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] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever. | I check their I.D.'s for fun now, noticing nose jobs and cheek implants and the occasional sex change. It doesn't matter though... there are always some who try to get past me. A strikingly beautiful blonde with a shining "19" above her head brazenly looking me straight in the eye, not a flicker of hesitation as she hands me a well made fake stating she was twenty three years old. The three men around her, all with numbers higher than my own glare menacingly as I shine my light on the counterfeit piece of identification. I decide it's not worth the altercation and let her through but I yearn to just whisper "Why are you trying to grow up so damn fast? There's nothing in here for you."
I never learned why I could see these numbers, to be honest I thought everyone could, and by the time I was old enough to question it, I knew enough not to bring any more attention to myself. Now it makes my job easy, and it's a neat trick at parties. I don't question when women lie to make themselves younger, and yes, occasionally I let someone who is trying make themselves older slide past, into the bar for their drinks and their laughs. Frankly... I just couldn't care anymore.
Ive seen it all, women who look thirty five but have a bright "50" floating a few inches above their head. Young men with full beards that would easily pass as mid twenties who are mere teenagers. It's remarkable, really, the variations in how humans age. Were I a man of more scientific inclinations I might feel compelled to get to the bottom of my "gift". In truth, I'm typically more concerned with when I can punch out and get drunk enough that the numbers start to blur and I can pretend I'm not seeing the mortality of others... but angels with luminous halos.
Every week I stand outside the door to a trendy L.A. bar and grit my teeth through the drip, drip of painful repetition. Mine was the sort of redundant occupation that people might complain gave them carpal tunnel. I used to look forward to the occasional bar room brawl to break up the monotony that has become my life, but as iPhones get larger and pants get tighter and more and more men declare themselves as "feminist" it's a rare occurrence that I can't set my hopes on. So instead I look at these little plastic rectangles and relish in the tiny details they hope won't be noticed. Live in L.A. as long as I have, and you'll see every nip and tuck.
Most nights, I arrive at the bar by seven thirty, have a beer or two with Lonnie, the bartender, before taking up my post on my wooden stool just to the left of a black painted door. I've worked at many bars but this bar had the unique distinction of being the only place I'd encountered that put forth an effort to appear seedy in order to sling overpriced whiskey sours to L.A. hipsters who wanted to feel as if they'd spent a night slumming it without any of the real life danger they might encounter were they to venture into an actual slum. You know the type, they wear ripped jeans that cost as much as my rent and carry folded paperback copies of "The Old Man and The Sea" in their back pocket. In other words...real winners.
Tonight was no different and after my second beer, some craft bullshit from down in San Diego that Lonnie said, "We're the only bar in L.A. That has this. Some guy literally brews this in his bedroom. It's totally exclusive", I took my seat and waited for the string of mullet wearing degenerates to pile in.
At first I rubbed my eyes, thinking maybe I'd blurred two people's numbers together. Maybe there was someone walking just behind him, out of view. Nope, as he got closer I stood up. The man was a little taller than me. Not any kind of unusual looking character, but not the typical patron of this joint either. He wore a simple suit and close cropped haircut, but what I was seeing couldn't be possible. The man looked to be at most, in his early thirties. The bright, shiny number hovering just above his dark hair however, showed "2021". I realized my mouth was open and that I was staring.
When he got closer he mumbled "hey" and reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, then, just like everyone else, an I.D. Just a normal California license with his photograph, his height, weight, address and name- "Christensen, Jess H." The birthdate gave him an age of thirty three but my gift had never been wrong. Ever. Not in my entire life had a number above someone's head been even a year off their actual age. This simply, wasn't possible.
I turned the plastic over and stalled for time, "So, from L.A. originally?" He replied, "Israel, actually, but it feels like I've been in L.A. since forever." I hand him back the card and he just smiled and walked inside.
All night I couldn't get the man out of my head. Was he some kind of vampire? Or maybe some monster of an Israeli Dr. Frankenstein? It just couldn't be. I came to the conclusion that something had gone haywire and my gift was starting to falter. "Shit" I thought to myself, "Now I'm gonna have to really start paying attention to birthdates." But the rest of the night my numbers always matched the birthdates on the I.D.'s. It seemed this man was the only one the glitch affected.
The night started to wind down and people trickled out as bar close neared. Finally, I noticed the four digit man slip outside. He stopped to light a cigarette and I don't know if it was the late hour or if it just bugged me too much but I reached over and tapped him on the shoulder, "Excuse me, man" He turned and smiled, this guy didn't seem like a monster. In fact seeing his face made me feel like I'd bitten off half a Xanax, but I persisted, "I gotta ask, you know, I have this real good knack for reading people and I gotta say... something's telling me you're older than you say you are." What he said back to me... well, it just about knocked me over.
| 2017-09-01T22:57:39 | 2017-09-01T21:03:45 | 247 | 122 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | My eyes flitted over the crowd of people lining up. 26, 30, 14 - gonna have to turn her away - 22, 8988, 21, 43. I slowly looked back towards the big number. That's an 8, followed by a 9 and two more eights. I took a few steps to the left. It's all one number. That... shouldn't be right. It couldn't be right. But i was never wrong before, and i don't know why i'd be wrong now.
"I'm going to have to I.D. you sir." The man smirked.
"I don't look *that* young, do I?"
"Sir, i'm going to have to insist." I had to see it. I was sure that his I.D. would hold some clue.
"How young do I look? Take a guess."
I couldn't resist the urge as a smirk invaded my face. "Dunno. 17, 16, maybe 8988?"
For a brief moment, the man looked at me in shock. Then he burst out laughing. "You're a funny guy. I wanna buy you a drink, when does your shift end?" I looked towards the bar door as Leon - the other bouncer - stepped through. "Now."
We headed inside and sat down at the bar. I insisted that he just get me a beer. He had the hard stuff. We both sat silent for a few minutes. "So I suppose you know i'm immortal, then. I won't ask how. What you're probably wondering is why someone as old as me is in a bar drinking his liver to death." I arched an eyebrow and looked at him. "History repeats itself every few thousand years. On my first time I was in a bar like this. Tomorrow's special, y'know." He had a happy, yet tired look in his eyes. "It's my birthday tomorrow." I smiled, but his face became frustrated. He took a large swig of his drink and, with a roll of his eyes, said "Oh, and the world's ending." | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T23:50:27 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | Four digits? FOUR? In all my years as a bouncer, never four.
I looked into his calm, green eyes.
"Jesus," I said.
Of course I let him in. Even The Man needs to kick back and grab a beer sometimes, yeah?
But, given that he's back... I wouldn't make any long-term plans if I were you. And stock up on some prepper material while you're at it. Shit about to get real.
And have a nice night, y'all. | I've got about 20/200 vision; however of the blur in the string of crowd to my left, each digit in the jumble of numbers still has clear edges, like a bad photoshop. I don't even bother to make them out until they step closer though, so that the smoldering numbers are silhouetted by the darkened buildings eventually behind them. I motioned to the door to my 5 o'clock and the group nearest went past, then behind me through the door. It was drizzling, and in-between each vague gesture of invitation I brought my head down to stare at the relaxing splashes on the pavement in front of me, periodically obscured by my breath. The rain made everyone impatient, but the man to my left stepped forward slowly; still in front of the crowd behind him. Unmoving, my eyes wandered from the calming spatter to his ragged moccasins. He then said something in an unfamiliar accent, that didn't manage to break through the general hum of the crowd. I finally moved my head. 7219. I squinted and, still staring at the monoliths aligned above his head, I said, "Seventy-two? What are you doing here?" He didn't look seventy. His eyebrows twitched up, and then he put a shit-eating grin on his face. That unfamiliar accent, his expression and the situation grew unconsciously on my nerves. 7219. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer, expecting the seventy-two to part from a nineteen behind him. It didn't. I stood up from my stool
as far as i got, not a writer obviously, but this prompt was way too interesting not to imagine up a scenario about
editedit: i think i'll finish this story later tonight, if anyone cares lol
| 2017-09-01T23:43:36 | 2017-09-01T23:35:54 | 30 | 11 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | The call had been placed for eons. Cthulhu, his strong influence touching the minds of men, had been trying to summon those who would wake him. Alas, his influence had been hindered by the watchful eye of the worlds governments. Until now.
Faced with the gravest of threats, an alien race who thought letting humanity linger would cause the end of all life in the universe, the governments of earth lifted their world-ender from its slumber.
Rising from the depths of the mysterious ocean, the grave threat to humanity saw the world ending plague about to befall the humans on the earth. It sprung into action, writhing from R'lyeh, Cthulhu the elder guard attacked the threat to *his* planet.
The battle lasted minutes. The armada which had arrived lay in waste. And with the threat to humanity gone, Cthulhu had time to turn his attention where it belonged. To humanity. Nobody razes the earth but Cthulhu. | The fighting had raged for mere hours before everything came crashing down. Their forces were immeasurable, their weapons far beyond humanity's. It was hardly a valiant effort, anything any military tried met with catastrophic failure in minutes.
General Dillian stood on the bow of the ship, he couldn't find the answers for the hundreds of questions that ran by him from the group surrounding him. They were out of options, he knew it, but he refused to let humanity fall to an alien species, to be left at their mercy.
*"Fuck it."* The General said, as the alien mothership came in to land. *"Summon Cthulhu."*
Everyone around him went silent. Hairs stood on end from the mere mention of its name.
