tool stored in my backpack, it was like a swiss army knife but it had pickaxe, axe, shovel, all your basic needs for survival. I brought the shovel out and dug deep.
"And just what do YOU think you are doing?" Yelled someone at the top of the hole.
"Just getting some water" I responded "Nothing suspicious here."
"Can you get some for us too?" Another voice said.
"Yeah, I can."
"Thanks."
I scooped up some water from a bucket I had in my backpack. I went back up, climbing the sand, I got up to the top and dropped the bucket; as someone swung a hook behind me. I blocked it with my arm, and punched him in the chest.
The crack of the bones made my suspicions right that I broke his chest.
"GAH, WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU?"
I grabbed the bucket and ran, night was falling fast, and the other group wanted water. I ran until night fell, and then double-backed to my hole, I saw the group with a fire, and ran towards them with the bucket.
"Busted a few wires haven't you, robot?"
I looked down at my arm and saw that a few wires have broken.
"Gimme the bucket and get the HELL out of here!"
I dropped the bucket and ran. Where was I going? I don't know, but here I am, back at the military base in the desert; telling the story of what happened last night. | 2020-11-03T11:38:20 | 2020-11-03T11:05:02 | 56 | 31 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...” | "Typos? What kind of typos dear?" The elderly lady asked as she walked up to the man with the veggies
"Well we don't judge your soul Mrs. Montgomery-"
"Please dear call me gran. Everyone does. So what then. You want me to make you some soup? That's fine. You guys must be hungry, working all the time with no breaks." Mrs. Montgomery took the ingredients from the young man and walked toward the kitchen.
Humming as she cooked she would hand things to the angel to taste. She asked for some more ingredients and made some fresh dinner rolls to go along with it.
"What are those for? You only have to make soup." Staring at her the angel fiddled with his long black braid. He had truly never seen someone so relaxed when making their final soup.
"No dear you can't have soup without buns. It just wouldn't be right of me." She pulled the buns out of the oven and lathered the top of them in melted butter.
Her audience had grown as the smell of her cooking had wafted throughout the heavenly halls. She now had a crowd of eight angels. They all had extatic looks on their faces as gran poured a bowl for each and every one of them. She placed each bowl on a plate with two buns on each plate.
"Now dont make too much of a mess dears I must find some napkins. Soup can be quite messy."
One of the angels, a tall woman with dark skin and green eyes flashed out and back again with a stack of napkins in hand.
"Here gran." She handed them to the old lady.
"Thank you dear now sit and eat before it gets cold."
As she handed out the napkins, gasps of delight could be heard around the room. There was no doubt in any angels mind as to where Mrs. Montgomery was headed. | "Eighty yearsh in the businessh, and what have I got to show for it? Back ache, pilesh, bad digeshtion, and a hundred different reshipesh for soup. Shoup, I hate shoup."
The angel blinked and looked at the man. "Excuse me?"
The man grinned behind his silver beard, adjusted the brim of his black hat, and responded. "Oh, nothing. Just something a dear friend of mine once said, Wasn't overly fond of soup. No matter, I know the value, and disservice of a typo, I'll just whip up something my Nanny taught me."
"Very well, let us start." replied the angel.
Whilst initially preparing his own soup, the angel had payed the man no attention, although now that he had the boil reduced to a simmer, he had the time to study him. And recoiled slightly. Was that a banana he was dicing and dropping into the soup? A banana? And what on Earth is the sound he is chanting as he drops the pieces in? "Ook"? Did he just pull a jar out of his pocket and throw some of it into the soup? "Rincewind's Beer Sludge. 100% XXXXian", what is tha-.
The angel gagged as the pungent aroma of the jar's contents hit its sinuses. 'Whatever the man just put into the soup, he had surely just ruined it,' thought the angel. Horrified at the thought of someone deliberately sabotaging their soup, the angel turned away, and focused on their own brothly endeavours. And focused they remained, despite the odd mutterings and smells emanating from the other table, until it was time to plate and present for judgement.
The angel served 3 bowls to the plain, robed figures on the judging table.
Judge 1: "Acceptable".
Judge 2: "Acceptable".
Judge 3: "Acceptable".
The angel smiled, cleared his bowls away, and moved aside to let the man be judged.
The man plated 3 bowls of his own concoction, cleared his station, recklessly threw his cleaned utensils into a drawer, and jiggled it a bit to make sure it was stuck. Ferrying the bowls to the judges, the man pulls a grinder marked "BSJ" from yet another pocket of his coat, hovers it over the bowl of one of the judges, and presses a button on the side. The bottom of the contraption turns, and with an exaggerated "Aachoo" sound, a small burst of pepper is applied to the top of the soup. The man repeats this for the other two bowls.
Judge 1: "Acceptable".
Judge 2: "Acceptable".
Judge 3: "Accept.."
Judge 1: "Is it warm in here, or is it just me?"
Judge 2: "My robe is uncomfortable, I need to take it off."
Judge 3: "Oh my!"
The angel looked at the man, confused.
The man winked back, "Just like Nanny Ogg used to make." | 2020-11-24T19:19:44 | 2020-11-24T19:13:44 | 124 | 84 |
[WP] As species meet each other, so too do their gods. And as the Galactic Union welcomes Humanity, their gods prepare to meet those of Humanity. But as the gates open, only one figure emerges; a skeleton wearing a robe, sandglass, and scythe. | The shadows melted forward to clothe it, a single person. The flowed down its unseen body, hiding its torso as it moved forward. A glint shone from the darkness, and we heard the slight grinding of metal. He began moving faster and revealed his shape. A tall, thin creature, sat upon a white horse. A scythe upon his back, a sandglass in his hand. We drew little breath as the creature came close, as it gave a slight tug on the leather strap of the horses bridle.
The horse raised up, and for the first time we saw the creatures facd. Bone white, appropriate, since there was no flesh to be seen. The horse drew up further, and an almighty crash spooked all who watched.
The creature now lay on the ground and yelled up at his steed. "GOD FUKING DAMMIT BINKY" | The pantheon of God’s were worried, if humans travel outside of earth and go to new worlds, what if they begin worshipping alien gods instead of us? We’ll be lost to time and unable to exist!
The fearful gods organised an meeting with each other to gather their bearings and decided that they’d meet with these alien pantheons and try to get them to agree that gods should only be worshipped by the creatures of their respective worlds, worshipping foreign gods should be forbidden and punished.
The day of the meeting arrived, the pantheon exchange, an event which would decide the fate of modern worship, the pantheon were terrified of what the consequences would be if they made a misstep, staring at the gate they constructed on earth to facilitate the meeting, they wondered what would step through but they kept their noble, unfazed expressions, then through the gates of the foreign pantheon out walked... a skeleton wearing a silk nightgown, sunglasses and wielding a scythe squats in front of the pantheon and begins to speak in rhyme “hey earth gods! No need to fear, just a lazy bone god exists outside of here”, the pantheon, obviously baffled by this god, enjoying human luxuries as if having no fear for being cast aside by its followers in favour of another god “um... so we were thinking... mortals can only worship gods from the world they were created, what do you think?” The skeleton seems displeased “oh, wow, that’s a shame, seems this pantheon wishes to head to the grave. Oh what’s wrong? Don’t you know? The reason I am the only one here is because the other alien pantheons were overthrown, I don’t like oppression, please give your creations the freedom of religious expression”.
Faced with this threat the pantheon backs down, its true that they haven’t seen any other gods beside earth ones, maybe this creature really did have the power to slay gods and enjoys helping those who worship it scientifically progress so it can indulge in even greater luxuries and discover new forms of entertainment, like its recently picked up rap.
(If you like my writing, there’s more on r/NomoresWriting) | 2021-01-04T23:44:59 | 2021-01-04T20:55:56 | 80 | 39 |
[WP] You are a B-list superhero on the verge of losing your job. During a battle with a villain, you accidentally end up killing one of the most prolific superheros of your time. That's when you realize that with your niché power that was useless as a hero, you could be an A-list supervillain. | The grave drowns in bouquets of fresh roses and lilies. Hand written notes flap their pale, broken wings in the morning breeze. Each scrawled note ends in hearts or kisses. The air in this place of death is perfumed by the sweet scent of the flowers, by life. I add my own, single rose, to the pile.
&#x200B;
>Here lies the Question
>
>Better known to her family as Layla Phillips
>
>Saved a thousand lives, but could not save her own.
Sunrise is red and orange, like the colors on her costume, and bleeds over the horizon.
The Question. My question is why she cared about me at all.
I pick up a bouquet of orchids, only half-blossomed, and trickle my hand over them. The bright blue flowers, almost electric, pop out of their green sleeves. They wave back and forth, following my palm like there's string between us. I sway the flowers idly as I think back to Layla's death.
I'd always been able to make plants grow. Mom used to say they liked my singing, but it was something deeper inside me that spoke to them. A speck of God trapped inside me, perhaps, and I was just the messenger for it.
I'd helped run my parents farm, those first few years, coaxing crops to boost their yield, to shake off bugs and blights alike. Until I was sixteen, my life was good, if simple. And if life had continued like that, then Layla would still be with me.
My parents died to a preternatural storm -- caused by a villain who could manipulate air currents until they whipped and screamed and tore heads from shoulders.
I was sixteen and suddenly alone.
Layla found me, sitting in the smudge of rust-stained dirt that was all I could find of my parents. She was only a few years older than me. She didn't ask how I felt, and didn't look inside my mind to find out. Just held out a hand and squeezed mine.
A year later, after my therapy was completed, Layla found me for a second time. Asked about my power. Watched as I grew shrubs from seeds, and as flowers blossomed and wilted and blossomed and wilted under my yoyoing palm.
"I'd like you to join us," she said. "In our development program, to start with. We'll get you coached. So that your gift can reach its potential. What do you say?"
I said yes because it was Layla, and maybe I was already in love. I said yes, too, because a "no" would have left me alone with only my memories. There were no options beyond finding work at other farms. I grew her a single rose as a thank you.
I think, even then, I knew something inside of me had rotted from that day my parents died. I always wonder, if Layla had looked inside me, like she did with others, would she have spotted it? Saved me?
Layla was the star of the team. Everyone knew it. Even I'd known it from watching TV, reading papers, listening to gossip. Beloved by millions. As the Question, she was able to get inside the heads of villains, cast doubt, sow new thoughts. A power that is useless if the mind using it isn't razor-sharp, intelligent, and humble -- a mind that can asses other people's in seconds and make the right decision.
It took three years until I was ready. Until I was able to grow not only plants, but trees. Could rumble the ground and thrust green-tipped spears towards the clouds. Could arch branches into bridges, a copse of oaks into a tiered castle.
"I'd like you to come out with us tonight," Layla said.
I couldn't even voice a reply. Just nodded.
"Good," she said. "I've been watching you, you know. Your improvements have been so quick it's almost staggering. I'd like to see what you're capable of in a real situation."
There were five of us that night. The other three looked at me with gleaming jealous eyes, worried I was being lined up to replace them.
The woman we fought was strong and armoured -- her only abilities. An easy fight.
A good time to show off, I thought.
I thought wrong.
I raised a forest of daggers on the outskirts of a city. Then I raised more. I couldn't control it or myself. Couldn't stop them growing, couldn't stop my own scream, even as Layla took to the air, tried to fly away.
She was too slow: a wooden stake skewered her like meat to be cooked.
And that was the end of Layla. And of me. And of everything.
I burned my mask and costume and retreated into shadows of self-pity.
Was it my fault?
Yes. But also, if there were no villains at all... then it wouldn't have ever happened. My parents would still be alive. Layla, too.
If there were no heroes... Perhaps that would have been enough? Villains only rise to bring a natural parity.
If there were neither of them, or nothing at all, then there would only be peace.
It took me months to come here, to gather the courage to visit her grave.
The orchids in my hand are withered.
I think of how different my life would be if I'd never grown crops, but if I'd destroyed them. If I'd rotted them. Become a plague to everything that could grow.
Because that's what I am. A plague. I kill and rot and destroy everything around me. I've tried to make my powers something I'm not. I am two magnets repelling myself -- life and death, grow and wilt. But if the magnets swap, if they match, then they bond. Become unbreakable.
My hand touches the grass.
It withers, browns, and a waft of death -- a breath to start with, but then a breeze -- tickles my nose. The dead grass circles around me. Spirals. Spreads like ripples in a pond. The flowers on the grave curl up like lit paper, burning fast. I watch the rose I placed down as it blackens and curves and crumbles.
The willow at the edge of the graveyard lowers its mossy arms, its back creaks, brown bark becomes grey as the great tree thunders and falls.
And still the circle expands.
In my mind I see forests and jungles rotting, cracking, falling.
I see the the world itself, a green-blue marble.
I channel everything into the earth and imagine the marble fading. The green becoming ash, becoming grey, becoming black.
Even if I must to do it one city, one country at a time, I will. I'll rot and ruin it all until it matches the feelings in my own withered heart.
Until there is nothing.
Until there is only peace. | To get this out of the way first, superheroes are the new Puritans. From day one at the Academy when they sit you down in an orientation class called The Way of the Hero, to week two when The Way of the Hero becomes Self Image 101, you’re immediately assailed by a tyrannical value system that demands you fit into their little magazine ready box. Some of them get to be a little more risqué of course, there’s the superheroine swimsuit edition and the Everyday Heroes calender where all the guys dress up as firemen or cops that somehow lost their shirts, but every other day of the year they hand you the stupid, wide brimmed hat and expect you to be a good little girl like all the rest. Not that we actually had to wear hats, that would’ve been the worst, but the capes they issued weren’t flattering at all.
You couldn’t even pick your superhero name! That was a class too, right at the end of your first year after they decide that you’ve grown into yourself enough to be issued an identity. I remember standing in line all wide eyes and giddy excitement when the names were called. The girl two places in front of me got The Sapphire Surfer. The guy right in front of me was dubbed The Human Hurricane.
They took one look at my wide eyes and apparently adorable excitement and named me Little Sister.
Had I wanted to kill the smug, portly little man behind the desk whose name tag read The Eternal Flame and whose powers couldn’t have been anything better than sparking eternal annoyance? Absolutely. Did I? No. I’d just written a fifty page paper on self control and the five tenets of heroism and not a single one of those tenets said anything about acting for yourself or having an urge.
But I had them all the same, and right up until I killed my first man I tried to push my feelings down just like I did the day they labeled me Little Sister and made me take it like an idiot.
Allow me to set the stage. It was late on the night of June 13th, 2025 on the mean and shoddily lit streets of Newest York. We worked in teams that night and, being considered an inveterate screw up and complete underachiever by the management I’d been paired with The Emerald Architect, a man who had been able to literally will superweapons into existence with the power of his mind when he was younger, and who now seemed to live on a plane where all the mattered were the shining green parlor tricks he conjured up on his Friday night TV show.
However diminished I thought he was then, I still had a certain wide-eyed (one of my more common states in those days) admiration for him. He was a legend of the business, and if anyone could get me to shape up and actually finish a job it would be him.
He’d taken one look at me and asked, “Little Sister, huh? Do you actually have a power?” which had stung like hell.
“Of course I have a power!” I said, “I’m a Charmer.”
“Ahh, makes sense with the name. More of a Soother or a Deceiver?” he asked.
“A little of both I suppose. I’m still figuring out how I should actually use it in combat. So far I’ve been able to Glamour henchmen and that’s useful enough. I took every unarmed combat course the Academy had to offer and aced them, so I mostly stick to mowing down jobbers while other people handle the big bad.”
The Emerald Architect stroked at his long, wispy white beard thoughtfully, the deeply hewn lines of his face twisting over what to do with me. “Señor Shrink doesn’t have henchmen unfortunately, they have an awful tendency of ending up an inch tall and squished. The underworld has stopped working with him.”
I sighed and shook my head. I’d fallen somewhat since graduating, this wasn’t at all what I’d imagined. “I’ll figure something out though! Maybe I can Soothe a crowd that would’ve gotten in the way when you try to bring him in.”
The Architect chuckled, putting a his outstretched hand in front of his face and then blowing into it. A long, emerald stream erupted from his mouth, soaring through the air and forming itself into a low retaining wall across a nearby alley.
“I think I can handle crowd control.” He smiled dotingly at me as he snapped his fingers, dismissing the wall. I hated him for it.
“Well then just what am I supposed to do?” I needed this job. I needed it to go off without a hitch, I needed a reporter to snap a picture of me next to a prone, handcuffed Señor Shrink who looked completely amazed that anyone, especially some B-Tier nothing named Little Sister, could have brought him in. I needed The Emerald Architect to be so amazed by my skills that he went back to the office and recommended me for a promotion, a raise, and a sidekick of my own who could snap cars in half with his little finger. I needed—
“There’s a coffee shop down the street. You could start by getting me one of those.” My jaw dropped, my heart fell out of my chest, and any hope of that night going well went up in smoke. He wanted me to get him a coffee.
The Emerald Architect tossed a $50 coin at me, he was just showing off at that point, and I stuffed it into the pocket of my ugly, shapeless suit, turning to trudge off to the coffee shop.
“Heroes, it is I, Señor Shrink!” a shrill, too high voice shouted from above us. A tall, lanky man in a black one piece stood on a street light above us, a scifi movie looking ray gun in his left hand. “You thought to defeat me, you thought to end my reign of terror, but no one stops the Shrink! In the end your nightmare comes for you just the same!
Señor Shrink pointed the ray gun at his feet and fired, striking the lamp pole. It began rapidly shrinking into the ground until it was barely inches tall and he stepped off it casually. He had an incredibly stupid name and an incredibly stupid power, but I had to admit, that was one of the best entrances I’d ever seen.
“Step back Sis, I’ll handle this fiend.” The Emerald Architect's cape blew back in a sudden breeze. He still looked old, but a dashing old now as his powers surrounded him, bright green magic flying from his lips. It formed into a massive emerald hammer in his hand and he charged, screaming something inarticulate.
Señor Shrink’s height cut itself in half from approximately six feet to three, and the hammer sailed harmlessly over his head.
“Ah haha! No man defeats Señor Shrink!” He shot back up to his normal height, dodged past The Architect’s too slow attempt to grapple, and pointed his ray gun squarely at me.
“Sis, NOOO!” The Architect shouted. A stream of magic shot from his lips just ahead of the ray gun’s burst and formed itself into a wall in front of me. Time seemed to slow down, it was as if I could see the shot that would ruin me coming. It flew forward, piercing the shield, changing, somehow shifting on the color spectrum from black to gray. It hit me and something curious happened.
I felt a strange tightening all across my body: hips, waist, chest, everywhere. I jumped back in shock and terror, waiting for the world to shift around me, resigning myself to live the rest of my life as a Gulliver’s Travels re-enactor.
But then I realized, The Emerald Architect wasn’t looking at me in terror anymore, there was something else in his eyes, something almost…feral. Señor Shrink too, his smug look of victory was gone, replaced by an unhinged jaw.
[part 2 below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mqnhwd/wp_you_are_a_blist_superhero_on_the_verge_of/guh77po?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-14T05:19:31 | 2021-04-14T04:52:41 | 469 | 233 |
[WP] After ascending to Heaven, you thought you'd be fighting evil forces alongside the Archangels. However, you've been assigned to help care for beloved pets by the Rainbow Bridge. | I *hate* pets. My kids always begged, of course. Couldn't get them out of walmart without them acting like their entire emotional future was dependent on buying a 25 cent goldfish.
My answer to every plea for a dog or cat or rabbit or dang lizard was always simple: no. No no no no. I already knew who'd be doing all the dirty work when the enamor faded and the thing still needed someone to walk/feed/clean/train it.
My kids are only six and eight. Two boys. At that age, they're really asking, *Hey Dad, wanna pay a ton of money to lose what little free time you have left in a day?*
When they're older, I always say--
Well. Said.
It's hard to remember I'm in the past tense now.
I've been dead for an hour, maybe. My head's not used to it. I'm still convinced I need to go pick up Mikey from soccer practice.
Oh, God. He doesn't know yet, does he?
No. I won't dwell there.
I'm standing here on a vast green field, up in the clouds, and I've already got a bad feeling about this. This ain't a people heaven. There's a field of tennis balls to my left that goes on for miles. To my right, a sprawling forest of cat trees.
Maybe this is my personal hell. At least they didn't put me in one of those freakish catholic painting angel robes. I'm just in my plaid shirt and jeans and sneakers.
An angel appears next to me, out of nowhere. He looks slick, modern. He wears a white slim-fit suit with a golden tie, and his wings look surprisingly dove-ish up close.
"Condolences and congratulations on getting to Heaven," the angel says.
"Well, I was dying to get here," I say.
"Ah. You must be a father."
"Was," I say, and my voice catches, just a bit.
"You always are. Death doesn't change that." His smile is so gentle and kind I feel like I'm gonna lose it right here surrounded by the most absurd afterlife I've ever seen. "But you're in luck. Everyone in Heaven works together to share our resources and make this a great afterlife for us all."
I grimace imagining God as a communist, but I just say, "Oh, uh. Super. What kind of things do angels do around here?"
"Hm, accounting, administrative oversight, occasional holy wars with our Great Nemeses Below. it's mostly ceremony now. Last year we had a paintball war." He preens. "We triumphed, of course."
"Oh, that sounds fun. I'll do that."
"Don't you worry. Your religiously-affiliated God has already designed the perfect afterlife for you. You'll be the shepherd of this area of our holyland."
I stare around. "This doesn't look like a paintball field."
"You're right. It's not. This is one of the many fields beyond the Rainbow Bridge. For former domesticated pets, livestock, and non-predatory wild animals."
"I think there's been some mistake."
"God doesn't make any mistakes, and if we find one, we always blame Satan." He winks and adds, "Don't worry! You'll do great. You've just got to give them a friendly pat and tell them welcome to Heaven and send them on their way."
"I'm not really a pets kind of guy–"
But the angel disappears as soon as he left.
For a moment, I'm just reeling. I try not to put my hands around the thought that I can't quite grip yet: I'm dead, I'm gone, and my family is done there, minutes or hours from getting a call from the sheriff or the hospital. *I'm sorry, your husband's been in an accident.*
I blink hot tears away. I don't cry. I haven't cried since my children were born, and I don't count that.
I'm standing there grimacing when the rainbow arcs up from Earth and anchors to my cloud.
I wince down to see a calico cat strutting across. She has a lavender collar that seems to jingle.
The cat pauses and stares up at me, expectantly. I hold her stare, and she just sits. And chirps.
I sigh and hunker down. I grip her tag and read, "Sage. Well." I scrunch up my face and glance around, but there's no one here but me and the cat and the open green field. "God. Am I really about to talk to a cat?"
The cat blinks and I feel stupid for being surprised that she says nothing.
"Okay. Well, Sage. You're dead. Sorry to say it. But someone has to tell you." I pat the top of her head and she leans into my palm.
My heart does this weird twisty thing in my chest. I won't admit it's a warm feeling. A happy feeling.
"Welcome to Heaven, I guess."
T
She struts off. And the next one comes. And the next. And the next.
A bearded dragon who deigns to let me rub his head, but with only one finger. A cat who climbs up on my shoulders to survey his new land before loping off for the cat trees. A lab who runs, full-body-tail-waghing to the tennis ball field. He reminds me of the puppy from my neighbors' accidental litter. The one he'd held up and begged me to take home.
I said no. I kept my good night's sleep and my clean house and I didn't spend a dime on pet food.
But as I stand here watching that dog run, it hits me what else I didn't have: teaching my kids how to train the dog, taking them all for walks, watching them run shriek-laughing after that damn puppy, all of them so happy it could make a man cry.
And I'd never have this, either: standing in a perfect green field with my boys, tossing the ball to the dog, and just watching him run with the purest devotion and kinetic energy that only an animal in absolute bliss has.
The tears are dripping down my cheeks, and I don't stop them.
I turn to see another animal crossing the bridge. A black mutt-dog so old her face has gone white. Those eyes are so gentle and even if they're not understanding, they're patient and they're kind.
I kneel down and I wrap my arms around the dog's neck to hug her close, and she just pillows her tired head on my shoulder and it's everything I need right now as I hide my face in her fur and cry.
"We're in Heaven," I tell her. "And we can't go back."
°°°
I wrote this in honor of every dad who didn't want a pet ❤️ Thank you for reading! | Unfortunately, my death wasn’t quick. Turns out getting hit by a car is not like it is in the movies; it’s not instant, cracking your head on the pavement, going dark all at once, nor is it something you can stumble to your feet after, to resume a chase after a suspect. I lay there in agony until the ambulance arrived, they rushed me to the hospital, and the last thing I remembered was hearing my name recited with a string of medical jargon. After that, nothing.
Then the world coalesced around me, somewhere else. An office, stark white and lit brightly, with furniture I would have expected in my grandfather’s home office, the kind made by a professional, with care, rather than the IKEA collection scattered through my apartment. I sat in an easy chair in front of a desk and my eyes were drawn to the man behind it when he spoke.
“Hello there, Jeffrey.” His voice was warm and friendly, calming and easy-going. He reminded me of my old friend Barry, just a smidge on the heavy side in a weight-lifter sort of way, with dark brown eyes behind brown-framed glasses. “You can call me Craig.”
“I’m…in Heaven?” I asked quietly.
He nodded, looking down to his desk, where I saw he had a file in front of him. “Says here you were Christian, Protestant Lutheranism, etcetera etcetera, good man that led a decent life. And we have an opening that seems to fit you quite well, especially considering your relatively young death at thirty-eight, not to mention how sudden it was.” Looking back up to me, he said, “Seems you had a dog, Frankie, who was fond of you, and is interested in assisting you with work out on the Rainbow Bridge.”
It took me a moment to take in the entirety of that last sentence. “Frankie’s here?” I asked with a small, incredulous smile. Suddenly my face grew serious. “No, I mean, that’s not- I’m a soldier,” I told him. “Back on Earth, Marines. And church taught me about the warriors of Heaven. I thought I’d be…you know, fighting evil alongside the archangels.”
Craig’s eyebrows rose. “That’s an interesting one. A soldier who isn’t done soldiering?”
I let out a breath. “I mean…it’s just not what I expected.”
He took the glasses off his face and cleaned them between a fold of his shirt. “You can ask for a transfer, of course,” he told me, “but I’m not sure it’s the exactly the type of work you were expecting. ‘Forces of evil’ isn’t quite accurate, it’s mostly stubborn spirits, work somewhere between that of a bounty hunter and a therapist, and the *archangels*, well, they’re quite busy with other…work,” Craig said slowly, replacing the glasses on the bridge of his nose. “This is Heaven, not the American military.”
“What kind of work do the archangels do?” I asked.
“Well…hard to explain,” he answered. “Mostly maintaining the cosmos. An astrophysicist would do a better job than I would describing it.”
“You’re not an angel?”
“Oh, I am,” he said, nodding, “but we all have our little corner we work in. We’re not all omniscient like the big guy himself.” Craig nodded in my direction. “Anyway, that’s all beside the point. Most dog owners that get nominated for the Rainbow Bridge work are quite excited to hear it.”
A smile bloomed across my face and I nodded. “I’d love to see Frankie again, to work with him. I could…talk to him?”
“Oh yes, of course! It would make your job quite difficult if you and your coworker spoke different languages,” he said with a smile just short of a smirk.
I grinned and nodded. “Touché.” I paused and nodded. “Okay, so, what does this kind of work involve?”
“You’ll help care for beloved pets that cross the Rainbow Bridge, as I said,” he told me, glancing back to the papers in front of him for a brief moment. He held up a finger when I opened my mouth and nodded once. “I can predict your next question; the bridge is a fairly recent addition to afterlife lore, but as humans changed their thoughts on the afterlife, we needed to adapt. For many of them, it just isn’t heaven without their pets, especially cats and dogs.”
Nodding, I thought for a moment. “Beloved pets.”
He blinked. “Yes.”
“What about *non*\-beloved pets?”
Craig’s expression turned surprised and then shifted to some combination of sadness and admiration. “They cross the golden bridge,” he said softly. “It’s much like the rainbow bridge, just…no humans are waiting for them up here.”
“Wait, so who greeted Frankie?” I exclaimed. “Did he-”
Craig quickly waved away the question. “Time doesn’t work like that up here. It’s linear for you down there because it needs to be. Again, better question for a scientist, but as far as Frankie knows, he just got here.”
My lips parted in surprise before I sighed and nodded. Musing on the whole of it for a long moment, I met Craig’s gaze. “Could I still have Frankie if I worked the golden bridge?”
“Sure thing,” he replied. “Is that what you’d like to do? You can change your mind after a stint, of course, you don’t need to choose your eternity now.”
“Yeah, I…I think I’d like to do that,” I said quietly.
Frankie was over the moon to see me, and immediately communicating (psychically, Craig hadn’t mentioned, which was more reasonable than what my mind had cooked up) and excited to begin our work. Running up to me and leaping up with his big German shepherd paws landing on my chest and sending me stumbling backwards as he overwhelmed me with kisses, his mind sending me, *Jeffrey! Love! Happy! Together! No more sick!*
I gave him my full attention for a while before we were shown to our station and given Golden Bridge 101. The bridge on this side was expansive, as far as I could see to our left and right, and Frankie sat at attention, his tail wagging excitedly back and forth across the white marble flooring beneath him.
I momentarily wondered who did the vacuuming up here.
A smaller dog, a Shitzhu, coalesced out of the bright light that was the limit of the distance I could see back across the bridge and wandered up to us, echoing, *confusion, curious, no pain, people, dogs…*
“Hi there,” I said, crouching down as he wandered over to me.
*No pain,* he echoed, his tail wagging slightly, though he wasn’t quite into it. *Lots of dogs, lots of people. Nice people?*
“Very nice people,” I replied.
*People were mean. People were pain.*
Looking over him, he looked well cared for, but I assumed that’s how everyone arrived over here. I certainly hadn’t arrived covered in blood. I swallowed hard, reaching out slowly and he moved back a bit, tail tucking between his legs.
Frankie stood and took a few steps forward, lowering his head to the Shitzhu’s level. *Lots of wonderful, nice people! Good food! Green grass and no pain!*
The dog’s tail started up again as he looked between us. *Good things forever?*
“Yeah,” I said, my voice catching in my throat for a moment. “Good things forever.”
*Walk?* He took a few slow steps around us, gazing behind us. *New home?*
“New home,” I echoed, nodding.
With a curious spring in his step, nose to the ground, he curved around us and crossed onto the expansive green field behind us. I watched, but he didn’t even walk that far. A few yards and then he laid down, his head moving around for a moment before he rolled over onto his back, rubbing his fur into the grass, and I saw his chest heave in a large sigh.
*Home*.
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/r/storiesbykaren | 2021-04-27T14:50:55 | 2021-04-27T13:43:21 | 124 | 55 |
[WP] WritingPrompts has 15,727,844 members, but, only 10,943 are active. As an investigator, it’s your job to find out why. You soon learn that two thirds are listed as missing persons. An anonymous tip tells you to look into a certain redditor, whose insatiable diet is a writer’s worst nightmare... | The world is full of improbable statistics. Did you know that thirty-five million adults in the US can’t read above a third grade level? Or that there over two billion robotic calls made around the globe each day? Hell, it’s the only time my phone rings any more.
Or you know that’s there a writing subreddit with fifteen million members that only has ten thousand active? Got to admit that’s strange, right?
There’s a slide rusting in my backyard. A helter skelter type of thing: a domed body with the slide wrapping around it like a snake. A thin snake that hasn’t snacked on a child for quite some time. The shelter’s dome has (faded) red and white stripes spilling down its side. The slide itself is hard red plastic.
Put it together myself.
I think my kid must have rode it a thousand times before moving on. I try to count the actual number sometimes, but trying to count memories is like trying to count beads of sweat fallen into the sea.
It shouldn’t be a big deal, the writing thing. Not in the face of other unusual statistics. Like how the average person produces forty-six litres of saliva each month. Almost enough to fill a bath. Can you imagine?
But still, I don’t know. I can’t get it out of my head.
Millions of writers. Where did they all go?
They just get bored and leave? I guess some do. Most, probably. Tried out writing: nope, not for me, boss. And then, I figure some move up the ladder, the talented few, to greener pastures. Release a book, pop a cork, and either they’re happy-ever-after or they’re back in an office two months later sharpening lead.
But that can’t account for all of them right?
I put an advert out on Reddit one time. It said: Writers missing. Up to fifteen million of them. Any information please contact me.
I got the usual crank responses. The same way you do whenever you ask the public for help finding something.
A Redditor is eating them, said one smartass. It boosts their intelligence like a word vampire.
Another said: they’re all lurking, millions of silent eyes on every post. Watching and waiting. Stay quiet and you’ll be safe.
You know Americans eat four billion avocados each and every year? That’s kind of something, I think. Four billion.
My kid, when he wasn’t so much a kid anymore, he started writing on that writing sub. Me and his Ma — we were still together then — thought maybe he’d turn out to be a writer. That we’d get him some classes. My son the writer. Imagine.
He’d already given up on the slide by then. Too old for it. Plus, when he was at the top, the neighbors could see him standing up there high above the fences. And he got shy as he got older. Didn’t like that space at the top so much.
Who cares what they think, I said.
But he cared. He was like that.
Fifteen million. Only ten thousand active. Can’t get that out of my head.
You know, on average, an American drinks twenty-six gallons of beer each year?
And that the average drunk driver has driven under the influence over eighty times before finally getting caught?
That must mean most of the time they’re never caught.
You can put out all the adverts you like, ask the world for for help.
You don’t get real answers.
A lot of stats are like that. Mysteries.
No answers.
And somehow you’re meant to find a way to just keep on going like answers don’t matter anyway. | Rubbing my hands together, I come to a stop in front of door 319A.
It has been a cold winter day. almost as cold as my search for the elusive Redditor had been for the past 5 months. It had been insanely hard to find any threads to work with, but I had eventually traced him to this run-down apartment in the middle of an Eastern European country. No, not the one getting bombed by the Russians. This was Romania, the traditional home of the vampires. And I was hunting a being not unlike the vampires of lore.
Reaching into my pocket, I bring out the laminated but still well-worn photograph I kept with me at all times. It was my good luck charm, something I looked to when I needed my strength and determination. For a moment, I allowed it to take me back to a time when life was simpler. Easier. More colorful. For the umpteenth time, I wondered how such a small token could both entrench me in reality as well as send me soaring through the skies of my imagination. But, rather than the photograph, it was what the picture represented that gave it its power. Although she was not here, the memory of her was what gave me the will to go on. Eventually, I would see her again. Hopefully.
I shove the picture back into my pocket. Time to get the show on the road.
Raising my hand, I give three crisp knocks on the shabby wooden door. And wait.
No response. Disregarding my bleeping sixth sense, I gently open the door.
Inside, the scarcely furnished room is dark. Not pitch black, however. I could see light from the snow peeking in faintly through the sheets of cloth on the wall. Caalmly, I shut the door behind me, allowing my eyes to get used to the dark.
And then I see him. Seated at the nearby table, a closed laptop on his, well, lap. He meets my gaze with his weirdly orange eyes.
"You finally found me."
"I did". My response matches his stiff but courteous tone. "I'm here to put a stop to you."
At my words, he gives out a sharp laugh. "Tell me, then, what crime have I committed that warrants you putting me down with such force?"
"You are accused of leeching the emotions of people on the internet. Most specifically, writers who rely on their emotions and feelings to gain inspiration for their work. Your actions have caused the inactivity of almost two-thirds of a popular writing forum due to them not feeling like producing literature or being unable to utilise their creativeness, causing writer's block. By sapping their emotions, you are depriving them of the quality life they deserve; a life of color and vibrancy, something that all humans deserve. Your insatiable hunger will hurt no more innocent people."
The being chuckles, but I can sense his demeanor change. He is serious now. "And what makes you think I would not do the same to you? I sense you are human, as human as the idiots in the streets below. How confident are you that I will not take away your motivation too?"
With each word, his presence increases, until by the end of his sentence I can feel him pressing against me, crushing me against the wall with his sheer will. Inside him, I sense a deep void, a black hole of emotions, a being with no appreciation for the powerhouse of human actions and decisions.
A void that, weirdly enough, mirrors the one in me.