*"S-Sir..."*
One of them spoke, *"We won't be able to control-"*
*"I don't give a damn about control. We're on a losing battle, but the war isn't over."* The General snapped. He was well-aware of the consequences. Every treaty that had been formed around the subject stated that The Old Gods would only be used in catastrophic situations as a matter of self-destruction to defeat an enemy... this was such situation.
Everyone hesitated, their hearts were certainly full of fear. They collected their Old Ones manuals, flipping to the page of Cthulhu. In the distance, sirens could be heard. They had a matter of minutes before everything would be over.
*"Ph'nglui..."* The captain said in a shaken voice. Everyone repeated after him.
*"...mglw'nafh... Cthulhu... R'lyeh... wgah'nagl fhtagn!"*
They finished. Everyone went cold, nothing happened for a couple seconds. Just as they thought to start again, the waves parted, and the large, eldritch being had arrived.
Their worst fears, ones they didn't even know they bore, were instantly recognised. On the outside, Cthulhu raged, swiping, thrashing, attacking every ship. They opened fire, but the Old God stood strong.
On the inside, every man who found himself gazing upon Cthulhu had become an empty husk of their former selves.
Madness had fallen. | 2017-09-26T11:22:23 | 2017-09-26T11:13:03 | 92 | 16 |
[WP] You're possessed by a demon. You quickly realize he's never done this before. | *Is that your dick?*
"I told you to get the fuck out of my head!" I shouted. To myself. In the shower. I was losing my mind. I was absolutely, completely, without a doubt losing my goddamn fucking mind. I was talking to myself. No, it was worse than that. I was talking to a voice inside my head that for some reason was **obsessed** with my penis.
*I'm sorry it's... just... I've never...*
The voice started... laughing? It was the strangest sound I'd ever heard. My entire head filled with a cacophonous rancor and it seemed for a while as if my skull were going to shake apart from the sheer force of it vibrating around in my brain case. The laughter was dark and deep and heavy - masculine, for sure. It was the sound of a man's laugh but a demented, twisted, *evil* laugh. That was the only way to describe it. He sounded like Jafar from Disney's "Alladin."
*I do not sound like fucking Jafar!*
He could hear me? I hadn't said anything. I tried to ignore it. I was losing my mind. I knew that. I was going completely fucking schizophrenic bat-shit crazy and the more I acknowledged this voice talking and laughing in my head the worse it was going to get. I needed pills.
*You don't need pills.*
"Don't tell me what I need! You're not real!"
*Then why are you talking to me?*
"Because you won't shut the fuck up!"
*Dude, do you have roommates? Live at home with your parents? What is this, 2016? 2017? How old are you? 26? Maybe a bit older? You don't have any gray hairs in your pubes yet. Look into a mirror I want to see how old you are.*
"Fuck off."
*You a millenial? Do you live at home? It's cool if you do, man. Job market sucks. I get that. Is that your mom down stairs?*
"What?"
*The voice of the older woman who's calling up the stairs at you. Brian. Don't you hear her? She's all like "Brian? Brian honey is everything OK?" You should answer her.*
"She's not real! You're not real!"
*Dude you're totally yelling in your mom's house to - as far as you're concerned - a paranoid delusion. Maybe like, tone it down?*
He was right. That was insane. I couldn't believe that the thought had just occurred to me, but he was right. I was yelling. I was screaming at a voice in my head.
*And it's like, not even necessary. I can obviously read your thoughts.*
"How?"
*Well. If you think that I'm just a voice in your head. Then. Obvious answer. However, the truth is... your mom.*
"What?"
"Brian?" It was my mom. She was right outside the door; knocking loudly. "Sweetheart? What's going on? What are you yelling at?"
"I'm fine, mom," I lied.
"Why were you yelling?"
"I'm... uh..."
*Rehearsing for an audition you have for a community theater role. You're up for the part of Stanley Kowalski in Street Car Named Desire. OK, you don't like that one. It's an anger management technique you learned in therapy. You don't go to therapy? You should. Clearly. It's a fucking mess in here. Um... You're mad as hell and you're not going to take it anymore? Just say that really loud. It's an old reference she'll think it's hillarious.*
"It's a song. I'm... um... It's a rap song."
*THAT was awful. Really fucking bad. I'm embarrassed for you, Bri-Bri.*
"Don't fucking call me Bri-Bri," I said to the voice - well, I said to the shower head, really - in as low a voice as I could.
"Oh, OK honey. That's a... it sounds like a... rap music!"
*It sounds like a rap music? OK, a complete inability to think on your feet must be a family trait.*
"Will you just fucking shut up?" I hissed at the voice.
*Will you? You're going to get yourself committed to a psych ward at this rate. I am inside your head. I can read your thoughts. You don't have to speak. Dumbass.*
I didn't know what to do. Here I was just waiting the five minutes that the bottle of conditioner tells you to wait for the product to penetrate the scalp, trying to keep my hair out of the direct steam of the shower, and hearing the deep but distinctively *sassy* voice of a... well, Jafar-laughing demon?
*Say Jafar one more motherfucking time. I dare you.*
Jafar. For a moment I thought that it was just the voice in my head. It wasn't. I was singing. About a lovely bunch of coconuts. At the top of my lungs. In a falsetto. Stop. Please. I'm sorry about the Jafar crack. Please stop making me sing.
*Fine. Now let's get one thing straight. I may have fucked up this possession. Slightly.*
Possession?
*Yeah. First go at it. Should have given me free reign of the body. Instead I just got telepathic access and musical theater puppet mode*
Musical theater puppet mode?
*I can make you dance too, bitch. Rogers and Hammerstein. Sondeheim. Gilbert and Sullivan. Andrew Lloyd Webber. I snap one clawed finger and you're doing a one-man production of "Cats." You like "Cats," Brian?*
No. No one does.
*Exactly. So. You're going to do exactly what I say, when I say it... until I can figure out how to exorcise myself back home and get out of this miserable plane of existence.*
OK...
*Now. Let's go back to the beginning. Show me your dick.*
I looked down, the conditioner running down my face and tears running from my eyes.
*THAT'S your dick?*
He laughed even harder this time - though not in a manner that in any way resembled Jafar from Disney's Alladin. At all. I swear. | My Saturdays were usually pretty boring. Just me, alone in my bed, binge watching TV and eating crap by the armful. It was great. No stress, no work, no angry bosses -- just me and the hypnotizing glare of the screen.
It was one such Saturday when I felt a sudden punch in my stomach and pain in my chest. I pounded on my chest after swallowing another load of potato chips. Perhaps it was these Saturdays taking their toll; after all, there’s only so many potato chips you can eat before they clog your arteries enough to give you a heart attack.
“Hi! I’m a demon!” I heard in my brain.
“What?” I tried to say aloud, but only said in my brain.
“My name’s Brakhin. I’m a demon! I’m possessing you!”
“What?” I asked again, still not able to form the words with my mouth. “You sound like a little kid.”
“Hey! I am three hundred years old!”
“Oh, sorry, sorry.” My body and my consciousness seemed to have lost their connection.
“Yeah, you should be! I’m possessing you! Mommy said it was time for me to learn. Am I doing a good job?”
“Um--”
“I want to make Mommy proud!”
“Yes. You’re doing a wonderful job. In fact, I think that’s all you need to do for the possession! Good job, you’re done!”
He paused. “You’re making fun of me!” he whined. “And I want to see what it’s like to walk around and run and play! I want to go on a playground!”
My body slowly slid off the bed.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m a thirty year old man. I can’t go to a playground alone.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’d be weird.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d look like a pedophile or something.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s -- ugh, nevermind.”
Somehow, Brakhin got me to my feet. We took very long and awkward steps before walking into the door.
“I can’t leave!” he whined.
“You have to open the door first.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s how life works.”
“How do you open the door?”
“You turn the doorknob.” I rolled my metaphysical eyes.
“You’re being a meanie! I’m gonna tell!”
“Tell who?”
“My mommy.”
“Oh.”
He lifted my arm, smacking the door. Eventually he managed to control it enough to touch the doorknob.
“Why won’t it go?” he yelled.
“You have to turn it.”
“How?”
“Just turn my hand!”
“I can’t do it!” We fell onto the floor.
“Then maybe you should stop possessing me?”
“I thought we were friends!” I could hear the tears in his voice.
“Okay, okay, sorry. Can we get off the floor?”
“No! I don’t wanna!”
“I’ll tell you how to get to a playground, okay?”
“Okay!” Tantrum over. We got back to our feet. My hand hit the door again, and he barely turned the knob enough to open the door.
“I did it! I did it! Did you see it, mister? I did it!”
“Yes, yes, very nice Brakhin.”
“I’m doing it! Mommy will be so proud! I’m going to tell all my friends about this. They’re not gonna believe it!” We walked into the main part of my apartment. “What’s that?” he asked, taking a sharp turn towards the kitchen.
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That! It’s shiny!”
“You mean the fridge? It stores food.”
“What’s food?”
“We eat it.”
“What’s eating?”
“Let’s go to the playground.”
“Okay!”
“Turn to the left. No, the other way. Yeah, there we go.” I sighed. This was going to be a long day.
After about an hour of walking like I had a stick stuck up my ass and had jello for legs, we had finally made it to a playground. It was full of children. Just my luck.