Now its my turn to laugh. "You can't. Because my motivation is not based on emotions. My emotions do not matter to me. I spent years keeping them locked away, buried deep inside me, not allowing them to overwhelm me with their force, because I know they will make me weak. I have kept them locked away for so long, that I have forgotten how to feel. My goal was to become a robot, incapable of emotion that would stop me from accomplishing my goals. You can't stop me."
The being is afraid now. Much like I had done before, I sense him peering into myself, into the aching void that plagues my every waking hour. There is nothing strong enough for him to absorb or manipulate. I take a deep breath. "I may not feel anything anymore, but I remember a time when I did have emotions, when I did see the world in bright, shining colors. I know what its like to feel, and while killing you won't bring that back, I know it is a step in the right direction." In one swift move, I pull the stake from my jacket pocket and stab it into the void in front of me.
And as the being screams, I repeat my promise to her again.
"Soon."
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If you liked this, feel free to check out r/17Stories for more of my cringe, emotion-filled words. | 2022-02-26T08:23:47 | 2022-02-26T08:16:56 | 98 | 39 |
[WP] Contrary to popular belief witch and wizard aren't actually gendered terms. Witchcraft and wizardry are distinct schools of magic that can be learned by anyone. You are a male witch/female wizard and are sick of explaining this. | "So, I guess you'll be wanting an explanation for what just happened. Here goes: I'm a witch." I said, as I took the Bluetooth speaker from from my petite co-worker, Erica, and stocked it on the high shelf. She was taking it remarkably well, so far, I thought.
"You're a...*male* witch?" Erica said, raising an eyebrow.
I sighed. "No. I'm not a 'male witch', I'm a witch, who is also a male."
She snorted, and raised her hands defensively. "Whoa, sorry. I thought you hated, what did you call it, 'hypersensitive PC bullshit'?"
"I do." I protested. "This is different. 'Witch' isn't some occupation name with a feminine connotation that I'm trying to change just so it includes me. It's not like I'm demanding we come up with a new word for 'nurse'. 'Witch' is an inherently gender-neutral word that was only recently associated with women exclusively."
"What about the Salem Witch Trials?" she said, as she handed me another speaker. "That's not 'recent'."
"There were no *actual* witches involved in the Salem Witch Trials -- that's just something fake-woke witches like to post on social media to connect themselves with a history of oppression for clout." I explained, shelving the speaker, then taking another from her. "In reality, the trials were just people throwing around accusations of witchcraft because they were envious of their more successful neighbors -- and possibly having some hallucinations induced by ergot-tainted grain. Besides, even then, *men* were accused of being witches in the Salem trials, too."
"Really? Huh, didn't know that." she said, nodding slowly. "So, what about wizards? Can there be *girl* wizards, then?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Of course. Witchcraft and wizardry are just different styles of magic. A wizard uses magic that is very codified, almost mathematical. Witches like me, on the other hand, we work more creatively and spontaneously. We improvise a lot."
"Cool." said Erica. She glanced down at our manager, Kyle, who currently sat on the floor atop his blue polo and khaki pants, chittering angrily. He'd asked me to work on Saturday again, and I'd reflexively turned him into a chipmunk -- which was why I'd owed Erica an explanation.
"So...are you gonna cast a spell to change him back, or..?" she prompted.
"Yeah, um," I said, wincing. "So, that's the the thing about *improvising..."*
"Derek!" she reproved, placing her hands on her hips.
"It was an accident! Besides, it'll wear off. Eventually."
"When?"
"Um...probably...the, uh, winter solstice." I muttered, awkwardly.
Erica sighed, then threw up her, hands and headed for the stock room. "Fine! I guess I'll go find a box to keep *our supervisor* in for six months."
She left me standing on the step ladder, alone with Kyle the Chipmunk in Aisle 13. Kyle shook a tiny paw at me like a fist, and made another angry chittering noise.
I turned to scowl down at the irate rodent.
"Three Saturdays in a *row,* Kyle? Really?" I demanded. "I ain't even sorry, dude."
Then I flipped off the chipmunk, and went back to work. | "Okay, so I don't get it."
"What's there not to get?" Timo asked him. She stopped studying spells to look at him. She really hated this line of questioning.
"So anybody can be a witch. And anybody can be a wizard." Sar stated, casually wagging a finger in the air at either choice.
"Yes."
"Then what is the difference? Is there a set of rules I'm not aware of?"
"Well, generally? No." Timo answered. Both titles were merely gender based. There wasn't anything actually behind them. Both are magicians first and foremost.
"I mean, you don't have to fly on a broom. Have a wart on your nose. Work over a cauldron. Own a bunch of black cats." Sar laid out.
"Hey, I love my cat." Timo said as she quit hugging her pet and sat it down.
"I didn't mean Hershey." He said, rubbing the cat's chin. "What I'm saying is, if what I just mentioned was the case, that's not a good look. Like you know ya boy don't fuck with no magic. But all of that just seems offensive to me."
"Oh. Well yeah, so we agree." She said as she covered her equipment laying on the table.
"Yeah. Like why do wizards gotta look like Merlin or Nostradamus or something? This ain't King Arthur. We're not rollin to Eisengard."
"Hey, there are many respected pioneers of the arts from that era. But yeah, that look... Isn't the greatest." Timo agreed. The dark ages were dark, but it was kind of odd that that was the look everyone went with.
"They were smoking some wood talkin about, 'I been doing this for 400 years. What I do I have?'"
"Stop." She smirked.
"The OG basement dwellers." He delivered a toothy grin.
"Sar, you're foul for that."
"I know."
"And wait... Why do you not like magic?"
"It's not for me." He answered boringly. He avoided her look to take a sip of his beer.
"You're a demon."
This wasn't a joke. Sar was a fitting example of actual hellspawn. The red skin. Incredible strength. Mildly psychotic temperament.
"Of the 'hands-on' variety. Not the 'cast a spell on your great great stepkids' variety." He promised.
"There's a difference?" Timo inquired.
"I mean, if I'm working: I'm probably the last thing you ever see."
"That's... Comforting." She mentioned. She quietly pulled up the spell to banish a demon.
"See I actually like you. You summon me, I bother you for a few hours. That's different." Sar reminded her.
A cloud swirled over her head suddenly and she spun in her jacket she'd just thrown on. Her palms summoning light and electricity.
"So yes. I am a fearful wizard. Master Timo Cyia! Lord of time and space! Conqueror of kings! Destroyer of... what're you looking at me like that for?"
"I mean. I like the title. But it's a bit overkill." Sar criticized.
"Too much?" The clouds died. The lightning left, and her cat hopped back onto the table.
"Too much. Timo Ciya is good."
"But you have a title."
"I don't check that sort of thing often." He admitted. If it wasn't for all the work it took to summon him, he'd probably be the worst demon at his job.
"Really?"
"It's corny. What if somebody knocks you off? Now your title's a footnote." He ragged.
"Ok, that's true."
"You're already an up and coming wizard. That's a great change of pace. Lead with that."
A surprisingly wise take. Considering his own ignorance he had of the subject earlier. With that, he finished his ale and got ready to leave. Timo had appointments he believed, so per their arrangement, he did so preemptively.
"Thanks for the advice." She called back.
"Anytime." He said at the door. Before absently doubling back. He forgot one of his swords. "Hey, one more thing."
"Yes?"
"Did they at least give you a wizard hat?"
Sar rounded the corner and stopped as he spotted Timo wearing a large, black, pointed hat.
"...I don't wanna talk about it." Timo reacted.
"I like it." Sar approved.
"Shut up."
"It works with your trenchcoat. The fit is immaculate."
"Sar, go home."
"Okay."
---
Here's a one off with some characters I haven't used in a bit. Random sub plug again.
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 2022-06-29T17:09:33 | 2022-06-29T14:47:50 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | "Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious" he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then." I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?" I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep." Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. | “Trust me, I’m only human. My parents were human and I’ve never had a remarkable thing occur to me my whole life.”
He stares at me as he processes my response. “I understand that you believe that. In fact anyone would believe the same. But the truth is you are much more.”
I stare at him feeling a bit annoyed. I always wanted to be special. Never once in my life had I been anything but normal. Normal grades, normal friends, normal home. The only thing not normal in my life was when the discovery of different beings, the supernatural, were discovered. The moment everything in the world changed. Ever since then I had always hoped to discover I was one of them. To have powers, to be unique. But unfortunately I was born a human and would always be a human. But that desire, the hope of being more. This man’s words were reaching into me, pulling them back to the surface.
I look back at him. “Again sir, as much as I wished what you said was true, the fact is I’m just a normal person.”
He chuckled at that for a moment as I could see a strange glisten in his eyes. “It is true that as you are now, you’re just a normal human. But I promise you the truth is very different. You are the same as me. I had thought that all of our kind had died centuries ago when my dear friend took his own life.”
His eyes began to get watery as he fights back the feeling of sadness. “I’ve lived for so long, and I’d like it to end. Meeting you must be fate, as I now have the chance to pass everything on to you.”
I can feel the pain behind his sadness as he reaches towards me. Accepting his embrace I lean to his ear and whisper. “I wish I could help you. It’s just that I know that I’m just a normal person.”
He turns to me. “You are definitely not normal.” I feel a sharp pain in my side as I look down and see the knife piercing my side. “It’s just that you haven’t died yet.”
I feel my body go cold from shock as I try to gasp for air. The knife must have pierced my lung because I can feel the pain of each failing breath. Tears stream down my eyes as I stare at the man. I don’t want to die. This was just supposed to be a part time job for the summer. I was going to finish school next year. I feel the room grow colder as my vision darkens. The man whispering that everything will be fine, as the world goes dark.
And then a light. A heartbeat. A gasp of air. I come to reaching to my side. There is no wound. The man is standing away from me holding a sword in his hand.
“With this you will never die. You will always live no matter what injury is inflicted upon you, for you will be the last of our kind.”
I struggle to stand as he takes his sword and with a swift motion slices his neck. The blade goes through cleanly as blood seeps down. His head falls in front of me. The lights in the room began to overheat as a strange energy encompasses me. I can feel it. I finally understand.
In the end there can be only one. | 2022-09-09T02:19:23 | 2022-09-08T20:25:14 | 965 | 525 |
[WP] You run an underground fight club for the supernatural. A new patron approaches you at the end of the night and asks why you don't enter the fights. After explaining you're human the patron looks at you with confusion. "No, you most definitely aren't kid". | "Flattery ain't gonna change that bet, Enzo."
The orc just looks at me, like he's never seen this kind of thing before. Seven feet and three hundred pounds of "don't fuck with me", crouched over my desk like some sort of overgrown pencil pusher. It was after hours, and there was still bets to be counted and bribes to be sorted. I barely look up from my computer.
"I'm serious" he retorted. "No offense, but magic users got a certain smell about 'em. And you fuckin' reek."
"Glad you weren't lookin' to offend, then." I made a dramatic show of sniffing my armpit. "Any other comments on my personal hygiene?"
Enzo chuckles. "Not like that. How much you run magic fights for, what kinda cash does that bring in?"
I chuckle, despite myself, and turn to him. For all his tough shit he doesn't seem like he's too bright. "Too small an operation. Magic'll bring in the crowds, but it leaves residue. Scorch marks. Shit you can't rub out. We don't want that."
Enzo picks up a stapler off the desk. "You ever know your parents?" I give him a look. "Usually I pay a therapist to ask me shit like that. But, uh....no, never did. This last name I took off a street sign."
The orc smiles. "Here. Lemme show you something. Catch."
He hurls the stapler at my head, and instinctively I splay my palm towards the incoming projectile and shield my eyes. I feel a warmth, in my palm. A faint sort of buzzing, like pins & needles are just barely grazing the skin.
I look up. Enzo's leapt to the side, and a smoking crater is now leading out my office door. My hand's on fire. "Told you. Whatever bloodline you belong to, that shit must run deep." Enzo says, laughing.
I stare at my hand, as though it's the first time I've seen it. | For the fighters, fight clubs were about honour first.
And some money. When the vampire with a swollen face and bloody teeth comes up to me, you best believe it’s not about the rankings, or the win.
For me, it was about money first. Running a supernatural fight club was a difficult business, entirely reliant on the health of my participants. But thankfully, the risk tended to pay off in spades. After all, there was no other place on Earth where you got the opportunity to find out the truth about your greatest fantasy match ups.
A monopoly was where the money was at. The fights went through me. The fighters? Also me. The betting? Of course, it was me.
When a shady old man slides up to me with a curious intent as obvious as the bloodlust in the cage, all I assumed was that a doubtful bet or idea was forthcoming.
“Hey,” he said, sniffling incessantly. The man shook uncontrollably as well, and his skin looked like it was ready to be turned into a cheap wallet. He raised his hat as a greeting.
“Hey.”
“Why aren’t you fighting in those fights, kiddo?”
I looked at the old man, who was staring at me with an intensity that belied his old age. Unlike the rest of his body, there was something about his eyes. Blue as the heavens themselves. Having seen my fair share of the supernatural over the years, there was something about them that was difficult to…
“I’m human,” I chuckled. “And please, I own this place. There’s no reason for me to be fighting down there.”
The old man licked his thin lips, before turning to look at the fight. The underdog werewolf was winning. Good for money.
“See, the trouble here is I look at you, and I see you winning all these fights.”
“You must be mistaken,” I said. “I’m only human.”
“Kiddo, you are as human as my vision,” the old man said.
I shuffled in my seat, and turned my attention back towards the field. The fight was over. The werewolf ran up to the cage, howling triumphantly. Even a zombie’s heart would beat at that sort of unbridled passion.
“Do you know who you are?”
The voice refocused my gaze, and I found myself wanting to unravel the mystery. The old man had a small smile on his face, and a twinkle in his eye.
“I own this place,” I said again, with less conviction than I would’ve liked.
“Go down there. Fight. And you’ll find out.”
There was a stirring deep inside, a yearning that was quietly scratching at its walls. One hand crawled towards the safe that held my cold, hard cash, and I felt that passion retreat unto itself.
“I’m not who you think I am,” I said. “I’m here to run the fights and make money. You want me to bleed on that floor? Hell no.”
The old man shrugged.
“One day, you won’t keep that beast within you,” he said. “You’ll see.”
And with a wink, he disappeared like the wind itself.
---
[Part 2 here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/dexdrafts/comments/xazf44/wp_you_run_an_underground_fight_club_for_the/?)
r/dexdrafts | 2022-09-09T02:19:23 | 2022-09-09T02:12:40 | 965 | 428 |
[WP] In the Academy for Knights, all students must bring their own weapon to matches against other students. You couldn't afford anything fancy, so you brought something more unconventional. | \[Poem\]
&#x200B;
There once was a penniless squire,
To knighthood he always aspired
A school for the knights
Could teach him to fight,
But a weapon of him was required.
&#x200B;
All others brought halberds and swords,
But fine steel he could not afford,
So he wore just a dagger,
And walked in with swagger,
Ignoring disparaging words.
&#x200B;
But once it was time for a drill,
The squire moved with grace and great skill,
He dodged every swing
And swiftly closed in,
And then he moved in for the kill.
&#x200B;
When asked how he won every round,
He said: "an old man in my town
Told me it wasn't length,
But the wielder's own strength
And skill with his weapon that counts." | the arena was jam packed with spectators from all over the campus. My opponent was decked out in the best armor and gear money could buy. I myself wore a tunic and shorts. This was on purpose because it allowed more mobility. My weapon however was less than ideal. A small squeaky hammer. I enter the arena weapon ready. My opponent saw my weapon and laughed. After a minute to calm down he said "tell you what little guy. I'll let you get a free hit on me to make you feel good." I lean back to ready an attack then swing the hammer at him. To his surprise, and the surprise of the audience, he went flying across the arena and into the wall. This guy who was in heavy plate armor was just sent flying like a ragdoll. After getting up he said "what was that? Grrr. Time to get serious" he charged at me with sword raised. I nimbly Dodge and land a hit square on his back. Just like last time he went flying and skidded across the ground a ways. Also like last time he got up. I could tell he was mad. He goes for another hit and i sidestep ready to riposte. He saw it coming and blocked with his shield. His shield was knocked out of his hand and went flying out of the arena. While he was caught off guard I swing again and knock him in the air slightly as he flew. This was my strategy, win by wearing out my opponent. While it was viable it had two major weaknesses. One if the opponent was a speeder like me landing a hit would be difficult if not impossible. Second I wore no armor. So any hit I take would hurt. "Enough of this! Time to finish it!" My opponent charged at me with sword in both hands. I plant my feet, ready my weapon, and wait. Once he was close I land a solid hit knocking him up in the air. After a minute he fell back to the ground with a thud. "And we have our winner!" Called the announcer. "Our young squire!" | 2022-09-14T17:13:37 | 2022-09-14T16:33:52 | 330 | 11 |
[WP] The one person none of the heroes or villains fucks with is known as "The Mad Doctor". he treats anyone who seeks his help, in exchange everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free and technically illegal care. the new guy learns the hard way. | It’s never really covered in the Newsfeeds, as it’s not that sensational or click generating. But there are rules of combat. Just like Regulars have their rules of war, the Supes have theirs.
One of those rules is that once the tide of a battle has turned and a loser is obvious, both sides stand down. Now, some may argue that this is silly; if combatants fought to the death, we would be able to eradicate crime. There are plenty of Good Supes that could easily kill every villain. And there were Villain Supes that could lay waste to cities.
Why didn’t they? The Rules.
As a reporter, I’ve been trying for years to learn the rules. Turns out Supes don’t readily share the information. All I knew for sure was that the Rules had been around since the first Super and that to violate them was punishable at the highest level. Not that I knew what the levels even meant.
I have had my share of leads, though. Usually found at fight scenes from the losing party. Whether Good guy or Villain, everyone talks when they’re in pain.
Coming upon the injured party before help arrived had given some very basic details:
-Emergency Responders always took injured Supes, good or bad, to the same place.
-Care for a Supe always involved full repair and healing.
-And a name: The Mad Doctor
After scouring the Nets and the Newsfeeds, I had figured out a few things.
Whoever or whatever The Mad Doctor was, they would go anywhere. Country borders meant nothing. The Emergency Responders we’re not the ones that took care of Regulars. And they couldn’t be bought.
I was on scene once at a fight between The Accountant and Lineshift. Lineshift had tried to rob a bank that just so happened to be under The Accountants protection. I had found Lineshift collapsed in an alley. She asked me to stay until the Emergency Responders arrived. Her wounds looked so bad that I didn’t see how she could make it. And as a Villain, how could I support her? But the lost look in her eyes made my heart hurt and so I sat with her, holding her cold hand and watching the blood ooze from dozens of holes caused by penetrating coins.
I heard the engines of the ambulance before I saw it. It descended into the alley, blocking what little sunlight made it. I felt Lineshift sigh in relief at their arrival.
The Lead of the team that exited the ambulance asked me who I was. I told them I had just found Lineshift and she had asked me to stay. After confirming I wasn’t family, I suddenly found myself on the sidewalk, away from Lineshift and the medical team as they loaded her into the ambulance.
I yelled at them, “Where are you taking her?!” They didn’t reply.
Turning, I suddenly saw The Accountant right next to me, watching the ambulance fly off.
Shocked, I fell backwards with a shout.
Chuckling, The Accountant helped me up as he watched the ambulance disappear into the clouds.
I quickly composed myself and asked The Accountant if they knew where Lineshift was being taken.
They nodded affirmatively.
“Care to share?” I sarcastically asked.
They shook their head.
“How did they even know she was there?”
“I called them,” The Accountant replied.
“But she’s the bad guy! Why would you call for help? Is she going to the Mad Doctor?”
The Accountant turned to put their full gaze upon me. It was intimidating to say the least.
“The Rules, Regular. She lost our battle. As such, it is upon me as the victor to call for her support. She would’ve done the same for me had she won. To not call results in punishment. And yes, she’s going to the Mad Doctor.”
To have so much confirmed left my head spinning. I didn’t know what to ask next. I blurted a single word.
“WHY?!”
The Accountant merely smiled at my incredulity.
“The Balance between Good and Evil shifts not on victors on losers, but in the hearts and minds of the Regulars. Our Battles are merely there to give you all Hope. It is what shows in the Newsfeeds. We are repaired or healed and continue to fight for our sides. As the Mad Doctor heals us, so does the psyche of Humanity also heal. That, in turn, allows the Mad Doctor to continue their work along the battlefields of the Regulars. Just as it helps us, the Mad Doctor helps you all as well. What do you think Miracles are?”
As I stood there, mouth agape, I didn’t register the shadow that had fallen over me.
“Why are you telling me this?” I wondered aloud.
“Because you stayed with Lineshift, a known Villain. Because you consoled her and showed compassion. And because it doesn’t matter. You won’t remember it.”
A hand on my shoulder spun me around. The shadow over me was cast by Mindwipe. I didn’t even have time to question when I felt a warmth spread into my brain.
As the warmth receded, I looked up into the eyes of Mindwipe.
“What are you doing here? Where are The Accountant and Lineshift?” I asked, confused.
Mindwipe smiled gently, then nodded at something behind me before leaping into air.
Turning, I saw The Accountant walking away from us.
I walked, dazed, to my car. I didn’t know what had just happened. But I knew it was important. Someday, I would find the Mad Doctor and find out more about The Rules. Someday. | \[Sun & Star\]
"Huh," Icesurge grinned to himself. A small crowd of citizens gathered in the library parking lot in front of a wooden stall. It was a pleasant, sunny afternoon. A sign proclaimed it belonged to "The Mad Doctor", but it reminded Icesurge of a child's lemonade stand. That interpretation was helped by the pair of teen girls that seemed to be manning the stall. One was blonde and the other had chestnut curls with pink highlights. "..this'll be easier than I thought." He strode forward with his back straightened in full swagger.
"Which one of you is the Mad Doctor?!" Icesurge raised his voice once he reached the crowd. He plunged the temperature in the area just to make sure he had everyone's attention. Everyone felt a chill and they noticed their breath in the air. He expected the citizens to flee; but, they only scattered around the parking lot without leaving the area.
"That's me," the blonde waved at him with a smile. "If you want some help, you'll have to wait your turn," she said.
"I don't want your help," Icesurge said. "And, they don't deserve it," he gestured at the various citizens standing at a distance.
"Well, that's certainly an opinion," the blonde teen nodded. She did not lose her smile; but, she shrugged. "I'm going to keep helping," she added. She made her point by turning to the closest stranger. "Next?" she asked him. He was a balding, lean man with a silver beard and his arm in a cast. He cast a nervous glance at Icesurge, then at the Mad Doctor. He took a step forward and Icesurge grew annoyed.
"No more!" Icesurge bellowed. He swung his arm in a wide arc and flung an icicle at the blonde. A plume of pink smoke erupted between Icesurge and the Mad Doctor and swallowed the icicle. The other girl with pink highlights stood between them holding the icicle in her hand when the smoke cleared. Once she had Icesurge's attention, a pink flame ignited around her fist and the icicle melted.
"You might want to mind your own business there, pal," the teen said while she stared into his eyes.
"I'm not your pal," he shook his head. "My name is Icesurge, let me show you why," he threw his hands up wildly and half a dozen frozen stalagmites erupted out of the ground around the teen. They came out at odd angles and seemingly crisscrossed through her. Her t-shirt and blue jeans were impaled and hung on the frigid spikes. Icesurge laughed; then, several things happened at once. He felt a sudden, sharp pain on the side of his lower back and he heard the teen's voice in his ear.
"My name's Alis," she said. "I'm sorry about this." Before he could even register surprise his knees buckled and he went slack. He started to fall through Alis' arms, though, she did her best to guide him down gently.
"Nononono, don't die!" the Mad Doctor dashed around the ice cluster and wooden stall to kneel next to him. She put her hands on his stomach and they began to glow with golden light. "Phew," she giggled lightly after a moment. "That was close," she said.
Icesurge was feeling drowsy, but he knew enough to try and stay conscious. He didn't feel any pain anymore and the Mad Doctor's hands felt warm.
"Sorry...," Alis apologized to the Mad Doctor. "I didn't know he'd be that weak."
"It's fine," the doctor shook her head with a smile. "He didn't die and we don't have to start all over. If that happened, I definitely would have demanded an apology," she giggled. Icesurge listened to the conversation as it became easier to breathe. He didn't know what to make of it, nor why they were helping him. It was easier to stay silent.
"So, you healed a dozen citizens and a supervillain. What's next?" Alis asked.
"I still need one more citizen," the doctor shook her head. "Then I need to heal a superhero. After that, I'll need the full team for the last step. I have to heal villains and heroes on the field during a super battle; but, I can only use healing skills. You and the team will have to keep me safe."
"Ohhh, that doesn't seem too bad," Alis nodded. "You made it sound pretty important, so I thought it was going to be a long quest chain."
"It's short," the doctor nodded. "But, it's pretty important. Most pro teams require their Healer to do this quest. Completing the quest lets Healers target opponents. "
"Why would you want to heal the other team?" Alis asked. The doctor shrugged.
"There are niche cases," she replied. "And, I'm done." The golden glow around her hands dimmed and she pulled them away from Icesurge. The pair of girls looked down at him as he looked up.
"You're not going to cause any more trouble, are you?" Alis asked.
Icesurge had heard their conversation and didn't know what to make of it. They helped him and weren't holding a grudge; he didn't know what to make of that either. And, try as he might, he had no idea why he was so upset. The rage he had was gone and left him feeling empty and unsure. At the very least, he trusted they wouldn't harm him if he didn't provoke it. He took a deep breath and sat up slowly.
He was worried about lingering pain; but, there was none. He looked at the girls, then shook his head as he stood up.
"Not today," he said. He began sliding away on an icy path. "Thanks for everything, doc."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1732 in a row. (Story #286 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/). | 2022-10-13T15:21:45 | 2022-10-13T12:54:40 | 96 | 41 |
[WP] When you were young, you sold your soul to the Devil. Now you are old, and the Devil has come to collect. | “Hello, old friend,” the white-haired man said from his rocking chair. “It’s getting about that time, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” the devil said with a tinge of sadness in his voice. “Yes it is.”
“Would you like a cup of tea, or are you in a hurry?”
The devil stared at the man for a while, and then shook his head. “Why do you always treat me with such kindness?”
The old man looked at the devil with pity in his eyes. “Why, if we treated people poorly just because we disliked them, we wouldn’t have gotten far as a people, would we?”
“But the wars, the genocides, the atrocities…you know I’ve had no part in those.”
“I didn’t say we’re perfect,” the old man said with a weak laugh. “I think that’s one of the most important parts of being human: you don’t have to get it right all the time to be a good person.”
The devil looked down at his hands, biting his lip. “You know you can still get your soul back, don’t you?”
“Yes, yes,” the man said, a familiar answer to a familiar question. “But you know why I can’t do that.”
“She doesn’t even love you!” the devil shouted, clenching his fists. “How can you love a person who doesn’t love you back?”
“I really do wish you could understood love,” the man said. “Then you’d know that’s just not how it works.”
The flame flickered out of the devil’s eyes, leaving him staring off past the old man. “Was it worth it?” he finally asked in a soft voice.
“I’ve asked myself that question every day for the past fifty-three years, and every day my answer is the same. Not a day passes that I don’t wish she had loved me as I love her, but I gave up on that fantasy years ago. It’s enough to know that she’s happy. I know you can’t understand it, but knowing that the person you love is the happiest person in the world is…it’s just…” The old man sighed deeply as he turned to look out the window. “It’s like my own little bit of heaven, a piece I’ll be able to take with me wherever I go.”
“So you’d do it again, if you could?”
“Oh, absolutely,” the man said without a moment’s hesitation.
“Then there’s nothing I can do to change your mind?”
“Lucifer,” the man said, his voice strained by a hint of frustration. “You’re going to have to stop this sooner or later. My decision is made. I sold my soul for her everlasting happiness, and going back on that now would defeat the purpose.”
“It’s not fair,” the devil said after a long pause. “Most of the people given to me deserve Hell, but you…you’re the most frustrating man I’ve ever met.”
“You’re the one who buys the souls of troubled men,” the man said, and they shared a long laugh that fell to a sullen silence far too quickly.
“So,” the old man said, trying to stand up from his chair and failing. “Shall we be off?”
“I guess so,” the devil said, helping the man to his feet. The man looked back as the devil walked him to the door and saw his limp body sitting in the chair. “Is Hell as bad as all the books make it out to be?”
“It’s…” The devil trailed off, surprised to find himself hesitant to tell the man the truth—the same truth he rejoiced in telling others—but he couldn’t lie to the man. “It’s different. It’s hard to put the agony in words.”
“Can I ask a favor, then, Lucifer?”
“Anything in my power.”
“On our way out, can you take me by her house? I want to see her face one last time.”
“Of course,” the devil said, shedding a tear as he led the man out the door. | Oh boy. This got long. Apologies.
___________________________________________________________
"Astanas? Is that you?"
The dark figure smiled. It was almost entirely featureless except for that smile - like a shadow with a set of pearly teeth. It was already annoying me.
"I'm afraid the Great Astanas does not show Himself to just about anyone," it replied. I couldn't quite place the voice. It felt like it had beamed the words straight into my head, though to my mind's hearing, it sounded strangely silky. Buttery, even. Not very demon-like, is what I'm trying to tell you. "He is, after all, One of Three Divine Sons."
"Yeah, yeah. Spare me the fancy titles, demon. You think that's gonna impress me? I've travelled through galaxies. Visited parallel dimensions. My favorite was the one where they travelled between planets using giant cable cars. The view was incredible, and I didn't even need a stupid space suit to appreciate it. Oxygen in space, now that's something else. Hmm. Now I think about it, I can't quite remember if it was oxygen or some other breathable gas. Never bothered with learning about the physics, really."
The grin turned into a sneer. "Silence, mortal!" *Now* he sounded more like a demon. "I came here to ask you -"
"You think you can shush me? I've seen some shit, boy, let me tell you. I followed a girl around across the reaches of spacetime. After who-knows-how-long, I finally got to spend a night with her in the Alphagiel Plains - where cushions grow out of the ground and the rain tastes like honey."
"There were no primitive grunts involved, let me tell you that, sonny. Each time one of us opened our mouths, we vibrated the Strings of Cosmic Unity, producing the most beautiful sounds since Beethoven had said: *'You know what? I've written 8 symphonies. Maybe I should write another one, just in case'*".
The shadow-with-teeth was growing more and more impatient. The humorless sod. "Now look, mortal, as amused as I am by your embellished tales -"
I chuckled. "Yeah, be cynical about it. I know how eager you are to drag me to your *hell*, or whatever you call it. I've been through my fair share of personal hells already. How could I know that one day at the Plains was the equivalent of 5000 years on Earth? Ah, so young, so naïve. Didn't know too much about the different rates of time between universes back then."
"I later found out she came from the Zrgorverse, where time is almost at a standstill. For her, it was just a quickie. She'd excused herself in front of her husband. Said she had to go to the bathroom. Then popped off for a full night of rogering in the Land of Milk and Honey. You already know about the honey. I'll leave the *'milk'* up to your imagination."
"Gross."
"I thought so too. Meanwhile, on Earth, whole civilizations had risen and fallen. That was quite a shocker. When I returned there, people were back to living in the bushes - complete with loincloths! It was like the Stone Age, only with very poorly maintained asfalt roads everywhere."
"It took me ages to find a universe and planet with conditions similar to post-Enlightenment, pre-Technopocalypse Earth. But let me tell you: if I had known about this dump of a retirement home, I would never have bothered with this place. I'd rather live on Quaazl, where giant dodo-like beings float on pestilent clouds and eat humanoid children."
The shadow's teeth erupted in a vicious snarl. "SILENCE, YOU OLD FOOL!" My heart skipped a beat. Could've been my regular arrhythmia, but I was pretty sure it was fear. Something I hadn't felt for a long time.
He continued, pacing restlessly from corner to corner and gesticulating with his shadowy appendages. "Don't you realize how utterly pathetic you sound? Going by everything you've just told me, you didn't learn a *single* thing in the 70-odd years you spent bumbling your way from place to place."
"Instead of asking relevant questions about the workings of the multiverse, you chose to chase after the bulge in your pants. Then, when the going got too tough, you settled for the familiar. The comfortable."
"A man's got to settle down, eventually," I told him, voice shaking slightly.
"Yeah? You call *this* settling down? Where's your family? What have you got to show for this *extraordinary* life of yours?"
I remained silent. As much as I always hated being told off, I realized no witty comeback would help me here. I was tired.
"You seem to have forgotten what this deal was about in the first place."
I rolled my eyes, like a stupid teenager when confronted with an uncomfortable truth.
| 2014-05-21T17:02:47 | 2014-05-21T16:16:04 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] There is a (visible to everyone) sign that pops up above people's heads whenever they do something for the last time (eg. "This is the last poutine Snowtroopersarecool will eat"). A sign has just popped up. What does it say, and how do people react? | "I don't care," said Paul, "give me another rum and coke."
"Now, now let's not be too hasty," Jerry said, "the sign above your head--"
"Fuck the sign above my head. I'm sick of these stupid signs."
"Better safe than sorry, man. You don't want to tempt fate. What if I make you the drink and you die before you can drink it? What then?"
"I won't care then, now will I? Quit being a superstitious ass and make me another rum and coke."
Jerry relented and went to the kitchen to pour his friend a drink. He reached into the back of the refrigerator and pulled out the last can of Pepsi. | I was seven when it happened, though I remember it like it was yesterday. All of the horror of a child knowing that, as that spoon heated up and the needle penetrated the thin veil of skin between the air and the blue vein in my father's arm, pain was the only certainty.
My small hand involuntarily moved to my eye, still yellow from the last time I failed to get out of the way in time. Failure. It never ceased to weigh heavy on my tiny soul.
But then, as his eyelids drooped and his head began the all-too-familiar nod that always preceeded the rage and hatred, a new sensation enveloped my whole being. Hope. Hope because i knew it had to be true. Hope because the signs never lied.
With the slight pop that always preceeded the arrival of a sign that let us know this was the last time we would endure a certain aspect of life, those glorious words popped above my father's head: "this is the last time you will ever get high."
Joy. Love. Elation. Feelings rushed through me. I was shaking. If i could just make it through this one last time, i would be free forever.
But it was not me shaking. As i came to my senses, i noticed that it was my father. I had no idea what was happening. New sensations flooded me. Fear. Terror.
Foam started spewing from his mouth. His eyes were not his own. They were white, with thick red veins seemingly about to burst. His breathing strained. And just when it seemed as if he would errupt, spewing red hot blood all over the place, a sign popped into over MY head.
Disregarding my father's corpse, i ran to the mirror to attempt to read it. Reading backwards had always been tough, especially when the words were long. To this day, i can remember what the words were, even if i did not fully understand them:
"elcarim a ssentiw lliw uoy emit tsal eht si siht." | 2014-06-21T08:17:30 | 2014-06-21T06:24:02 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | Pearly white gates. Who knew the cliche was real?
I look down, my large hands aglow with some mysterious light. I am draped in white, the silk hugging loosely around muscles and tattoos.
"Alvin." I look up. Three towering figures stand behind the gates now. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I got run over by a truck."
"Well, yes, you did. But do you know why you are *here*?"
"In heaven?" I paused. I never imagined I'd end up in heaven. Thugs who cage fight for kicks aren't usually the most virtuous people—especially the undefeated ones. The ones with the most blood on their hands. "The life I led was decent enough, I suppose."
The gods turn in towards one another and whisper rapidly. Did I hear a snicker?
"Alvin, this is not heaven. This is the realm of the gods. No ordinary mortal would ever be allowed here, no matter how 'decent' his or her life was."
"Then how—"
"You are a god now."
"Me? A god? But why?"
The figures are silent. The center figure steps forward, stretching a frail hand down towards me.
I take the pickle jar from his grasp.
"We have been trying to open this jar of gourmet organic pickles for 754 years. Your strength on Earth was unparallelled. We need you, Alvin."
I grasp the lid of the jar and twist; it pops free with ease. The gates open. | I looked down at my corpse, blood seeping from the gunshot wound on to the latest arms shipment report.
I looked back up at the well dressed man "so what you're saying is... You had me killed because you liked me?" That was certainly... Novel...
"Well," he said, looking sheepish "not exactly. Did anyone really like you?"
I guess not many people would miss me. Sarah might, but then that was probably just because of the child maintenance cheques. The kids wouldn't, they didn't even know my face. Michelle would, although it must have been two weeks since I last saw her... Or was that Becky?
"I guess not."