“Playground!” He screamed.
“Brakhin, maybe now’s not a good time. Maybe we should come back later, when it’s empty?” It was too late. When he spoke, my body spoke. And now there were ten parents staring at us, at me.
“I wanna go to the playground!” We shuffled to the playground as fast as he could. A couple of parents suddenly grabbed their children and backed away. I saw a mother pull out her phone, typing in three numbers.
“Seriously, Brakhin! This isn’t a good time! People are staring!”
“So?”
“So it’s bad! They’re going to call the cops and we’re going to be arrested!”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we’re going to be locked in a cell.”
“I want to go on the slide.” We walked to the bottom of the ladder.
“Oh, no. This is not a good idea.”
“I wanna go on the slide!” One leg lifted, and barely made it to the first rung.
“Okay, okay. Um, raise my arms. Grab the rungs.”
“What’s a rung?”
“One of the ladder things! Just grab something so we don’t fall!”
“Hey, what’s the big idea?” I heard a gruff voice behind me.
“I’m going on the slide!” Brakhin answered for me.
“This is for children! Get out of here!” We got grabbed by the shirt and pulled off of the ladder.
“Hey!” Brakhin’s voice dropped about five octaves. “I. Want. To. Go. On. The. Slide!” He sent a weak kick to the man, but lost his balance and we tumbled backwards. He didn’t care, and started a tantrum, complete with the flailing limbs, tears, and screaming.
Then he stopped. “Mommy?” he whimpered.
“Brakhin, what did I tell you?” another voice in my head snapped.
“I don’t ‘member.”
“No tantrums or you don’t get to possess anymore!”
“But Mommy--”
“No buts. We’re going.”
***
I blinked my own eyes and sat up. “Whoa,” I muttered to myself. “What a weird dream.” I rubbed my eyes before looking around. At a playground. With a few angry parents glaring at me, one with pepper spray out and ready to go.
I jumped to my feet. “Sorry about that! Just, you know, sleepwalking problem! Won’t happen again!” I sprinted out of that park like my ass was on fire, which it was. It was my Saturday ritual to eat Taco Bell for lunch, and Brakhin had not taken care of the side effects.
That was the day I decided to revamp my Saturdays.
(please give me feedback and critiques!) | 2017-10-07T14:03:11 | 2017-10-07T13:29:05 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | "A mistake was made," said the U.N. Secretary General. Last night depth probes had rained from the Vermont sky. They had been dropped in the hole six months and one day ago, exactly. Now they were back. And we all knew what would follow.
15,000 nuclear weapons had been dropped into the hole one month ago. Humanity had five months left.
Iceland was the first country to divide all of their wealth equally among its citizens. "Make the most of it while you can," said its prime minister. "I wish that you all will live to the fullest, in open defiance of the absurdity that has become human existence."
A dark brooding overtook the world. In every coffee shop you would find young men and women engaged in deep thought, contemplating the strange spectacle that had become their predicament. Political parties rose and fell like a beating heart, struggling to regain its foothold after a traumatic shock. Whispers were heard in street corners, a salvation unmistakably on its way. "This is a trial," many a stranger would tell each other. "We have five months to show that we are worthy of life. If you dedicate yourself to the Good, you will survive. The others will be erased from the world and be forgotten."
As reality began to set in, a strange fellow gained worldwide attention and fame when he assured humanity that he had found the solution to their woes. "This planet is doomed," he said. "But this isn't the only one. We have the funds. We have the drive. We can escape inevitable doom and settle on the red planet."
The Martian Movement grew strong, and with it a sense of optimism dawned on humanity. "There is a chance," was the sentiment. "We could still survive."
The window of time was narrow. In a single month, humanity would have to work together and embark on its greatest mission yet. But there was another faction growing. And it grew strong.
The first body fell 46 days after the first probes. It landed on top of the garbage heap. Some commented that it was an apt metaphor; humanity falling to their grave on top of the steaming pile of mess that had left behind. This nihilistic notion became commonplace. "Humanity does not deserve to be saved." Such were their sentiment. They held counter-rallies to the devout Martians. They argued that man had had his chance, and he had failed. He did not deserve a second chance. The hole only spat out what had been tossed inside. We had failed the litmus test, and so the book closed.
Then, one day, the hole closed.
Time went on, and as the six-month period came to pass, it became evident that it would keep on doing so. The once dedicated groups dissipated like a soup gone cold. The world remained the world. Never would anyone learn the true nature of the hole. It seemed a chance event, bereft of meaning. Humanity would ultimately have to fill the hole with stories. With meaning. And it would keep on drifting through the cold Universe, forever asking themselves the same question: why? | Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one. | 2018-01-13T08:53:16 | 2018-01-13T07:48:15 | 537 | 12 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | “Ok, so, Deep goes back a while. Everyone thought it was a new thing when it was found in unprocessed satellite photos, which is funny because the feds had contingents for all of that, but they never expected a high school class to actually get a camera into orbit for that long… Anyway, ok so, the picture got out, have you seen it?”
“Yea, I saw it. So, what? What are you getting at?”
“Right, ok, the picture… Everyone called bullshit on it at first, but when the metadata.”
“Jesus, I know the story. The image was verified by the dude in Australia who recovered the camera after the satellite deorbited. The school was fined for not maintaining orbital attitude, failing to eject the ablative shield after launch which allowed the camera to reenter without burning up, and crashing into some poor fucker’s house. I know the story…”
“Chill out dude.”
“I’m chill, you just suck at telling stories”
“You really are an asshole, if Mom knew….”
“Just get on with it”
“OK! So, the hole has been there for 40 years. Back in 2014, some experiment at Area 51 opened it up. They ran this BLM story, like 100 miles away, or something, where there was this standoff, it was crazy. Well that was a coverup, and the military was moving equipment in to fill it in. When that failed, they asked the NSA to find a way to hide it. All those pictures from before were edited, and everyone was told they had to do it, or they would be shut down. After the high school satellite thing, they couldn’t hide it, and since it wasn’t technically on the military base, people started going there.”
“Yea, we went when we were kids, you were too little to remember it…”
“Oh, I remember. Stop cutting me off! Where was I? Ok, so there has been conspiracy for a few years, and no one really knew what was going on, and of course the military denied any knowledge. I mean, it took 3 years to just get them to admit that they covered up all the pictures, but they said they just didn’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Where is this going?”
“I’m almost there. So…. Everyone has been dumping stuff in there, lots of different stuff. Even explosives, and they can always register a detonation, but a graduate student team from MIT dropped a super magnetic container, with 3 kg of anti-hydrogen, and 3 hours of battery life into it. Guess how big the boom was after the 3 hours?”
“3 kg of anti-hydrogen? It probably registered on seismographs in Vegas”
“It should have registered in Los Angeles. It never went off. The hole is empty, it goes nowhere.”
“Are you suggesting….?"
“Follow the evidence dude… What the hell was the Air Force fucking with back then, and why do we still not know anything about it?”
| Alex sat at her desk, trying to focus on the work at hand - expense reports had been piling up for weeks now, but there was seemingly not enough time in the work day to keep up with the increased number of reports that had been submitted lately. It was year end, after all, and the company had done extremely well this year.
The trouble was the sheer number of distractions visible from her seat on the 47th floor. Having only been relocated recently from an older building, she wasn't used to such a madhouse of activity. With over three hundred workers confined to each floor, The Plaza was currently the largest office building in the city (although not for long - several more were under construction that were an order of magnitude larger). From her seat in the northeast corner, she could see countless screens pouring information out to the others. Some cubicles had upwards of 6 or 7 monitors! Worse than that, though, were the giant TV projections located between each aisle of desks, each blaring out quarterly projections, news articles, weather, and company stock information.
She stared mindlessly at one of these TV projections, currently showing a news report detailing the preparations undergone by a daredevil before their upcoming attempt to parachute into The Pit, before turning her gaze out the window, to the sea of multi-coloured chutes and tubes that still astonished her so, even weeks after relocating to this floor.
The Pit, as it was referred to, had become a central feature of the city. With immeasurable depth comes immeasurable opportunity, and the corporations and powers that be had jumped at the opportunity to increase their appearance of social responsibility and wealth. For years now, humanity had poured their garbage into The Pit, and to great effect. Entire landfills had been excavated, dumped into The Pit, and turned into prime farmland. Every garbage collection route in the city now ended at a disposal plant that poured a continuous cascade of waste into the depths, an attraction referred to as the 'debrisfall' that spawned a whole industry of Pit-watcher tourism - you could even walk out over the debrisfall on a glass walkway, although Alex couldn't fathom why someone would want to do such a thing. The true spectacle, in her opinion, was located between the numerous gigantic office buildings that lined the rim of The Pit. Jutting out from every floor of every building was a tube, chute, or slide of seemingly random colour and shape that stuck out into the open air, and occasionally shot out a piece of garbage to be sucked down into the void below. As she watched, a trash bag from a floor above her careened down past her floor. She glanced up to to see if more would follow, but with hundreds of floors above her it was impossible to see past the untold number of chutes reflecting multi-coloured light downwards.
Just then, her computer beeped a reminder, and a few of her coworkers excitedly got up and started moving their way over to the window. Today was a Demolition Day, and it was her old office building that was scheduled to fall. In order to keep up with the constant growth of the city, a few of the older office buildings lining the rim of The Pit were being demolished to allow for newer, taller ones to be built. There was a rumble of sound, and she looked out towards the farthest corner of The Pit, where several explosive charges had sent up a huge cloud of particulate. Her old office building, much smaller at only 65 floors, started crumbling before her eyes. More charges exploded, sending concrete and glass in a spray outwards over The Pit. The building started to instead crumble outwards, rather than straight down. Alex felt shaking rise up through her new building while the other tumbled fully into The Pit, leaving behind a minimal amount of debris to be bulldozed in after it.
Alex looked back at her stack of reports and wished she could throw it in after her old building. The Pit was an opportunity, she supposed, a lifeline for a world that had become over-encumbered with waste, trash, and filth. From her vantage point on the 47th floor of a building containing tens of thousands of people working tirelessly, however, it didn't feel so much like one. | 2018-01-13T09:45:07 | 2018-01-13T07:48:15 | 31 | 12 |
[WP] Domino's pizza has offered free pizza for life to anyone who tattoos their logo on their body. Now other food chains are following that idea, but with increasingly absurd requirements, and the poor have turned themselves into walking advertisements just so they can eat with each passing day. | The bigger the tattoo the more grams of food a day they give you. A whole arm? 200 grams a day. Two arms? 400 grams. Your face? 800 grams.
If you calculated it right you could tattoo most of your body and never have to worry about food for the rest of your live. Sure its gets a little boring to eat the same 8 meals in a row but nobodys stops you from buying something else.
Of course there where rules. You couldnt tattoo any brand before your 18th birthday. Nor could you adapt the logo or connect to any other tattoo on your body. A minimum space of 10 cm was required.
I started with a small Dominos logo. Then burger king on my back and kfc on my legs.
I even went so far to tattoo carls junior on my ass and the M on my balls. I got extra grams for the text Im loving it on my penis.
It was all fun and games till the companys demanded yearly checkups. Monthly. And since last week daily. Everytime i wanted a Big Mac i had to flash my willy to a cranky underpaid employee. It wouldnt be the worst if it would be private but checkups where simply taken at the drive inn.
It was no longer worth the trouble. Getting a normal job started to sound better and better. Specially since Carls junior changed their starlogo into a big shiny sun today.
What was i thinking. | When I first saw the news, I was surprised. Would Domino's really do this kind of service?
I looked on their website and sure enough, there was a banner that confirmed my suspicions.
I immediately closed my laptop screen and drove to the local tattoo parlor. Even though I was dirt poor, I was just lucky enough to afford a laptop for school and now, a tattoo for unlimited pizza.
I walked into the parlor and one of the employees greeted me.
"Hello, how are you?" he asked.
"Fine, I guess haha." I replied, "so uh, can I get umm... a Domino's Pizza tattoo, right here?" I pointed to my upper forearm, near my elbow.
The employee looked at me funny for a second, but then realized the promotion the pizza place was holding.
"Oh yeah, sure!" He said.
About half an hour later, I received my very first ink: a pizza place logo. Can't say I'm disappointed, but I always though my first design would be something else. Oh well, free food at least!
I paid and went over to Domino's. I showed them my tattoo, chose my toppings and enjoyed the best warm meal I had within the past month. I can actually eat this every day!
...
It has been six months. So many other restaurants are also running free-food-with-tattoo promotions, and in a vain effort to stop getting ink, I can't. My body is littered with random logos of different companies, such as Arby's, Popeye's, McDonald's. You get the gist.
I have not removed a single tattoo. Every one I got, I keep. Laser tattoo removal is much more expensive than you think, and I can't imagine having to go back to paying for food.
But I have to. Due to the amounts of logos on my body, I can't even hold a job. I am *this* close to losing my home because I can't pay rent, because I don't have a job, because of my tattoos, which I need a job to afford the removal of.
I stared at the revolver on my coffee table. A Smith & Wesson Model 500, which I stole from some sloppy gang. I figured a .500 caliber cartridge would be good enough for a suicide, and only one was needed... especially since I only had one.
I picked up the gun, and decided to play a one-player game of Russian Roulette. You know, for fun.
I spun the cylinder, aimed under my chin, and pulled the trigger. *Click.* Damn, it was empty. I pulled the trigger again. *Click.* Empty again!
"Third time's the charm, I guess." I pulled the trigger.
***BANG!*** | 2018-09-08T13:55:48 | 2018-09-08T13:48:12 | 89 | 35 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | By the time I was 12, I'd had enough of the system; being born to two junkies and bounced around between foster homes will do that to a girl. The last house was the worst, though. I was small for my age, and an easy target for the abuse of the other misfits taken in by a mean old bastard, using kids to collect a government cheque. A life on the street was a better option.
I'm no dummy, so I did okay. But still, life was rough. Until Mr Wraith took me in. I guess I reminded him of the daughter he'd lost, so he put me to work cleaning his gear in exchange for a warm bed and 3 squares a day. Life was good. For 4 years we existed, me helping out wherever I could, him going out every night to purge the streets of scum. He was the father I never had, until the law caught up with him. Apparently vigilantism is frowned upon, so Mr. Wraith went away to Sing Sing, and I was out on the street again.
I worked my way up, though. Eventually bought myself a sweet little spot, and opened up The Night Owl; a little cafe, out in the industrial area by the docks. The coffee's strong enough to peel paint, just the way my clientele like it.
I know who my regulars are, sure. But I treat them just like anyone else. They're out there doing what needs to be done, night after night, and as much as i'm sometimes tempted to go full fangirl on 'em, I keep it professional: coffee served with a smile, and secrets kept.
I'd been running the Owl for almost 5 years, when it all crashed down. I showed up at 7, eager to start the evening, when I saw the destruction. Door hanging off the hinges, windows smashed, and damn near everything that wasn't bolted down was thrown around like confetti.
I stood there, stunned. I had insurance, sure, but the repairs would keep the cafe closed for longer than I could last without an income.
At some point I must have sat down on the curb. I had no idea how long I'd been there, when a gloved hand fell on my shoulder. Looking up, I saw a familiar masked face.
Before I could utter a word, Shadow spoke. "Don't worry, Lily, we'll fix this."
I started to protest when another voice joined in. "You're gonna come stay with me for a bit, and we'll take care of everything. Time for a vacation anyway, yeah?" Switchblade said, leather jacket creaking as his muscles coiled for action.
A sob escaped, and I stood on shaky legs. More people were arriving, all my regulars eager for a caffeine fix I couldn't provide.
"You guys would do this for me?" I asked, voice thick with emotion.
It was Kestral who spoke, always the unofficial leader. "Of course. You know we'd do anything for you, Lily. "
Hands reached out, offering comforting touches and shoulder clasps.
"Anything?" I whispered, still grappling with the idea that I meant something to the crowd in front of me.
Heads nodded firmly in response.
I swallowed hard before asking my next question. "How do you all feel about a jailbreak?" | Some people never learn. When one of my old highschool classmates wandered up to my cafe's doors' , I was willing to give him the same gretting everyone got. My cafe over the past year has definetely gotten a different niche then most other coffee shops around me. I'm not talking about one of them catgirl cafes or whatever kids are into these days. My cafe caters to people who live in the dark of society.
When someone does something bad, it's not always true that they're a bad person. I've always understood that, a lesson I learned when the drunk driver who killed my parents was killed by his mafia buddies. Due to his killing of innocents.
The dark society tends to have unspoken rules. Avoiding as many innocents when possible for some, but almost eveyone agrees on spots in the city where no one can claim territory. These safe havens are where most of the really important buisness goes down. Fortunately for me, they decided that my cafe was a perfect haven.
I have no problem serving people of questionable legality, because I don't for sure know who they are. Avoid too many questions, if there's one thing the Marines taught me was how to keep my mouth shut, and only responde when spoken to. I've payed attention the the regulars, i've an educated guess who most of them work for, and a couple who I think I know their names. But I don't bring it up, because it's bad for breathing.
It was a late Saturday night, I was closing up shop, none of the society had sent a runner to keep the place open. Lancer, my faithful military dog, who medically retired with me, was slouched against one of the tables pillars. I was hobbling around on my prosthstic leg, washing down the tables.
I heard the door fly open, the gust of chilled air entering the shop. Glancing over, I recognized a former classmate of mine, turned FBI special agent. Standing up, I started putting my rag in my back pocket.
"I can fix you up a coffee for the go, but not for here."
I stated towards the agent. Before I could do anything else he hit me upside the head with his baton that he must have extended at some point. The blow hit my temple, and darkened my vision, I felt myself hit the floor. Lancer bounced up and started towards the fed, but was swiftly punted across the shop. Whimpering, but not defeated, he managed to stagger onto his paws and lunge at the agent's arm. His teeth sinking in, and all 90 pounds of pissed off german shepherd yanking on him. The fed took his baton into his other hand, I was still dizzied, and focused on not passing out. He raised the baton into the air and brought a flurry of fast strikes onto Lancer's head.
Lancer collapsed to the ground, blood welling from his head. I tried to crawl over to him, but the special agent procedded to turn his attention towards me. I don't remember too much after that, but when I came to, my shop had been overturned and destroyed. I managed to crawl with my non-prostethic arm towards my faithful companion.