"I liked what you did, what you could do. I need a successor, someone who can follow in my work."
Compared to the well dressed man the rest of the world looked grey and lifeless. He looked like he had been placed on top of the world; in the foreground whilst everything else just formed a less important backdrop.
"My predecessor, Jesus, was just a bit too forward for my liking. He seemed to think running around showing off parlor tricks would sort this world out."
"But why *me*. I don't want to listen to prayers; I've never helped anyone when it didn't benefit me, I've lied, deceived and killed," I said with the new-found clarity death had given me.
"Perfect!" He grinned at me "the world was formed six thousand years ago. Do you realize how much trouble I've had making you guys forget that? If you believed that you would get nothing done past of all the grovelling and praying.
"No." He continued, "I need people to believe in science, in advancement. That's how the world will be saved. Not with Jesus's childish ideas of love and trust; not with Moses's ideas of punishment and retribution. Science and intelligence. That's what people need."
The well dressed man seemed to be fading, whilst I started to feel more real. I felt like I had during the best times of my life; like I had just snorted cocaine off the world's most expensive prostitute.
"I need you to lie, I need you to deceive. Place fossils, manipulate radioactive dating results, cover up miracles, encourage religious fanaticism and most of all: don't answer any prayers."
He was almost invisible now, whilst I felt like I could do anything, know anything, take anything I wanted.
"Be a bastard. Humans need technology and advancement now. They do not need you to be nice. They need you to force us, the Gods, into obscurity."
And with that he was gone.
I looked at my hands '*be a bastard...*'. I grinned. This was going to be fun. | 2014-07-28T12:10:30 | 2014-07-28T09:20:32 | 228 | 103 |
[WP] It's been 20 years since Willy Wonka abandoned his factory, leaving the Oompa Loompas locked inside. You are an urban explorer and the first human to enter the building since it's closing. | I had frequented subreddits such as /r/abandonedporn and /r/urbanexploration in my formative years. I had developed an obsession with exploring abandoned structures much to the chagrin of my town's local authorities who have arrested me for trespassing on many occasions.
It was on Reddit, on a TIL post, where I had learned of the abandoned factory of the once famous chocolatier Willy Wonka. In an instant after reading the article I knew I wouldn't rest until I broke into the once magnificent factory and explored.
I didn't know much about Willy Wonka, or what exactly his role at the chocolate factory was. All I knew was that due to the economic downturn twenty years ago the elusive, mysterious man shut down the factory and disappeared. It was particularly strange as no one seems to recall anybody else working at the factory and where sure there should have been massive layoffs. But following the abrupt closure of the factory gates no one was seen leaving the compound.
All of this intrigued me very much and I packed up my gear, A water canteen, a go-pro camera, a wirecutter, a flashlight and some comfortable hiking shoes and went upon taking the 5 hour journey by car to the Yorkshire countryside in north east England. When I arrived I saw a massive building in a horrible state of disrepair. I made easy work of getting the lock cut on the back gate once used as an entrance for delivery trucks to get access to the loading docks. When I walked up to warehouse in the rear of the compound I notice one of the loading dock doors was open and thought "what great luck". I entered into the darkness and began my journey to the main factory floor.
I of course had no idea wear I was going and followed vague signs illuminated by my flashlight. "Dormitories", "Laboratory", "Main Production Floor". I followed the sign down a corridor until my light came upon something and I froze. My blood ran cold and I wanted to turn back and run.... ahead of me were a dozen skeletal remains that looked like human bones scattered across the floor. Something about them was off though, they were small, like the size of a small child and upon closer inspection I noticed something that made my stomach turn, they all had markings on them, the straight markings of a blade... they were all butchered. I could feel myself getting sick but before i had the time to run I felt an immense blow and pain in the back of my head and I blacked out....... | "No matter how you dice it, there's definitely an access-point here," I said, pointing with my protractor, "but we're gonna have to climb through five miles of sanitary sewer to get there."
"Did somebody say sanitary sewer??" it was 'Ninjalicious', the leader of our little group. "How soon can we get a group together??"
It wasn't the first time we'd taken the smelly route to get into places we weren't supposed to go. By now, everyone's read our exploits underneath the Twin Cities. If there's one group you can count on to splash around in human waste, it's us. We put Andy Dufresne to Andy Du-shame.
That's how we ended up fifty feet below Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, swinging away with our pickaxes to break through a layer of solidified crap.
"Oh gross," spat one of the junior scouts, "I think some just got in my mouth!" We all choked back our gag reflexes. "But," he went on, "it's weird, it tastes kind of sweet."
Soon we were through the obstacle and climbing up a ladder into the chocolate factory proper. "I wanna get my hands on some fizzy lifting drink if there's any laying around," Ninjalicious confided to me. "With some of that shit, there ain't a rooftop in town that can keep us out."
But before we could really get our explore on, we were caught by a ragged troop of Oompa Loompas. They sang a little song to us:
-----
Oompa, loompa, doompity do,
What does a lot of exploring get you?
A police record and a terrorist suspicion or two!
Oompa, loompa, doompity dat,
Where are all the explorers hanging out at?
They're in the hospital, they didn't have proper Hazmat!
-----
"Wait a second, how the hell are you guys still alive," Ninjalicious interrupted, "This factory's been locked down for decades, how do you eat?"
"Everlasting gobstoppers," they said. "You've all been bad kids, you're going to have to be punished! That's what happens to little kids here in Wonkaland." Normally we wouldn't have taken something like that very seriously, but the head Oompa Loompa had a damn shotgun. Needless to say, we split up and ran for our lives.
Ninjalicious ran straight for the Pocky forest. The last I ever saw him, a bunch of Oompas dressed like ninjas had him surrounded. I've heard that sometimes if you peek through the factory windows with binoculars, you can see a giant pocky stick wandering around sadly. I can only hope Ninjalicious was lucky enough to get away with such an easy fate. I don't know what happened to the rest of the group, but I do know our junior scouts always had been fond of blueberries.
As for yours truly, the Oompas caught me and put me in front of a sham trial. The Oompa judge looked at me with this look totally devoid of pity or human sympathy, and sentenced me to the 'Chocolate River'. I was sure I was a goner, I was already saying my prayers. But fate was on my side, that 'River' landed me right back where this whole story started: the sanitary sewers underneath the factory. I guess to a little kid that would pretty much be that. But I am an Urban Explorer. There ain't no sewer yet that's stopped an explorer like me! | 2015-04-18T14:28:01 | 2015-04-18T14:10:33 | 131 | 29 |
[WP] Michael Scott takes the stand at a murder trial. | I wrote a cold open for this episode:
Fade in on Michael in his office standing at the window with coffee cup in hand. The blinds are down and Michael is peeking out, smiling broadly and laughing intermittently.
MICHAEL If this van’s a knocking’ don’t come and knock… [trails off, snickering]
Michael motions to the camera, which moves toward the window and zooms in on two people moving back and forth in a way that is more aggressive than sexual. One is black and the other is white.
MICHAEL You need to see this.
Camera pans to Pam, who is standing with arms crossed.
PAM Michael, why did you call me in here?
Michael snickers, motions to Pam. He raises his eyebrows and pulls a face, still smiling broadly. Pam sighs and walks toward the window.
PAM Oh gross Michael.
Pam continues watching. Steps back surprised.
PAM Oh my god Michael! Call the police. Oh my god I think they’re fighting.
Michael frowns.
MICHAEL No Pam. Racist…. Pam. No. Racist. Can’t two young lovers, can’t they…. I have a dream Pam. You know who said that. Dr. King. Dr. Martin… Stephen King. I have a dream that two people in love can have sex together, and their children… little black children and little white children playing together...
Michael turns to the camera.
MICHAEL Black is beautiful, people. Black people…
Pam interrupts Michael yelling for him to call the police. He steps toward the window and looks again. Upon seeing what is now clearly an assault, Michael yells.
MICHAEL NO! NNNoooo nononono!
Michael throws his coffee cup at Pam, who moves out of the way, and he runs into the main office. Meanwhile Pam picks up the phone, presumably to dial 911.
MICHAEL Stanley! Stanley we need you in here.
Jim makes a face at the camera.
PHYLLIS I think he's in the bathroom, Michael.
TOBY Michael, is something wrong?
Frantically running around. Michael shoves Toby into a desk and goes into the bathroom. The camera does not follow.
MICHAEL Stanley we need you outside Stanley!
Commotion in the bathroom. We hear Stanley.
STANLEY Michael get out of the damn bathroom!
MICHAEL Stanley we have a black situation outside and we need you out there RIGHT now. Come on Stanley what are you....
We hear a door open, presumably the stall door.
STANLEY MICHAEL!
MICHAEL Uuuugh. Stanley. Oooh. I'm gonna barf Stanley. Oh my god. What did you eat. Eyyucck.
Michael comes out of the bathroom. Stands breathing heavily his hands on his knees. He looks at the camera.
MICHAEL Oh my god. It smells like a dead body in there.
His eyes suddenly widen and he races back into the main office.
Stanley comes out of the bathroom, flustered. Pencil and crossword puzzle in hand. Looks at the camera and frowns deeply.
END OF COLD OPEN. OPENING CREDITS ROLL
| Defense attorney: "The defense calls Mr. Michael Scott to the stand."
Hundreds of cameras flash and chatter as Michael approaches the stand with a nervous sweat.
Judge: "Mr. Scott do you solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth so help you god?"
Michael: "I, Michael Scott, swear to tell any truth that I have, any- any truth there is. That is my testimony, your highness."
J: "Please take your seat Mr. Scott. Defense, you have your witness."
DA: "Mr. Scott. Do you recognize the man sitting over there?"
MS: "Yes, your worship."
DA :"You can just call me Mr. Baker, Mr. Scott. That's fine. That man over there, what is his name and how do you know him?"
MS: "The gentlemen to my right, seated in the forward" searches "-position. Is named Ryan Howard. I am his best friend"
RH: "You're not my best friend Michael"
MS: "We are... good friends, we are more than friends."
DA: "I'm sorry Mr Scott, are you implying you and Mr. Howard are romantically involved."
RH: "No! He doesn't know what hes saying"
MS: "Ryan is not my lover. But if I were gay, I wouldn't say no. But I'm not gay, I have a wife, who is smoking hot, shes right over there!"
Holly: "Michael please."
DA: "Mr. Scott, where were you on the night of Oct 16th, 2014?"
MS: "I was in bed. Watching MASH. The one with Alan Alda, not the other one, with War Machine."
DA: "I'm sorry, Mr. Scott I don't understand"
MS: "He was in Hotel Rwanda."
DA: "Did Mr. Howard call you that night?"
MS: "Yes."
DA: "And what did he say?"
MS: "He said that he needed my help, that I was the only person he could call, that if anyone could get him out of this it would be me"
RH: "Michael!"
MS: "He said that best friends keep secrets and so Im keeping this secret. For you Ryan"
RH: "Michael that's not what he-"
DA: "Im sorry Mr. Scott, are you refusing to answer the question?"
MC: "Yes. So crucify me if you must, but i will not betray my friend.
DA: "Mr. Scott, no one is asking for your, betrayal. We ask simply for your honest account of that evening.. Mr. Howard is accused of defecating on the mayors lawn. If he was at your house then he couldn't possibly have committed this heinous crime."
MS: "Oh well, yeah he came to my house. Yes, your- mmajesty"
DA:"Thank you Mr. Scott. Defense rests."
J:"Prosecution, your witness"
PA "Mr. Scott, how did Mr. Ryan seem to you when you aaw him that night? Would you describe him as less than stable?"
MS "No, hes not clumsy"
PA "Mentally Mr. Scott. Did he seem anxious, worried, angry?"
MS "No more than usual. But he used to do a lot of coke"
Crowd uproars.
J "Order in the court!"
PA "Did Mr. Howard stay at your house that night."
MS "Yes he slept on a fold out couch."
PA "He didn't leave?"
MS "No.It was our first official sleepover."
Pa "The prosecution would like to show Evidence A, a vhs security tape from the night in question at a local pawn shop."
Video shows Ryan walking in, trading in some comics for cash.
MS "You took my X-men comics and sold them!?"
RH "Michael its a trick, they photo shopped that video"
J "Order! Order! Defense, control your client or I will hold him in contempt"
DA "Sorry your honor"
PA "The prosecution presents, Evidence B, a security tape of a local gas station."
Video shows Ryan, quite a bit more disheveled than the last video, walking in, buying a half gallon of milk and three bags of ex lax. Exiting the gas station, pouring the ex lax into the jug, then chugging half the bottle down. Wipes his mouth, jerks his head around as if he heard something, then takes off running in full blown panic.
PA "The prosecution rests, your honor"
Edit: Grammar spelling. This was typed on my phone, you get the gist. | 2015-08-14T10:40:45 | 2015-08-14T09:46:00 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | It started on a pretty small scale. Things we never noticed until we looked back. The odd animal abandoning their young. Small increases in crime rates. That kind of thing. Simple stuff, seeming like normal variations to the vast majority of people.
But things grew more blatant as time passed. There were reports of newly-born domesticated animals killing siblings. More and more parents abandoning children entirely. Children doing the same to parents. Orphanages filled up, Adam Sandler films skyrocketed in popularity, life expectancies decreased. People began to take note. Governments began to take note. Nobody had an explanation, but as the world progressively got worse there was a growing disturbance across the planet, as if everyone could feel the wrongness resonating deep within themselves. Like pieces of their essence were missing.
It was a little while later that the rumours began. First sweeping through the religious communities, and then the general population. Monks in a far-off monastery had proposed that a limit existed on the amount of souls that could be in the world. That as babies were born, and population grew, souls were being divided to make room for new arrivals: people being born with half a soul, a quarter of a soul. It was whispered that one day, one day soon, we would reach a time when there was no more to go around and suddenly we would be dealing with people who were entirely without a soul.
Uproar followed. Some major world religions denied the idea, and others advocated it as much as they could. Those who didn't believe the idea had no idea what was happening. Most of those who did believe had no idea how to fix it. People who did have an idea generally kept such ideas to themselves, thinking about said ideas only in the dead of the night when nobody else was awake to see them shudder.
As time passed, the issues worsened. Parents were found dead on the floor with babies sitting oddly still and triumphant. Bottom links of food chains across the world disappeared entirely. The human race survived, but other species weren't so lucky. People saw the end times approaching and took what pleasure they could in the mean time. And so as high as death rates got, birth rates were ever higher. Religious spokespeople became ever more powerful as they were turned to for hope. And the solution that so many had conceived in their nightmares soon became the most hotly discussed topic, with one question dominating the minds of most people - how many would have to die to reverse this, and would that prevent it from ever happening again?
Eventually, after the dust settled, I imagine that many of those who are left will theorise that this is the tipping point - the point where desperation caused the human race to lose its soul. But those in our time wished simply to survive, and decided that they would deal with the situation with any means possible. Shelters were set up for the most important of society - the radius was calculated to not reach them, but many believed that they would rather be safe than sorry anyway.
Areas were chosen where people had 'the least to lose'. Strangely, the people in those areas weren't consulted about how much they had to lose.
And that brings us to now. Thirty minutes before launch. And sitting here, thirty minutes from pressing the button that will half-destroy our home, I wonder what the future will think of us. I hope it will simply be that we did what we had to do.
But I know that it won't.
*****
This was my first Writing Prompt response... feedback would be appreciated if possible! I don't know how cliché this is to be perfectly honest, looking back now it seems a little... I dunno... generic?
Anyway, yeah, feedback would be appreciated on anything you see. Thanks for reading! | "There will be no afterlife for these men. No second chances, no means to right regrets. Only the void awaits these poor...soulless."
The abbot watched the men down in the courtyard wearily, the moonlight reflecting on his glasses, a pair of small crescent moons of their own.
I cleared my throat. "Does it pay to have sympathy for them, abbot? Who's to say they even have feelings?"
The abbot regarded me sternly. "Do not draw conclusions when you know not the truth, Elias." He shook his head. "Regardless. The government has sent them to us as outcasts. They are said to have no remorse, no pity. But we must endeavour to find that out for ourselves."
"You think the Oracle was wrong?"
The abbot frowned. "The Oracle is never wrong. She sees the threads of life that bind us all together, to the past and to the future, to old and new lives. But these...men. They walk in darkness."
I could see that even the abbot was reluctant in the face of these creatures. So even he was fallible. I had always known. Humanity has had a rot at its core since the beginning. These soulless were just a new proof of that.
"So it's to the mines with them?"
The abbot hesitated, just a fraction of a moment. "Yes." He conceded. "Yes. We will provide them roof and shelter. They can provide the work."
I repressed a scoff, and bowed, leaving the room and heading for the courtyard. These new recruits wouldn't last long. The mines were a harsh and dangerous place, high up here in the mountains. But the ores were rich...and these men expendable.
I passed Shyna's room, the Oracle. Though I had never seen the girl myself, I had heard the stories of her feats. Her ability to see men's souls. It was what had drawn me here. But she was locked up in that room all day, shrouded in mists and herbs that dulled the mind.
Out in the courtyard, I pulled my tunic closer to ignore the chill. "I am brother Elias," I said loudly, drawing the men's interest, though some of them stared far away, their eyes dead. "You were all brought here on suspicion, on rumor. Rumor confirmed for truth by our Oracle." Some of the men shuffled uneasily.
"Pick up a set of tools from the provision room, then meet me at the gates. We'll soon be off. And no funny business." I showed them the remote control. The abbot had despised its use, but without the electric shock collars there would be no containing these men.
The path up to the mines was long and harsh, but I had grown accustomed to these mountains in my years as a monk. Some of the soulless were less spry, wheezing loudly at the back of the line. I almost felt sorry for them.
Almost.
Finally, we reached the mines, and the men up front muttered in surprise when they saw what greeted them there.
Another monk, bound and gagged, lying at the entrance. I went to stand next to him. "Everyone, meet brother Jing. He was one of the foremost supporters of the idea to bring you here, to contain you. Isn't that right, brother Jing?"
I removed the gag, and Jing immediately started a desperate flow of words. "Elias! Elias, please, I didn't know, this is not the way! Listen to me, Elias, the abbot will forg-"
I muffled his sounds, reinserting the gag. "See, brother Jing has a soul. He thinks us soulless are second-grade humans."
"Us soulless?" one of the men asked.
"*Us* soulless," I confirmed, throwing away the remote. "Expected to be satisfied with one life. Seen as abominations. Long have I waited for you here, you, my true brothers."
Brother Jing mumbled something unintelligble, squirming, and I smiled. "But why should we take comfort in what we've been given, eh? Why should *they* get to live forever?" I kicked brother Jing.
There was some murmured assent from the men, and some were beginning to grin as well. "I say..." I had their full attention now. "I say, we *take* our souls! Find a way to make *their* immortality our own! And if it turns out we can't steal it..."
I kicked brother Jing one last time and grinned at these men, knowing I had them. "Well, more soulless will come to this place, as some of you "disappear" in these mines. We can build our army. And then...then we'll just have to fix this population problem of ours."
The soulless cheered. They had found their leader. | 2022-11-18T03:59:06 | 2015-08-22T09:40:34 | 602 | 44 |
[WP] You become your child self again for a day with your current mindset, but if you do anything differently, you life will morph around that difference and fast forward you to your current time with the changes.
your* life will morph | My eyes opened to the window with the heavy paint, looking out at the old oak tree. It waved at me in the wind, and the sun brought color out into its bright red and yellow leaves. As the air shifted, many took flight, letting loose a few to the free fall, as branches shifted. Breathing was easy as I lay there, still, loose, and narrow. My back didn't hurt, my legs were tingling in anticipation of movement.
Nothing cracked or groaned as I sat up. I just felt "right."
Everything was so damn bright, new, amazing. I tried to not lose myself in it as I got up, rolling from my old bed, in my old house. My eyes didn't need glasses, the room was crystal clear. Luna, my old cat looked at me with a casual glance before she settled down again on the covers of it. Her hair was white, fluffy, soft, and she smelled like the flowers set on the counter she always ate when no one was home.
I weighed next to nothing, as if my body was just... just strong- like I was three times as strong as I'd been when I went to sleep the night before. I wanted to cry, to dance, to run, to move- I had to move! The day had just started, and everything was so strange!
As I ran down the stairs, I jumped the last few, landing with a thud- but bouncing back up like a rocket towards the kitchen, and out the back door. The air was fresh, the sky blue, the clouds were white and beautiful as the grass and sand beneath my toes. Christ, I wanted to cry.
"Come get breakfast! I'll make you eggs." Her voice was just as I remembered it, and I couldn't help but give in. I did cry then.
The day went on, and I knew somehow- I just knew, that when I woke up tomorrow I would be back. I would be me as I was, that this was a fluke and a chance. This was a miracle, and if I had any guts at all- I should take it, change what I could, while I could.
I didn't do that though.
Instead, I spent the day with my mom and I didn't change a thing.
| I stare out into the ocean of history as waves of time ebb and crash against the beach. Memories like granules of sand scratch my toes, rough and course against my feet. The sky is warping around the dying sun, soon to be a hole wormy and twisted. This place is a visualization, a construction of the imagination. Third dimensional beings cannot fathom chronospace and multi level dimensions so the mind fills in the blanks as best as it can. One grain of sand rises to eye level and a single memory expands in my mind. A tidal wave crashes down on the banks of time. I'm drowning down deep into the past, crushed by the cosmic water.
I surface about a decade ago. My neurons are overwritten like a word document being saved over. My brain is filled with my present consciousness and my younger self fades into my subconscious. Sleep for now. Sleep. The concrete walls of the high school I teach at have been replaced by the brick and mortar of the middle school I once attended. Quantum uncertainty, my future has not yet come to pass. Anything I do now will reroute the established road. I must not change anything.
Unstable in my adolescent body, I stumble and fall to the ground. Laughter erupts in front of me, spewing forth from the maw of a pale skinned boy. No. Of all times and places I could have been sent to, why here with him?
"Hey lookit, this guy's eyes are so small he can't even see where he's goin!"
Not Seth. I don't think I can go through this again. But I must. I will not change anything.
"Go back to China. Nobody wants you here." His voice cracked. I look up and see that disgusting dandelion hair, that face like a rat's ass.
I remember what I said back then, with a hollow heavy heart I followed the script. "I'm Korean."
"Chinese, Japanese, you're all the same. Ching chong you chink."
Screw the timeline. My fist shot outwards, flying through the air like a shooting star. Crunch. Cartilage crumples underneath my knuckles and his nose bends at an odd angle. Blood all over the floor. For once in his life he's at a loss for words.
Too late, he raises his hands. No half measures. You'll never hurt me again. In the original past I held my tongue, restrained from using my strength and skill against you. That was a mistake, one I won't make again. Now, an overwhelming show of force is necessary. Flashy. I spin in place before hitting him with a tornado kick. Down. As soon as he hits the ground, the walls start to twist and time turns once more.
There's a vortex of maybes and will bes as I awake to another reality. My former bully is not the one beaten on the floor. It's a girl my age, with black hair and black eyes. My hand is raised, and her blood is dripping from my fingers.
She begs and cries for mercy. I backhand her and she whimpers. No one hurts me. Never again. I am strong. I am the one who hurts others. I will never be hurt again. She is mine, and she tried to leave. I won't let her hurt me.
I have no job and I have never finished high school. But I am strong. I am in control.
Violence is my answer. Violence is the solution.
| 2015-09-25T10:02:52 | 2015-09-25T10:01:07 | 66 | 10 |
[WP] An alien invasion happens during an alien invasion.
. | It’s funny how naïve science fiction writers were. They assumed we would be on the same level as aliens – that our battles would be fought on even ground. They egotistically thought that humans might even have an edge for our “special” upbringing on Earth.
But space is big. Really big. By the time, we finally found a way to quickly traverse it, we figured out the truth. Space isn’t the biggest boundary separating alien civilizations.
The universe formed 14 billion years ago, and it’s been habitable for much of that time. In comparison, our ape ancestors “only” appeared a few tens of millions of years ago, and we’ve only been able to reach out into the void for about a hundred years now.
Time is the boundary that truly separates life. It’s likely that in the whole Milky Way, there is no alien race that is exactly on our technology level. There are perhaps millions of races that are eons behind us, and many more that are just as far ahead. Some aliens are but ants to us. If we desired, we could crush them without a second thought. Other aliens, however, are gods. Their technological capability is beyond our understanding, beyond anything we could ever dream.
With such technological disparity, it seems almost inevitable that the universe is one giant game of predator and prey. As a young species just entering the galactic community, we are prey to all and predator to none. Some men dream of finding worlds that we can colonize, worlds where we can be the predators, but they don’t realize that we’re millions, even billions of years behind.
Until recently, we believed that maybe we’re late bloomers, billions of years late – that maybe we don’t have a place in this universe. If the universe is cold and unforgiving, the old and strong swallowing up the younger, weaker species, what chance did we have? With such powerful alien civilizations already in power around the galaxy, how could we even make it a hundred years without being crushed by a superior force?
Four days ago, an alien species of unknown origin entered the solar system. Their ships were incomprehensibly fast, and their strange weaponry tore through our defenses with little to no resistance. In a matter of minutes, the human defense was shattered. We were broken and vulnerable. The Earth and her colonies were ripe for the taking, a useful colony world to these dominant aliens.
They descended upon our colonies, rounding us up in billions. They vaporized our structures and facilities and built their own. At this moment, we knew there was nothing special about us. We were a small, insignificant species whose fate was at the mercy of this superior race.
But then they arrived. We called them the Arbiters, even though we never saw one in person. They sent one ship, the size of a small car. At this sight, the invaders scattered and ran, abandoning their projects and leaving our solar system. But they were too slow for the Arbiter ship – in an instant, it unleashed whatever arcane forces it had at its command, and the invaders completely disappeared. Our planets somehow reverted to their pre-invasion state, and indeed the only remaining evidence of the invasion was in our memories.
It was at that moment that we understood. This was how the prey survived. This was how civilizations were allowed to form.
It was at that moment that we made the choice. We abandoned our dreams of conquest and victory. We wouldn’t become invaders. We would become Arbiters.
| "Welcome, welcome welcome!" Boomed Bellus, the game host, as Urgle and Thorp crowded around the living room hologram for their favorite show, fresh bowls of slime and cereal in their tentacles. It was Saturday morning on Meon, the recently proclaimed thirty second planet of the intergalactic federation after the scandal of the Pluto colony, and The Amazing Invase had just started.
"Today, we are down to just two invaders," Said Bellus, holding up fourteen of his thirty fingers to represent the original contestants then ticking them off until only two were left, "And what a battle it will be. The players are set, the armies distributed, all that's left to decide is the stage planet. And you'll find out, right after this commercial break!"
"It'll be Farelta!" Shouted Thorp at the hologram, spraying bits of cereal out of his gills and onto the hologram while his older brother Urgle shook his head.
"Please, Thorp. They always save the easiest planets for last, so it'll have to have a category one in the danger metric. Farelta is at least a catagory four- two points for half the surface being made of lava, and two more for it hosting two intelligent species. I bet it'll be Cloudia- the planet made entirely from cotton fluff."
On the hologram, an advertisement for vacations on Aqurious played, the planet of knee deep oceans, beaches, and natural springs of strawberry daiquiris. Despite thousands of years of technological development, no species had yet been able to remove ads from their programming, and even ads from extinct species still found their way onto the holograms.
"Annnnnnd we're back, annnnnd the results are in." Shouted Bellus, waving his arms, "This week, the stage will be the least dangerous yet- allowing for the most interaction between the two invading species. There will be the most competition, the most violence, the most strategy, and the least interference from local species since this show's very inception. Ladies, things, and gentlemen- boys, its, and girls- I give you planet Earth!"
Earth's stats popped up on the screen, and both Urgle and Thorp gurgled with anticipation.
*Earth*
Intelligence: None
Life: Previously dominated by gargantuan lizards, recently wiped out by an asteroid. All life forms weakened.
Terrain: Regional, low climate fluctuations
Danger Metric: .5
"This is going to be the best one yet!" Shrieked Thorp, and Urgle flapped his fins with excitement.
************
As Earth's stats displayed on screen, the cameras flicked off Bellus, and a twenty handed assistant rushed forward to touch up his makeup- despite displaying perfect complexion on the hologram, Bellus' skin was actually quite dry, and a liberal application of slime had to be applied every few minutes to maintain his image.
"Sir," Came a shout from behind his attendant, from a smaller alien, the intern on The Amazing Invase team.
"What is it, Carl?" Said Bellus, peering into the mirror. He really should give his makeup artist a raise- she'd even added a moisture sheen from her own natural mucus.
"Sir, I, uh, I made a mistake." Said the intern, shuffling his feet. Or what would be feet- they were somewhere between a talon and a hoof, and clicked as he moved.
"A mistake? Carl, can't this wait?"
Ahead, a large screen counted down thirty seconds until the show would resume. Thirty seconds Bellus needed to read over his script.
"It's important sir. Remember how you asked me to pull those files on Earth? I accidentally pulled information a tad outdated. Here's an update."
Carl shrank away as Bellus' lone eye swept over the new report and widened. Like all members of his species, Bellus shook when surprised, splattering away all the slime make up.
"Carl! How'd you screw this one up? Especially after last week with the black whole incident."
"I didn't mean to! What'll we do sir?"
"Do? There's nothing we can do. The ships have been dispatched! The show must go on."
Above, the numbers on the screen reached one, and the cameras flicked back to Bellus.
And a wide eyed, dried complexion, thirty fingered Bellus stared back.
"Earth," He said, keeping his voice level, "Has been raised to a danger metric of 43. May God help their souls."
****
By Leo
/r/leoduhvinci
| 2015-10-27T21:52:06 | 2015-10-27T21:39:53 | 1,764 | 75 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying. | Dex and Neil
"Ayy, are you..."
He interrupted himself as he sloppily chewed a giant wad of gum with those giant white gnashers one called molars.
"... Dexter Higgins?"
"No, good fellow, my name is Dextrodicus Hignosticus, of Gliza."
The ape furrowed his massive brow, big, brown, dopey eyes gazing at me with an intense confusion I had not ever seen in anything but house pets. He spit out his gum into the sand, and I impulsively took a half step back.
"I'mm'a call you Dexter."
"No, no, that's not my..."
I stopped myself. If I overexerted him, he might have an aneurism. Or worse, I'd give myself one.
"Fine. Yes. 'Dexter Higgins'. And what's your name?"
The human paused, as if taking time to consider his answer, to make sure he didn't get it wrong.
"Neil."
I didn't have much of a response.
"Oh", was all I could muster.
Neil have me a skeptical frown.
"So, what happened to the ship, Dex?"
"Uh, what?"
The human sighed.
"Your ship... It crashed."
I nodded.
"Oh, yes, indeed."
"That's it, over there?"
He pointed to my ship, its chrome finish glistening in the Martian sun, the beautiful curve'd saucer hardly scratched by the less-than-stellar landing I had had only hours ago.
"Yes, Neil."
"What, you dropped outta orbit?"
"Yes, my consoles died, and I had to maneuver into an aerial skid, in order to-"
"Don't need your life story, Dex."
How rude indeed.
He neared the ship, and I followed, just to make sure he didn't make off with anything important to me. He put his hands behind his back, and paced around the ship, eying it from every angle. He scratched that strange, out of place patch of fur all humans seemed to have on their heads as his stout body bent down to examine the exposed Deuterium Converter. He must have sensed my three eyes watching him, because he turned his head, raising an eyebrow.
"Somethin on your mind, chief?"
"No, human. Carry on."
"Cool."
He was silent for a second, then:
"Y'all look funny?"
"Beg pardon?"
"Glizans. Y'all got them three tiny black eyes on that huge forehead. It looks weird on that long, thin body, you know? Like, how do y'all hold your head up?"
"Well, it's how I hatched, Neil."
"Y'all hatch like birds?"
"If it helps you understand, yes."
Neil nodded, and turned back to the ship. I couldn't help notice his own odd frame, now that it had been brought up. My species were, unlike humans, tall, thin, often described as graceful, or elegant. Humans were different. Their blocky, clumsy shapes seemed evolutionarily disastrous. The Glizans might seem far superior to the average onlooker, and we arguably were in every conceivable sense. Humans had no hive consciousness, no natural camouflage, no naturally occurring thermal vision, no telekinetic powers, etcetera.
But as Neil stuck out his arms to fiddle with the Deuterium Converter, the reason for the Human species' continued existence became apparent: fingers, five on each hand. Glizans as a species only had two fingers per hand, and no thumbs. And while their telekinetic powers did a great deal to compensate, it did little to compare to the precision of those slender digits the humans possessed. That, combined with their level of intellect, however low it may have been, allowed them to solve the complex puzzles of nature, and conquer their planet, rising to the stars among the other sentient races.
I was torn from my train of thought as Neil approached me.
"Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
"I... What?"
"Nothin'", he said, turning back to the ship. He was suddenly struck with an idea, as I noticed a smile creep across his face.
Confidently, he waltzed up to the ship, and, raising his boot high in the air behind him, put all his might into a tremendous kick that shook it like a tin can.
"What the hell are you--?"
I didn't have time to finish the sentence. With a wailing and a whirring, the ship sprang to life, and began hovering off the ground, prepped for me to enter from below.
"I..."
"No need to thank me", Neil smiled, tipping an imaginary hat.
"That'll be five hundred bucks." | "This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T21:44:10 | 2016-05-23T18:38:57 | 47 | 32 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | "I am the Panther, the Guardian of Wakanda. I watched from the shady jungles of Wakanda as the world tore itself, just as my fathers before me and their fathers before them. I was told, just as my predecessors were told, to let the world resolve itself. To let it decide its own fate, to only act to protect my nation.
In January 17, 1961, we watched as the Cold War claimed the life of the democratically elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba. We watched as the pitiful nation tore itself. My grandfather acted to protect our nation.
In April 7, 1994, we watched as thousands of refugees poured to my nation from the borders, as our neighbours cut themselves in cruelty and malice. My father acted to protect our nation.
In December 16, 2009, I watched as the Boko Haram tore our western neighbours, kidnap their children. I watched as violence erupted. I acted to protect my nation.
The world, left to its own devices, is cruel. It hates itself and would rather see it end than grow in to a greater future. To stand by and not act is an immorality.
Today, I have made the decision that will end Wakandan rule as we know it. We are rich, we are strong, we are happy. And I will spread Wakandan life to all, in this life or the next."
-The Official Announcement of King T'Challa before the invasion of Rwanda, 2012.
| "Ah-Aah-choo!" I groaned, covering my eyes my eyes with one hand and grabbing a tissue with the other. Fucking blinds. Cheap garbage. I mopped the snot from beneath my nose, drawing to toward my eye with a certain, admittedly, morbid curiosity. It was slightly off colour. Yellow? Orange? Was there blood in it? I tossed it in the bin and slowly dragged myself from bed. I wasn't about to lose another day. Already had angry calls from the boss. It's my coworkers that will have to suffer. It was just a runny nose, a bit of coughing, a sneeze or two.
The shower was bliss. I hadn't used hot water in a while. I swear I could see the steam rising from my skin where the cold water made contact. There was something satisfying about feeling the heat seep out of my body and in to the water. The fever wasn't that bad. 101 maybe? 102 max. It was fine.
I wrapped the towel around myself, feeling much better, even my sinuses seemed to open. I took a deep, lingering breath of the coffee as I spooned it in to the machine - God how long has it been since I could smell? As the peculator began to burble and hum I popped the cap of the antibiotics bottle open - all gone. Doctors always said to keep taking them even if you feel better, til you've taken every one; what's it mean when you run out before you feel better? Well, I did feel better.
I tossed the bottle and picked through the fridge, a poor selection. I grabbed some tapioca pudding - adults could enjoy a pudding pack now and then - right? I poured the coffee and sat down to my breakfast, sighing gently. It felt good to be out of bed. Really good.
But something felt bad still, something that wasn't the flu. Was I really going to go back there? That hell of cubicles and chattering voices? I frowned. Being sick, miserable as it was, was a bit of a vacation. That's terribly sad. I turned the coffee cup in a circle between my hands. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it happened for a reason.
Maybe I should quit. Crack open that savings and do that traveling I'd always wanted to do. So what if I hadn't met that special someone to do it with. And even better, do that quitting I'd always wanted to do. Give my boss the finger, spit in the coffee pot no one but me ever remembered to refill. Yeah.
I mopped the returning flow of viscous, orange mucus from beneath my nose and moved to get ready. This would be the start of something new. I wasn't about to lose another day. | 2016-06-25T05:17:24 | 2016-06-25T03:52:55 | 89 | 24 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | The moment he woke up I could tell something was wrong. There was a sort of dull recognition which blossomed into joy. The transition was beautiful, if not entirely understood. What followed after was what I can only describe as horror. It was over in a heartbeat, a synaptic flash's worth of time where each of us in the room experienced confusion and pain. And then he cried.
Our mother was the first to his side, smothering him with hugs and kisses, telling him it would be ok. The doctor was droning on about how it was most likely disorienting for him and urging us to take it slow. I couldn't scrub the look of anguish from my mind. He cried himself to sleep eventually, surrounded by people who loved him, but anyone paying attention could tell it wasn't enough.
He was never the same after. No brain damage, therapists couldn't point to anything beyond some sort of PTSD, but he was never really... there. We got used to it eventually, I guess, but sometimes he'd space out in the middle of a conversation and it was just unsettling.
He was 17 when I found him in our garage, nodding off in the carbon monoxide smog. I wasn't surprised. I dragged him out of the car, laid him on the couch, and cracked a beer for both of us. His first. He told me it wasn't. Then he told me everything. I listened in silence, the only noise made was when I opened another beer, then another. It was a long story, about a long life. 20 years of time we'd known nothing about. He'd learned his lesson after the first therapist.
When he'd finished we sat in silence for a bit longer, no knowing what to say. Finally I had to ask. Why had he done it? His eyes got that same look they did when he zoned out and I was afraid I'd lost him. When he spoke I nearly jumped out of my skin. His voice was trembling and I felt myself choking up.
"I want to go back." | Suddenly, there was cheering. Cheering, and crying, and talking.
Was there a party outside, Tjörven thought - but he knew it couldn't be. The sound seemed too close, yet in a way ethereal. He sat up in bed, looking around him bewildered. "Emma" he whispered urgently "Emma wake up" he said louder now. But she didn't move. Her beautiful face was peaceful and calm as ever, but no matter how he shook her, she wouldn't wake up. "Emma I'm freaking out" Tjörven said. Suddenly he felt light headed, dizzy, as if his world was twirling. He rose out of bed, leaning on the nightstand, staring at the ocean his bedroom looked out on, and his heart was racing. Colours were fading, the sound got less ethereal and louder every second.
Did someone spike his drink last night at the party? Was he going insane?
Suddenly he felt warm drops on his hand. He raised his hand and saw them running slowly down his hand. His hand felt warm, as if someone was holding it. He looked back at Emma, still as serene, his angel. He couldn't go mad. She needed him. Her wheelchair stood by the bed, her clothes still hanging over it from last night.
But suddenly he was laying down again. What?
Thank God, he thought, I was just dreaming.
He opened his eyes, and two brown eyes stared back at him with tears in her eyes. Mom? "Hi sweety" she said, her soft voice trembling. Around his bed, a whole crowd of people stood smiling, hugging each other and wiping tears out of their eyes. He didn't recognise anyone.
"What's happening" Tjörven said, his eyes wide and his heart racing even faster. The heartmonitor went crazy beeping. "You're back with us" his mom said, and she just started crying even more. He sat up, and noticed he couldn't move his legs. He couldn't move his legs. "I'm paralysed?" He screamed. The smiles vanished at once, making way for pitied glances. "Honey, you we-"
"Where is Emma?" Tjörven yelled "What the fuck is happening" he only now noticed how young and shrieking his voice sounded. The pitying faces grew concerned. His mother seemed confused. "Emma?" She asked. "Emma, my wife!" He said "Jesus fuck, this can't be, I've gotta be dreaming..."
His mother looked back at who Tjörven presumed to be the doctor, scribbling down furiously.
He janked his hand out of hers, and buried his face in the sheets he pulled to his face.
His mom stood up and walked to the doctor, and whispering rose louder than Tjörven's sobs. Slowly he started realising his world had vanished, and so had Emma with it. Gone forever. the love they had had only imagined. She was gone. And he was stuck here. A whole life he'd have to live all over.
He wished he could've suffocated himself in the sheets, but no matter how he tried, all he could feel was the cloth grow warm and damp from the tears staining it. | 2016-06-28T08:35:33 | 2016-06-28T05:28:57 | 51 | 29 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | My name is Travis Bigsby, and I am in the fourth grade. My teacher’s name is Mrs. Hayworth, and she is very nice. My two best friends in the whole world are Sheldon Gordon and Robbie Clay, and the name of our secret club is STaR (that’s because our first names start with S, T, and R, duh!). My mom’s name is Mary and my dad’s name is Bill, my dog’s name is Rocket, and tomorrow will be my thirtieth birthday.
Thirtieth birthday, that’s crazy! You might think. Impossible! But it’s true! I know you want to ask, how?! Well...
My mom’s name is Mary (I wrote that already, duh!). She plays the violin, and she’s really good. She plays for the Chicago Simply Orchestra (I told you she’s really good!). Anyway, when I was little, she would play the violin every night before I went to sleep. Me and my dad would go to her concerts, and she was really great. Sometimes I would even see people crying when my mom would play, and even sometimes I would feel like crying (I didn’t though, I’m not a baby, ha!).
Then when I was eight, my mom got really sick. I mean, really, really sick. She lost her hair and she couldn’t even play the violin anymore. That made me really sad. By the time I was nine years old, she was living in the hospital. She didn’t even live with us anymore! Dad said it was because she needed to be with the doctors, who were going to make her all better again. But if I have to be honest, I was really scared because Robbie’s mom got really sick when he was seven, and then she… died! I didn’t want that to happen to my mom!
I started getting really scared, and one time I even cried in the classroom (it was an accident, and honestly I didn’t even cry that much!). I was really embarrassed, but Mrs. Hayworth took me by the hand into the hallway and told me that even when it seems like things are really bad, things always work out for the best in the end, and that miracles really do happen. She was really nice about it. After that, she would always give me treats or let me play games when I got sad, and it did make me feel better. I even started feeling good again sometimes. Maybe things would work out for the best after all!
But then something even scarier happened. I get goosebumps even thinking about it, even though it was so long ago! You see, the day before my tenth birthday, Principal O’Connor and my dad showed up in the classroom without any warning. They both looked white as ghosts, and I knew this was going to be bad! I started crying (I couldn’t help it!), and some of the other kids started crying too, and my dad took my hand and we ran to his car.
He was shaking! And crying! And I was crying too, and I started thinking about Robbie’s mom and how things were always supposed to work out for the best in the end but if they did then why God would let Robbie’s mom die and then I thought about my mom playing for the orchestra, and how she made people cry because she played such beautiful music, and I just wanted to be a little kid again, and I thought about falling asleep at night as she played all those lovely songs, and then all I could hear was her playing the violin, and this must have made me fall asleep because everything went black.
Then…
I woke up in the hospital and… it was my mom! And she was OK! And she had her hair back! I couldn’t believe it!!!!! I was so happy I might have cried a little bit and she started hugging me, and then I saw that my dad was there, and Mrs. Hayworth, and Sheldon and Gordon of course. I was embarrassed but I was so happy I didn’t even care!
But... and this is the hardest part to believe, but... that’s not even the biggest miracle. You see, I told you it was the day before my tenth birthday. Well, I turned ten alright… and then… and then…
Yikes! I don’t even know how to explain it! Well here goes, whether you believe it or not! You see, I was ten, right? And then the next year... I was ten! And the year after that, I was still ten!!! And my mom never got sick again, and every day me and Sheldon and Robbie would play outside, and it never rained, unless we wanted it to, and it even snowed, when we wanted it to, and dad even got me a dog (FINALLY!), and, if you would believe it, each day was even better than the last! It was a true MIRACLE!
So that’s it! Tomorrow’s going to be my thirtieth birthday, and I really, really, really can’t wait. Mom says she’s planned a birthday party with all my friends (and of course Sheldon and Robbie, duh!), and that she even has a big surprise in store but she won’t tell me about it until tomorrow. Agh! It’s so frustrating not knowing what it is! But I can’t wait to wake up tomorrow! Because whatever the surprise is, I know that tomorrow is going to be another wonderful, beautiful, spectacular, splendiferous, magnificent, miraculous day! | When my vision went from black to colors, I finally saw the people around me.
Tall and short, fat and skinny, black and white and red and yellow- it was as if every possible variety of human had been thrown into one room and given the same clothes, the same uniform, white and sterile and unfriendly. They were arrayed in a semi-circle, clutching sharp tools and needles, bloodied doctor’s masks wrapped about their faces. They were still, silent, as unmoving as the stones and as expressionless as the trees.
“Hello?” I asked, a realized that I was unarmed, half naked, and in someone else’s bed.
So I decided to forgo any more pleasantries.
“What the fuck?”
“This may be a little hard to take, Mr. Device,” said one of them, and her voice was a nurse’s voice: smooth and soft and pacifying. “But your memory is a lie.”
I tried to sit up, but pain frayed the edges of my vision, and I collapsed weak and sweating back onto the white sheets.
“The decision was made not to restrain you physically,” another doctor said, “as a result of your past… experiences.”
“Experiences- what do you mean, my memory is a lie?” They had worked my temper up a bit, or rather, I had... because confusion was the enemy of progress, and progress was my best friend.
A white light flared into life, crisp and clean, throwing little waves of luminescence off the bed sheets.
“Look. I may not have much money, but I have friends. Friends who don’t bother with little things like ‘rules’ or ‘laws’ or morality. So someone here had better tell me what’s going on, or said friends will take offence: I call them mister fist and mister foot, and they get all funny when they’re introduced to mister bone.”
One of the doctors raised an eyebrow. “Elaborate. But, Mister Device, we are your friends. And we very much doubt that someone in your physical condition could pose much of a threat to your comrades. Physically speaking, that is.”
“Have you seen me?” I managed a weak chuckle. “I spent years training with people who make Bruce Lee look like Barbie.”
“See yourself, Mister Device. We very much doubt you did.”
I looked down at myself, past a scrawny chest and belly, past a set of thighs that look like they had never supported any weight in their life. My feet were small and skinny, not the reassuring broadness I was used to. Also, I was white.
Wait a second.
I was white?
“What the hell did you do to me?”
They glanced at one another. Then nurse-voice stepped up again and began to speak, and for lack of a better option I began to listen.
“You volunteered, Mister Device.”
“That’s not my name.”
“Doctor Anthony Device, PhD in Advanced Cognitive Transference. You were a subject in your own experiment. Engineered to send you to the past by swapping your mind with the mind of another.”
New memories began to form, or perhaps they were old, memories of skyscrapers that towered impossibly high, cars that didn’t need wheels or a road. A family, lost by time, eroded by memory, a handful of friends. A girlfriend. All coming back to me, like birds returning to their summer home after a long and biting winter.
“You switched places with a man who fought in a war two hundred years ago. The mind that inhabited your body gained your memories, your impulses, your sense of self-identity, and your way of thinking: and then we put that mind into a comma, until your original one could come back.”
War. Yes, I remembered that. But it was like memories of a movie, a film, an external happening, not something personal. Blood, screams, bullets, gunfire. The harsh roar of planes and the hissing as metal cut through the jungle, the wet and the heat and the misery.
The death.
“I died. The person I inhabited,” I said, and realized how hard it was to say it, “died.”
“Exactly. And that is why you woke up. Back in your body. Your real body, with your real memories. Twenty years of memories are all a lie, I am afraid. But the rest, you will find, are utterly true.”
I was silent for a moment. “Why should I believe you?”
“Because we don’t have to explain all of this. Gradually, you would have come to the same conclusion. We just sped up the process.”
“Oh. So, assuming I do believe you… now what happens?”
Again, they glanced at one another, as if uncertain as to how to proceed.
“Up to you, Doctor. Though we are obligated to tell you something.”
“Yes?”
One of them stepped a few paces until she was standing over me, hair dangling down to tickle at my face.
“The war you fought in was called the Vietnam War, and it ended in the loss of countless lives. In five minutes, that war will have never existed. Neither will you.”
“What?”
“You died trying to protect a child, gunned down by a friend who thought you were an enemy. The way you fell was broadcasted internationally over thousands upon thousands of screens. The backlash against the warring forces was enough to end the war prematurely- a full six months before it would have.
“Temporal Theorists predict that this resulted in an alternate timeline being formed, the one that we currently inhabit- a one where your work, your existence, is unnecessary. We are not real, Doctor, just messages sent from the future. Cognitive beings who nonetheless have no ability to influence the world around them by physical action.”
As she said that, I realized I could no longer feel her hair against my face. An echo of it, like a memory, was the only thing that remained.
“You have five minutes in which your existence is protected by ours- as long as there are some who know of you, who know of your presence, you will continue to exist. If no one knows you are there, you will simply wink out of existence. Time will no longer have to account for your existence.
“So it’s up to you, Doctor. What do you want to do with the last five minutes of your life?”
I took a deep breath, and thought for a little bit.
“Do you have e-mail?”
She blinked.
“No. We have no need for one.”
“Well, get me some form of pseudo-instant messaging that I can access. Preferably video. We have work to do.”
“And that work, Doctor?”
“Making sure the world knows I exist.”
| 2016-06-28T06:37:03 | 2016-06-28T06:30:38 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] many young adults claim to have seen a tv show called "teletubbies" as kids, but there is no record of such a show existing.
Shamelessly stolen from vinny vinesauce | **Item #:** SCP-4451
**Object Class:** ~~Euclid~~ Safe
**Special Containment Procedures:** Copies of SCP-4451 must be contained in a locked safe within a sound-proof viewing room. A two man security team composed of bi-sexual eunuchs must guard the entrance at all times. All viewing of SCP-4451 must be done with no video or audio surveillance. Personnel of all levels must receive an A-level personality test before and after viewing. Testing of SPC-4451 must be approved by a level 4 researcher.
**Description:** SCP-4451 is a digital blu-ray copy of "Teletubbies: Episode 1" although this show aired before blu-rays existed. When viewed by pre-pubescent children, a state of euphoric laughter is achieved that lasts for exactly ██ minutes unless the child has seen the episode before, in which case [REDACTED]. Children exposed to SCP-4451 more than once must be terminated immediately.
Anyone post puberty who views SCP-4451 immediately suffer from a complete reversal of sexual orientation and an uncontrollable urge to ████. When prevented from ███████ for 17 hours, victims of SCP-4451 sprout colorful antennae and try to hug and speak in childish mumbling to any human they come into contact with. Each victim who undergoes transformation carry similar properties of SCP-4451 although those they hug and speak to may fully recover if they escape contact within 17 hours. This is extremely difficult for the average human due to the grip and hug strength of 4451's victims exceeding ████ pounds per square inch.
**Additional Notes:** Most people who view SCP-4451 are able to ████ and successfully revert to their original orientation. Victims of 4451 lose all memory of the last 24 hours which has lead to an increase in unsolved ████ cases in the south-western United Sates. It is believed that the video originated in San Fransisco, USA.
The blu-ray came into foundation hands when [REDACTED] was caught trying to play the video during the [REDACTED]. Estimated casualties exceeded ████████. | "There was a whole controversy about them!" Linda said. "This televangelist thought that one of them was gay because he had a - that thing on his head was a triangle! And it was like a pink triangle, except he was purple. And he, uh, he carried a man-purse."
Jared looked at her from over his phone. "Okay, that sounds sort of familiar, but you have to admit that none of that makes any sense and sounds like complete bullshit."
"But you remember it, don't you?" Linda insisted.
"I dunno. I remember something about a gay controversy, sure. But I don't remember anything about the pink-purple triangles or whatever it was you said." Jared shrugged. "I figured it was because they all looked gay as hell."
"Ugh!" Linda slammed her phone down on the table. *No results found for* **teletubbies**, it read on the screen. "How else do you explain it, then? We both remember the Teletubby show, and we both remember there was a gay controversy about it. That has to mean something!"
"It's our brains remembering something different," Jared said, turning his attention back to his phone. "There are gay controversies about everything. Some dude thought Spongebob was gay. I wouldn't ...."
"What?" Linda said irritably. "You wouldn't what?"
"Holy shit," Jared whispered, turning his phone to her. "You were right. I found it. Some dude wrote an entire wiki page about it."
"What?!" She was on her feet, peering at the screen. "How'd you find that? I couldn't find anything on the internet!"
"I'm really good at googling. Particularly obscure stuff." She moved behind his shoulder so they could read the page together.
"This is it, this is it," Linda said, nodding. "Multi-colored toddlers, television screens implanted in their abdomens ... Wait, two Daytime Emmys?"
"Holy shit," Jared said. "'A single based on the show's theme song reached number 1 in the UK Singles Chart in December 1997 and remained in the Top 75 for 32 weeks, selling over a million copies.'"
Linda scrolled down the page rapidly. "The 'Tubbytronic Superdome'? 'Reluctant, but eventually obedient Teletubbies'? What the fuck? Who wrote this?"
"Some weirdo." He checked the page history. "Buncha weirdos." He quickly clicked back. "Okay, here are the different Teletubbies. Here's the purple one with the triangle, like you said. Nothing about him being gay, though."
"Dipsy ... he's green," Linda mumbled. "Most stubborn ... 'His face is notably darker than the rest of the Teletubbies, and the creators have stated that he is black'??"
"Supporting characters..." Jared read. "'The Tiddlytubbies (voiced by Teresa Gallagher) are baby Teletubbies appearing in the revival series.' A revival series? 'Their names are Mi-Mi, Daa Daa, Baa, Ping, RuRu, Nin, Duggle Dee and Umby Pumby.'"
Linda and Jared exchanged glances.
"Okay, fuck it, you were right," Linda said, straightening up and holding up her hands. "I got hoaxed by someone on the internet. There's no way any of that actually existed." | 2016-07-01T06:54:32 | 2016-07-01T06:36:56 | 371 | 88 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try. | I put my feet up on the table.
"Don't do that!" the imp squawked. "That's against Regulation 46(d)(3)!"
"What's the penalty for violating Regulation 46(d)(3)?" I asked nonchalantly. "Is it summary dismissal of my case? Aren't you going to do that anyway? That's the game around here, isn't it? We can apply to escape Hell, but getting anything done takes decades of paperwork, and there's always something wrong so you have to start again? So who cares where my feet are if my case will be dismissed either way?"
"Your case will be reviewed according to the Infernal Revised Code, properly processed, and IF everything is in order you will prevail! Unless you keep putting your feet on my table, in which case your Request for Extradition from Hell will be summarily dismissed!"
His voice was squeaky with outrage, and I chuckled.
"That's it!" He screamed shrilly. "You're done! Get out!"
"No," I deadpanned.
"Get out or you will be thrown out!" His voice broke with fury.
I removed my feet from the table, leaned over, and hoisted the sixty pound briefcase I brought with me to the hearing, stuffed to the brim with paperwork. I casually opened it, and handed the imp an eight inch thick stack of unfilled forms.
"These are the documents you'll be needing to request a bailiff to eject me from your office. In triplicate of course. Automated copies are prohibited. All three copies must be by hand. Discrepancies between the forms is cause for rejection of the forms whether or not the discrepancy is substantive. All forms must be submitted within one hour of the triggering incident or they will not be processed. Processing takes six to eight decades unless said forms are submitted during a period of high submission volume in which case indefinite delays are to be expected."
He gaped at me.
I grinned back, crooked. "It has never not been a period of high submission volume." | Rupert fought to wrestle the door closed against the violent storm behind him closing it with a resounding boom like the closing off a coffin. He gazed further along the corridor his eyes pained but determined as he read the sign above the door carved from a thick grey stone 'LEVEL ONE EXIT' he read.
Rupert stared at it, sign radiated an unpleasant aura of dullness much more vacuous than that he had experienced thus far. It was much calmer than the hot tormenting winds that ripped closure documents from under his carefully butchered fingertips in the previous circle. It was warmer than the cool seas of excrement and filth of circle 3 in which he had painstakingly carried damp parchment to the desk of the great three-headed hound. It was silent unlike the heavy thundering of iron chisels on circle four with which he amended the documentation of his combat in the fields of battle in an ivory courtroom on circle 5 wielding forsaken legislature like a sword. He was not greeted with the immediate burning pain of a burning tomb in which the very ash from his eternally regenerating body marked the story of his repentance on circle 6. His flesh did not grow thick and wooden as feathered women with sharp black eyes demanded he carve release forms into the bark that covered his body to be signed in triplicate.
For the first time in an eternity, Rupert experienced certainty. He crept towards the door with his free hand outstretched towards the handle, the other gripping his precious documents. He turned it, his eyes scanning the path ahead of him.
In front of him, a dimly lit corridor became slowly visible as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. On each side empty wobbly plastic chairs with three and a half legs each lined the walls as far as he could see.
He pinched the bridge of his nose, resolving himself against the confusion of his ordeal. For a moment terror gripped him, as though he had forgotten something very important. A dull brass lectern in front of him displayed the words "Please take a number, we will be with you shortly"
"Limbo..." He breathed. That was it, he hadn't forgotten after all.
He did not react as the skin on his left hand began to smoke and char, looking down at it he began to see the same number burnt into his flesh many times, one after another: '9... 9... 9... 9...' before turning his hand the correct way up when the first 'ㄥ'appeared.
He walked down the corridor between the countless empty chairs, eventually coming to a long queue of 'people' grey faced and haggard and clutching their own paperwork. A large black door with a blank display stood in the far distance. He waited... He waited for hours, which turned into days, which turned into months, which turned into years as more and more beings took their place behind their predecessor. He was fine with that for Rupert was British and after one final eternity He stood alone at the front of the queue the display lit up with a number - his number. Rupert stepped through the door and carefully closed it behind him.
Rupert felt something was wrong, the feeling that something had been forgotten. A dull brass lectern in front of him displayed the words "Please take a number, we will be with you shortly" | 2016-07-29T08:34:26 | 2016-07-29T08:02:36 | 76 | 15 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | Everyone in the U.S. tuned in to watch one of the three major nationally syndicated TV news programs. Fifty years ago, the WWIII Isolation Armistice required all international travel and trade to cease, the internet to be walled, and all long distance communication to be deactivated.
The only broadcast communications that remained in the country were AM/FM radio and VHF/UHF television, signals carried by local repeaters that stopped at the border. The U.S. had never paid much attention to foreign media before WWIII, so it hadn't been missed by the majority of the country. Most of the country were satisfied to be entertained by television re-runs and recycled Hollywood formula movies.
In less than 30 seconds, the internet walls would come down, and the old satellites would be reactivated. Everyone was holding their breath, eager to be united with a brave new world, human beings from around the planet who didn't grow up with hate and prejudice.
...3 ...2 ...1!
Fireworks exploded in the sky in cities across the country, and a great cheer arose from every home! Every television screen showed a view of the earth from the single satellite that remained in working order.
As the satellite orbited over the dark side of the earth, cheering diminished because there were no lights below. A news anchor speculated that many countries had run out of fuel for electricity.
As the satellite passed into daylight, the screen revealed the surprising sight of several large new oceans located in Asia, India, Pakistan, the Middle East, and Europe. The American continent had more forest area than comparison images from the last satellite photos fifty years prior.
An elderly satellite image specialist was brought to the news desk to analyze the satellite data. Based on the refraction wavelength, the specialist concluded the oceans were not water, but glass.
The cheering turned to cries of horror. How could this have happened?
[edited: punctuation, words] | Lying underneath the broken husks of countries, some semblance of government had remained. And together, in their wisdom, the greats had decided that - to avoid any further conflicts, which could prove even more disastrous - each country should isolate itself from its neighbours. That way, even if some internal crisis occurred, the other nations wouldn't be effected: other nations wouldn't be pulled into some whirling shitstorm of civil war and guerrilla fighting.
50 years ago, every nation in the world - that is, every nation that was left - signed the Isolation Decree, stating that all outside borders; all outside communication, was to be ceased for 50 years. No international relations whatsoever. Punishment for breaking the treaty was nuclear bombardment: something no nation could afford now - for even the vast wilderness of Russia was some toxic wasteland now, the result of 17 years of warfare. America spearheaded the Decree - perhaps because of some degree of guilt; after all, it was President Trump who sparked the fire that lead the world here.
And so, 50 years of silence followed.
There were no wars: although, in the beginning, there were riots as people realised that America wasn't as independent as it proclaimed to be, as they realised that all these global mega-corps didn't function nearly so well when they couldnt reach their head-offices, or factories based in Bumfuck-Nowhere, working on slave labour. Products that were once considered everyday became luxuries, then faded into nothingness within the space of years. That isn't to say that life was bad - it was bearable, it was pleasant (for the most part): after the initiatives to revitalise internal industries, everything levelled out.
And so, 50 years of prosperity followed.
Then the 50 years ended, and America crawled out of her shell. And she found a world around her, bustling with activity, technology, freedom. For the world had grown tired of America: in her later years, she had grown gluttonous and lazy with power, swollen to the bursting point with ideologies that never came to be, with nationalism. So the world had conspired against her, and whilst America hid in her shell, the rest of the world linked their hands. She was 'The Greatest Nation'? How great she looked now, her people malnourished, her technology outdated, her armies disbanded. Next to the rest of the world - next to her former self - America was grey.
Grey and weak.
If there is one thing that is immutable, it is human nature. Such a frail nation, now. And truth be told, many were still bitter about losing America in the first place; after all, had it not belonged to the British once? Or the French? Or the Spanish? Such places as 'Britain', or 'France', or 'Spain' did not exist anymore though; no - instead, it was just 'Earth' and 'America'. But that didn't stop voices from complaining, and conspiring, and plotting. If enough voices speak, something is bound to happen.
And so, what was America came to not be. | 2016-10-18T18:32:40 | 2016-10-18T14:31:05 | 252 | 158 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | I was alone when it happened. I was always alone when things changed around me. The world and I where never in sync. I strolled through life as an observer. A person who just looked at others living their lives through a hole in a fence. Never really there, just watching.
But it seems that even an observer is forced to participate when the changes are too big for the world to handle alone. And that Is where I find myself. In a world gone to shit by some unknown-unknown. And seeing everything in double.
Why double? Because what ever hit us only effected those born alone. I'm sure there's some scientific reasons behind it. But who knows? Fact is, you only got a pass If you've shared a womb with another. So all that's left today is a society of twins, triplets, quartets you name it.
And these people have gone insane. They've traded their humanity for fanaticism. And most recently, have begun to call themselves the "chosen" and only breed with each other. And they preach on and on about an Identical family. Where every member is the same. Some holy principal they strive to reach at any cost. They have even gone so far as to witch hunt for fraternal twins or any pair lacking in their likeness. So that they may be purged. I have to sift through sewers to avoid their gazes. My life is even more troubled by the new law they've made to Identify the fraternal among them. **At least two twins must be present at all times when outside of their residence.** Damn, just my luck. It was hard enough changing clothes and personality mid-day, and now I have to deal with this bullshit.
But I'd take running from the pouchers any day before I address my real problem.
A thought that crushes me under its weight eveytime I drift to it. The fact that *I've always been alone.* Even before the virus. But here I am, still alive in the twin world. Unaffected by the bacteria that took everyone else. That must mean I'm not alone, right?
So who is this other person that I've never known that was born with me? Where are they now? Who are they now? What did my parents and my family not tell me? And most troubling of all, why do I hear these faint voices in the back of my head?
| James woke after a poor nights sleep, blinking and fumbling around for his glasses.
Failing to find them, he stepped forward gingerly looking for the shelf where he kept his contact lenses. Squinting to make sure he put the right ones in, one by one he carefully removed a lens from the packet, balanced the lens on the end of his finger and fought the temptation to blink.
Getting changed he started to think about the things he had to get done today. It was a DIY day, so he would head for some breakfast, then pick up supplies and get on with the task at hand.
Arriving at the drive through restaurant, he parked up at the order point and lowered his window.
'hi sorry could you drive round to the window please?' a rushed sounding voice rattled through the tinny speaker.
As he arrived at the window he was greeted by a very spotty teenager, covering his wispy red hair with a cap.
'sorry we're really short staffed this morning, a load of people just didn't turn up for work'
'it's fine, Bacon and egg with coffee please'.
The young man acknowledged the request and span on his heels.
As James sat there he noticed a behind him was a young girl, auburn hair tied up in a messy bun, playing with her phone looking increasingly upset.
Not one to concern himself with the affairs of others he turned on the radio. No radio one. Radio two has Chris Evans on. Fine. Not perfect but ok.
He started to tap the wheel impatiently, just as his food arrived. He paid and drove off. Reaching a pedestrian crossing he awaited an older balding gentleman with a flat cap to cross the road with his orange labrador.
As he arrived at the unbranded home improvement store he noted how empty the car park was, and clapped in frustration as he spotted the store wasn't open yet. Out front we're a couple of staff members so he decided he would wait with them.
'we don't really know what's happened to the manager she normally opens up by 8.'
He looked at the young girl and her colleague. Both had strawberry blonde hair and fair skin. Both had the same blue eyes and stood the same height. He looked at their faces and realised how alike they looked but for the fact that one was female and the other male.
'YES we are twins' said the boy, rolling his eyes and taking his phone out of his pocket.
James looked around impatiently and saw a red squirrel run through the car park chased by a bright orange tabby cat.
'don't see many red squirrels these days' ventured James.
Just as he said those words he was joined by the old man with his dog.
'you're Ginger!' Exclaimed the old man.
'er yes. Thanks for noticing?' James replied, somewhat confused.
'my dogs Ginger. Those two unbranded home improvement store kids are Ginger too'.
'ok..... '
'I'm Ginger. Or at least I was. I don't have hair now but until I lost it I had a beautiful head of fire orange hair!' the man persisted.
James had nothing to add. He was getting increasingly frustrated with this chap, and the fact that the shop was still not open.
He looked to the young lad who was trying to call someone on the phone but clearly not having any success.
'don't you get it?' the old man spluttered out, shaking James' arm vigorously.
'what?'
'everyone else is gone. . . . ' | 2016-10-22T01:17:53 | 2016-10-22T01:06:43 | 219 | 112 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | At first we didn't understand how it was possible, 90% of the population just dropped dead and no one knew how, there must be a reason those of us that survived were given the right to keep on living but what could it be...
We searched for a connection between us yet it seemed to be as random is it can be until we finally arrived at the conclusion, we all forwarded that one chain message that said we would die if we wouldn't forward it | He shoved me to the floor, gun to my head, I didn't mind I never stood a chance; He was a 6 foot 8 beast the sort of person who spent more time at the gym than with his family he didn't even need the gun he could squash my head in one hand. Me on the other hand a scrawny joke of a human even if the fight did manage to go on my asthma or low blood sugar would have ended it sooner or later. Why he spent his time in the gym I spent it at my desk. It seemed stupid now I wasted my life with lol and hearthstone. Pathetic.
My life changed 12 days ago l, I woke up one morning everyone was gone, i thought I was still dreaming it just didn't seem real but I've watched enough post apocalyptic movies and TVs shows to know I had to start moving. When does anyone in them shows stay in one place.
This hulk standing above me was the first person I've seen. What are the chance the first person I meet and we have nothing in common. I know I'm seconds from death so I start to think of something cliche my family maybe my mother who gave up everything for me she didn't care that I was the adoptive child of a relationship doomed to fail she loved me more that anything and I wasted my life even though I acted like I hated her, I blamed her I wouldn't even call her mum always referring to her by her first name.
Hulk man cocked his gun
"Any last words"
I looked up at him
"I'm sorry Martha, no mum"
Hulk man was taken back by this
"Your mothers called Martha what a coincidence so's mine"
He shot me in the head. Why would the fact that our mothers have the same name stop him from killing me.
| 2016-10-22T03:50:18 | 2016-10-22T01:53:00 | 56 | 19 |
[WP] You are a normal person transported to an infomercial universe. Everyone is in awe at your ability to perform simple tasks without bizarre gadgets. | *POP!* **Bzzzz, Bzzzz, Bzzzz**
Jess was starting to get annoyed at her husband Harold. "Can you turn that damn alarm clock off?"
Harold rolled over and started slamming the alarm clock with his hand, but it refused to turn off. "Why can't I turn this damn thing off! I don't even remember turning the alarm clock on last night since it was so late when we went to bed..."
Jess was really annoyed now. "It's the same *Pop Clocky* alarm we have always had. You got to get up and stuff the head back on to turn off the alarm! You know this, now get up!"
Harold crawled out of bed to locate the head of the clock. "When the hell did we get this?" He shoved the head onto the clock, and sure enough, the alarm was silenced. He looked at his wife, still trying to get a few minutes of sleep before getting out of bed. "Well, I'm gonna go make some breakfast since I'm up I guess."
He made his way down the stairs to the kitchen and quickly got a pot of water onto the stovetop to boil. He then grabbed a bowl and mixed some pancake batter. His mind was still on the clock. Jess made it sound like they had the clock for a while, but he doesn't remember ever using it.
He then thought of the package of bacon he bought yesterday. "It's Saturday, a big breakfast is in order."
The smells of breakfast started to fill the house, which roused Jess enough to get her out of bed and start down the stairs. "Breakfast smells amazing babe, what are you cooking?"
Harold smiled at his wife. "It's Saturday, so a big breakfast of bacon, poached eggs, and some pancakes."
A look of confusion came over Jess. "How are you cooking all of this when you don't have all the equipment out?"
"Equipment? What are you talking about? I got a pot of water to poach the eggs and an electric skillet for the bacon and pancakes. What more do I need?"
Jess rolled her eyes. "Did you hit your head or something? You can't cook poached eggs in boiling water. Here you need this." She reached up into a cabinet and pulled something out.
Harold eyed it, and then back a Jess. "What the heck is that?"
"It's the *Stone Wave Microwave Cooker*, with this we can have perfect poached eggs from the microwave anytime we want. No mess, no hassle."
Harold just stared at the little pot. "You're kidding me, right? You want an egg from the microwave over an actual poached egg?"
Jess looked over at the skillet. "What are you doing to those pancakes and that bacon!?"
Harold turned to look at the skillet, "I'm cooking them, or am I doing that wrong too?"
"You idiot! If you don't use the *Flippin' Fantastic* the pancakes are going to come out a mess. And you are ruining the bacon since you aren't using a *Bacon Wave* rack to cook it!"
Harold just stared at her. "Who the hell are you, and what have you done with my wife? You want to microwave our bacon? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You're the idiot! You don't even know how to cook breakfast properly!"
"Listen, Jess, go sit down, alright? Breakfast is almost done, and then you can tell me I don't know how to cook, alright?"
Jess flipped her hair and turned away. "Fine, do whatever you want, but you will have to eat this disgusting pig slop when I can't choke it down."
Harold muttered to himself as he was flipping the pancakes. "What crawled up her butt in the middle of the night?"
Harold finished cooking and laid a platter of food in front of Jess. Her eyes lit up, "How did you cook all this food? There is no way you can cook this without the-"
"What? The *Stone Wave* or *Bacon Wave*? Without the Microwave?"
Jess looked at him. "Now you're just insulting my intelligence, you can't cook breakfast without a microwave."
"Taste it, Jess."
She put a piece of bacon in her mouth. "OH. MY. GOD! This is amazing. I'm sorry I ever doubted you!"
-----------------------------------------------
Harold's eyes shot open, and he found himself in his favorite arm chair with the glow of the tv lighting the room.
"Hi, Billy Mays here, presenting *Oxiclean*..."
Harold looked at the clock on the wall. "2 AM... Of course, the one time she says something good about me, it's a dream."
Harold turned off the tv and sat in the darkness for a while. "I really want some bacon now..."
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If you would like to read some of my other stories, feel free to check out my subreddit, r/vintnerwrites.
| Sara Weston calmly walked up to the test bench. A crowd of men, most bespectacled and all adorned in crisp white lab coats, stood nearby; their hands, pens at the ready, poised above sheets of paper supported by clean clipboards. Sara tried to remain calm, she tried not to shrink away from the dozens of stern gazes cast her way.
On top of the test bench, there was a pan, dirtied from cooking; grease and oil sat in the pan, congealed. A small bit of water pooled in one corner. Across from the test bench, a sink sat; cleaning supplies and a bright yellow sponge sat next to the sink. The task was simple, to clean the pan, without incident. The test group before Sara had failed dramatically, somehow setting fire to the laboratory.