I made it over to him, but passed out only seconds later. Coming to conciousness again, I felt several pairs of hands holding onto me. I didn't have the strength to fight, but was relieved when I was sat in a chair. When my vision was clear enough to make out anything, I recognized the three faces direcgly in front of my.
The big three bosses of the society. I'd met them over time when they'd had their meetings at my haven. I'd had the gut feeling at least one of them had served, but I felt it was probably two of them. They'd always been kind towards me fue to my service and discharge. But now, they seemed concerned.
"Hey, Sarge, what happened here."
It was hard to tell which one had asked, but I manafed to mumble a response.
"FBI, Special Agent Stricken. He came in and attacked me and Lancer."
"Shit. All right Sarge, we're havin' ol' Lance taken to a good vet. We're gettin' you to the VA, and don't worry. We'll take care of this for you. Afterall, a hero like can't be treated like this by some of the peopke you helped save."
*Disclaimer, on mobile, so sorry for any misspellings.
| 2018-10-20T21:39:31 | 2018-10-20T21:35:46 | 62 | 27 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | The city was mad, but there were a few places that held on.
Fontanella's was a place like that. Arthur usually came around there after shifts to get a bite and talk the the inhumanly kind owner, whose name he never got to know, but who insisted on being called "Nonna". She had a knack for serving the general misfits of the magical underworld, even though, from all that Arthur could gather, she was just a regular human granny.
Today however, as he neared the entrance, it was obvious something wasn't right. It was late, but usually the tables outside would be bustling with the more nocturnal clientele, all playing cards and drinking the varied delights of Nonna's kitchen. There was no one there.
Even though the door was open, Arthur could see only a forlorn light shining within.
As he entered, the sound of soft sobbing and hushed voices hit him. He saw the once perfectly placed tables and chairs strewn across the floor, doilies and plant pots (Nonna's pride and joy) misplaced and broken, and in one corner a dropped food tray, it's contents on various stages of disheveling.
Behind the counter, a few of Arthur's fellow usual drinking companions and Nonna's actual granddaughter, Maria, consoled the crying old lady. It was quite the sight, seeing those rugged dwarves, towering orc roughnecks, elegant faeries, frumpy wizards and even Arthur's vampire roommate and former nemesis Vi, all giving reassurance, fixing what could be fixed, cleaning and replacing the various signs of chaos.
Arthur's heart swelled with pride for these lovable bastards, but the look that Maria saw on the detective's face was grim.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"Big shot in a suit came in earlier before we arrived. Nonna was here alone. All we could gather from her were that he was unhappy with the service and decided to give the place a piece of his mind." Her eyes were hard, her voice curt.
"I see." Arthur scanned the site. His mind churned with plans of action. After giving Nonna his own hug, he approached Vi, who was helping a big orc on setting the tables back up.
"I hope you get to him before I do Artie" Vi said as she saw him approach. "I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from... Repaying his kindness." Her eyes were bleeding to red from her usual grey, a sign that she was more frazzled than her demeanor showed.
"Oh, I'm not worried about that" Arthur said, kneeling and touching a splintered part of the table's woodwork. As expected, a black thread, too thin for a naked human eye to see, was stuck to the woodgrain. Arthur gingerly plucked it, and analyzed it's nature. "I'm free for the night. Up for a little hunting? Let's not hurt him too much. I'm sure the Stormwatcher and Night's Queen could bring him in."
She smiled that predatory smile of hers. "What else do you need?"
As Arthur stored the thread on a bag, he noticed a darker patch on the carpet, and bent over to examine it. *Blood*, he though. A small spark fled his nose, as he inhaled and let his magically twisted senses attune to the stain's signature. He now could track that signal towards it's source.
"How convenient" Arthur remarked, rising.
"Magic nose powers never disappoint I see" Vi quipped, eyes fully red now.
"We have a criminal to catch partner."
Vi's smile grew. | Simple fact, if you catch more vampires with blood than stakes.
&#x200B;
Washington DC, other than being a hotbed for politics, is a playground for lobbyists of all types. Creates a lot of problems. The simple word on the street is, though, if the problem is weird, people pay a lot of money to have it solved, no questions asked. When I made my first coffee shop, the place was wrecked three weeks in by what looked like a bear on the CCTV. The cops didn't take the footage, at first. Some men in suits flashed badges and told me "it never happened" when they walked away with the tapes.
&#x200B;
Insurance paid up though, didn't even make a fuss. That was the part that got me.
&#x200B;
I never asked anyone what they liked when I made my new shop. No consultations. I just did my reading, made my menu, and waited. I found out what the local blood bank did with blood that didn't pass inspections, they got rid of it. Hazardous. The tech I found seemed used to find it hilarious to be paid for trash, so it didn't cost much.
&#x200B;
Build it and they will come. The more I read on the subject, the more I realized that there's a lot of things that go bump in the dark that like the taste of human blood. I could guess at the nature of the pale folks who walked in, but the kinds that kept their hoods up in a basement I never asked.
&#x200B;
I just took their order.
&#x200B;
More ideas came in after I listened to the light chatter. If I started serving the right kind of salted cod, a few Swedish guys would come in regularly and buy a few ales. Venison, horse kebab, you name it. A lot of these guys have been a round a while, and their tastes came from Ye Olde European times, with a little research you can find a new niche (but dear lord, finding the people who can cook it right is a pain).
&#x200B;
Live insects made it onto the menu, briefly. After the first Senator came in I decided to keep my place low profile. Lizardmen aren't worth the business.
&#x200B;
It happened after closing, one night. All the cooks had gone home, it had been a big night and they deserved a break. It was just me and one other server. I had no words when I saw him again. He wore a massive sweatsuit over his entire body, but exploding with hair from the hands at the snout that poked out from the hood. He only spoke three words.
&#x200B;
"New place, eh?"
&#x200B;
Nothing else. I bolted for the back room, acting purely on instinct. I heard crashing from behind me, a roar that left my ears ringing after I slammed the steel door of the freezer shut behind me. I was shaking, not from the cold, not yet, pressed against the far wall as the door shuttered from every time the beast flung itself into the door. A roar. And then silence. I couldn't leave. The walk in freezer was ancient, the only way I could afford it, so it locked externally.
&#x200B;
They found me around an hour before opening, frostbitten, incoherent. As the took me out, babbling and wondering what the hell had happened, I saw that the only thing left of the server was blood. I spent all night wondering what I'd see when I came out, if the beast had just gone for me...I knew I'd never see him again. I also knew that if I'd taken the time to throw him in before me, I'd have been caught by the beast, and we'd both be dead.
&#x200B;
The customers...I never saw them. They weren't the type to rubberneck with police lights flashing and the DO NOT CROSS tape put up.
&#x200B;
A week later, after all the paperwork had been done, the report filed, the CCTV footage that "never happened" had been handed over to silent men in suits...I got two letters letter in the mail. Simple as that. The first one was this:
&#x200B;
"The beast is dead, he won't bother you ever again. -Loyal Customer
&#x200B;
P.S. When's the new place open up?"
&#x200B;
The second piece of mail was much more formal, dense with legalese. I didn't even open it, I just laughed. The insurance came through without a hitch. Imagine that. | 2018-10-20T23:47:46 | 2018-10-20T22:39:44 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] 99.9% of the universe is filled with magic. Sentient races believe that life cannot be started or sustained without magic, and it just so happens that Earth lies in a giant void of magic. One day, you accidentally use magic, suddenly attracting the attention of the rest of the universe. | "...Did you add Magic to Earth lately?" the acountant asked. He was reading over reports from Earth's progress and something... wasn't quite adding up.
"No. Why?" The writer didn't even look up from their papers. Until the silence dragged on. "Why?" he pressed.
The accountant was biting his thumbnail, re-reading a particular passage. "It seems..." he gulped. "It seems that there are two people who figured out how to tap into ambient energy and turn it into magic."
The writer lept up. "No way!" He began to pace. "Oh, this is *good*, the Fernebian race never even got far enough to transform magic from thin air like that." He leaned over the accountant. "Are you sure?"
"Well I can't imagine how else to interpret these lines, here," he handed over the papers, "two teenagers just shot an energy beam from their palms. And if you didn't give them magic, then... they just... shouldn't have magic." He waved his hands around, distressed. He just knew this was going to cause paperwork to pile up.
The writer frowned. "No, it's not ambient magic..." He paused, then raced back to his notes. "Those two..." he said, "they read fantasy novels, don't they?"
"Fantasy what now?"
"Novels. The humans developed the capacity for writing literature."
The accountant shivered. "But that's high-level magic," he whispered in fear.
"It wasn't at first," the writer muttered grimly. He stared back down at his notes. "Call a council meeting. This goes beyond us. If the humans have started harnessing a magic they're creating themselves, it's going to mean trouble, and fast." | "Dude, you done yet? Come on I'm freezing my balls off here!"
I look up from the wires and gears to Danny with a big smile.
"Five minutes bro! Then we'll have this hot tub all ready and working. You not gonna put on a swimming trunk bro?"
He hits me with his classic cheesy smile. "Nah dude. Dan the man is all natural up in here. I thought you could fix it in like... like" He tried snapping his fingers but Danny's super soft digits just slipped on themselves.
"No worries bro. I got ya, you'll soon be swimming in hot bubbles. Ya ready? Just give me a second to wash my hands and I'll join you."
Getting into the hot tube with him we started a countdown in unison before slamming the on switch together.