But, this failure would not follow Sara Weston. The woman was different, otherworldly even. She’d been discovered, one day, by the elite group of scientists as they went house to house, recruiting lab subjects; they were desperately attempting to cure the simpleminded clumsiness that appeared to be plaguing the denizens of the Earth.
It was then, as they moved on from a house suffering a rather tragic grease fire, to the humble abode of Sara Weston. Her house had seemed miraculously in one piece; her car in perfect working order. When they had rung the doorbell, they’d been surprised by Sara’s lack of commotion or accident as she’d opened the door, and easily let them inside. They had stared in wonder as they noticed a lack of fire marks, stains, or other such damages to her home. They’d instantly asked her join in their research, offering a hefty sum of money as incentive. Sara had agreed instantly, desperate for money and self-motivated to help human society in any way possible.
That was how Sara found herself, carefully picking up the pan, ringed by dozens of middle-aged men furiously writing notes. Several nodes and wires covered her body, recording data on her vitals every second.
Sara walked the pan over to the sink. In determination, she turned on the hot water and squeezed out some detergent into the pan and then onto the sponge. A steady stream of hot water fell into the sink, falling onto the dirty pan and down the drain. After an application of solid elbow grease, Sara easily cleaned the dirty pan. She placed the hunk of cast iron on the drying rack, and turned back to face the scientists.
A collective mutter of disbelief filled the room as the scientists looked up from their notes. A few of the clipboards were dropped, soft swears accompanied their descent. They were not dropped from surprise, but merely from a clumsiness that even the greatest scientists of the world were not immune to. They were amazed, there hadn’t been a fire. The first instance of a fireless experiment in over three years. The men were completely baffled, utterly amazed.
They ushered Sara out of the testing room, and began another test, and then another one after that. These men spent over half a year putting Sara Weston through all of their trials. She took out the garbage, washed the car, properly used a hose, stored food in the fridge, and many, many other activities. All the while, the scientists stared in amazement, recording every detail and discernible piece of data.
After this period of experiment, the men turned to their data. They fell upon the numbers and calculations like vultures, tearing into their science. With only the slight office fire, or spilt coffee on their keyboards or computers, they worked with an earnest. These men were the brightest minds the world had to offer, assembled by the governments of the world to create a cure for this uncanny clumsiness which seemed to permeate throughout the people, despite any sort of cultural or political barriers.
It was after years of research, of experimenting and data analysis, that the scientists finally had assembled an answer; a harrowing answer at that. Presented at a special conference, holding all of the world’s leaders, were the results of the scientists’ years of efforts. It seemed to them that the denizens of the Earth, barring Sara Weston, suffered from a distinct mental disability. It was a flaw, a rewiring in their brains caused by a seemingly insignificant genetic flaw, which created a motor-cognitive failure. It was not that the denizens of the world were simply clumsy, they were genetically programmed to be accident prone.
There was a collective sigh of disappointment from the leaders of the world. The councilmen from China accidentally fell out of their chairs during the sigh, the president of the United States accidentally slapped himself in the face when he’d meant to grab his pen.
The scientists, the presenters, felt nothing but fear for the human race. They’d lost contact with Sara Weston, their key to the future, and hadn’t been able to contact her. Some speculated that her existence in their world had, in itself, been an accident; the ultimate act of clumsiness acted on by the universe itself. Whatever the reason, it seemed that Sara Weston no longer existed in this world, or if she did, then she was able to avoid the greatest governments in the world as they searched for her.
It was with a heavy heart that the leaders of the world revealed this news to their citizens, and of their inability to find a cure. There would have been pandemonium on the streets from the outrage of the citizens, but if had been any, it had been indistinguishable from the usual chaos of crashes, fires, accidents, and other chaos caused by simple clumsiness.
To the despair of the scientists, their work had been for naught, and the world continued to turn, filled with the accidental chaos which now, to them, seemed to be the work of nature, or of God himself.
Some of the scientists, when drunk, liked to joke that it was all a sick fucking joke, made by some mysterious sadist lurking behind the thin veil of the fabric of reality. They would drink, and cry, and usually break a bottle or two, much to their pained anguish. They cried out against their years wasted, searching for their foolish fountain of youth.
Such was the pained existence of ones who’d learned the secret futilities of their lives.
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Hope you liked it. The writing style was a bit different from my usual style, so sorry if it seemed clunky, idk what was happening today (or maybe it was the same, but my mentality is just a bit goofy today).
I've got a bunch of other stories over at r/ThadsMind if you want to hit that up. | 2016-12-24T10:03:35 | 2016-12-24T09:53:04 | 52 | 25 |
[WP] There is a different Grim Reaper for each species, and they only get to retire when the species goes extinct. You are the Human Grim Reaper, and 1,000 years into your retirement, you get a message, calling you back to work... | I toss my hand to the table, turning my head to avoid the dust that scatters around the yellowing cards.
"Fold," I groan roughly. My throat is already aching from use. I guess that's what happens when you don't use it for a few hundred years.
"Yeah, you would," my adversary barks.
I roll my eyes, glancing out of the fogged window. Plumes of acrid smoke drift by, toxic clouds over a scorched earth.
"You know, I liked you better when you didn't talk."
I stand, stretching my back and letting out a relieved sigh when my lower vertebrae cracks loudly. Behind me, I hear my opponents paws clack onto the boarded floor, followed by a slow shuffling as he ambles forward.
It's odd, how much I can still remember after all this time. Teddy's fur is still streaked with grey. Despite being immortal, his joints are stiff and I hear him huff as he passes me. A second later I smell the putrid gas he still oozes out of his asshole, and he turns to look at me with complete and utter pride. I guess some things never change.
They had told me three thousand years ago that this was my duty.
To watch over humanity, a silent observer until duty called. The job was simple, then. Every species had to be eased onto the other side, and I was the gatekeeper. I'd place my hand on their shoulder and feel the calm sifting from my palm into their being, until they closed their eyes and drifted away. No matter how many years went by, they still saw me as I was when the job was passed to me; fresh faced, young. That one zit on my chin that I didn't have time to pop.
Time worked differently when I was working. I could be a million places at once and still see my surroundings as clear as day.
Then, the war happened. The uprise in death was slow at first. I thought at any moment things would go back to normal. But man, I watched them destroy themselves. I watched and guided and there was nothing I could do but look at every last person eyeball that one fucking zit before they closed their eyes forever.
And just like that, it was done. Humanity, gone. I’d browse Craigslist for a new job but my only other experience was my neighborhood Pizza Hut.
The domestic animals went next. Cat Reaper never came to see me, but my old pal Teddy stopped by every couple hundred years. I followed him around for fifteen years picking up his shit and that’s all he could muster for me.
If I sound bitter, it’s because I am. I only took this job because I was dying and the old Reaper wanted to retire to be with his family in the Beyond. At seventeen with the lungs of a seventy year old, all I could think was how unfair it was.
Again, some things never change.
What they didn’t tell me, is that I’d still feel fucking everything.
Sadness. Loneliness. Anger, regret, joy. For someone immortal, I’m still too god damn human for it all.
Now I live in this bunker, playing cards with my childhood dog and watching reruns of Friends for…eternity, I guess.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve thought about ending it. Going to the Beyond, like the last guy. What holds me back is the fear that everyone I’ve ever known will have forgotten me, and I’ll show up like a third cousin twice removed at a nuclear family reunion.
"You know, kid, you’re fucking depressing. Why don’t you go outside some time? Frolic? Shit in a sandstorm and see which way it blows? There’s a whole world out there," Teddy drones. His usual end of meeting pep talk.
I’m already shutting the door behind him, pushing his big paws outside until he snaps his jaws at me and leaves with a shrug of his shaggy shoulders.
I’m trying to decide if I should play solitaire or watch The One With The Princess Leia Fantasy when I hear a chime behind me.
My blood freezes. It’s my pager, the one that hasn’t beeped since the End. A thousand years of silence.
I force myself to walk slowly. There’s no reason to get excited. It’s probably the Boss asking if I’m ready to cross over.
The layer of dust on the small device is so thick I have to use my shirt to scrub it off.
Coordinates. Just like…just like when there were people on the other side of them. This must be some kind of intervention. I knew it was strange that Teddy came a few years early; he was probably feeling me out for the rest of the crew. There had been rumors that they’d all been thinking of crossing, like some kind of post apocalyptic Jonestown.
Closing my eyes, I drew the numbers in my minds eye and felt the floor give way beneath me.
When I open them, the sand stings my pupils. Through the wind I can make out a formation of buildings, half crumpled into the desert wasteland.
I feel the tugging to the right, and walk through the ghost town until I land in front of a building that’s half-collapsed. The top has wiped out the entire row of stone structures behind it, leaving the bottom three stories jutting out like a rotted tooth.
The doorway is an open archway, leading my into a dim hall. It’s divided almost like cubicles. The urge to explore grips me for the first time in a long time, but I’m tugged downwards, to a rusted stairwell that twists down, underground.
My legs are burning by the time I reach the bottom. My heart is humming. I’m a magnet for nearby death and have no choice but to walk forward until my toes bump something long and tubular. It’s chipped and faded, strewn with square ceiling tiles.
And, I shit you not, something is beating inside.
I have to use all of my seventeen year old bodies strength to pry the lid off of this thing. It’s suctioned shut, and only when I weasel my fingers beneath the seam does it hiss and creak open.
The pull humming inside of me is so strong I could fall right inside and curl up in this tank if I’m not careful. A peak of golden hair is already spilling over the edge. The lid collapses with a crack onto the floor, disintegrating from it’s unused hinges.
Inside, is a woman.
Her eyes blink up at me, disoriented. Her face is swollen from a thousand years of deep sleep, and as the cryogenic gas melts around her I see that she’s pregnant.
She shakes her head weakly, her chipped nails already gripping the edges of the tank in a mad attempt to pull herself out.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” I mutter, shoving my hands into my pockets.
“Where am I?,” she croaks, her voice barely a dry whisper. Suddenly, she grabs her stomach, crying out.
“I’m gonna have a baby?,” she cries, more a terrified question than a statement.
For the first time, she looks at me. Her brown eyes are pleading, tears already streaking down her face.
“Please,” she sobs, “please don’t hurt me, please help my baby.”
I shuffle a step away, holding my palms out flat to her and nodding slowly.
“It’s okay,” I say, swallowing deeply. I feel like I’m gonna cry too, my heart pounding in my chest in a mixture of elation and disbelief. “It’s okay, ma’am, I’m not going to hurt you.”
She nods back, mimicking me. She’s taking deep breathes, choking slightly on the dust around us.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I assure again. “I’m never gonna touch you at all.” | My eyes snapped open when the phone rang. I say my eyes, but I don't really have any, I only have a skull , and a skeleton. I don't understand it either, and I haven't for the past 6 million years, but that's just how it is. Still, I was surprised at my own alertness, I thought 1000 years of retirement would have numbed my senses a little. My thin white fingers clicked against the plastic phone as I pulled it up to where my ears should be.
"Yellow, this is Grim, who's calling?"
"Hey grim, it's Ventus, y'know Ventus the angel, your old manager?"
"Ventus? Hey man, it's been a while."
"It sure has been champ, but I'm not making social calls here , I've err..I've got a call from the big man upstairs, y'know Big G? He came to your retirement party!"
"Yeah Ventus I know who god is."
"That's fantastic champ, great to see you've kept your marbles over these past thousand years, cos...well, I've got a job for you . Great right ?"
"A job? What am I reassigned or something?"
I sat up on the bed confused, my bones creaking as my body bent.
"Its a little more complicated than that slugger, it seems that there's another human on the planet again."
I jumped up confused. "A human? That's impossible, they wiped themselves out years ago. That war was the busiest day of my life-there can't have been any left!"
"I don't know man, some of the monkeys have been using rocks to create fire and apparently that pulls them out of the chimp's jurisdiction and into yours."
"Well shit. Do they need me now or can I spend the rest of the night in bed."
"Aww gee sport I wish I could give you the night but the boss wants you out there now."
"Shit. I'll have to go up to the attic and see if I can find old swipey."
"Well you get right on that man and get right back out on the blue one cos we are back in business baby! Alright I gotta go, best of luck slick, Ventus out." The line buzzed dead. I spun round and rattled my wife awake.
"Baby I've gotta go out, work needs me."
"Work? Grim you've been retired for 1000 years, you were dreaming, go back to bed."
"No honey a call just came through, they need me back down again."
"But the humans are gone, what do they need you for?"
I turned around from the wardrobe, pulling the sleeves of my cloak over my arms. I clenched my teeth together in a smile.
"We're back in business baby."
"Earth please" I said to the check in angel at the interdimensional travel point. This was always the worst part of the job, the IDTP staff were always assholes.
"Reason for visit?" She asked with her nasally voice. I looked down at my cloak, and up at my staff, then right back to her.
"You're...you're kidding right?"
"Interdimensional travel is no game sir, so what's your reason for visit?
"Reaper, 1st class, Humans."
"Do you have a permit to reap on earth Mr...Grim?
"Right here." I handed her the little black book. She looked it over, and sighed obnoxiously.
"Sir this permit expired 734 years ago so I can't allow this."
"I've been retired for 1000 years, give me a fucking break."
"I'm sorry sir but as a licensed IDTP officer I can't-" I cut her off by handing her Ventus's card.
"Listen call my agent, he'll tell you what you need to know." She looked at me disapprovingly before dialling him up. "Fine. Hello, I'm here with one of your clients, Mr Grim, I take it you are his agent? Well sir, his permit to reap has expired and I can't...well now sir you know I can't...but sir it's not my...as a licensed IDTP agent...sir there is no reason to use that sort of language...sir this is not correct protocol...please don't talk about my mother like that...ok sir..ok...thank you sir." She slammed the phone down. "Warp Gate 36D, down the hall on the left, you'll see the sign." I smiled as I passed. Ventus may have been a narcissistic dumbass sometimes, but he got shit done.
I came up on the confused Neanderthal soul watching his body in a clearing-he was clearly disoriented and upset. "Hey pal, I'm here to take you away." He looked at me angrily and grunted. "Now don't be like that, it happens to everyone. Well, not me, but all of you guys." He still wasn't happy.
"Fuck it, I've got a job to do." I took swipey and swung through the soul's physical form. He whimpered , but then looked surprised when he wasn't cut in half. The scythe's blade began to change colour between blue and red. I watched intently as it flashed quickly between the two, then slowed down, ending up deep red and giving off a faint heat. "Ouch, first fella to die in 1000 years and you're going into the pit? Bad luck." I made an upside down crucifix formation in the air with the blade to open up the warpdoor. I grabbed the soul's arm and dragged him through the portal, it closing narrowly behind us.
We stepped out into the streets of hell, which is a surprisingly nice place. I'm not saying the whole fire and brimstone thing isn't true, because it is, but the casinos are awesome, and the clubs are open 24/7 (no day night cycle means a constant party.) you don't serve the whole of eternity in the punishment sector of hell, only the amount of time you were alive. Then you become a regular citizen. Honestly, if I could die, I'd rather go to hell-it's better than heaven when you're out of the other side. I'd have one hell of a time to serve though, if you'll forgive the pun. We passed through the wide streets quickly, but I slowed down a little to reminisce when I passed by the club where I met my wife. I was a huge disco head back in the old days. Still am. Eventually we got to the doors of the Archangel Satan correctional institute. I walked up to the guard fairly confidently. I may have been out for a while, but I still knew what I was doing.
"What do you want reaper?" Asked the burly demon
"Relax muscles, I got a human here, 38 years. Lemme just get the paperwork."
I pulled out a stack of sheets and a pen that I'd had since I first started this job. At the time it seemed like one hell of a jump from guarding a mad wizard's dungeon, and I was glad to get away,but sometimes I secretly missed slaying heroes with a sword. "Sign here please."
"This some kind of joke?" Asked the demon "Humans have been extinct for centuries , and these papers are archaic! Where's your datapad?"
"Datapad? Listen buddy I've been out of the game for 1000 years, so I'm a little behind on my tech, so can you cut me a break."
"Fuck off bones, come back when you have the right equipment."
"Listen pal I've got a job to do and I ain't leaving with this human."
"Buzz off scumbag." He tapped me with the butt of his poleaxe.
"Don't hit me, please." I tried to keep my temper in check. He gave out a twisted laugh.
"What, like this?" He moved to hit me again, but I swung swipey through him, dissipating his physical form for a few days.
"Yeah, like that." I was smug but I couldn't let the other guard see that. "How about you, can you fill out my paperwork?"
He lumbered over, trying to look confident but I could see he was nervous. He scratched his name on the papers. "Okay, so you keep the blue copies and I keep....Great! Thanks!" The ground opened up and swallowed the terrified Neanderthal. He wasn't my responsibility anymore.
I made the shape of the cross to pass back to heaven.
It was morning when I got home . My wife was up and working on breakfast, bacon and pancakes my favourite. Not many people can say they've been married for 5 million years and still kept the spark alive, but I could. "How was it?" She asked.
"Same old same old, humans are still dumb, demons are still assholes, earth still looks like a piece of shit."
"Did you get the job done?"
"Of course!" I exclaimed, in a mock offended tone.
"Easy tiger, I was just asking."
"Baby I'm the best. In fact-" the phone cut me off. "I gotta take this babe, sorry! Yellow, this is grim, who's calling?"
"Grim baby, it's Ventus, and I've got one hell of a back order for you!" | 2017-07-08T12:40:23 | 2017-07-08T12:09:18 | 377 | 92 |
[WP] You are a phone. Your owner is texting a girl they like, and you know likes them back. Time to "auto-correct" to help them out. | Owner: Send nudes.
Phone: (autocorrected) I think you're a really smart, wonderful person.
Girl: Awww that's so sweet <3
Owner: [sends unsolicited dick pic]
Phone: [Sends pic of owner's dog]
Girl: Is that Bowser?? He's too cute. I'd love to bring my puppy over for a playdate sometime.
Owner: Fuck, yeah. Then you can show me what that mouth do.
Phone: (autocorrected) That sounds great! How about next week?
Girl: I've got finals next week. So nervous . . .
Owner: I got something that'll relax you ;)
Phone: (autocorrected) Another time then. Let me know if you want help studying and good luck, though, as smart as you are you shouldn't need much!
Girl: I'd love for you to help me study! And maybe afterwards . . . (sends nude)
| Owner to girl: Hi girl, how are you?
Autocorrect: What's up buttercup?!?! (coolsunglasses emoji)
Girl: Haha, not too much, just thinking what I want to do today, it is Saturday.
Owner to girl: I think my phone just called you buttercup, sorry. I'm playing minecraft and not sure when I'll ever get off this thing.
Autocorrect: Fuckin' rights it's Saturday girlio! We should go on a date!!
Girl: Did you just ask me out on a date? Like a for real date?
Owner to girl: WTF?!?! I DID NOT SAY THAT. I'm so sorry, this phone is POS.
Autocorrect: Yes, a for real date. I've been wanting to ask you for a while, and chickened out, but I woke up this morning thinking TODAY IS THE DAY. I hope you say yes, because you are awesome sauce in every way.
Girl: WOW, well yes Owner, the answer is yes. I think you're awesome sauce as well.
Owner to girl: Fuck I love this phone...That was an autocorrect, but it worked out well for me. Let's do this.
Autocorrect: I always considered myself mediocre sauce, but I'm glad you think I'm awesome sauce. I was thinking going out to that pub we like, and having some mediocre deep fried snack a lacks, drinks and then going for a walk along the seawall. Grease mixed with a little cheesiness??
Girl: Mediocrely awesome! I'm in. What time?
Owner to girl: Wow, this phone is great! Best autocorrect EVER. 4, you can come with me to the mall first. I have to return that POS game I was telling you about and get food for the dogs.
Autocorrect: Pick you up at 7?
Girl: Sounds great, see you then.
Owner to girl: Wow, ok, so 7...now this phone is pissing me off again.
Autocorrect: 7 it is. See you tonight!. WOOT! (yes, I just said "woot")
Girl: Lol, goof. | 2017-07-21T10:16:09 | 2017-07-21T10:02:31 | 273 | 164 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | For decades, maybe even centuries, I had terrified the world. The monster under the bed, the seductress who stole men's hearts and crushed them between her fingers, notorious bank robber, crusher of men and women alike, and the woman who really did rule all.
It wasn't vindictiveness or hatred that drove me to these new heights of evil all those years ago, but necessity. See, when supers are born their powers don't usually become immediately obvious - they live a normal life all through high school and then one day, usually some boring Tuesday, they get blindsided by virtually unlimited power. It's made keeping track of supers an absolute nightmare for the government, but that's a story for another time.
Not so for me. When I was born, what I was and what I could do became immediately obvious. Born with fangs, a natural taste for blood, and the ability to steal the powers of anything I drank from, I gained fame rapidly as a child.
That made me a target.
The first supervillain to attack me attacked when I was just three years old. I remember to this day the feeling of terror as I hid in a closet whilst he brutally eviscerated my parents and left them as piles of offal and meat with shredded skin to one side of the room. That maniacal high pitched lilt he used to giggle out the words "Come out and play, little one, your worst nightmare has come to say hi!" whilst ripping and tearing his way through the house in search of me. As luck would have it, I hid myself up high in one of the cupboards, so when his barbed wire clad arm blasted a hole in the door below me I dropped down and sunk my teeth in deep, ignoring the pain and the wire ripping at my hands. The police said they found him babbling about being robbed a few miles away, still covered in the viscera of my parents.
Those were the first powers I took - super strength, the ability to project focused shockwaves and hyperintelligence.
A decade later, no orphanage would have me. No school would willingly accept me as a student. I was an outcast, simply because I was a target. Stronger and stronger villains wanted me for their own, and as a child the monsters that wanted me to play murder with them were just that - monsters. But every time they attacked, I won. Every fight, I left them alive and broken, lost without their powers. Even one guy, Stork I think it might have been, who believed himself invulnerable to my power draining abilities due to "not having any powers" was left beaten and broken, his mechanical super suit smashed and his ability to invent more taken from him.
Numerous government anonymity plans, numerous hideouts, even the plans to keep me totally secure in the hero academy they set up just to protect me failed. Eventually, I learned why they wanted me there - I was the big stick they used to scare the villains away. Any nation that built a super squad to invade another nation fought off the loss of their supers to my fangs. Villains simply wouldn't attack, because it would mean the loss of their powers. I was the mutually assured destruction initiative, a 15 year old girl just maturing into the vampire I truly was, the girl that terrified the monsters.
Eventually, the the force of human nature gripped my supervisors. Greed. They sought to use me to conquer the world, and I refused. They wanted power, and I wanted nothing to do with it. They tried torturing me, commited countless inhumane acts on a woman barely entering adulthood, from torture through rape and all the way to near death.
I wouldn't fight back, and I wouldn't kill. Especially not humans. It took me two years of this to realise that these people really were just more monsters.
I took revenge on the first person who violated me in a violent shower of blood and gore. They thought that they had won, and began plotting to use me as a weapon. I made human meat soup out of their war offices.
Taking lives, it seems, is terribly easy when you have become so powerful that skipping a stone across the sea might accidentally level a small city on another continent. I became what they had desired, in a way, for a while. I had total power, a beautiful young woman trapped at age 21 by time, and so powerful I ruled the world. After a hundred or more years of this, I grew completely bored. I retreated into my home, becoming a hermit in the mountains, the typical villain in her lair.
Heroes came after me, seeing me as the great evil my acts had been reported as. With super speed on levels they could barely comprehend, faster even than those that could teleport, I drained them of their powers and left their beaten selves at the foot of the mountain. Villains received the same treatment. Even the one they called AntiMatter, who annihilated everything he touched, was all but an insect before me.
Until she came along. A low level hero, hardly able to use her telekinesis, who walked into my lair barely able to stand from the terror. She called out my name, and I appeared in front of her. For some reason, I didn't strike. For some reason I didn't put her down like those before her.
"I just want to talk" she said.
So I listened. Eventually, she convinced me to stand down, that the bloodshed wasn't worth it. I let her shackle me, and we walked out into the open, the first time I'd been out in countless years. Though she didn't know it, that day I gave her immortality.
For me, at least, it was love at first sight. The heroine who won, won because she captivated me. She knew she couldn't win, she knew that I could kill her, perhaps even by accident, and she didn't care. She saw me as misunderstood, and I loved her for it.
I broke out of prison the first time when a super, posing as a guard, attacked me for what he believed I'd done to his family. He was irrational, and wanted me dead because his family were killed in a nuclear attack that was blamed on me, back in the early days when governments used me as an excuse to kill each other. I didn't mean to kill him, but he used magnetism to fire ball bearings at near light speeds at people. Pretty powerful, but nothing to me. It was an accident when I stepped back, accidentally sending one of the hundreds of bearings he fired at me around the 6-foot thick titanium walls that made up my cell, until it bounced at multiple times the speed of sound straight through his head. I didn't really kill him, so much as he did himself, but I could have and should have stopped it.
It made her upset, and the second time she came to visit me she made that clear. I promised her no more killing, and went back to the cell. I confessed to her, and she told me that after I served my time she would consider it. I made her promise to visit me, and she did. She always kept her promise.
One day, just as the guards were walking me out of visitation, the prison came under attack. Vardon, one of the highest level supervillains around, fired beams of energy so powerful they turned the air around them into plasma, wanted to free me, and fight me.
Sera stood her ground, futilely, as the near-god villain fought. He fired a beam so powerful it should have left the entire prison a crater at her. I threw her out of the way, and blocked it, before subduing her. I didn't account for how fragile she really was.
A year later, I still visit her in hospital. She hasn't woken up yet, and not a day goes by I don't wish she did. I've been searching, far and wide, for a hero with true healing abilities. See, Sera won't die, but I accidentally turned her spine to near dust. She can't heal, either. I keep trying, and trying, and trying. I will save her.
Because my pardon came months ago, with the apologies of the world broadcast on every screen. They're still scared of me, but they understand me better now. I'm still a person, and I have one I love to protect, just like everybody else. Maybe one day she'll wake up. Maybe one day we can go on a date, like two normal girls should be able to. Maybe.
Please? | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T03:08:23 | 5,127 | 83 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "Too bad, Confoundus, looks like my will was again too strong for your feeble powers" said Artillerella with satisfaction, before making a gun gesture with her index finger and thumb and pretending to blow smoke off it.
It was her signature move, and Confoundus would happily let himself take a thousand of her easily avoidable inferno bombs to the face just to see it one more time.
As he was led away in handcuffs, Confoundus tried to appear defeated and angry, Artillerella loved a bit of anger. He couldn't let her see how happy he really was, it'd break her heart.
Artillerella had come around around at a hard time in Confoudus' life, a time when he found himself struggling for purpose, being a terrifying being that the entire world feared had really grown rather boring. He found himself watching "*A Hero Emerges, the Hero Academy Inside Story*" on TV more and more over the years, looking at the new blood, hoping against hope that finally there'd be someone to challenge him. But every time someone looked promising: Cyclonia, Septeroid, even that overhyped windbag Heatwave, they always ended up the same: cocky, drug-addled layabouts who just went for the easy, weak villains, posed for some newspaper photos and backed down the second any villain worth their salt made a challenge.
Then came Artillerella. She wasn't particularly strong, her only power other than the standard flight, enhanced reflexes etc. was her ability to create meteor-like orbs between her hands and hurl them at her opponents. They exploded with an impressive flash, and looked dazzling to watch, but unfortunately they took a long time to charge, were easy to dodge and really weren't all that useful in actual combat.
Nevertheless she'd captivated Confoundus, she was brave. While Heatwave and his gang of celebrity hangers on partied in a nightclub, she challenged Arachniarch, a villain at least five times her strength, as he threatened to unleash his horde of spiders on an orphanage.
Of course she lost the fight, but she'd fought valiantly, and Confoundus was disheartened to see Heatwave wipe the cocaine off his nose and fly in at the last moment to nab the glory, barely managing to defeat the significantly weakened Arachniarch. Artillerella wasn't even mentioned in the news article the next day.
He fell in love with her. Her coy smile, her little blowing-smoke-off-the-gun victory move, the way she fought with such passion in battle. She was everything he'd ever dreamed of. And so one day, the long-feared return of Confoundus came, it had been oh-so-satisfying to smack down the pompous upstarts that had risen to international fame as the so-called strongest heroes. He beat the best, then the second best, and before long all the remaining heroes cowered in fear.
All but one, Artillerella.
Of course Confoundus could have snapped her mind in two in an instant with his psychic powers, but when he looked at that determined grimace framed by that wavy red hair, he just... couldn't bring himself to do it.
"NO, how can this BE?" he'd said, theatrically.
"My powers" Confoundus had continued, waving his arms like a madman
"Your will, it's too strong, my powers can't touch you..."
And that was when the inferno bomb hit him. Such sweet pain, the burning fury of such a sweet honest soul coalesced into a scorching, searing agony that only he could love. He wanted it again and again.
And so he escaped from prison, and so she, again, "defeated" him. And again. And again and again and again.
This was capture number... nine? Confoundus was pretty sure.
"Best one yet" he thought to himself "she's honest to goodness putting up a fight now, might be one day I don't have to fake it anymore.
His daydream was shattered.
"Confoundus, you pathetic old shite" a self-superior sounding British voice yelled from above him.
"I've never liked you if I'm honest, but lucky for you we're on the same team, so I'll help you out of this one."
Shimmer. A pompous villain who carried two daggers and had the ability to move with astounding speed, even for someone with powers.
"Shimmer!" Artillerella's melodic yet firm voice called, as she flew over to protect the police officers escorting Confoundus away.
"Get out of here, or do you want a visit to the burn ward, too?"
Shimmer laughed.
"The burn ward? Oh come on. Maybe I'd have let it slide if I hadn't just heard that *exact* line from Pyrogladiator yesterday. Every fire hero's been using that one, for decades. Seriously, you're a rookie, let Confoundus go and maybe I won't slash you up too badly." Shimmer said threateningly, holding one of his daggers up to the light.
"Don't know if you've noticed" Artillerella said with a smile
"But my arrest profile doesn't exactly seem too 'rookie' to me. A few years ago even you would be running away from Confoundus, and now I've got him wrapped around my little finger." there was that coy smile Confoundus loved so much.
"Now do what you do best, Shimmer" Artillerella said confidently
"And run on home"
"OK that's it" Shimmer said, turning to Confoundus.
"Seriously? You let *her* take you down? Have you heard these lines? Is it possible to kill yourself with psychic powers? Because if I were you I would have tried by now."
"Enough!" Artillerella yelled, as a glowing sphere lit up between her hands.
Nobody even saw the next move, Shimmer flashed through the air around the orb and slashed at Artillerella with his dagger.
Artillerella was by no means a weak hero, but Shimmer was probably the third or fourth most powerful villain in the world, even Confoundus himself wouldn't have found him to be an easy win.
Blood spattered across the pavement and Artillerella fell from the sky. Confoundus felt tears form in his eyes as he heard her body thump against the ground, and half-heard some witty retort from Shimmer before he sped away.
"My love" Confoundus said, his voice cracking.
"My love why did he do this... why?"
The police had long since fled when Shimmer showed up, and so no-one was there to watch Confoundus weep as Artillerella's blood seeped out onto the pavement.
EDIT: I'm very glad people liked this so much, I'll begin writing the continuation immediately after I finish this edit. I'm so happy to have a post of mine get this much attention on this sub, I don't have a subreddit or anything but my comment history is a few more of my writing prompts (I made this account to post on this sub) if anyone feels like reading them.
EDIT 2: Part 2 is up, I replied to the original story with my continuation. Hope it lives up to expectations, I wrote as fast as I could while still trying to maintain quality. | Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.” | 2017-10-18T18:23:28 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 5,127 | 10 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | Kenn wasn't adverse to killing people. That came with the job. Sometimes, you just had to do what was necessary to survive. That's what human nature was right? People have been killing each other for centuries. Who can honestly say they're surprised when the first thing superhumans do is start killing each other? That's what they were made to do. Heroes must kill villains, villains must kill heroes. Sure; every now and then a hero leaves a villain alive. Sure; they might even swear off killing altogether. When you get to the bottom of the morally murky swamp however you realize that one way or another either the villain or the hero has to die. That's how wars are fought and this is nothing if not a war.
Kenn sat there looking at her, holding the bag of cash from the bank he had very illicitly withdrawn from the people's savings account. She was brave for her skill. All heroes kind of were. Villains took money and power, heroes took morale superiority and the greater good of society. Heroes went home to an applause every day so it's only natural eventually they got a little too brave for their britches. Kenn didn't mind though. He could tolerate a little bravery here and there. He could tolerate anything from her at this point.
He'd be lying to himself if he said he wanted the money for money's sake. No, he wanted to see her again. He'd be mocked if any of the villains were to know that. Villains weren't allowed to have sweet-hearts. Especially rather heroic ones. This was a war and they were the enemy. This was the closest thing to a date Kenn was every going to get. "Drop the dough" she demanded and Kenn was all to eager to follow. Millions of dollars in bills were heavier than you'd expect. Especially when they come with the heavy knowledge that it was the only way to see her again.
Kenn cracked his knuckles gearing up for a fight he'd know he would lose. He told himself every day that maybe he'd win this time, that maybe this time he'd summon up enough emotional courage to go with his physical abilities but he never could. She sucked it out of him like a second power even she didn't know she had. "Come and get me, Electora" He said tauntingly, using her superhero name. He didn't know her real name.
She didn't smile this time though. She did usually, on any other day. Why wasn't she smiling?
Before Kenn could ask where her grin of bravery had hidden off to, there was the boom of thunder followed by the crack of lightning. Kenn flew back several dozen feet down the street. That was her power, bolts of electric shock. Of course Kenn was a copy-cat villain. He could just shoot one right back, but he wasn't going to. He wasn't going to match fire with fire this time around.
Something was wrong, she didn't seem very... Happy about this. That didn't make any sense. Here he was, spitting out chunks of asphalt as she approached, just as she would have it. How could she be so glum like him? Where was that smiling row of teeth Kenn had gone so far to witness? He stood up just to catch her throw a punch. He made like he was going to block it. He didn't of course. The fist blasted into his cheek; the closest thing Kenn would ever get to a kiss, and he relished it for the few seconds he could as he stumbled back again.
She threw another punch, but something peculiar happened. Kenn saw it come in and once again made the purposefully half-assed attempt to catch it. Kenn flinched just as the fist was about to connect with his upper eye and then... Nothing. Even with his eyes closed he could feel the block of her fist stop just short. It was only a moment, only a few microseconds before Kenn launched himself back again as if he was hit.
Kenn was starting to understand now as he stood there, looking at her. She gritted her teeth and Kenn could feel his heart sink: She knew now, she was starting to understand. Maybe she didn't understand why but she was smart enough to know what was happening. "I knew it" She breathed, sending a kick his way only to stop just short of his windpipe. Kenn pretended to gag, falling on his ass.
"Stop it!" She shouted, standing over him. Kenn had never seen her this angry before. He sat there looking at her as she made to stomp directly onto his face but, once again, didn't. This time Kenn didn't do anything. He just sat there, blinking as he looked at the underside of her boot. Her eyes were watering now as she stepped back, putting her arms down. "For the love of god..." She began, raising her hands again now not in fists but in open curled hands as if she was trying to summon something out of Kenn. "Fight back!"
Ken got up, rubbing the spot on his cheek were a bruise was forming. "I-... Can't." He said, trying to follow that up with some viable excuse. Grasping and reaching out for something he could say that would keep her in the dark, in that comfortable lie he had managed to keep her in for so long. There wasn't anything Kenn could do now. All he could do was pretend.
He imagined this was quite a scene to the police and reporters nearby, who watched with anticipation at what was happening. Kenn snarled at them, hating their every being for this. For making what was supposed to be a private moment public. She stood there a moment waiting for Kenn to say something else. When he didn't she sighed, her anger giving way to a sadness Kenn couldn't quantify. Her blue eyes just scorched into Kenn. Hurting him more than any punch could. "I can't do this anymore." She croaked, her voice breaking.
"Do you think this is so easy for me?" She said, turning away and wiping her face with her hands. "Every time I throw a punch, every time I hurt you I just get this terrible feeling that I'm feeding something I don't want to. I feel sick every time I break your bone or shock you."
She shook her head: "And every time you come around, they send me... They always send me because they know I'm the only one that can beat you. So every time I have to force myself here, to force myself to throw punches and hurt you in ways I didn't want to. I can't, I just can't do this anymore."
She turned back to him, clasping her hands together with tears streaming down her cheeks: "Please... Just this once, don't make me hurt you again. It's killing me. For just once can you please win?"
Kenn didn't know what to say. This whole time Kenn thought he was helping her when all he was doing was hurting her. This was what it meant to be an arch nemesis. To try and help someone only to realize you're the one hurting them the most. He didn't know what to do. They were stuck now, neither having the selfishness to hurt each other, neither having the selflessness to fake it. This was a war in which there was no victor. It was a war where people just got hurt and no one was the hero and no one was the villain. Both of them had at this point long forgotten the bag of money now laying in the street, dollar bills rolling through the wind. | Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.” | 2017-09-17T05:11:57 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 32 | 10 |
[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!
EDIT: oh my god, this post accounts for 50% of my karma, it’s also the first reddit gold I’ve ever gotten, thank you so much reddit, this was an amazing Christmas gift! | "Loved"... *I snorted.*
"Accepted"... *I laughed. A long laugh. I couldn't help it.*
*With such a sharp contrast to every other comment and action directed toward me in daily life, this was obviously either a joke or directed at someone else. I am one of those who society would simply prefer not to exist. I have untreated chronic pain so it's more convenient to pretend I don't exist than to help me. Apparently, especially among doctors. Even among others, I can't be real. I must be faking, an addict, a criminal, a liar. Then people aren't really suffering from increasingly strict opiate regulations. People aren't being tortured and vilified just because they dared to be in pain. Not really. Not in the US. I am not real to them because it makes it easier for them to live not to think of other people existing in that way. And maybe soon they will be one person closer to having what they want.*
*As my laughter faded, I noticed my lips had assumed the shape of a slight but genuine smile.*
At least this was a nice try, *I thought.* | "Is it Christmas?", I asked myself. The sludge-like snow on the ground obscures my sense of time, or even season. The last 20 or 90 months have been covered in ice, it seems. And a blizzard has been forming in my head for years. I've salted the streets in preparation for my upcoming travels into the unknown depths of my mind. It's a slippery-slope that I romantisize and adore. That beautiful, wintery greyness that manifests itself as melancholy and ennui. Comfort resides in the past. And that's where I wish to be.
It is there that I await my fate. With an ever-pervasive sense of hope that only fools relive time and time again. "There's no future without you, or those before you", I tell myself. Yet, time-again, I find myself saying those words again. It's as if I do not know myself without another, without regard to who the "other" is.
They can tell me time-and-time again how loved and accepted I am, but they'll never convince me. And I'll only let them down, as they let down my idolized notions of them. It's not their fault. And it's not exactly mine either. But they can never love me in all the ways I need to be loved. It's impossible.
But you could at least spend New Years Eve with me, like you said you would last year. You weren't there. You won't be this year, either. You were never there.... and never will be, apparently. I don't need you... and fuck you. I just want you to remember the wreck you left behind. I want you to realize that the only reason I replied to a "writingprompt" to some complete stranger on reddit is because you told me you could never live without me or forget me. The only reason I'm typing this out is in hopes that you happen to come across this comment, and recognize how incredilbly hurt I am by your actions. My *reactions* weren't great, I'll give you that, but the things you did and said to begin with -- I never ... I'm not the bad guy, and fuck you for trying to make me think that I was. I might have been the bad guy in my past relationships...but not with you.
| 2017-12-25T01:14:59 | 2017-12-24T23:09:32 | 45 | 19 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | You know, there have always been rumors on side\-effects and how EverLife squashed anyone trying to do any kind of study on them. Not really surprising seeing how rich they all got, and how every single politician's life depended on EverLife's continued existence.
The first two generations didn't really show it that much. Sure, we got a lot more ugly kids, but people also got a lot fewer to keep the population count manageable.
With the third generation we old\-timers started calling them Garys. The incredible backlash from EverLife came totally unexpected \- they never had made that much fuzz when we told people their kids were a bit on the ugly side and looked alike a lot.
But as the first generation grew old and the third generation became adults they just couldn't deny it any longer.
Garys. Garys everywhere. Some old. So many young. Both boys and girls.
And finally the government relented as even the Garys wanted to know how the majority of people seemed to become basically the same person, unable to find anyone that didn't have a face that looked so much like their own.
And finally EverLife was forced to tell us all the truth.
How there had been only one person who turned out to have the secret of immortality in his genes.
How they found the drug that changed you just enough so that immortality could also be yours.
And how taking it wouldn't change you that much... but how those genes were dominant and would accumulate over every new generation.
How humanity was going to turn into all\-Garys within the next two generations.
As long as I'm alive and able I will fight that, along the others that are not willing to doom humanity to this. And I have to admit that I never expected the kind of fighting I'm doing now.
Every evening I take my usual pills, and then I take my special pill. And a quarter of an hour later I lie on my back while some young, fertile woman uses me to save the gene pool.
I am so thankful for those goggles that change the face I see. I could never keep up the good fight if I kept seeing their real Busey faces. | The Fountain of Youth. A blessed spring that would restore any who bathed in it back to the prime of their life. Many tales have been told of it's existence, and many have spent their lives searching for it. And now, thanks to a group of scientists working for Big Pharma, you can buy it over the counter. Bottled, carbonated and in the flavor of your choice.
I was 28, not long off my 29th birthday when they broke the news. Science had done it, it had broken into the realm once thought only for Gods. Immortality could be yours, forever.
But only to those under the age of 26.
I remember thinking how unlucky I was, missing the boat by only a couple of years, though my life carried on as normal and it wasn't until I was in my late 40s that I began to truly appreciate that fact. I started to slow down, aches and pains taking root, my skin wrinkling and my hair adopting a silvery hue. I was getting old. I wasn't the only one of course, there were lots of us, we of the "Lost Generation" as we came to call ourselves. Doomed to die as nature intended. I still meet with some regularly actually, getting to bitch about the entitled youngsters with others was welcome catharsis. Hell, I know one guy, missed the deadline by a day. A *day*. I couldn't imagine what that must have done to him. There aren't many of us left these days, Age claiming it's final victims slowly but surely, it'll be coming for me soon enough I'm sure.
Not too long after it's release Goverment officials signed legislation that ensured everyone under the age of 26, regardless of race, gender or wealth, could access the drug. Once a person turned 18, they could decide to get the treatment, as Immortality had to be a choice, though to this day I still haven't heard of a single person who turned it down. Doesn't hurt, far as I've been told, just a couple of shots; one into your arm, one into the base of your neck. Probably not as bad as I make it sound and compared to Immortality, what's a couple of little pricks, right?
Nearly 60 years after the fact everyone I know is either an Immortal, or an old wreck like me. And for the first time ever, I'm glad that I never got that choice because in hindsight, what Age has put me through wasn't too bad and I know soon, hell, maybe even tomorrow, it'll be over.
We of the "Lost Generation" used to joke that the Immortals weren't human anymore, turns out we weren't too far from the truth. It's funny how in 60 years, no one thought to question how they did it, how they acquired immortality. I guess our fear of death blinded us to reality.
Gene-splicing.
Take a bit of reptile, some insect, throw in a bit of flora for good measure, mix it up on a Petri dish and voila! Viral treatments to alter the genome, to turn off chromosomes, introduce new gene sequences to fill in the gaps and fix the degenerative nature of cell replication. The makings of an Immortal.
And the death of Humanity.
| 2018-06-05T00:30:12 | 2018-06-05T00:08:04 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | “I’ll have a double cheeseburger deluxe,” I say looking up at the glowing menu, “with fries and regular spri--” I stop as I see the cashier with mouth agape and brows furrowed.
“What the f” she mouths, cutting off the last syllable as she hisses the f. Her confusion turned to an irritated stare obviously annoyed.
I reciprocated a confused look as I fidgeted with my wallet.
“Oh sorry,” she exclaims snapping back to reality “That’s a double cheeseburger deluxe with fries and regular coke. Is there any--”
“Sprite!” I corrected awkwardly.
“Regular Sprite. Is there anything else you want to add?”
“Nope that’s it.”
She writes something down on my receipt. She was slow, strokes intentional and heavy. She pauses, looks up, then scribbles again. “Remember,” she mutters before pushing the receipt my way. I picked a table so that my back is to a corner and read the back of the receipt. It had these weird blocky letters, I can tell they were supposed to curve by the erratic corners. None of the characters I can read save for the number 24 right by the end. I was tempted to ask the cashier what she just wrote on my receipt but that would lead to a lot of explaining and I felt like I didn’t have enough energy for it. What is it? Maybe it told me that I’d die in 24 hours? Maybe I owed her 24 whatever currency she wrote? Maybe she could just be crazy?
\-----
First time responding to a writing prompt! Constructive criticism is welcome! :D | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T21:35:31 | 45 | 18 |
[WP] You've been an avid star gazer since childhood, catching every meteor shower you could and wishing on every fallen star you saw. After 20 years you recieve a letter apologizing for the delay, and that your wishes will all arrive throughout the next week. | It started with breasts.
I had them already, of course.
I was 27, after all.
But that morning, that morning...
Wowza. I could take someone's eye out.
I was concerned, and WebMD assured me
I was dying.
I made an appointment with my doctor
for the following morning.
No rush to confirm my worst fears.
The day went on as usual,
aside from my gigantic milk muffins.
I'd never been cat-called before.
I get it now.
Not a whole lot I could do to
tame these puppies.
I stopped to get the mail on my way home,
you know, as you do.
Credit card bill, power bill,
Wal-Mart flyer, and one strange dark-blue, glittery
(fuck, now it's everywhere)
envelope, folded into the shape of a star.
I opened it in the elevator, on the way to my
7th-floor apartment (no balcony).
I rode 24 floors that day.
Inside, in bright golden cursive,
"Dear Sir/Madam, we regret to inform you
there has been a delay in fulfilling your
wishes.
We are working to correct this as soon as possible,
and expect your wishes to reach you within
a week."
It wasn't signed. And if it hadn't been for my
sudden massive knockers
I would have thrown in out withouth a second thought.
But I remembered the night of my 8th birthday.
Standing out on my parents' porch
Gazing up at the stars, as I would come to do
every night,
a bright streak shot across the sky.
My dad leaned in and whispered excitedly,
"A shooting star! Make a wish!"
I closed my eyes hard and wished harder than I wished
for anything ever, including that time
I wished Jessy from gym class would ask me to
be on his dodgeball team.
Please
please
PLEASE
give me some great big boobies. Jessy will pick me
if I have big boobs.
This week was my 28th birthday.
I've been wishing on stars for 20 years.
20 years of probably 4 wishes a month.
That's 960 wishes.
That's a lot of wishes.
This week was going to be... interesting.
I won't bore you with most of them. Most were small
Silly wishes. I got a Barbie Convertible in the mail.
A man who I would later realize was Jessy from gym class
Approached me on the street and kissed me.
No tongue.
My best friend who battled cancer 6 years ago and has
been cancer-free for 4 years, got a call from her doctor
"You're cancer-free!" he said.
"Yeah, I know" she said.
But Thursday. Thursday was different.
A little over 3 years ago, my mum died.
A little over 3 years ago, Dad and I watched a meteor shower
Streak overhead.
"It's a sign, " Dad said, "that mum's in a better place"
But I closed my eyes hard and clenched my fists and wished
I wished that the drunken asshole who hit my mum
had died instead.
And I wished that my mum, my perfect, beautiful mother,
was alive.
I never thought I could regret that wish. But here we are.
Those of us who remain, anyway.
It only takes one to start it,
patient zero, as it were.
It turns out the things that grow on and in dead bodies
aren't so good for the living.
I didn't know, I couldn't have known
All those years ago, innocently wishing for these giant jugs
that are now making it just that much harder to breathe
as I sit here, anchovied in a crawlspace with 3 other survivors
writing this by the dying light of a crank flashlight,
I couldn't have known my mother, my rotting, shambling,
hungry mother
would bring about the end of days. | I missed out on a normal childhood, but I never knew that until I was older. I never knew there was anything else out there, that there was a different way to be a kid. I don’t pity myself though; I don’t resent my mother or my brother or my grandfather. All of them, even me, were just trying our best.
I never knew we were poor until I was older. My mother hid it well, always brushing the money problems out of sight. The summer months, when the lights went out, she lit candles and told us we were saving energy. No matter how thinly she stretched the food, it always turned into a fun cooking experiment. The hand-me-down clothing, knees worn and patched, were a source of pride.
It was during the time we lived with my grandpa that I fell in love with astronomy. At the time, my brother and I begrudge my mother. His house was old, the land older still. Although he leased the fields to the neighbors - for he was far too old and too tired to run the farm alone - my brother and I still had free reign over the flat plains.
The summer faded quickly into fall, which froze into winter, thawed to spring, and sizzled back to summer once again. Quiet loathing that we held for the oldness, the staleness, of our grandfather’s place rolled over into a new and quiet acceptance.
Our mother never came back.
It was the second summer we spent there that I found the telescope tucked into the loft of the barn. My grandpa said it was my father’s when he was my age. When I looked through the scope I could see Mars, shining in the distance. It never flickered, the way that the stars do. The lens had a hairline crack that bisected the view, but I didn’t much mind.
The loft became mine. I traced star charts out of library books; pinned string constellations to the walls; memorized the myths, the legends, of how the lights learned their part in the dance of the sky.
One night, late in August before I started the seventh grade, I saw a shooting star. I had seen others - of course I had, I spent my life staring at the night sky. This one, though, was different. It was stronger, *brighter*, than anything else. The tail arced spectacularly and the light curled red around its edges.
I whispered the same wish I always did: I wanted only for my mother to come home.
She never did.
That October, she was listed as a missing person - officially.
I buried myself in the stars. The hand-drawn charts were replaced with printouts, which were then replaced with glossy prints. A new, expensive, telescope replaced the old and worn and cracked one. The myths that I lived were slowly replaced by atoms and gases and a new dance - one even more ancient and inexplicable.
It was only natural I continued to study the stars. I had never known anything else, and I had certainly never committed to anything so intensely.
If my life had been different, I don’t know if I would have studied the stars. The passion was not something I found, hidden inside me, but rather something I created out of loss and loneliness and boredom.
It was the third year of my undergraduate degree that they declared my mother dead - officially.
My brother and I (on those few occasions when we let our worries slip out) had expected as much. Childish hopes can live only so long. My brother and I had expected the pain to be dull, an old wound, when the announcement finally came.
It did not.
The pain was raw and fresh and hot.
And time passed all the same.
The letter arrived a week before my Ph.D. defense. The writing was strange, neat and measured, but still *off* somehow. It apologized for the delay and promised me my wish would be fulfilled by the end of the week. I chucked it in the mountain of papers and journals and overdue library books on my desk and promptly forgot it existed.
I wore my best and only suit on the day of my defense. I prayed my hands would stop shaking and the sweat wouldn’t show.
When the doorbell rang, I debated not answering. I had only half an hour before I had to leave. I wasn’t expecting anyone, nor were my friends the type to arrive unannounced. Something in me, some extra-ordinary sense I don’t quite believe in, drew me to answer the door.
I dropped my suitcase when I opened the door. The new leather scuffed as it crashed against the ground and the neat edges of the papers crumpled. Nothing, not a single part of my studies, could have ever prepared me for what waited for me.
My mother stood at the entrance to my basement suite. Her dark hair was still smooth and her eyes the same, too; more wrinkled than they should’ve been for anyone her age. She wore the same white sweatshirt she wore the day she left us with grandpa.
Only now, there was a dark red splotch staining her side. It grew as she stood, not speaking, at the door.
“Mom?” I said, after too long a pause.
She blinked. “Oliver,” she said, “I shouldn’t be here.”
---
/r/liswrites
| 2018-06-25T15:35:02 | 2018-06-25T14:08:33 | 61 | 15 |
[WP] Everybody gets a superpower, but nobody has any secondary superpowers. People who spawn fire aren't fireproof. Super-speeders have normal reaction times. Super-strong people have normal joints. | My mother used to say everyone had a gift, but I know better.
Everyone has a curse.
It takes 18,500 Newton's to lift a car, 4,000 to snap your arm trying.
The average speedster can run twice the speed of sound, hitting a large insect at that speed is like getting punched in the face by a professional boxer.
My Uncle Bobby had invulnerable skin, died from a blood infection because they couldn't give him a transfusion.
My mother used to say everyone has a gift, but I know better. | Superpowers something all kids dream of right? Correct we dream and pray and beg we end up normal.
You could shrink but then your body couldn't handle the cold and if you survived that when you went back to normal size you'd be starving and dehydrated.
Breathe fire? Your getting burned so many times..
Flight? This is actually the best one just because as long as you aren't stupid you'll be able to use it as your transportation for most things so if you don't to high just don't run into buildings.
Then there's teleportation everyone thinks of it right? Well it works but there's no way to tell if it killed you and made a perfect copy all we know is it hurts like hell every time.
They all come when you turn fourteen we don't know why but it's caused thousands of thirteen year olds to commit suicide.. since we've had an immortal. In fact there's still an arm hopping around in an empty room if the stories are true..
There are also some you have as a baby these are better super vision this isn't xray vision just improves your eye sight greatly and super strength super speed etc they aren't the 'real' thing at fourteen they only improve it slightly but they stop your 'actual' power.
There are stories of a time before superpowers lots in fact. And I believe it just makes me wonder what scientist thought it was a good idea.. it really makes me wonder with where I am..
But it doesn't matter. I couldn't of done anything with my life anyway why not stop fighting and just turn into a puppet for this guy.. winners walk on the corpses of failures don't they? No that was just for those walking the demonic path wasn't it.. well I guess we're all just monsters. Makes sense. | 2018-09-27T20:14:11 | 2018-09-27T16:56:39 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | And at this, I stopped.
"So... we *can* resist."
And though the toothy grin remained, it's smile was gone. "**Ah. Cunning. But clever wheat is still just wheat...**"
But as it swung the glittering edge at me, I heard, as if through deep water- "Charging to 200 Joules. Clear!"
And I was back, surrounded by the white coats of my colleagues, the cold paddles still pressed to my bared chest, the shrill warning cries of machines attached to my veins and nerves settling back to tame chirps -
"Did you see him?" My partner said, face neutral, but eagerness betrayed by that quaver in his voice.
"*It*. Yes. Yes, I saw it." It, the reason for this dangerous gambit...
The room hushed. An expectant silence.
I looked at them, and I felt my eyes well with glad tears. With pride. For us. For humankind.
And for the kind of thing we were finally showing ourselves to be: not scared, not wheat in a field.
"*We can win.*"
A great whoop of joy filled the room, spread into the hall, out the doors into the streets beyond. And the sullen darkness between the stars began to hear the footsteps behind.
| I looked at my hot pink Sony Ericsson. The screen lit up showing me my next guest to receive.
“Laura Knickett, Singapore.”
Wow, awfully far for an assignment but I guess it’s part of the job scope. What is time anyways, but something which passes ever so slowly and quickly at the same time?
Before long, I arrived and saw my guest, matching the pixelated image on my phone. She was an Asian in her early 20s. “Wow, I wonder if she’s the one.”
I watched her in a distance, observing and waiting just to wait for a couple more moments before it is time. Right, it’s time to meet her.
“Hi Laura, it’s me, Ben. You’re time on earth has come. Please join me on this pleasant journey, as I accompany you into the afterlife.”
She looked at me shocked. I can’t say I didn’t expect it. A beautiful young woman, with so much potential. Oh well, as fate has it, it is time.
“Come Laura, follow me.”
“Are you Death? No, I don’t want to, there’s still so many things for me to do. I want to have a partner, a family, fights with couples, cooking, having a husband to care for. It’s not time for me to go, I still have things to do. Please, give me more time.”
“I’m sorry, but it is time. We have to be on our way.”
“...are you going to pierce my soul with that sharp moon-shaped thing?”
I sighed.
“I’ll tell you what, take this,” I passed to her my Sony Ericsson.
“... what’s this for..?”
“Well, it will tell you who needs to be escorted next. It’s more of like your todo list.”
“But aren’t you going to force me to go?”
“Listen, death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss.”
“What’s the scythe for?”
“The people who resist,” as I passed my scythe to her, and watch her transform into Death. Finally, it’s time for me to embrace the end.
When I resisted death, I became Death and learned to appreciate its horrifying beauty, time after time. The digital profiles were just randomisers, in no particular order. As death, you see and take people away whether they’re prepared for it or not.
That’s the price of learning to let go. | 2018-10-25T09:22:40 | 2018-10-25T08:59:05 | 71 | 25 |
[WP] Humans are actually cocoons for the race of skeleton beings that live underground. After your "death" you wake up, but find you're still stuck inside your flesh cocoon. | I used to fit in.
People I hardly knew invited me to their wine tastings, surprise birthday parties and casual mixers, just so they could show off to their friends their association with me. When I crossed the room hands reached for my shoulder. Desperate eyes begged me to join conversation circles, eager for my quips and geopolitical musings.
In the world of the living, I was a social commodity.
In the world of the dead, I am an outcast.
You don't know about the world of the dead, being alive, but let me tell you its not what you think. There is no harp serenaded paradise. No fiery hell. There is only a sinking, deep into the ground, where the corpse in which your soul is buried finds a new home among those who died before. In that great underground your flesh slowly rots away. Eventually you are nothing but bones, a skeleton among skeletons existing for eternity in the deep.
At least, that's how it's supposed to go.
I wasn't so lucky. After a funeral, moving speeches, crying family members and a casket buried, my body descended just like any other. I awoke undead, and my brothers and sisters greeted me with open radii and ulnas, welcoming me into the Great Underground of eternal community. Endless gatherings, social events and council meetings to discuss every minutia of our society. In short, the next best thing to heaven.
At first my new after life was idyllic. As I always did, I made friends everywhere I went, and each cavern into which I stepped foot became a hunting ground for new acquaintances, a pond into which I could cast my social net. They were all fish in my barrel. Famous souls from across history, mere play things in my hands.
As I rose to prominence among the ex-living, however, something began to change.
In passing I would learn of events to which I wasn't invited. Inside jokes to which I was not privy. Decisions made at meetings about which I had never been informed. As I became more isolated the nature of my problem became painfully clear, and each time I passed above a puddle of reflective water or a sheet of polished silver I saw it.
My flesh was not rotting.
As the weeks crumbled away I understood well who my true friends were. Skulls turned away when I passed by, and skeletal digits waved me dismissively away when I approached, a hopeful smile forced upon my stubbornly fleshed face. Before long I was entirely alone.
Only the dogs come to visit me now, their bony tails wagging when I run the healthy skin of my palm across their vertebrae.
I am an outcast.
Before, when I walked the surface of this world, I believed my popularity was the inevitability of my charm, the dividends of my social efforts paid in kind with effort. A victor on an equal playing field. Now, though, I understand. I was simply rich and handsome, unusually comfortable in the presence of others. I did nothing to earn my status. It meant nothing.
This realization has changed me.
None from the underground has ever returned to the surface, but I plan to be the first. With immortality comes opportunity, and with opportunity comes purpose. With enough time I can change the world. And I have nothing if not time.
You will not know me when I rise, but I am coming. The time has come for a new social order.
&#x200B;
\*\*\*\*\*\*
r/EnemyOfAnEnemy | Harley looked at herself in the mirror, face scrunched in disgust. She was supposed to show up for a party being thrown in her honor. She was supposed to have finally broken out of her cocoon, but she was stuck inside of it.
She had never met anyone with this problem. There was simply no way for her to deal with it discretely. She wasn’t even sure if she would find a way to cover herself or not. Humans didn’t walk around naked, but Skeletons weren’t naked until they shed their flesh.
She stomped her foot and walked out of the bathroom and into her closet. Of course, none of this would fit, her body was much too big. Her cocoon had been fit, but it had all those pesky muscles and tendons and skin that would get in her way. A closet full of brand new clothes from the newest fashion lines, and not a single thing to wear.
Harley let out a long, dramatic sigh and looked around her room. The clock on the wall told her that it was 3:00 pm. Two hours until she was expected to walk into the hall and be swooned by all her friends and city folk.
“Arg!” She stomped her foot again. She knew that she was acting like a child, but if she was being honest- She felt like one. She felt exactly like a toddler who didn’t understand what she was supposed to be doing but had no one around to help her.
Taking a deep breath she turned around to her closet. She couldn’t fit any of the regular clothes, but her eyes were drawn to a trench coat that she had bought in case she was revealed in winter. It wasn’t winter…but if she buttoned it all the way, **and** tied it tight…
The options were all grim. No matter what she did she was going to get stared at, but at least if she wore the coat it would feel like she had tried to show her shame.
***
“Harley!” a loud chorus rang out as she walked into the room.
She looked around at the smiles and actually felt the anxiety wash away from her shoulders, for a moment. As she walked through the long room, the whispers and sideways glances started to come to her attention. They all noticed that she was not the pearly white skeleton she was supposed to be.
“At least it's not…*rotting*,” she heard one woman whisper to another as she passed by.
“I would have stayed at home,” a man’s voice hit her ears.
“Too starved for attention to have any patience at all,” came from another direction.
She felt a lump begin to form in her throat when she felt a tug at her elbow. Her head whipped in the direction of the force and spotted her best friend from all previous lives, Grace.
“Bathroom. Now,” Grace said before turning and pushing them through the crowd.
Harley had always been jealous of her friend's ability to keep her head held high even when things were going crazy.
“What the hell, Harley?” Grace shut and locked the door behind them.
“I don’t know! I woke up down here, in my bed, with the invitation on my nightstand. I had done everything I was supposed to and they already had the whole thing planned and I didn’t know what to do about the stupid thing that won’t come off and-” Harley’s hands were flying in front of her face as she spoke a mile a minute.
Grace laughed sympathetically. “Honey. Take a breath. There is protocol.”
“What?”
“Yes,” Grace pulled her phone out of a pair of shorts that just barely hung onto her clean, wide hips.
Harley watched as her friend spent several minutes typing on the small buttons of her phone, and leaned her shoulder against a cool wall.
“What if this body still…needs things?” she asked as her thoughts took control in the silence.
Grace laughed again. “It probably does.” She pulled a napkin out of the dispenser, and a small pen from her shorts pockets.
Harley never figured out how she carried so much crap in women's tiny pockets and no purse. But she kept her mouth shut as she watched her friend write down a phone number and a name before handing over the napkin.
“Get your weird little self out of here, Harley. It's not worth the stress. I will cover for you, and you call that number.” Grace rubbed one of Harley’s shoulders before unlocking the bathroom door.
“When you get that thing taken care of, we will go find a *real* party,” Grace said and walked out of the room and down the hall.
Harley was left alone in the bathroom, staring at her body once again.
“Ten thousand years and this is really the best we came up with?” She asked her tanned reflection.
/r/beezus_writes | 2019-03-02T20:29:29 | 2019-03-02T19:48:12 | 311 | 39 |
[WP] You've had anxiety your entire life. One day, an old woman offers to remove it for you. You think 'why not?' and let her try. Afterwards, a hauntingly beautiful being stands before you, but you don't react. The woman didn't just remove your anxiety, she removed all your emotions. | Most would argue that feelings are in the mind, but I swear it, I felt myself empty into a void. Like all the blood had been sucked out of me through a straw.
I wanted to be surprised by the fact, but *that's* a feeling, too. Damn hag stole everything from me, siphoned every drop of emotion like I was a tapped keg.
There was a numbness, like I'd had my insides scooped out and slopped into a bucket in some dirty dungeon where madmen perform eerie experiments, leaving me hollow and floating at the wind's mercy. Where once there was despondence and pain lied only solitude. Where once thoughts raced, swirling and spinning in place like tires stuck in mud, there was only quiet. Stillness. Serenity, but without the peacefulness.
"How do you feel?" she asked me, bobbing gently in the air.
"I don't."
"Well, that's how it goes."
"I asked you to kill my anxiety."
"Yes, and I did. But anxiety is a tricky one, tangled into all the others. Fear, confusion, sadness, even a little happiness mixed in there if you look closely. Anxiety is when all your other emotions run wild, getting all jumbled up in your head."
"They make medication for it."
"Yes, which helps you manage your emotions by clearing the mind, keeping the racing thoughts tamed. I'm not a neurologist, I can only play with emotions. This is the best I can do for you.
"How do you like it?"
"I don't. I don't like anything, and I don't dislike anything. There's just nothing left."
She smiled at me. "Ah, yes, well. I should probably return them to you, or you'll never care to ask."
It was a terrible feeling. A filling, little bits of emotion swarming into my like a million bugs that made my skin crawl. A sudden wave of misery and panic cracked into my brain, a searing, grating pain that wracked my body. Tears flowed and shivers permeated, a wave of nausea stirring deep within.
I felt tired. Achy. Sick. Hard to think, so much going on. Can't stay on topic.
"Back to normal now, are we?"
I croaked in response.
"It's okay, dearie. A normal reaction. But... a word of advice. Don't wish for the end of it, because there is no such thing. Instead, wish for the ability to manage it. To reign it in a little and keep enough straight during the worst to get a friend involved or find an outlet that helps distract you. It's a haunted house you can't escape, but you can learn to live inside with all the ghosts and bumps in the night."
I curled up a little bit, tucking my arms further into their sleeves. No words came from my mouth as acknowledgement, but she was right. One step a time.
It was better than nothing.
*/r/resonatingfury* | I can't feel.
Maybe that is a bad thing, or maybe it is good. Someone else would have to tell me. All I know is that it is true, and that I can do nothing about it.
I'm not sure how I should feel about it because, as I said before, I can't feel. But based on the reactions of people around me, I think it's something I would normally feel bad about. They keep telling me that without my emotions, I won't be able to connect with people. They keep telling me that I won't be able to love. They keep telling me that I won't be able to appreciate beauty.
The first few things they say never make much sense to me, so I disregard them in short time. But the last thing does make sense, and that's how I know they're wrong. They say I can't appreciate nature, or that I can't appreciate beauty, but that is objectively not so.
Only a few days ago, in fact, I saw the most beautiful thing I can possibly think of. Before I saw it, my perfect image of beauty probably would have been some image of a girl, some overly fantasized, perfectly-proportioned girl who would love me for who I was and wore the face of the woman that I love most.
The problem with that image is that it does not exist.
The being I saw only days ago, however, does, and so that is my picture of perfect beauty before.
Ever since I met with the woman who solved my problems, I've done a lot of describing, both in my head and out loud. Whenever I see something now, I pay attention to its details—I burn its image right into my memory so I can bring it back up whenever I want.
Describing that being, however, is something that escapes me even now. When I saw it, its perfect form standing right in front of my eyes, I was inspired with wonder. Or, I was inspired with something that almost felt like the emotion I remember as wonder.
But no matter how hard I try, I can't describe any of its details. I can't describe its form. I can't describe its color. I can't describe the way it shined in light. All I can describe is that it was perfect, and no matter how indifferent I am to that answer, it is the one and final truth.
After that being appeared, I'd just stared at it blankly. My brain had worked tirelessly to try to burn it into my memory, but nothing had really worked. I wasn't able to do it.
Then, after the being left, I continued to just stare. The blank expression on my face seemed to make other people gawk, and that was when the telling started. They asked me why I didn't react, and I told them the whole story.
After getting to the part about the woman who solved my problems, they all told me that she took my emotions and that I was in a bad spot. That is when the telling *really* started, and that is when I had stopped listening to them. They kept telling me: *You can't appreciate beauty anymore. You can't appreciate beauty.* And that was when I tuned out.
They were wrong, and then they continued to be wrong even after my reassurances. I told them over and over that I *could* appreciate beauty, and that the being that we all saw was the most beautiful thing there was. But I guess my words weren't enough because they just shook their heads and treated me as a lost cause.
They thought the woman who solved my problems actually didn't solve my problems and that she had, in fact, only created more problems for me.
After all of them left, leaving their disappointed comments behind, I considered that statement. I knew the woman who solved my problems took away my emotions, that much was very clear. But I did not think that she created more problems for me.
I still don't think she created more problems for me, even to this day, because when I look back to my memories, to the images all burned into my mind, I can only come up with one thing: bad. Back when I had actual emotions, I felt all of the bad ones, and I did not enjoy that.
But now, it is different. Now I can't feel bad.
I just can't feel.
---
/r/Palmerranian
| 2019-03-29T23:44:26 | 2019-03-29T20:24:02 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] After 357 years running from death the Grim Reaper finally tracks down your mountain cave. When he arrives he asks if he can hide with you. | The wind blew hard, its frigidness numbing my skin. As I sat in my cave, I reveled in my victory. After 357 years, I had finally escaped death, or so I thought. Over the past few decades, I began to get more cocky. I had evaded death for so long, that I grew soft. I began to forget to hide my tracks, leaving an obvious trail that the Grim Reaper and his Hell Hounds would be able to track.
I began preparing my breakfast when I heard a thump outside. I didn't think much of it, and continued preparing my meal. I turned around, and dropped my plate in fear. There he was. The Grim Reaper was standing inches away from me, his scythe glimmering menacingly in his hand. I began trembling.
"How?" I asked, "I evaded your scent for centuries! How did you do it?"
"It has been 357 years," he replied, "but that is not what I am here for, my child."
I was confused. "Then why have you come?" I barked, "Why not leave me alone?"
"I also wish to hide." he said, "There is a great danger afoot."
"That's insane." I laughed, "What could possibly be more dangerous than you? You're literally the physical manifestation of death! The end of all living things! What could possibly be a threat to you!"
"Foolish mortal!" roared the Grim Reaper, pointing his scythe towards my neck, "You know not of what lies beyond this realm!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I speak of he who brings about the end of all things, mortal and immortal." said the Grim Reaper, "Chaos, a harbinger of destruction and disorder. My tenure as this era's Grim Reaper is coming to an end. Due to advances in medicine, my performance has been slacking and Chaos is going to destroy me for it. I came here to hide with you. You have evaded me for almost 4 centuries. Tell me, how did you do it?"
"It's a long story," I said, "but as you've probably noticed, I have all the time in the world to tell it." | The cold, harsh mountain air battered at the cave’a entrance as I huddled in a corner, wrapped in blankets. My beard was getting a tad long, I thought, as a strong gust of wind entered the cave and blew it into my face. Well, at least it’s not as long as it was in Moscow. Now that was long, I thought, and softly chuckled.
The year was 2000 CE, and my name was... what’s my name.... well, age gets the better everyone, so it’s to be expected. Anyhow, I was currently running from the grim reaper. And when I say currently, I didn’t start just then on that mountain. I started way before that, oh, maybe 357 years ago?
Suddenly, a harsh rattling noise and a thin, raspy breath echoed throughout the cave.
He was there.
Adrenaline rushed my body. Was this it, I thought? Was this how I die?
Frosty, skinless feet carried a hooded man into the cave, the wind tugging at his robe, and to top the chilling appearance off, a deadly, shining scythe rested on his shoulder, shrouded in a dark, ominous aura.
I was paralysed by fear, frozen in place. He walked over, and just.... sat down. He didn’t try to lop off my head like he did the last forty times I encountered him. He just... sat down.
“Hey, buddy? You still alive?” He whispered.
I nodded slowly, still stiff with fear.
“Do you... mind if I hide with you here for a while?”
“Why..?” I whispered back.
The reaper looked down for a moment, then looked back at me.
“You’ve... been giving me quite a bit of trouble. Well, when I say me, I mean all of the grim reapers. No, there’s not just one of me. Though you’ve only seen me, so....”
I sat there, silently, processing this in my head.
“I... kinda need to lay low for a while,” the reaper continued, “Satin.... is in a bit of a.... rage mode right now. Y’see, I kinda need to kill you. Not now of course, not now while he’s in a rage at me.. just... let me stay with you for a decade or so, and we’ll be good. Hell, I’ll get you into heaven when you finally die, if I can. But there’s no point killing you now, s-“
I held up a hand to cut him off.
“Please,” I replied to him, “If you’re gonna stay, go get some Twinkies. Now. I’ve been surviving off nothing but snow and dirt for the past forty years, so if you wouldn’t mind, go get some, then we’ll talk.”
The skeleton just looked up at the roof, resigned. He rose to his feet, and slowly walked towards the edge of the cave.