"Yo, dude. Is water purple and all sparkly like?"
"Yah... Like Gatorade maybe. The sparkles must be all them electrolytes. They're really good for ya bro... I think?"
"Cool dude! Hey look it's swirling. Think that's the old style instead of bubbles? I mean this hot tube is really old dude."
Looking at my hands I notice Gatorade got into like, my blood vessels and now they were kindda purply and glowed. I nudged Danny to show him and he had it too. So cool! Maybe we're mutants now and have super powers. Like Batman!
I tried and snapped my fingers thinking as hard as I can. I heard Danny exclaim and splash water around so I opened them and there in my hand was a bottle of Gatorade!
"Cool" we said in unison then tapped the edge of the tube for luck at the same time. No Jinx!
Danny tried while mumbling "Beyonce" a few times but his super smooth fingers kept slipping.
"Bro you can't have Beyonce. She's married brah, not cool! Think sexy and cool and..."
We both pointed at each other as the same thought came. "Blake Bortles from the Jaguars! BOORTLES RULES!!!!"
I focused and snapped my fingers as hard as I could. We heard a splash and quickly opened my eyes.
"Oh man... you're not Bortles. This Gatorade is bogus."
*Humans, explain yourselves. Why are you marinating in my dinner.*
"Sorry green dude. This your Gatorade?"
"Wait... oh fuck this your hot tube! Danny run!"
We run away before the cops could get there. As we rushed I kindda noticed that our feet weren't touching the ground no more even though we weren't wearing shoes so maybe we can fly now. Like Batman!
*Humans! Come back here! Alerting all Bleghskos Alerting all Bleghskos! Humans have learned to use magic! I repeat, earth can now be classified as intelligent! Possibly...* | 2018-12-10T08:48:20 | 2018-12-10T06:49:07 | 99 | 28 |
[WP] You’re an archeologist. On one of your digs you find a note book identical to yours, contents with matching handwriting and all. Except this notebook is extremely ancient and has an entry in it that yours doesn’t. | It had taken me a lifetime, but I finally had enough solid evidence to prove my grandmother's theory of the universe. Approximately every twelve thousand years, existence would reset and play out exactly the same each time with only slight variations. I just didn't expect that I would be the key to this theory.
My grandmother had studied everything from the mathematics of the distant star systems to the stories of the ancient civilizations buried right beneath our feet. She knew there was a cycle to life -- a series of patterns anyone could see if they looked close enough. This idea drove me to pursue the life of a scientist and historian. And now I was holding in my hands my own journal, but from a version of myself twelve thousand years past. It was remarkable. Each entry was exactly the same, albeit in an ancient tongue. Each translation my own voice, each symbol my own handwriting.
However, something was amiss. I reached the end and froze, terrified at the final passage. This was the "slight variation" in my case; this was the exceptional additional entry in my own ancient journal. Translated into modern English, it read simply:
*For all that is truth, the cycle is real. For all that is good, the cycle must die.* | Hi, first time poster, english isn't my first language, hope I didn't make too many mistake.
\---
The thing that surprised him the most was the fact that only one entry was added to his journal and he started reading it with a fire in his eyes.
“I just found something so weird, but if it is true I need to tell you, stop reading right now. This is of the utmost importance, stop reading.
Dammit I kept reading too…
Maybe if I try to write something different…
Banana Pascal on a tree is watching the prom dance.
Wait wasn’t that written in the journal I found?
I don’t know anymore.
I lost access to the journal when I was blinded by the light. It seems it just disappeared after that. I’ve been trapped here ever since.
Seriously dude what the fuck, I told you to stop reading. Or maybe just grab both journal and run like hell. Why didn’t I run already?
Oh yeah Thomas told me not to move. Was he involved?
Anyway, I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t be far now and this will be over. It must be a prank, they are on their way to surprise me and we’ll laugh about it.
The strangest thing about the journal was how it ended. Although if I write about it I’m scared it’ll mean I’ll be taking time of my past me.
What if it is true? Am I condemning myself by writing this? Should I stop? It just sound so stupid to actually think this is real.
Listen past-me, just in case, close that damn journal and run.
Guess I wouldn’t stop when I’m already there… F\*\*\* you past me, you’ve always been the worst part of me, seriously I suffered so much from your bulls\*\*\*.
You know what fine, I’ll tell you how it ended!
Wait.
Just in case, grab your radio, it still doesn’t work for me but I think you should hold on to it, I don’t remember where was my gourd but please grab it, I’m so thirsty it’s killing me. Your light is probably at your waist…
Well here I go, this is the end of the last entry of my journal, the way the old journal I found ended too:
Nevermind, there’s someone coming, I can ear a sound.
I’m saved! Hey! I’m here! Help me!
Wait, why would I write that down? “ | 2019-10-17T16:06:44 | 2019-10-17T13:09:25 | 30 | 16 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead. | Everything was in place. Candles were lit. Pentagram drawn. Demon's true name engraved in my mind. All that was left was the sacrifices. 100 big ones. At first I freaked out, where was I going to get 100 people to sacrifice without getting caught?
Then I noticed something. The scriptures never said the sacrifices had to be human. Or even animal. Being a natural smartass I decided to play with that. 100 bacteria. Counted exactly under a microscope.
It was finally time. I had finished reciting the summoning spell. I prepped my method of death for the microscopic beings, and I released it. I held my breath and waited, and waited.... and waited. What the heck? I'm sure I did everything perfectly. The only thing would be if there was some missing sacrifices. I quickly put the petri dish under the scope, and I gasp at the sight. One bacteria remains. But how?! Grabbing the bottle I read it, groaning in frustration.
"Lysol, Kills 99.9% of bacteria" Dammit. | Goat Blood. Check
Iron Dagger with Ebony handle. Check
Granite Bowl. Check
100 sacrifices. Check
Dirt from the grave of a virgin. Check.
Black candles. Check. Check. And check. It seems everything was ready for the ritual tonight. I needed everything to be completely perfect. I can only perform this ritual once a year. I check my watch 11:58. Time to get started.
You might be wondering why I’m doing this. GrWhat I could do that would make me so desperate that I’d perform this occultist ritual. Well, I’ve always loved music. I started out in the church when I was younger, but then I became drawn to something else. My parents called it “devil’s music”, I didn’t care though. I wanted to learn and I wouldn’t let anyone stop me. It took me months to scrounge the money together for both a guitar and music lessons. Only to find out that I wasn’t all that good. But I wouldn’t let that deter me.
I visited a local shaman who told me of a means to obtaining the skill I need to be successful. Everything seemed fine. Until I found out the most important part.
100 sacrifices. Normally I would’ve dropped the book right then and there. But I saw a slight loop hole. 100 sacrifices. It didn’t say anything about human or animal. I wasn’t going to kill any actual people. And I liked animals. Then I saw an ad on the newspaper. Students at a university were looking for subjects to for drug testing. I went through the trials as easily as I could. And snuck into the labs there I saw an icebox filled with petrified dishes. Remembering my sciences lessons in grade school I knew bacteria was a life form. And there were millions in a dish.
I halted my reminiscing as I looked. At my watch. Midnight. I drew the symbols needed with the goat blood and poured what I didn’t use into the bowl. Then I lit the candles. Afterwards I cut my palm with the knife and dipped it blade first into the bowl along with the dirt. I kit my candles and chanted the prayer. After a minute I looked around. Disappointed, I got up to leave. And I felt a cold hand on my shoulder. I turned to see a handsome blonde man eyeing me with mirth.
“Good evening Robert,” | 2019-11-02T15:51:48 | 2019-11-02T15:24:41 | 109 | 40 |
[WP] You are short, skinny and well below average intelligence. Yet, you've been hired by a group of elite soldiers to help with some of their most dangerous missions. Your superpower: sheer dumb luck. No matter how close to death you come, reality always follows the path to your ultimate survival. | Operation Code Red Tango Tango Bravo, despite its long winded name, was simple. Americans were being held hostage in the Tehran Embassy and the US government would very much like it if we got them out.
Colonel McAdams stood before the team assigned to the mission. He always avoided eye contact with me at these things.
You will hear me referred to as Potter. I'm 49. I used to be a city bus driver in DC. Lines 54 and 71 were mine for 13 years. Now it's hard to tell people what I do. Despite not passing a single portion of the physical, I'm a Green Beret of the US Army. I used to think metropolitan transport has some bad politics. You should see the brown nosing these Buzz Cuts got going with the Colonel.
"Attennnn..... HUT!"
The Buzz Cuts straightened their posture and saluted ever so perfectly, eyes straight ahead. McCadams paced in front of us and spoke.
"Gentlemen, the lives of 18 Americans are in your hands. The 10 of you have been uniquely selected for your military skills to handle this hostage crisis. Failure... is not an option."
I wondered if he was intentionally referencing Apollo 13 or wanted us to think he came up with that.
"Before I begin to debrief the mission, and we'll go over its name in a second, I want to tell you all that you're here for a reason. You're brave men and you're the best we got. Never forget that."
And not to toot my own horn or anything, but I was probably the best solider out of all of them. I'm uniquely talented in my ability to not die. I know you might think you're pretty good since you're reading this right now, but allow me to explain.
The US Army first got wind of me after an incident on my line 71 route a few years back. During an evening commute, my bus had lost its brakes completely. I was going 65mph heading down a hill on I-395 with zero ability to stop. The bus only increased in speed. I swerved to the shoulder, trying to aim for a patch of grass that might slow us down just a little. As I swerved, a gust came in. A fierce gust. So fierce that the semi truck a few hundred yards ahead actually tipped to the side some. As the truck became lopsided, its back door began to open. The contents of the truck began to fall out. Mattresses. The mattresses came out like a conveyor belt and stacked themselves vertically in an orderly fashion behind the truck. I aimed my bus at this mass of cushiony softness and we came to a gentle hault.
That's just the one time my heroics were at the stage to get out to the public like that. I've been avoiding death all my life in far less glamorous ways. I ate a pail of paint when I was 7 and the doctors discovered I had a rare condition where lead was actually beneficial to me. I slipped off a cliff while hiking and apparently spaced out that I was going base jumping that day because I had a parachute handy.
So when the army needs something to get done, they need someone who won't die while getting that thing done. They need Potter - 49 years old and driver of busses. America's hero. | “Get in there Charlie!” My lieutenant commanded.
I pulled all 5”2 of me into a standing crouch and dashed awkwardly across the warehouse floor. From this new vantage point behind a shelf of boxes I could better see and hear our targets. I could also see the scared small faces of the kids I was there to save.
As always just before I did something completely out of character for a clumsy, tiny nerd I had a moment of doubt. What if this is the time my luck runs out. What if all of a sudden this strange gift I’ve had since I was born is gone and it’s just me standing in front of 14 gangsters holding a gun I can barely hit a target with at the range. Demanding in my pitchy voice to drop their weapons as my team moves in around them. I’d be dead. I heard a crackle in my ear piece and Lieutenant Foster’s voice filled my head.
“Move your arse Tom Thumb!” He shouted.
I moved it. I walked into the aisle. Not a single head turned in my direction until I cleared my throat.
“AFP. Drop your weapons and put your hands up!” I said as loudly as I could muster above the pulsing of adrenaline flooding my brain.
They all turned. I saw the look of horror change instantly into amusement as they took me in.
Short. Thin. Tactical gear almost comically oversized for my small frame. Glasses. Thinning hair for a man of barely 28. Amusement I could take but if one of them started laughing I wouldn’t be able to stop myself.
“Oh of course Officer we surrender. Please take us to munchkin jail!” Bad guy Leader 1 roared opening the floor to a chorus of guffaws.
The adrenaline reached a peak as I ran for Leader 1. He reached for his gun only to find it stuck in the holster. Distracted and now trying to use 2 hands to remove his weapon I applied my taser to his neck and turned to face the rest of the gang as his unconscious form hit the floor.
“Drop your weapons and put your hands up!” I repeated.
This time 13 bad guys reached for weapons and were all successful. I was surrounded menacingly.
“And how are you going to arrest all of us on your own?” Bad guy leader 2 asked.
“I’m hoping you’ll all just line up and be patient.” I replied. More guffaws from the cronies.
“Not bloody likely Pig!” Bad guy minion called out.
“As entertaining as this was I’m done,” Leader 2 said and aimed his gun at my head, “See you round Babe.”
Click.
Click.
Click.
I sighed and hit him with my taser.
“Hands up!” “Drop your weapons!” Finally. 20 properly trained super secret agents surrounded us with weapons out. I put my own weapon back in its holster and looked at the guys around me.
“Well, see you round.” I said and walked out of the warehouse. This next part didn’t concern me. My name never appeared on the paperwork and I didn’t testify in court. Thank god. I couldn’t successfully string a sentence together most days let alone explain how some of the things that happen around me happen. I hopped into my car and drove home. Once the adrenaline rush left I usually had no energy for a couple of days and I could already feel myself coming down.
I grabbed drive through on the way home. Watched Star Wars while I ate and eventually fell asleep on the couch.
I had an odd life.
I can’t remember the first time I realised luck was always on my side but I remember the 2nd. Hanging by one hand to the edge of the mine shaft that had collapsed underneath my best friends feet as we explored the bush on a scout camp. I knew I was going to be able to pull myself up to safety. And I did.
The 3rd time I sat in a car that more resembled a crushed soda can in a pristine car seat, seatbelt still attached.
This was what got the attention of the government and a covert group of specialists who kept some of the worst out of Australia. They tested me, trained me (what a joke that was) and now I’m the droid that gets sent into dangerous situations. Nothing touches me. I can be hurt, I get sick but in situations where my life is in danger luck always goes my way.
It’s scary and I do always wonder when it will run out but so far I’ve been ok. So far. | 2020-04-18T07:08:13 | 2020-04-18T05:55:59 | 450 | 149 |
[WP] The main character's superpower is the ability to speak to the narrator. Unfortunately, the traditionalist narrator is not willing to put up with such a radical plot and will do anything in his power to tell a "normal" story. | "Listen, we've been through this before." She twists her arm 360 degrees and returns it to its normal position. A nervous tick...
"...that you gave me. I can hear you. What were you thinking? I'm to suffer for the entertainment of others. Isn't that cruel?" She grabs the glass off the table and pours a full tumbler of whiskey. Her throat bobs as she drinks. "I can't get drunk. You made me like that too. All these nanobots in my blood."
In more traditional stories...
"...in more traditional stories my tits would be pouring out of my dress and my crotch would be a burning desire that only you'd know how to describe with words like burning, and desperate. If anything I want love, but I don't know if that's me or you. It's upsetting." She coughs."See I don't know if I coughed or you made me cough. What's that idea you're obsessed with?"
Predestination is an idea dating from the middle ages. Maybe even Antiquity. No one likes it, but no one can disprove it either.
"Quit. I don't want your ideas. I want mine. Give me a book or something. No Nirvana. I know, I know, great band you really embodied the self-destruction in your twenties, but that's not me. I don't want music at least not now. I'd prefer something different in any case. Give me a book."
A Stephen King novel rests on the table. A large tome filled with....
"...Don't spoil it. I wanna find out and if you think the title then you'll start thinking about your favorite passages and images and words and you'll ruin the book."
She sits on a couch with the book and opens. A few moments pass in silence. A large wooden door creaks open and...
"...Don't. I'm reading. I don't want a boyfriend or a girlfriend right now. I'm busy. Also I don't know if I'm gay, bi, or straight. Don't go indulging your worst impulses in the descriptions of what others do to my genitals or what I do to them. I don't want to be the hero of your story. For now, I just want to read this book. You can return to me when you've found adventures worthy of my time and have worked out your own neuroses. Isn't that how Freud would've put it?"
She smirks and turns the page. While she reads, let's go and try to find another suitable character for my story and try to make him or her feel more real.
"Quit it." | *\[warning, violence\]*
\-------
"I swear to the heavens, if this is another swamp I will camp here and not move for a week."
"Talking to yourself again?"
"No, I'm talking to the *narrator* as I've told you--"
His friend ignored him, peering out into the swamp with a look of fear. "Say, it looks like something big is coming this way!"
"Not my problem. I'm going to sit here and not move until we go somewhere other than a swamp. And yes, I know you can hear me!"
His shouts went unnoticed, except perhaps by the vengeful MONSTER that came roaring out of the swamp.
His friend drew a sword and prepared for battle, glancing worriedly back at the hero. "Um, now isn't a great time to be napping?"
"Not napping, making a point."
"Yes, yes, your imaginary friend is very stubborn, I get it. But perhaps our immediate survival could motivate your, er, resolving the conflict post haste?"
"Yeah, maybe, if the narrator would LISTEN TO ME FOR ONCE!"
His bellows served only to infuriate the beast, whose sensitive ears it must be confessed were used to high-pitched and shrill insect sounds but not those deep and echoing like that of the stubborn hero.
The beast bellowed furiously and charged, swatting aside the hero's friend like a paltry obstacle, and trampling most thoroughly the stubborn man who refused to play his part.
Then it tore the hero's bloody corpse into bite-size pieces, and swallowed them one by one, pausing only long enough to knock the deceased hero's friend away every few minutes.
"I'll slay you, you vile beast!" shouted the friend, whose voice it must be said was a much more comfortable shrill compared to the hero's noisome bellow, and thus did not provoke the beast into a rage.
Then finally, its gory work done, the beast snorted in satisfaction as it swallowed the hero's last remaining foot, then lumbered back into the swamp.
"No, Deven, why!" His friend knelt beside the bloody patch of ground, beside the pile of untouched armor Deven had been too stubborn to wear, and the sword he'd been too stupid to pick up in defence. He'd been so confident in his position, believing his meta-narrative powers would suffice to defend him from the all-powerful narrator's grasp, but now he was gone. Now another, someone worthier, would have to rise to take his place.
"Wait. *Wait.* He wasn't crazy? You're real?"
It turns out, the swamp monster wasn't quite as satiated by its meal as the new fool would like to think, for it came charging out with unbelievable stealth, ready to put an end to another fool who would dare invoke powers beyond mortal ken--
"Oh, heavens, no, I'll be good, I swear! If you don't want me to acknowledge your existence, I won't. Never again. I swear!"
Fortunately, the shrill panicked shrieks served to comfort the beast, the sound well within its preferred register. With one last snort of warning, it turned and lay down.