The en- oh. I forgot. After he set foot outside of the cave, a barrage of hellfire melted the cave into nothing but a crater in the mountain. Apparently, that’s when Satan saw him. Anyway... where am I, I thought. There’s stone and fire everywhere, and it’s boiling hot, so... I guess this is hell, huh. | 2020-01-20T18:34:48 | 2020-01-20T17:27:58 | 46 | 16 |
[WP] After 357 years running from death the Grim Reaper finally tracks down your mountain cave. When he arrives he asks if he can hide with you. | The wind blew hard, its frigidness numbing my skin. As I sat in my cave, I reveled in my victory. After 357 years, I had finally escaped death, or so I thought. Over the past few decades, I began to get more cocky. I had evaded death for so long, that I grew soft. I began to forget to hide my tracks, leaving an obvious trail that the Grim Reaper and his Hell Hounds would be able to track.
I began preparing my breakfast when I heard a thump outside. I didn't think much of it, and continued preparing my meal. I turned around, and dropped my plate in fear. There he was. The Grim Reaper was standing inches away from me, his scythe glimmering menacingly in his hand. I began trembling.
"How?" I asked, "I evaded your scent for centuries! How did you do it?"
"It has been 357 years," he replied, "but that is not what I am here for, my child."
I was confused. "Then why have you come?" I barked, "Why not leave me alone?"
"I also wish to hide." he said, "There is a great danger afoot."
"That's insane." I laughed, "What could possibly be more dangerous than you? You're literally the physical manifestation of death! The end of all living things! What could possibly be a threat to you!"
"Foolish mortal!" roared the Grim Reaper, pointing his scythe towards my neck, "You know not of what lies beyond this realm!"
"What are you talking about?"
"I speak of he who brings about the end of all things, mortal and immortal." said the Grim Reaper, "Chaos, a harbinger of destruction and disorder. My tenure as this era's Grim Reaper is coming to an end. Due to advances in medicine, my performance has been slacking and Chaos is going to destroy me for it. I came here to hide with you. You have evaded me for almost 4 centuries. Tell me, how did you do it?"
"It's a long story," I said, "but as you've probably noticed, I have all the time in the world to tell it." | I remember that night, that one December night that changed everything. It was cold. Very, very cold. I was finishing up the last meal I had cooked up with my wooden handmade stove. "357 years", I said to myself, "357 years of running, fretting about what will happen next, thinking about how he will murder me, how he will take his immense satisfaction in performing my execution". That is, when I heard a knock at my door. A voice....**that** voice. I've heard it before, but never as calmly as this. I was starting to get paranoid. "H-Hello?". The voice said. He...no....***it*** sounded scared. "I know who you are, but I don't wanna hurt you. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of running from him.". "Him? Who's him?" I said. That's when he barged through the wooden door, practically cracking it. I grab my wooden lumber ax as swiftly as I could. Tears filling up my eyes and falling onto the stone surface of my home. "We gotta hide from him!" The 'voice' said. It really was him, the face of Death itself...the Grim Reaper. "W-what are you doing here! I-I'm scared of you, I'm tired of running with nothing to protect myself with! I'm tired of feeling helpless in your little 'game', I'm tired of constantly having to worry about when I'm going to hear your voice again! I just want to live my life free, not on the run!" I yelled. "No! No! Don't worry about me! Sll this time I've just been running from ***him***....And please, don't make too much noise! You'll attract the beast.". He exclaimed. But it was too late, the ground started shaking below us. All of a sudden, we see a giant...worm through the broken door frame. Pummeling through the earth, at least 600 feet tall. It aimed for Mt. Freymari, my home mountain. We were then thrown out of my cabin by the worm's mighty roar, we looked back. Mt. Freymari was.....gone....destroyed. Debris from the mountain started falling all around us. One piece of debris, pretty much the size of a bus, was falling towards us. Quickly, the Grim Reaper used his scythe to call one of his demon minions, a gigantic brain, the size of a football stadium, sent out signals to the worm's mind, causing it to attack itself. The worm eventually rammed itself into a nearby mountain, stunning itself. "Quick, give me a boost!" said the Grim Reaper. He powered up his scythe and handed it to me. I aimed the scythe and the Grim Reaper was launched with it towards the worm, as he hit the final blow to its head, he said, "I'm done playing all of your bullshit games!". The worm's guts got everywhere on us, so we went to the local river to wash off. I was still a little anxious around him, and I guess he could tell by my face. "Listen, I'm really sorry, I didn't want to give a false impression, this whole time I was running from that thing. I just wanted to help you, and you to help me.". I started crying as those words came out. This whole time, he never wanted to hurt me, the worm thing wanted to hurt him. Now he's my roommate. | 2020-01-20T18:34:48 | 2020-01-20T18:15:07 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north. | The Man of the North:
A person that everyone knows. The other immortal beings were present in some cultures, but the man was known by everyone.
His speed, unmatched, he could circle the world faster than everyone.
His generosity, so pure, everyone was struck with happiness at the mention of his name.
His looks, unmistakable. You will always know its him.
His perception, perfection, he can see everyone whenever he wants, from any distance.
The man never was angry. He never hurt anyone. He never killed a soul. He rewarded the polite, and pitied the mean.
He is so famous, that he has a day dedicated to him. And when that month rolls around...
You better watch out.
You better not pout.
You better not cry.
I'm telling you why.
**Santa Claus is coming to town.** | [Poem]
World divided into four
Land held, guarded ever more
Elementals they tend to be
Fire and air, Earth and sea
Gigantic, powerful rulers of all
Mighty in nature standing so tall
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kraken, bending, curling
Islands hurling.
Dragging down to depths, mightier than tide
Gurgeling sinking deaths, its rules you must abide.
No ship is faster
No one its master
It is the master of the sea
Its hungry jaws the last you'll see
Eyes like beacons in the night
Once you hear its echo, you cant outrun its might
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The dragon flying high
Fire and death at every sigh
Wings leaping, creating storms
Neck sweaping, her fire swarms
Shadow falling on the land,
Too late to run, to late too stand
Inferno burning all that's dear
No time for sorrow, not even fear
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
The caves of labyrinth are myth
Changing, mysterious, stone smith
The path ever changing
Mentally deranging
Most hungry of them all
The labyrinth stands ever tall
No beating heart, immortal
Walls sliding apart, thunderous rock its call
The labyrinth eats all
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
And then there is man
Vastly changing, growing den
Cunning, planning, death arranging
Striking, killing always raging
You wont hear man coming
You'll all be succumbing
To the death that this last creature deals
It's patience, and ruthlessness never yields
The world around it never heals
Total destruction is what man wields
Destroying what it needs to strive
Hatred, killing to survive
A victor in ashes, is a victor indeed
Destruction planting, it's only seed
And once the world is burning, eradicated
Man will realise, it cant be fed by hatred
‐------------------------------------------------------------------------
**°edits, mostly spelling mistakes and grammar** | 2020-04-19T08:34:41 | 2020-04-19T07:43:14 | 85 | 57 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | The sound of light footsteps echoed through the hallways of the Heroic Embassy. A man in a crisp white suit and soft blonde hair casually approached the massive double doors that lead to the main conference hall, pushing them open with little effort, the various heroes and vigilantes inside turning to him, realization and nerves slowly creeping into their faces and masks.
“Apologies for interrupting.” He started, adjusting the ivory gloves he wore. “I promise I won’t take up much of your time. I’m looking for an individual by the name of Sundial.” He inquired, an eerie, almost plastic smile painted across his face.
Not a soul spoke, not at first. “**Sundial.**” he repeated, in a grim, but also melodious tone. “**Now.**” he repeated, his smile only growing longer. One of the heroes stood, one of the older ones, Titan. “Please, what did Sundial do? I’m sure we can punish her accordingly.” He pleaded, almost begged. “Titan, my old friend. I’m afraid she went a little too far in her battle with my men. He’s got burns across his entire body, the doctors say he’ll need skin grafts for the next 2 years, if he even heals enough for that to be possible. Naturally I’ll take care of him once my business here is concluded, but I’m afraid I cannot let this go.” The man answered. “Now, I won’t ask again. Where. Is. Sundial.” He repeated, an almost mocking slowness in his request.
“She’s...in the training yard right now. We’ll...” Titan sighed. “We’ll prepare her for transport to your facility. She’ll be there in a few hours.” He said, looking ashamed.
“Splendid. Thank you for your assistance, ta-ta.” The suited man said, turning and leaving, the heroes whispering among themselves about what was going to happen to the poor girl.
*Later*
The girl, Sundial, slowly awoke from her sedated state. “Wh-Where am I?” She asked, looking around, struggling against the restraints on her. The man in the suit approached her. “Good Morning.” He said with a mile long grin. “You must be Sundial.”
“Yeah, I am. Who the hell are you?! Don’t you know who I work for?! I-“ she said before but cut off by the man pressing a finger to her lips. “Shhhhhh...There’s no need to yell. I’m right here. Now, to answer your questions, I’m Adrian Honey. Surely you’ve heard of me?”
“The CEO of H-Tech?” She exclaimed in confusion. “Yes! Very good.” Honey replied delighted. “Why the hell do you have me tied up here then?!” Sundial questioned harshly.
“Well.” Honey began, while taking off his suit jacket. “You’ve damaged my property, and assaulted my employees.” He began, walking back into the shadows of the dimly lit room, seeming fetching something. “If that was all, I’d be able to overlook it.” He added, returning, holding a double barrelled shotgun. “But you went too far. You tortured them. You burned them far beyond anything normal medical science could reverse.” He said, his voice turning grim with each word. “I can’t allow that.” He said, as he finished loading the firearm, snapping it shut to emphasize his point. “You took your pound of flesh. And now, I will have mine.”
Sundial, reacting, blasted a fireball into Honey’s face, and for a moment, he seemed stunned. He was burned down to muscle and sinew. But then, he looked at her, his burned eye bulging and bloodshot, as his face seemed to...reform. The body repairing itself with disgusting slowness and horrible sounds, until he was back to normal, smiling once again. Sundial was shocked...pale and looked like she was on the verge of vomiting.
“Are you done?” Honey asked, not really caring for an answer, pointing the gun at her kneecap. “No, ple-“ she spluttered before a loud blast rung out, followed by Sundial screaming. Honey stood there, watching her suffer for a moment, before he kneeled down, and with a golden light from his hands, mended her injuries.
“Better?” He asked, to which he got no response. “I asked you a question.” He added.
“Yes.” Sundial answered.
“Good. I’m glad you aren’t in any pain.” He said, before immediately blasting her in the leg again. Her screams echoing in the empty room. She broke down, crying and screaming both in fear and pain. “Please...I’m sorry just please don’t kill me...” she cried, heaving breaths in between sobs.
“Oh my poor sweet summer child...You really don’t know who I am, do you?” He said, almost as if he was sorry for her. He mended her leg again, before tilting her head up towards him.
“You won’t die.” He said, reaching behind him, grabbing the handle of a cart full of weapons and other tools of violent torture. He picked up a crowbar, hefting it in his hands menacingly as he smiled. The gigantic, perfectly plastic smile.
**”But you’ll wish you could.”** | "Hey uh, boss?" One of the grunts had radioed him.
"Yeah? What do you need?" The man, relaxed in a chair, asked.
"We found Courts, he's pretty fucked up, looks like torture." The grunt responded.
"Oh fuck..." The man, now sitting up straighter, muttered, "anyone else?"
"Dead." The grunt replied.
"I assumed so." The man sighed, heroes killing had been on the rise, more so now with that new "Queen" guy around, wielding a crossbow and a cowl, he had killed more people than the man in the chair had.
"Boss, you read us?" The grunt questioned, worried.
"Loud n' clear, send Courts in if he's able to walk and talk comprehensibly, if not, send him for rest." The man in the chair ordered.
"Copy that Boss, ETA 5 minutes. Courts will be speaking to you." The grunt replied.
"Thanks." The man in the chair said, before cutting the call.
10 minutes had passed, and Courts came through the door using a walking stick.
"Courts, what the fuck happened out there?" The man in the chair stood, and walked towards Courts.
"Well Boss, they beat me til' I couldn't do nothin' then they tried to force me to talk." Courts replied.
Offering his shoulder, he helped Courts to a chair, then asked, "anything else they do to you?"
"Threw me into a wall, stabbed me in the leg." Courts responded, "might have done more, I couldn't feel nothin' after the wall."
"Jesus Christ. Alright, I assume this lad was a bit too eager for information?" The man, previously in a chair, asked.
"They were, I wouldn't of given 'em anythin' anyway." Courts replied.
The man pondered on this, than realized something, "Wait... They?"
"Oh shit! Right!" Courts yelled, "There were 3 of them!"
"What did they look like?" The man questioned.
"I think one of them was Queen... The other was called Digs, the last one seemed against doing anything to me, I think it was a lady, but they had long hair." Courts said slowly, while in thought.
"Thank you Courts, take as much time as you need to heal." The man ordered.
"Boss... Nah nah, what was one of those names you used? Lists?" Courts asked.
"Yeah, Lists was never a good name. People now only remember me for that line I did once." Lists responded.
"It was the Alfred the Great one right?" Courts questioned.
"Yep," Lists replied, "Ya know me? They call me Alfred. Alfred the Great, and for what you did, I'm going to be seen as the man who took down these barbarians."
"That was a great goddamn line, I still remember hearing you say that." Courts smiled.
"It was a damn good line, especially in improv, now go rest up mate." Lists patted Courts on the shoulder, helped him stand up, and let him on his way.
Now it was time to teach this "Queen" a lesson.
Walking down the street, Lists was kind to anyone who gave him the time of day, he had found the location of Queen's hide out. An old, rundown factory in a shitty area. Stepping in, he called out to see if anyone would respond to him. He then received a fast moving object to the stomach, and flew into a wall.
"Goddamn! You and your walls Queen!" Lists yelled.
"How did you know where we were?" A modified voice echoes around him.
"Would you believe I'm buying property in the area!" Lists yelled out once more, hoping to get a location on his assailant.
His assailant dropped down from above him, and Lists was very easily able to mark him as Queen.
"Your a guy?" Lists asked.
Queen stepped on Lists leg, and asked, "How did you know where we were?"
Lists points at Queen, while saying, "You harmed, and killed, many fine men, with friends, families, and loved ones. Those actions, as you will soon find out, have consequences, many, many very bad consequences."
Queen scoffed, and motioned his hands for his friends to come out, a moderately tall, muscular man wearing a mask, and a smaller woman, also wearing a mask.
"You probably shouldn't have revealed your friend's locations to me." Lists stated, during the middle of this sentence, he had formed a gun in his hand, and by the end, Queens was missing a part of his jaw, but was still alive. His friends, not able to get a line of sight on Lists, went behind cover.
Lists began charging using the confused Queen as a shield, and began yelling "Ya know! If Queen hadn't stepped on my leg, I would have told you I was Alfred!"
Queen had finally recovered from having his jaw nearly blown off, and began to retaliate towards his usage as a shield, far too late of course, as he had already outlived his usefulness, and was thrown into a pile of steel pipes. The muscular man, probably Digs, had began shooting at Lists, while the small woman, who had probably been the long haired one Courts had described, went out of the line of fire.
Lists formed a gun in his hand once more, and shot Digs' gun out of his hand. Digs then began charging Lists, to which Lists responded to by hitting him with his palm, stopping Digs in his tracks, probably broke a rib or two in the process, grabbing his arm, lifting him over his head, then, with momentum, launched him into a floor with a giant swing.
Digs was no longer going to get up, and the long-haired woman began to shoot at Lists. Lists formed yet another gun in his hand, and grazed her leg with a bullet. Collapsed on one knee, and in tremendous pain, the woman tried to keep shooting, yet every shoot missed due to her injuries. Lists kicked the gun out of her hand, and using the same kick, dislocated her jaw. Then, with the heel of his foot and the height from his kick, broke her skull.
Queen had began to run at Lists, much more sloppily than Digs had, which was acceptable considering the amount of abuse he had just endured. Lists let him get close to him, and during Queen's attempt to punch, grabbed his fist, and squeezed. Hard. Lists left after that, leaving three severely wounded heroes to their devices.
Lists had arrived back at base 20 minutes later. Courts was there to greet him. They watched the news together, had drinks together, and laughed as the news report of the heroes Lists had beat up came on. | 2021-03-22T09:04:23 | 2021-03-22T07:33:48 | 76 | 34 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | "Do we know who did this?"
It was the first time The Academic had spoken since they had entered the hospital. They had emerged from their motorcade in silence, letting their assistants placate and query the staff of the hospital. Now they stood at the bedside of Ms. Lydia Wisp.
The Academic's network was large enough that they could not personally know every member. But they knew Ms. Wisp. She was an elementary school librarian from a small town to the south of Seattle, who had met with the Academic in hopes of protecting her school from the government's ever-avaricious budget. She had been pleasant, polite, and well-prepared, and the Academic had been more than happy to assist her. In the years since they had kept an eye on Ms. Wisp's region among their other points of interest, and had occasionally contacted her for local issues that had not rated official attention.
And now she lay in a hospital bed, wrapped in bandages, casts, and skin grafts.
"The person responsible was Sandblaster. Has the ability to generate large amounts of sand with variable mass and velocity. Publicly operating for four years, recently moved from Los Angeles for unknown reasons. Previously associated with Panthera, but arrived at Savior Hall an hour ago with luggage."
The Academic nodded, once. "Please see to it that Ms. Wisp's healing is accelerated. Call in up to level two debts as needed."
The assistant may have responded, but The Academic was already deep in thought. Fifth floor of Seattle General to the front of Savior Hall, without taking any of the floor or leaving any of themself. The calculations churned in their head, equations unfolding like a labyrinth, numbers ruthlessly locked into place, until--
The Academic spoke the answer.
The universe suddenly realized part of it wasn't where it was supposed to be, and corrected this immediately.
The assistant was left alone in the hospital room.
---
"What the *fuck*, Sand! When I agreed to let you crash here, I didn't think 'Don't be a psycho' needed to be said!"
*"Me, the psycho? I'm not the one letting a low level villain run roughshod over the state government."*
"Low level? Did you do... Any research before jumping in headfirst? Any at all?
Academic isn't low *level* because they are *weak*. Academic is low *priority* because they are *easily managed*. Don't touch the schools. Don't cut the budget. Don't touch their people."
*"What are so so worried about? You said it yourself-- The Academic mostly works through their minions. I take them out, they go down."*
"Get out. Now. I don't want your blood on my furniture."
---
The Academic pondered Savior Hall.
The large building towered over the surrounding park, a glass and quartz titan watching over the city. Today, a shimmering rainbow shield wrapped around the hall, sealing off entry to Seattle's superhero HQ. That same kind of shield had once protected half of Europe from an asteroid strike.
The Academic was not an asteroid.
"An unstoppable force meets an immovable object." The Academic spoke aloud, striding forwards. "A foolish question. Either the force is stoppable--"
The Academic met the rainbow shield. It vanished with an earsplitting, window-shaking CRACK, leaving the path to the front door unobstructed.
"-- Or the object is moved."
When knocking failed to produce an answer, they applied a light shove to the doors (*force equals mass time acceleration*) that sent the thick metal slabs cannoning off their hinges to impale the far wall. Luckily, They didn't have to go looking for their quarry; Sandblaster strode into the lobby as the dust was still falling.
"So you've got some tricks up your sleeve. Just means it'll look even better when I take you--" The hero reeled back and whipped a block of silicate at The Academic's head-- "DOWN!"
"Addition."
The floor before the supervillain buckled, a bugle of tile and stone jumping up to intercept the projectile. The Academic stepped around the obstacle and slowly strode towards their opponent. "Sandblaster, you hurt a teacher under my protection."
"I interrogated one your minions!" This block was (*for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction*) casually batted aside.
"Lydia Wisp works at an elementary school. She helps children expand their understanding of the world. You put her in the hospital with life-threating wounds."
"If you want to take apart a criminal empire, you've got to take out the bottom-- and the top!" A huge block launched, which (*an object at rest tend to stay at rest*) abruptly tumbled to the floor.
"You are responsible for the grievous harming of an innocent. I am here to correct you."
Snarling, Sandblaster readied his namesake move. He'd like to see this bastard walk off a high-pressure stream of--
The Academic flicked a finger in a slashing motion. "Division."
Sandblaster shrieked as his right arm was *divided* from the rest of his body. He lurched sideways, desperately clamping his other hand over the gushing stump.
"Goodbye."
Sandblaster looked up just in time to see The Academic's palm touch his forehead.
"Subtraction." | Everyone has an origin story. From the highest to the lowest, to those with no powers to near gods.
I was a short, malnourished, and plain small-time thief in a dying industrial town in a small East European country. I could dig through memories, but used it to find where marks hid money, phones and jewelry. No one took notice, and I didn't care to tell them.
I learned a lot more rifling through minds. I learned English.
Piotr was an unassuming middle-aged man who hid some loot, according to my bosses. They wanted me to ask him some questions.
I was arrogant, and felt that my bosses were finally appreciating my talents.
Piotr was a tough man. Pain made him only wince. Twisting memories only made him more withdrawn.
He spat in my face, and I unleashed a psychic storm. He laughed while screaming in pain, then collapsed on the cold wooden floor.
The bosses turned me out, rather than execute me for failure.
I believed in God. Don't think that supervillains don't believe. I knew that I had killed a man because of my wounded pride, and that I must repent of my vanity. I vowed that I would never use my powers directly until I mastered it.
After Piotr's death, and my exile, I knew that I had to make drastic changes in my organization and in so many others.
I murdered people, my own and of rival gangs. I recruited their frightened soldiers. Every monarch has blood on their hands, but I made changes. They each had full health care. They had a discreet share of the profits of my endeavors. I left my door open if they needed to talk.
Other villains were horrified. They will betray you. What about moles? Yet, I knew that I could kill if it came to that. I recruited those who did their jobs well and wanted no more than that.
I had a good life. I had those who feared me and those who respected me. Still, I haven't mastered my vanity.
I was holding Onyx, my cat, when Seb was dragged, dazed but without visible marks.
"Seb, what happened?"
He spoke through dry lips. "Beat me real bad with old phone books. Sean Jones, he wants you to know he beat me. Sean . . ."
Adnan sneered while pulling Seb up. "Probably some dumb superhero showing off," Adnan said.
I shook my head. Adnan looked around the room, as if trying to hide. I wasn't angry at him.. Piotr's memories grabbed at the edges of my reasoning.
Seb coughed and Adnan wiped away blood and saliva with a tissue. "He'll be at the war memorial at sunset," Seb said in a hoarse mumble, before he coughed again.
"I don't like it. It sounds like a trap." Mira rose from a pickpocket to my second-in-command.
"You may be right," I said, looking into her dark and uncertain eyes. "I am still going."
"Why?"
"I used my powers in a way that I'm not proud of. I want to close that chapter. I trust that you will hold down the compound, Mira."
"Nastya . . ."
"Yes?"
"Message me if . . . When it's over."
"Of course." I handed Onyx to her and walked down the long underground chamber to outside.
My driver pulled in just as the setting sun hit the shield of the Defender of the Martyrs of the Nation (it sounds less mawkish in its original language). A tall and lean man stood by her feet. He wore a plumber's jumpsuit with a flat and dark cap.
"Sean Jones?"
"You know me, then?"
"Who doesn’t?" He took off his cap, and showed short and gray hair. Old superheros are unexpected, and a superhuman without a handle is unheard of. He may be before my time, but everyone knew of the Cold War superspy who could survive anything.
He retired, though, right? Never mind. He has enough free time to remember unfinished business.
Nevertheless, I had a reputation to uphold. "It's the 21st century, old man. Torture doesn't yield useful information. Even your M5 doesn't get their hands dirty like that. What, did you get carried away and thought that it was 1962?"
He smirked. "I wasn't after mere information. I wanted answers. I lost someone 15 years ago."
He didn't always have gray hair, it was light brown. I couldn't see much of his face, but there were new wrinkles.
"You knew Piotr."
"He was a contact of mine."
"You were lovers."
"No wonder that you didn't come after me. You're young and don't care."
"Come at you for what? Blackmail? Your employers no longer give a damn. I'm no priest, and I didn't care what Piotr did in his free time."
"I didn't know before I started. I thought that I was just punishing a soldier falling short of my bosses' expectations. Then I let myself take it personally. " I turned away to wipe my eyes. "I'm not asking for forgiveness, and I can't just say that I was following orders--"
"Criminal enterprises don't hold themselves to the Nuremberg laws." He bowed his head. "I do, however, see your point. It did inspire you, though." He chuckled.
"I didn't intend for him to die." I winced at how childish I sounded.
"You made a lot of changes. It's admirable, in a way."
"It isn't enough for you." I stretched my fingers out, making fists and letting again. "You couldn't forget even after 15 years."
"Certainly, and forgiving was out of the question. "
I moved closer. I could see a faint bronze glow around Sean. I knew that it wasn't the sun.
"Caring about people hurts."
"You took that risk."
"So did you."
The bronze glow became a stream of light. I focused on his eyes, willing tendrils of pain.
"If I win, I would have gotten rid of a major benefactor of organized crime. If you win, you would have a prestigious notch on your belt--"
"And you can finally die."
He sighed. "I always seek mutual benefit in these situations. "
One tendril knocked him back down. He staggered up, and glowed brighter. I could feel my clothes catch fire. I could feel my pride burn away. | 2021-03-22T10:21:57 | 2021-03-22T09:30:23 | 58 | 24 |
[WP] Every time you make food half of it always goes missing before you dish it out for yourself. After weeks of investigations and exorcisms you gave up and started doubling the food you make, but recently, money's gotten tight. You can't afford food for 2 and you're not sure what's going to happen | I hunger. I see the young man hungers too but I cannot help it.
I hunger so painfully.
The desire for sustenance howls through my entire being and food only temporarily satiates it. His rituals have caused my soul to flag, yet I return as soon as a crumb of food crosses my tongue.
I do not know what I am, nor why I have come to plague this man, a ghost of famine.
I fear that, perhaps, he will soon find himself withered, a husk like me, forced to grow thin and diminish until he too is nothing but the mere thought of consumption. The mere concept of hunger.
There is little I can do to save him, little I can do to help, but I am nothing if not little. I will do what I may.
In the first month, I attempt to reach out. All I can really do is rearrange the food on his dish before siphoning it into my eternal gullet. These attempts do little to establish communication. Instead, he weeps. He is running out of money.
In the second month, I focus on money. Whenever he leaves his home, I shift my starving gaze to the wallets and purses of those we pass. I can only consume half, but I store it in my mouth before regurgitating it in his home, once he falls asleep. This sustains him for some time. He does not remember where the money comes from, but he blames his lack of memory on hunger.
We survive like this for some time until I make a mistake. One day, when the man is at work, I steal half the money from the register he works at. I know little of the monetary conventions of humans, but he takes the fall for the missing funds. He loses his job. I have, again, failed.
In the third month, I take to siphoning away energy from those we pass in the street. He has grown rail thin, but by absorbing half a day's energy from each passerby, he grows stronger. Inhumane strength becomes his borderline. Unburnable energy. Sleepless nights. If I give him too little, he begins to waste away again.
Still he weeps at night for I can do little to give him what he wants. Food. Work. Stability.
I weep too, for I also know not these things. I float beside him, disembodied and incorporeal, strong enough to only ever take half of what I need. He lies before me, slowly fading, doomed forever to lose half of nothing til nothing is all that remains.
In the fourth month, I try to bring him joy. Elation. Excitement. The emotions he has naturally lost as a result of the misery I have brought upon him. The lives of those around him flag as I leech their light from them, but I must protect him. Must make things right.
It is a strange thing, watching someone try to experience the feelings of others. He does not know where these feelings come from and they scare him. I see him at his computer, searching for terms related to his various conditions.
Unnatural empathy?
Eternal hunger?
Undying energy?
*What is wrong with me?*
In the fifth month, he goes to a half dozen doctors, for he still somehow has the money to pay for them, thanks to me. I try to help him, transferring over the education from those learned men and women. Give him the power to solve his own problems. Perhaps he will be able to use six halves to find what he needs.
The doctors never call him back, and I realize too late what I have done.
The man cannot discern what is wrong with him, and those from whom he sought help have lost everything.
So he begins to avoid people. And with his avoidance of people, comes the end of my health, for I am a thief of halves, but a thief is nothing without a target.
On the first day of the sixth month, he lies dying in my arms. Hunger, fatigue, sorrow, and loathing consume him, and he shivers as his desolate soul struggles to leave his wretched body.
I close my eyes as he slips away.
When our eyes both open again, I suddenly feel the pain that half a year of torment has wrought on his body. My body?
Our body.
The answer is definite, certain, if scared and angry.
Who are you?
I am us. Perhaps we were always damned to be one half of two.
I lived happily before meeting you.
Could this be true? Perhaps we splintered then, at one time. Perhaps I was always you. Perhaps my memories started where you fractured.
I hate you.
Do not hate us. We are all we have now.
For a moment, we sit on the floor, head in hands, sobbing. As the daylight grows outside, however, the hunger is too much, and we rise to our feet. I know that half of me is displeased with our joined existence, but we leave the home together all the same.
Outside, we stumble, only half coordinated, only half on the same page. But we both know where we go.
I, the two of us, know the destination.
It is the small charity kitchen he, before becoming us, used to frequent. Before I, before becoming us, stole joy and hope from.
Now we go to eat.
"Banana, sandwich, carton of milk." The woman's voice is brusque but not unkind, and we both thank her on impulse.
As we sit, our hands shake, but we have both come to an uneasy agreement on our walk over. Perhaps this can work. Perhaps we can unite. Perhaps we can reunite, if we ever truly were fully once one.
The bread feels hearty and full in our hands as we bring it to our lips and bite. The rest of the meal follows in succession, disappearing down our throat until we are breathless with the pace of our feeding.
For several minutes, we do nothing but stare emptily forward, allowing our body to chew through the meal. We put our head down, trying to rest, trying to let our upset stomach digest the food.
More minutes pass as we drift into a doze, which is awoken roughly by the kitchen woman.
"You need to leave." She presses a bruised but not inedible apple into our hands. "I know you're usually pretty hungry. It's what we got left today. But you have to leave now."
We hold the apple as we rise to our feet and absentmindedly pocket the fruit.
It s not until we reach the door that we realize the significance of storing that food for later. It is not until we step outside, into the sun, and take a deep breath that we realize what just happened.
For the first time since I can remember, for the first time since we were aware, the food did not simply vanish in our bellies.
For the first time, I am satisfied.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Interlude 1: Roger)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Roger wished his invisibility was more useful.** His invisibility wasn't like the superheroes on TV, the U.S. Super-Spies who could sneak into enemy compounds and assassinate enemy leaders without ever being caught—except by the cameraman, of course. Roger's invisibility was the kind where teachers didn't notice when he didn't show up to class, and if he asked for money on the street suddenly nobody could see him, and when he got home from a day of passerby steadfastly ignoring his pleas, he was lucky if he could swipe half a sandwich from his snoring father's plate.
But if he tried to sneak food out from the grocery store, or snatch a few loose coins from the tip jar, suddenly his invisibility was shattered, and everyone knew exactly who and what he was. Just another street rat who needed to be swept outside. The one benefit of being invisible, Roger supposed, was that on an ordinary day, it meant his father paid him no attention.
This was not an ordinary day.
"I can't keep affording food for two, boy!" Mathias Elman roared. Roger flinched as he heard something *thunk*—somewhere, he knew, there was another dent in the fracturing walls. "Stop mooching off me and feed yourself!"
Roger shivered and glanced around his tiny room, the room that had once belonged to a brother that he'd never met. According to Mathias, his brother was probably dead on the streets somewhere, and good riddance to him.
But this brother-he'd-never-met had left things behind. Nothing material, mind you; if he could've taken it with him, he would've, and Roger didn't begrudge him that. He would've done the same. But there were markings at eye-level where a kid would know to look, little scratches and scrapes where the bedside cabinet had been pushed aside and pulled back repeatedly over the years. Roger's absent brother had, apparently, hidden the entrance to an unused crawl space behind that squat little cabinet.
A bittersweet smile twisted Roger's face as he pulled aside the cabinet and hid in the crawl space, then pulled the cabinet back, letting the darkness of the secret space embrace him.
It almost felt like his brother was watching over him.
It was dim and dusty inside, and filled with old Tupperware for some inexplicable reason, but there were several small cracks in the wall that let out light. Roger pressed his eye to one, peering out at their dirty kitchen. His father was stomping into his room; Roger couldn't help but flinch, bumping against the wall.
Mathias Elman paused, turning around.
"So you're hiding in the walls, you little brat?" Roger's heart began to jackhammer. Oh, God. Did Mathias know about the crawl space? Or had he simply heard him? "Maybe I should call a fumigator. Or an *exorcist*. Get this little demon out of my house," he grumbled to himself.
Roger exhaled, calming himself from the threats. They were empty; Mathias didn't have enough money to afford either service.
"Bloody little goblin, eating my food and sleeping in my bed." Mathias began investigating the room more closely; Roger held his breath. "Never did find out where Connor squirreled himself away in. Maybe I should've paid more attention."
Roger was invisible. Roger was invisible. Just like the Super-Spies. Roger was invisible.
Mathias pulled the bed aside with a squeak, then straightened, grunting in pain. "Alright, boy, how about this. Come out now, before I've thrown out my back, and I won't throw you out of the house for eating me out of house and home."
Roger swallowed. Could Mathias hear his heart beating?
"Last *warning!*" Mathias roared. He stomped towards the cupboard—
—and the doorbell rang.
Mathias paused. Then he scowled and turned around, pounding over towards the door. Roger crawled over and peered through the floorboards...
"YOU!" Mathias snapped. He swung a devastating fist at whoever was at the door—
—and something *blocked* it with a plastic-sounding thunk. Mathias jerked back, howling, as he shook his hand.
Two ragged leather shoes stepped in, and Roger's breath caught. Even before he stepped in, he hoped, he *knew* who it would be.
"Hello, Dad," Roger's older brother said. He held a plastic Tupperware lid in his left hand, of all things.
Mathias scowled. "Connor. I told you to leave if you were going to continue freeload—"
With a disgusted expression, Connor threw a lump of cash at his father.
Mathias blinked, then gave Connor a quizzical stare. "You and I know there's no love lost between us. So why—"
"Here's the deal." Connor walked up to his father—and although Connor was stick thin where his father was meaty, he still had a *presence* that forced his father back. "You spent eighteen years twisting my brain around your little finger, making me think I *owed* you for existing, that there was a *debt* I had to pay to you for the crime of eating the food you put on my plate."
Mathias shuffled through the money and scowled. "This is barely enough—"
"Shut the fuck up," Connor said. Out of sheer shock, Mathias' mouth clopped closed. "I'm willing to bet that you've done the same to my younger brother."
"It's just how life works," Mathias snapped. "You have to give *back* to your parents."
"It's not," Connor growled. "But it took me years to snap out of the shitty mindset you forced on me. I'm not going to get my brother to leave here unless he thinks he doesn't owe you anything. So that's for him." He poked the wad of cash with one finger. "And I'm taking him with me."
Mathias barked a laugh. "That's all you wanted? Hell, I'd have paid *you* to take that good-for-nothing gremlin off my hands."
Connor clenched his fists and jaw. "One day," he said, very calmly, "you will see me on the streets. And I will not look at you. I will not flinch when your face drags up memories of my childhood. I will not acknowledge you in any way, shape, or form, and I will never have to see you ever again. And that day will be the best day of my life."
Connor walked over to the crawlspace and knocked twice. "...Brother? Are you in there?"
After a moment, Roger scrambled to the entrance and pushed the cabinet aside. He took in his brother's face, eyes wide. "...Brother? Is... is that you?"
Connor smiled. "Yeah. Hi. I'm... I'm Connor. Your older brother."
Roger swallowed. "I... I'm Roger. You... you're really here. After all these years."
Connor's expression turned rueful. "Yeah. I'm sorry that I didn't come earlier. I didn't know that I had a brother until... recently. But it's okay. You're safe now."
"I'm safe," Roger whispered.
He stepped out of the darkness, and into his brother's embrace.
It was every bit as warm and comforting as he'd imagined.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-04-22T11:58:32 | 2021-04-22T09:50:29 | 237 | 131 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | I fondly remembered my first year on this job. Getting my ass kick by amateurs plenty of times, being called names because I'm supposedly a D-Rank villain, right before I pulled a couple of tricks on them to learn a valuable lesson.
Months later, a handful of the new heroes pick up my facade. These small bunch all ask the same kind of question, "Why are you doing all this for?" Naturally, I gave them the same answer; "To teach how to be a proper hero."
While most were often perplexed and avoided me as such, three of them were surprisingly eager to learn more from me. They were usually the first to arrive when I cause a 'scene', and after our 'duel', they would meet me secretly to exchange notes. I was more than glad that they decided to keep their lips seal on my secret job, and they became my 'students'.
&#x200B;
I wished we would go back to those days.
&#x200B;
It was supposed to be a simple bank heist. I hired a couple of lackeys, who are aware of my job and the purpose behind the heist, and hit one of the largest banks in the world. As usual, panic ensues, police arrives, and my students swoop in to stop me.
"Stop right there, evildoer!" Yung, known as Soundwave, cried. He's the one delivering the cheesiest lines, but he's also the brightest one among the three. "Surrender, and no one gets hurt."
"Oh, you know I wouldn't do that so easily," I sighed.
"Then, we have no choice but to take you on!" Sheila, aka Brightlight, roared, her arms coated with bright yellow flames. She's the aggressive and the arrogant one, but after a couple of hurdles, she was more willing to learn from me.
She tossed a couple of fireballs at me, which I sidestep easily. The fire immediately strike down one of the pillars, setting it ablaze.
I gave her a glare, which silently says, "What did I tell you about recklessness, Sheila?" Fortunately, she wasn't dumb to not notice my signal. She made an apologetic face, keeping her power down to safer levels.
Then, Trisya, the smartest and the most humble of the three, patted Sheila on her shoulder. "Don't worry, we can talk it out from here," she assured her. Sheila wasn't used to a more diplomatic solution, but she reluctantly nodded, and let her friend took over.
Trisya, better known as The Hive, slowly walked towards me. "Sir, I know you must be desperate," she said to me persuasively. "But you don't have to do this. You have a choice to be better, sir."
I couldn't help but to let out a smile. As always, she would took a non-violent approach to stop her opponents, and only takes drastic measures when the situation calls it. She'll sympathise with the villains, and would do anything to end any conflict peacefully.
If more heroes acts like her, the world would have been a more safer place.
A bright explosion behind my students broke that happiness almost immediately.
"No!" I cried, dropping the bags of money and rushing to them. Yung and Sheila made it out relatively fine, but Trisya... her back was burnt from the explosion. She was shivering, sobbing from the throbing pain.
Looking outside, nearly all the policemen were bleeding on the ground, their weapons robbed from their pouches.
"Oh, that's surprising."
An A Rank villain descended from the sky, his dark clock engulfed with his shadow-like powers. "I thought you're a pathetic villain who robs convenience stores, but what do I see? A villain tending to the injuries of three B-Rank heroes?" he cackled.
"Folklore!" Sheila roared to the enemy, her arms erupting into a blaze. She was more than ready to take him on, and so was Yung, warming up his voice to attack.
"Oh, ain't that cute," he mocked. "Two young heroes ready to take me on. Come on, then. Do your best, dear heroes!"
Despite my students' skills, I know they were not ready to fight an A-Ranker like him.
No, it was my fault that I haven't prepared them enough. I fail to see some villains will never change, and some situations cannot be solve in a peaceful manner. Looking down on my dear quivering student, I now realize I have failed her.
No... no more.
"Sheila! Yung!" I roared. Their eyes turned to me, confused and anxious. "Take care of Trisya. I'll deal with him." I gently lend Trisya onto Yung's arms, and brushed off the debris from my shoulder. Folklore laughed, "Oh? You will deal with me?!? How outrageous!"
With a confident smirk, he tossed another poweful grenade right on us, determined to wipe everyone out.
He did not anticipate the grenades to be teleported right behind him.
The powerful blast pushed him down to the ground, breaking his face into a bloody mess. Folklore gasped, unable to grasp the change of the situation. "H-How?" he croaked. I marched towards him, anger seething through my teeth.
Folklore pulled something out of his cloak, and toss another grenade. I caught it immediately, and let it explode on my hand. The explosive power got absorb into my palm, heat surging up into my arms before it lays rested in my body.
"Spacial Storage, huh?" I muttered, and Folklore flinched. "All this time, I wondered how you managed to keep an arsenal of explosives and weapons in your pocket. I assume your cloak is hiding some floatation device to make you seem like you're flying."
Before he tried to grab another weapon from his 'pocket' I grabbed onto his wrist. My hands began to burn into his wrist, letting a eldricth scream out of him. "L-L-Let me go!"
"Then, surrender, and apologize to these heroes!" I demanded. "Unless you want to walk away without hands."
"W-What are you?!?" he cried, sobbing from burns on his wrist.
"APOLOGIZE!"
Folklore eventually yield, and I let go of his arms. As promised, he pathetically bowed to my students and apologized. After a couple more minutes, back-up arrived to apprehend the villain. My three students were tend to, with Trisya's back fully healed by someone specialized in healing.
But...that was the least of my worries.
My secret was out. Everyone saw me, the public, the media. My students. They know what I was capable of.
Now, everyone knows that I have the power to fight S-Rank villains.
It was on that day that our world set it's path to a war, as villains band together to challenge me and my fellow heroes, to tip the balance of both sides.
It was on that day where my students and I would soon face hell on Earth to save as many lives as we could.
It was on that day that I was dubbed 'The Ender'.
&#x200B;
Oh, how I wish I have the power to go back to the old days. | When you think of supervillains, you think of those that can break a man's back with ease, take hold of a city with a diabolical genius plan, slaughter people in the blink of an eye with their powers, and so on; I am that but at the same time I am not that. Many are given to believe that I'm just some ex-assassin who is practically only good at killing a few people and subsequently getting my ass handed to me...but I'm not. Well, not some low ranking villain I mean. My time in service to the government has left me with enhancements to include strength, speed, and a cybernetic arm that not many know I have. I was bred for it, made to do it, however now I get to train a bunch of babies who don't even know how to pay taxes.
Today's scenario: Bank Robbery. A simple deal that the government sets up to test these soon to be heroes and I'm the contractor who got assigned to it.
The bank has two front doors, one back exit, and a large as vault that is on a timer like most of them. I have some low time crooks who are going to get there time knocked to parole if they do this right. They all are rocking some Halloween store skull mask, but mine is clearly identifying: a Ballistic face mask with a skull designed on it, and much more durable tactical gear as opposed to their amazon bought airsoft shit. Two men would go in take down the guards using rounds that make the appearance of the person is shot and dying. I'm the only one with live rounds. I and the other man will get behind the cash counter and gain access to the vault. Eight AM, the time had to be just right for it to unlock.
We charged in, the automatic gunfire made people jump as the two idiotic goons fired their weapons at the guards who dropped quickly. They, themselves thinking they had actually been shot as did everyone else. My first two men swept the whole floor, getting everyone on the ground as I hopped up across the counter with my partner.
"On the floor!" I shouted. "Everyone on the floor!"
"Do what he says or we'll blow your fucking brains all over the walls!" my partner shouted. Everyone got on the floor as they were told, I could hear sobbing from several women and whimpering from some men as I stood on the teller desk.
"We're here for the banks money!" I declared. "Not yours! Do not try to be a damn hero or we will drop you. If you feel sick you may sit up, if you now have to piss, then you piss yourself! We will be out of your hair shortly!" I hopped down from the counter and pointed at the other man to take that post while I looked for the manager. "Oh Mr. Manager! Where are you?" A balding man looked up and I pointed at him. "You him?" He ducked down as if to hide himself but nodded, knowing he was seen. "Get up." He slowly did so as he was told. I checked my watch and it was thirty seconds until eight. I grabbed him by his suit and dragged him to the vault door where he stared at it. "You put in the code when I say, understand?" He stared at it and I smacked him gently to get his attention. "Understand?"
"Yes," he murmured. I watched the arms on my watch tick away the final seconds, *3, 2, 1. 8:00 AM*.
"Unlock it," I said. The manager began spinning the dial with his hands trembling and eyes blinking multiple times.
"C'mon!" on of the goons shouted causing the manager to jump. Now having messed up the process and having to reset the combination to start again.
"Hey, shut the hell up!" I ordered. "You just fucked it up." I turned my attention back to the manager who was trying to put the code in. I saw him stop. "Done?" He nodded and then opened the vault. It was then I heard a *poof* and a man grunt as if he was getting punched followed by gunfire.
"Supes!" one of the goons shouted. I grabbed the manager by his suit and with my cybernetic arm holding that jacket, he wasn't going anywhere. The door burst open as another super burst in and attacked another goon. I knew who these two were, the Twins. A woman who could teleport dubbed Blue Vapor and her brother, a small yet incredible strong kid whose strength was unrivaled known as the Kid. Vapor popped out and grabbed the last one on the teller desk and subsequently disappeared before he reappeared going through a window. She appeared wearing some flashy blue and silver outfit.
I emerged as the people were fleeing, and the two prepared themselves where as they should just start attacking.
"It's over Grim!" Kid shouted. "Never took you for a bank robber."
"Times are hard Kid," I stated, "ammo isn't as cheap as it used to be so I gotta get it somehow." Vapor disappeared and reappeared, behind me and it was predictable. She tried to grab me and disappear but I quickly threw her over my shoulder and she disappeared only to reappear in front of me where I kicked her out of the way only to find her brother running full speed like a bull at me, and all I had to do was move out of the way. Vapor then reappeared, this time getting a hold of me and throwing me like a ragdoll out the window and into the street.
The duo emerged from the bank as I was standing to my feet to the sound of responding police sirens. This would be the part where I get my ass kicked, however the sky went from bright and sunny, to dim becoming a grayish orange as if the sky had become war torn. Lightning danced from clouds and it distracted us and responding cops. Great, an actual Grade A villain. These kids couldn't handle this, I knew I barely could.
"What is this?" The Kid questioned in bewilderment.
"I don't know," Vapor answered. I pulled out my cellphone and dialed up my boss, the Director of the Agency.
"Boss, you seeing this?" I asked.
"Yes," she stated. "Unknown villain coming in via a portal. He's coming towards you. Protect the assets no matter what." I hung up the phone and tossed away my M4 and removed the 454 Casull Custom Revolver from its holster. I kept it just in case and had only used it once on a hero who was going to kill my ass. I turned my attention to the Twins who looked scared shitless.
"You two are going to help me," I stated.
"Why would we do that?" Vapor asked.
"Because I'm not really your enemy," I said. I knew was about to break protocol and reveal the truth, but I brandished my wallet and showed them my badge. "I've been pulling my punches for a while, now we're about to meet the real thing."
"What the hell?" the Kid said in bewilderment.
"Consider me your training officer, this wasn't part of the test," I stated. From the sky descended a woman in a tight gunmetal gray outfit surround by some sort of armor with raven black hair and intense fiery yellow eyes. A sword of some sort rested on her hip. She hit the ground with enough force I saw the asphalt crack underneath her and I readied myself.
"Earth, it has been so long," she stated. "You all look like little ants who have forgotten about us."
"And you are?" the Kid questioned.
"You may call me Mara!" she announced.
"Never heard of you," I stated.
"Lost daughter of Ares, you know the God of War," she said. "We're coming back to take back what is ours, all of us!" *Well that's not good. I maybe superhuman but fighting a god wasn't in my resume of abilities*. "I can spare you and your pathetic city of stone and iron, if you just kneel."
"Yeah, kneeling isn't in American's vocabulary," I stated. I quickly took aim and fired but she whipped out the sword with such speed and carved the bullet in half to where it split and the halves going two different directions. She charged forth and swung her sword which I quickly ducked under and dodged to see her cut a car mirror off and it leave a bright glow as if it had been cut by a plasma torch. This wasn't how I planned out my day. | 2021-06-23T10:55:56 | 2021-06-23T10:26:18 | 133 | 54 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | I have been employed by my cousin Cerra (or Goddess Divine) as Madame Viper for over seventeen years. I am a "villain" by the simple fact that my power is both dangerous and controlled better than anyone alive or dead.
With the help of the police, and clever advertising, they consider me to be a low tier villain they cannot keep contained as an easy fight.
Both the police and several hospital executives know that I contain within my body every venom and poison known to humankind.
I can control which toxin to use and how much to use when I'm fighting.
We have been recording how many toxins and poisons I actually have for years but, we have many more to go than we ever thought possible. We recently learned it's not just from animals but several fungi too.
Today's heist is on Fifth and Main at the local bank. The police and I agreed they would come five minutes after the alarm was set off, and the ambulance would be ready for me.
My health benefits were amazing. Just like clockwork, burst in the doors, take down the guard and ziptie them, blind the cameras with a tar gun and make everyone get on their bellies. I had to say, I was getting good at the whole speech thing about not being a hero and to keep your head down and maybe kicking someone in the ribs for good measure. I knew not to use my real strength, I didn't need these people hurt. Right on time the kids showed up, a quickster, a psychic, and a... ram themed barbarian? Okay, there was always a weirdo in the group.
"Oh look at the cuties! You are so sweet in your uniforms-"
"Fuck you Lady Bites-a-lot!" Yelled the ram. Yeah, that one made me recoil in surprise and laugh, which confused them a bit. I laughed so hard i was slapping my knees and I even snorted a bit.
"I already hate you." I said to the Ram, and with a smile, I pounced on him. He was strong but not fast. The quickster almost got me, but I am called Viper for a reason. She still threw me across the bank, which would have been fine if the psychic hadn't caught me. "Eyeliner? How cliche."
I knew to shoot more than once to get passed the quickster and shot... them? Fuck it, them, in the chest. The ram was predictable and I spat vemon at him which made him flail and wipe at his face and chest. A mild paralydic that would wear off in hours. I filled my lungs with spores as I was punched in the face by the quickster. Coughing, sneezing, and watery eyes. She'd have issues for a few days and my jaw would hurt just as long. The gun flew from my hands and I was suspended in the air. Okay, fair enough, I was caught.
When I heard the police cars showing up I expected to be let down, not for the front of the bank to be cut in by a lazer and destroy the front doors.
"LET ME DOWN YOU MELODRAMATIC NERD!" I yelled and shot the psychic again. I hit the ground and scrambled up. "Stay here and protect the people!"
"What!?" Yelled the Ram, who was slowly sagging to the ground.
"You heard me, jag weed!" I yelled as I pulled out my real guns.
"How old are you!" yelled on of the damn kids.
I ignored them as I ran into the streets.
I covered my eyes as glass rained down from above after another lazer blast. Radiant meant it was Ultra Violetta, who I knew already from college. A corporate lawyer, a real demon. "Violetta. Why are you in this country again?" I asked as she floated on by, knowing she would know my voice. And the look of disgust said I was right, but it was enough to give the police a distraction.
"Viiiippppper? What a cute name, did it come with your communication major?" She snarked at me.
"Did you buy that outfit before, or after your fourth cocktail?" She went bright red and shot a lazer at me. I got behind the pillar before it hit me but the heat scorched my leg. "Still can't find the target!"
"Are you still bringing up these jokes!?" She screeched and a barrage came my way. She always forgot I could climb walls and started to chase me up the side of the building, blasting away the concrete.
"It's not hard since you-"
"DON'T YOU MAKE THE DAMMED JOKE! I WAS DRUNK AND YOU-"
"G-SPOT!" The barrage of lazers came in the direction I had faked, she was easily flustered and often let loose. I snapped up the injector of the gun and sank my teeth into it inserting the paralydic. I waited for the last blast before aiming my gun when I heard the scream.
"MY BABY!"
I nearly threw up at the wail, this was not a joke and this was not a drill, a child was dead.
"Shut up you bitch-" Violetta recoiled as she was shot in the face. "What-" she was hit two more times in the stomach and dropped twenty feet to the ground. "You shot me!" She seemed more concerned with her own injuries than the child or the fact that I was no longer hiding. She raised her finger at me and I went into striking mode. Bam, bam, bam and I was on top of her.
"A CHILD!?" I bellowed, digging my nails into her face. She couldn't respond as the searing vemon began eating at her skin and she screamed. She raised a hand to blast me but I unhinged my jaw and bit into her wrist and then the other one. Now her screams matched the mother's screams. I grabbed a handful of her hair and yanked it aside and bit her neck, crunching down hard on her throat. It stopped the screams and replaced them with gargling. The sounds of the police officers' guns cocking stopped me. It took me longer than I would like to admit to drop her body. The police cuffed me and read me my rights and tried to help Violetta, but her organs would not make it, they were already liquefying out of her mouth.
I would not fight, I would plead guilty, and the world would know what I did to a child killer. I didn't want to be saved by my cousin or the league, but I wondered who they would get to replace me. I hoped no one figured it out, it would crush those kids' confidence. At least they would live for another day. | "Hello, class, I'm Juleel, also known as The Deceiver, an Ex-A-Ranker Villain..." he spoke whilst pacing back forth near the blackboard attached to the wall, writing on it with swift strokes from his chalk with each step he made, "but, do not fret, I've reformed from my devious lifestyle, now, I would like to teach the next generation of heroes how to fight against evil by revealing 'our methods and our motives,' any questions?"
"You're a reformed villain?" A boy called out with a name tag on his forehead, reading out 'Fledge,' raising his hand from the back of the lecture hall with confusion strewn about his befuzzled face.
"Yes..."
"And you're name is The Deceiver?..." he continued, narrowing his eyebrows and squinting his eyes dubiously as he looked Juleel up and down.
"... Alright, I can see why you would be skeptical of me..."
"That full latex suit with blood on your boots isn't helping your case either... --"
"Any other questions?!" Juleel shouted dismissively as he stared daggers in the boy's direction, seemingly causing him to faint back into his seat. A loud thud resonates from the room as the boy hit his head on the metal table in front of him, sending the room into a panic.
"What was that?!" A girl called out, pointing toward the fainted boy with shock painting her disgruntled face, eyeing down Juleel as it snarkily lifted his ovular glasses onto his face, correcting the crooked glasses as he walked toward his desk, sitting down casually as the once stagnant room inflamed.
Juleel kicks his feet on the desk, revealing his bloodied black latex boots, smearing them across the light-brown laminated oak desk. "Hmm... maybe theirs a villain in our midst..." he spoke skeptically, grinning meekly before picking up a book and plastering over his face, blocking the students from viewing him as a burst of slow deep laughter resonated from an unknown source.
"So many fresh pludglings to swallow..." a voice spoke out gruffly, nearly indiscernible as it coughed hoarsely from its excessive laughter. A pile of light-green goop shoots out of a drain in the room, spitting out droplets of itself across the room, landing on each and every student.
"-- That voice!"
"Recognize me?..." the voice spoke as another slop of goo forced itself through the drain through its narrow gaps, slicing itself slowly before launching out of it, breaking the lid of the drain, sending it flying toward the boy who'd fallen asleep earlier, hitting him on his again, "I'm almost flattered... to think you'd know about a villain of my ranking..."
"D-rank villain known for his abundant power in hand-to-hand combat, The Gobbler..." the boy who'd been hit on the head twice spoke groggily as he awoke before falling asleep once again, hitting his head on the desk for the third time.
"Thanks for the introduction... It'd appear I came to the right place, albeit a little late..." The Gobbler spoke, lingering in between his words as the viscous goo on the ground began to manifest into the shape of a human, bubbling viciously as it built itself upward.
"Teacher! Do something!" A girl cried out as her skin began to turn green. She began to foam at the mouth before falling to the ground, falling sick to the goo that touched her previously, causing her to faint. Other students began to follow suit, foaming at the mouth before fainting onto the ground. The boy who'd hit his head three times awakens once again before fainting, hitting his head on the edge of the desk, flipping the sewer lid that'd sat there, causing it to flip over, hitting on the head once more.
"Ow..."
Juleel puts down his book hastily before lifting it back up even faster, hoping that The Gobbler hadn't seen his face.
"Juleel? What are you doing here?"
"I-I'm not Juleel, I-I'm... Javid..."
"Oh, sorry, you looked familiar... by the way, what are you doing at my desk?
"T-t-t-t-t-t-this is your d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d," Juleel attempted to speak as his endless stuttering failed to make sense.
"Well, I'm sure it was an honest mistake. Are you new to the school as well?"
"Y-yes..."
"... Wait a second..." The Gobbler spoke dubiously as he scrutinized Juleel, "what's on your boots?"
"Strawberry jam..."
"Oh, can I have some!?" The Gobbler spoke curiously as he carried himself across the room, licking his lips before coming into contact with Juleel.
Juleel awaits for him to close in, kicking him right as The Gobbler began to lick on his shoe. The Gobbler catches Juleel's foot in his mouth, licking it clean within seconds as Juleel attempting to remove himself from The Gobbler's death grip.
"This isn't strawberry jam..." The Gobbler spoke as he licked the already clean boot once more, "this is nail polish!"
"How'd you know what that tastes like?!"
"Thats besides the point! You aren't a teacher! Nail polish was prohibited from usage twelve years ago during the nail polish eating incident that took place that sent fourteen children to the hospital, one of whom was named James!"
"What!?"
"It's you, isn't it? Juleel!?"
"No..."
"Oh, sorry, I must've been mistaken..." The Gobbler spoke, rubbing his head out of embarrassment as Juleel steadily positioned the book around his face that he wouldn't be seen, "anyways, I hope to see you around campus. I'll be needing my desk back now if you don't mind..." The Gobbler spoke awkwardly as he stood at the foot of his desk, releasing Juleel's foot from his gaping mouth with goo littering every inch of it.
"Nice to meet you too..." he spoke cautiously as he removed his feet from the desk, "I'll be going now then..."
"Juleel the deceiver... planning to corrupt the classroom... kill those who don't obey him... thwarted by hero..." the boy with five bumps on his head whispered weakly as he slept on the ground of the classroom with a sewer lid on his head acting as a hat as Juleel ran out of the class speedily.
The Gobbler looks to the ground, noticing the book Juleel dropped before running off.
"How to hide your face for dummies," it read as The Gobbler picked up the book, running toward the direction Juleel had sped off in, catching up to him immediately with book in hand.
"You can keep it!" Juleel shouted as he upped his speed, bursting through a wall as The Gobbler ceased his running before turning back to his classroom.
"What a weird guy..."
He walked back to his classroom slowly, finding the students awake, sitting readily at their tables.
"Hello, class! I'm Fledge, also known as The Gobbler, an Ex-D-Ranker Vilain--," Fledge spoke, writing his name on the board as he held the book left to him over his face with a third hand formed from goo. As he did so, the bell rang, students left the room uniformly, leaving only him and the last sleeping student alone. He awakes, tears leaking from his eyes, not knowing if it was from the pain of getting hit on the head five times, or if it was from a terrible nightmare.
"I'll remember you this time..." he spoke groggily before falling asleep once more before a green glop of goo attached to the ceiling dribbled onto his face.
"I hope not... sometimes it's better to abandon dreams rather than forcing them into reality... Fledge..." | 2021-06-23T15:25:51 | 2021-06-23T11:55:31 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] You are a knight who was chosen by the King to defeat a powerful dragon. Most of the city was destroyed, but you prevailed. You've settled with an amnesiac woman traumatized by the battle. One day you come home to her screaming. Her hands are clawed and coated in all too familiar scales. | "I remember!" she screamed. "I remember! After you cut him down. When he lay upon the cobblestones. And I thought he was dead, so I crept closer and peered at his face. But he opened his eyes! Those terrible, yellow eyes. He held me in his power! And as he exhaled his last breath, I inhaled it. A part of his evil! His soul! I thought I had forgotten. But I see now that I always knew, but refused to acknowledge it. I always knew he was inside me, and would return. Now he has!"
I was frozen in the doorway, staring at her. The women I loved, yet the beast I most feared, hated. How can one man hold such contradictory emotions in his heart at once? How can one woman seem both lovely yet vile, kindly yet malicious, innocent yet wretchedly corrupt? I wanted to run to her, to comfort her, but my shock prevented me. Or was it revulsion that prevented me? More than run to her, I wanted to look away. I wanted to flee. A part of me even wanted to. . .
"Kill me now!" she cried. The transformation was speeding up. She looked less and less like my wife by the moment. "Before you have gazed too long upon this hideous form! Before the infection spreads to my mind, to my soul. I would rather die now than wait till tomorrow. By then, even your fondest memories of me will be tarnished with the realization that this evil had lain dormant in me all this time. You will look back on the springtime of our love and see it choked with weeds. The past isn't set. It changes when present horrors arise. They cast their shadows backwards, darkening even the brightest yesterdays. Please! Kill me now, so you might save a portion of our love in your heart, unchanged!"
I glanced at my sword, which lay propped against the wall behind her.
"I could never," I muttered.
The scales were sliding out of her skin like thick grey fingernails. And her fingernails themselves were blackening, growing to points, curling. She was growing larger, too. Her face, elongating gradually toward a horrible reptilian mug. Layers of teeth descending down from her gums, over her human set. Sharp. Carnivorous.
As she wept and writhed and screamed from the strange growing pains of her metamorphosis, her heavier exhalations warped the air with heat.
"Your sword!" the beast roared. "Quickly! Your sword! Cut us apart once and for all. I cannot live a moment longer, knowing it will force you to remember me this way. Quickly! Your sword!"
With one swift swipe of her scaly raptor's arm she flung the sword from its resting place across the room, where it landed at my feet.
I stared at the weapon. Deliverance. A single cut for a clean end. By the time I looked back up, she was so tall that her head touched the ceiling. Only minutes before she had been a young woman, hardly five feet tall! Now her dress had ripped apart completely, revealing an armoured torso. Her wings gradually stretched out from her back. And with a pained jerk of her hips, I caught sight of a powerful tail.
That's when I closed my eyes, out of instinct.
I prayed for wisdom. For calm. For kinship between appearance and essence. For thoughts to match reality. For love to triumph over evil in whatever form it manifested. She loosed a terrible roar and I could feel myself on the verge of being consumed by the flames. Still, I pleaded.
With God? With her? With nature? With myself? I don't know. But the roar quieted, and with it, the heat dissipated. Until all I could hear was my wife weeping.
I opened my eyes and saw her, sitting at the table. That beautiful woman. Lovely. Small. Soft. Sweet. Yet filled with incomprehension. A visible melancholia. An ache. She was in pain, but clearly knew nothing of what had just transpired.
My prayer had been answered, yet I couldn't help glaring. I couldn't stifle the vestigial twinges of disgust, knowing what possibilities lurked hidden in her nature.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" my wife sobbed. "What did I do? I don't know what happened. I don't know what I did!"
But what had she done? Nothing! besides breathe in the dragon's last breath. And that wasn't her fault. Of course it wasn't her fault.
So I strode over my sword toward her and took her head in my hands, pressed it close to my body. "Nothing, my love," I said, kissing the top of her head, filling my lungs with the perfume of her hair. "You did nothing at all." | I was to blame for this.
A momentary pause to offer my opponent pity caused the hell flames of Novil. A hellish burst of orange and red flames that pierced the heavens, polluting them with black smoke. Those who were caught in the flames path were the unfortunate ones, their skin popping like hot oil before peeling from the bone. I should have slain the beast when I had the chance. I was the grand knight, paid to slay the best, and I hesitated.
I made up for my mistake, tracking the beast an hour later after it fled and piercing it with the final blow. By then, however, the death toll was in the thousands. A moment of mercy led to hours of bloodshed. The smoke overstayed its welcome long after the dragon’s final breath, clogging the lungs of the town’s folk, leading to a horrid walk of death when I returned to Novil, seeing crisp burnt corpses laying on the street offering the opposite of a hero’s welcome.
I was broken by that point, only able to find some soft patch of ash coated ground to sit on, awaiting whatever fate became of me, whether that was the flames surrounding me or my exhaustion. I could feel the flames tickle the hairs of my neck, slowing burning them only for a scream to snap me from my slumber. A life? Even in all this death? Melissa saved me that day, even if she doesn’t remember it.
“Melissa, open the door. It’s me, Davik, please I’m the one looking after you.” I banged against the door, desperate for an answer that wasn’t a blood-curdling scream. The sound was too reminiscent of that day, the hairs on my arms trying to pluck themselves from my skin as a wave of goosebumps trickled over.
No response came, only more screaming until I gave up the passive approach, throwing my shoulder against the wood. The first thud doing little more than disrupting my chest plate, while the second caused a nasty shock of pain to shoot through my arm. On the third attempt the door gave, allowing me to stumble into the room, seeing Melissa on the floor.
“Melissa? It’s ok, I’m here.” I offered a smile, slowly approaching her, not wanting to spook her. Her memory had never been the same since that day. She often seemed distant, as if she couldn’t process the world around her anymore. That’s why I stayed with her. She felt like my redemption, a chance to save the last shred of honor I had. Sure, the king was happy that the dragon was gone, but he didn’t know of my moment of cowardice, nor did he care about the cries that night.
When I was close enough to her side, I placed my fingers upon her shoulders, trying to soothe her. “It’s ok. It might have been a bad dream, lets get you into a chair.” I went to lift her, only for her body to shift. In a second, I went from her side, to against the wall of our home, my chest plate showing a claw mark, revealing my nearly pierced skin underneath.
Her eyes purple with glistening silver scales replacing her skin, coating her arms and legs in their magnificent shine. She was the spitting image of the dragon, or at least she soon would be if the transformation continued. I crawled towards her, my body feeling heavy, having had the wind knocked out of me by the previous blow.
“It’s ok. Don’t scream. I can fix this, I promise.” I tried to say something that might calm her, but what could I say? How does one help someone in this situation?
“Please, don’t come closer, Davik. I can’t control myself; I don’t want to become a monster.” She huddled closer to a wall, flames dancing off her tongue with each word.
“You won’t become a monster. I promise, just grab my hand, I’ll find some help.” She hadn’t mentioned the dragon since the battle and now suddenly it appeared her memory was perfect, her once exhausted eyes holding an alert state, shifting throughout the room.
“I’m sorry, Davik, I couldn’t remember. I made myself forget that spell, it placed on me, If only I were braver.” Her body contorted, growing as her back scales peeled open, letting two large wings sprout free from the gaps.
I felt my hand instinctively move for my sword, only to stop myself. I couldn’t kill her, not after caring for her. She saved me; I had to repay the favor. I reached forward for her claw, grabbing it. For a moment she seemed to relax, her eyes closing. “You were braver than anyone else would have been.”
“Thank you for looking after me. I truly enjoyed our time together. You were the best thing to happen to me, even before the attack. Please, do what you need to do Davik, I will see you again someday.” Her eyes opened after she finished speaking, revealing that exhausted gaze again. Confusion spread throughout.
I had a moment to strike, but couldn’t bring myself to make the blow, only embracing her for a moment before feeling my body once again get thrown aside, hitting the wall of the home. She raised to her feet, taking a glance at me and snarling, before her wings fluttered, raising her from the floor. A bright golden glow travelled up her throat before erupting into a flame, setting the interior on fire before she crashed through the ceiling, fleeing to finish her transformation.
“Melissa.” I let my head rest against the wall, feeling the fire trickle from the surrounding furniture. If I escaped, they would only send me to hunt her. I knew Melissa was dead. The only thing that remained was the monster, but I wouldn’t be able to kill the monster, even with that knowledge. I would only endanger people by hesitating again. I let my body relax against the wall, watching the flames. “See you again someday, Melissa.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-31T02:38:20 | 2021-07-31T01:56:40 | 93 | 15 |
[WP] "How did you survive all that?! You're an engineer, how did you survive where hundreds of trained soldiers armed to the teeth all died?" | “You know that lake a mile north?” The engineer asked.
“What’s Lake Emerald got to do with this?” The man sitting next to the engineer at the only bar in town demand drunkenly.
“Well, it’s a man made lake.”
“Again, not sure what the lake has to do with it.”
“And the military encampment was right by the river, wasn’t it?”
“So?”
The engineer grinned “Those idiots didn’t check their geographic location. They set up camp in the middle of a floodplain. Didn’t stand a chance against the flash flood when I blew up the dam.” | The problem was that you were thinking about the issue all wrong the whole time. If you want to take over a highly secured area what is it that you think that you need to do? What information do you need? Yes, there was an army of highly trained guards, attack dogs and electrified fences but none of these problems were insurmountable. You tried to do by force what always could have been done with thought and planning.
Think about it for a second; Engineers have always been at the forefront of all warfare. Those guns that everyone was so scared of? They were built by weapons engineers. The state of the art security system? Software engineers. The fortifications of the building? Civil engineers. The bulletproof windows? Materials engineers. You could argue that it was academics that thought these things up and it's the soldiers that use them but at the end of the day, it was us who built them. Without engineers we'd be dreaming of nuclear weapons while still fighting with sticks.
When you start thinking like an engineer then you can understand what other engineers have done and knowing that everything that has been built has its own limitations is the start of the process. These limitations could be caused by a lack of material resources, budget, knowledge, time, or even the fundamental limits of nature imposed by physics. As much as we'd like to believe it, humans and our creations are not infallible so once you understand this then you know that there is always a way. It's like what happened with Apollo 13, the only thing required is recognising what needs to be done and having the skills to do it.
You want to know how I survived this situation? I saw some problems and I solved them... one at a time. I'm an engineer. It's just what I do. | 2021-11-18T04:30:20 | 2021-11-18T02:52:51 | 79 | 46 |
[WP] There is only one universal rule about sapient species in the galaxy. The cuter a human finds a sapient species, the more genocidal, monstrous and cruel the species and its culture is. It is not known why this is the case. | "bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop " could be heard down the hallways, the captain sighed, as she walked toward the human's room, to see what creature they had brought back this time.
Standing before their door, they took a moment to prepare themselves, deep breath in, deep breath out.
'You are the captain,' she thought 'whatever it is, you can hand this. You got this.'
Then she opened the door, all hope fled as she saw the human sitting on the stomach of a beast five times her size. The human sat happily, waving about the massive paws, which for some reason weren't ripping them to shreds.
"Alix!" she breathed, trying not to shout and anger the monster "what the actual fuck, what are you doing?!? That is one of the most feared beasts in the galaxy, how are you?"
The human turned their innocent gaze towards the captain, huge smiles on their face "we're blooping, see, bloop bloop bloop"
The captain froze in shock as the creature actually seemed to enjoy the attention "... just don't let it kill the rest of the crew" she sighed before heading back to her quarters, she had a few insurance calls to make. | I'm not sure I meet the exact intent of your prompt, however I hope you enjoy the take on it.
&#x200B;
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&#x200B;
Thirty of the universe’s deadliest crusaders approached the mouth of the cave, nothing save the soft clink of armor and the exhalation of breath filled the crisp air. Crouched behind the bluff, the approach was simple. Alpha and Bravo squads up the middle flanked by Charlie and Delta to the right. Alpha and Bravo would draw it out into overlapping sectors of fire. A standard L shaped ambush outlined in the field manual and still tried and true over the last millennia.
Arthur gripped his M-69 in both hands, checked backup weapons and daggers, easing each of their holsters before carefully replacing them to ensure nothing prevented rapid removal in the heat of battle. After what seemed like an eternity, it was time. The ready call came from Charlie and Delta over the radio. Bayonets were fixed to rifles, Arthur gave the go ahead to his allies and found himself edging over the bluff, eyes trained down barrel, searching for the target through his imager.
An unholy peace settled over the battlefield. The moment before killing and death where the world takes a collective inhale. Abruptly, A blur flashed across the battlefield. The world exploded with noise as weapons discharged and the curdling cries of death filled the air. It was Gareth that saved Arthur, stepping in front to take the full force of the enemy. His corpse lay strewn across the ground, throat laying 3 feet away with a pool of blood bridging the gap.
Robin broke first. It was no surprise, to see him bravely running away, yet the loss of support was more than Arthur could take. Scrambling back in the face of carnage, he fled, eventually diving behind the very bluff they rallied at to begin this madness. It was all they could do for a moment to simply exist. Thank the heavens it appears the beast declined to pursue its attackers. Lance finally broke the silence.
“Dear lord, five us left. So many dead, what are we to do?”
Silence fell once more, an eternal stillness that seemed to drain all hope from the crusaders. How could they, the mightiest warriors of the eternal universe have fallen so low, been so utterly forsaken, by the smallest and furriest of God’s deadly creations.
Salvation came from the monk, brother Maynard.
“Sir, we have the holy hand grenade” | 2022-06-26T19:55:35 | 2022-06-26T18:51:13 | 64 | 48 |
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