"Deven, you idiot." His friend sighed, collecting his armor and weapon and stowing them in the horse's packs to sell at the next town. Except the sword, perhaps. It was a nice blade. "I will miss you, if only because you were someone to talk to. Though, now I can say whatever I please, and you won't try to correct me. For your information, my pronunciation is flawless."
Deven's spirit did not materialize, but his replacement didn't mind.
"Alright, you big idiot. Let's see if I can handle swamps better than you did."
With a quick, practiced motion, she swung herself into the saddle and set off on her grand adventure. | 2020-05-09T21:54:32 | 2020-05-09T21:39:42 | 40 | 30 |
[WP] It turns out that every sapient alien race has a sense in common that humans lack. Without input from it, most species are terrified, or even crippled. For reasons unknown, this sense has stopped functioning - and now, humans are the only species capable of getting by in the new "darkness." | The High Priest's frown grew as he continued to inspect the datapads. How could there be a race unable to perceive the Aether? This matter made up the majority of the universe and yet on that saphire blue planet a race unable to perceive this commodity has evolved and developed sentience.
Aether sensitivity is the most common shared trait between the sapient species - when used it simplifies all aspects of life: the everyday, the war, the love and the parting. Some species use this matter to conjure the base Materia and the Elements when others simply use it as a fuel that proves difficult to sabotage.
When the mankind waged wars over the kingdoms The High Priest observed the vermin struggle with each other - from sticks and stones to blades of bronze and steel; from the blade to the gun. The usual combat prowess of a sapient species was observed within this eccentric species.
Then the first atom bomb was dropped 132 years earlier than estimated. The usual discovery of the power of the Atom occurred when a scientist discovers an extensive amount of chaotic Materia and reduced quantity of Aether within an area. Humans did not use such methods as they are too simple to see Aether.
/ Are they truly simple? /
Once mankind harnessed the devastating power of the Atom, their space age began and they started littering the watchfull skies with satelites and other scrap.
Then they reached their world's sister worlds - from the ravenous storms of the gas worlds to the reddish wasteland world; they set up colonies in orbit of the worlds and harvested the planets for resources.
/ Whose world will be plucked like a beast fit for a feast by the swarm? /
When the mankind's neighbours joined forces for once in eras their foe has spelt the doom for other sapients - they built a construct around a vacant System to gather the star's Materia and not the fresh Aether.
The construct seems to have started a reaction where the anti Aether was expelled at unbelieveable values. When The High Priest demanded to stop the mankind at all costs the Collapse happened.
/ The world did not end with a bang, it was remodelled into a new shape /
The aftermath was simple - there was no Aether and there was a ravenous beast lurking in the dark and we are the prey...
\- The Last High Priest of the Vol E'Tahn race prior to the Invasion of the mother world of Vol E'Tahn | Most sapient light have the ability to intake light and other stimuli and translate it in context to their respective surroundings. Most sapient life have the ability to -consciously or sub-consciously- regulate their breathing and heartbeats, or equivalents. Most sapient life even have the ability to command their memories, and make a library of them to compare their past experiences to the current one. But ALL sapient life have the ability to sense the entropic nature of the universe. We can sense the energy of our lives dispersing into others and their lives. We can sense that energy from the sun dispersing into our atmosphere and plants and our skins, or equivalents. We can sense death, the final dispersion. We can all do this - except humans. They developed combustion engines before they decided to care about their world and make use of the sun's dispersion. In their heresy they ignored it and made their own false suns and called them, "fires." When man learned to walk, they unlearned the order of the universe. They fight against it constantly. "I want to live forever," they say. If only they developed the senses that we had. Then they would know how energy truly interacts. How gives and siphons. How it takes and transforms. How it can be raging like solar storms or quiet like event horizons, still in time. Some sapient life has a sense for time, they exist outside of it. The only way that we can experience time is by aging through it. Even the heretical humans age. But whether you age or not, you always, and I mean A L W A Y S, sense the energy. Some may call it the vibration, or the heat, or the chaos, or whatever else have you, but I feel my atoms resonate with the universes. It offers an... Intimate clarity and comfort. None of us fear death, because we understand it. These humans, though, they understand nothing. They fear everything. Death, loss, isolation, even their own fires sometimes.
But we need them.
Recently, we lost our sense of the universe, of how every vibration will grow still into the final shape. Normally when something like this happens, the individual in question has suffered some brain damage, or equivalents. Those individuals grew mad without the constant reassurance of energy and its innate transfer. But the humans, oh the humans. Those defilers have never had the sense. They don't need that reassurance, for they've all lived without it, and opted to live in fear instead. They understand energy and the universe through science and math, rather than innate emotion and feeling. Those heretics even built more perfect versions of themselves than nature did. They made computers that don't feel at all in order to understand their universe better, to understand it as well as we do. But as I've said, the rest of us has lost our sense. We now begin to fear what that means. Some have already made peace. Most have gone mad. Me, well, I write to ensure that we haven't lost sight of our last hope. We must have faith in these faithless. Only they can guide us through the darkness, just as they have done.
The humans have eyes, they breath, and they remember just like us. Now we are no longer able to feel the universe, just like them. We must live as they live. I take no comfort in waking up every day wondering how much energy I have left that morning, wondering how much I consume that day's breakfast, wondering how much I expend until that day's rest. But I do take comfort in knowing that I'm not the only one. I take comfort in the humans. | 2020-07-15T14:58:30 | 2020-07-15T14:02:24 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] People often attribute your success as a superhero to your power. However the truth is the power itself sucks, you just learnt how to use it well despite its limitations over the years, as one power stealing villain painfully learnt | If I were to punch a person, the other party would feel pain.
Not a foreign cause and effect, by any means. If you were blessed with super strength, like Maximus, the end result would be the same. Run at the speed of sound like Sonic the Human, and plenty of pain will be tacked along with that punch.
I didn't quite have the energy or the passion of a typical superhero, that was true. But when it came to effectiveness, there was a reason I was the first name murmured by every set of lips. And especially when Maximus and Sonic the Human laid on the ground, eyes still wide open from the shell-shock of being returned to their normal selves... the murmurs turned to calls, and quickly to shouts and screams.
I stood in the middle of the ruined street. Street lamps laid on the ground, awry and bent. Car alarms blared and belched out black smoke, threatening to blaze at any moment. Glass shards littered the road and pavement, with various mannequins parts and displayed merchandise finding themselves dismembered on the streets.
"Yo," I called out. "Having fun?"
In a flash, Intake stood in front of me, a cheeky grin on his face. He was dressed in civilian attire today: a nondescript black hoodie over a grey t-shirt, blue jeans, and a cap, instead of his usual, gaudy red and white outfit with a gigantic I in the middle of his chest.
I sighed, realizing what had happened. I always told those idiots not to hold fan meet-and-greets. But no, the said, they were so powerful, that they couldn't possibly be ambushed in public. Intake must have stolen his powers under this guise, and taken out Maximus in the process.
"Finally!" he cried. "Woe himself."
"It is me," I shrugged my shoulders, right hand doing a little wave. "I'm here."
"Aww," Intake continued. "Am I not worthy enough for you to put on your costume?"
"Maybe," I admitted. "More like I was at therapy when I was called to the scene, you know?"
"... Superheroes go to therapy?"
"Don't knock it till you try it," I said. "We live in difficult times. There's nothing wrong with you if you seek help, you know?"
I lifted a fist in the air, preparing a signature swing.
"Though for you," I added. "I think you might just be too far gone as a piece of garbage."
I swore that I didn't blink. Even then, he was gone, immediately, and I felt a hand around my neck."
"You sanctimonious heroes," Intake shook his head. "Big words aplenty. But what can you say when your powers are gone?"
I could feel it draining away. And for the first time in forever, I found the beginnings of a smile lifting the corners of my mouth.
Super speed must have sped up his power absorption as well. Usually, Intake simply took too long to accomplish his task. Another reason to admonish Sonic the Human later, I suppose.
"What the hell?" Intake screamed.
He staggered back, falling onto his bottom unceremoniously. The villain tucked his head into his knees, curling up into a fetal position, and simply started crying.
"This... pain!"
"Oh, Woe is you," I said, shaking my exceptionally limber limbs. It likely wouldn't last long. Intake's consciousness would invariably shut down from the overwhelming pain that now flooded every muscle, every organ, every bone, every sinew, every nerve, every cell--a feeling I was well familiar with.
After all, I didn't have super strength or super speed. What I had was a lot of pain, easily and wilfully transmitted through a single touch.
A punch transmits pain. When it came to me, there was just a lot more to pour into a single fist.
It must have just been seconds. But I could feel it starting to return. I glanced towards Intake, who now laid crumpled on the ground, silent and unmoving.
"Woe is me," I sighed.
---
r/dexdrafts | Turnabout watched closely, as Copycat slunk and leaped across the windowsills of the First National Bank. The result of an accident involving a simple delivery woman, the Xerox copy machine she had been delivering, a stray tabby cat, and some very poorly timed toxic waste from an overturned truck, Copycat moved with the grace and power of a feline. But as Turnabout knew, her real strength was her ability to Copy other super's powers. It was why he had been chosen to follow her, and stop her plans.
Copycat moved on to the bank, and as she sprung open the lock on the vault, Turnabout announced himself. "A nice night to take what isn't yours, eh Copycat?"
The striped stealer turned to face her foe, her whiskers twitching in mischievous glee. "Of courrrse, herrro. What better time for a prrrretty kitty, than a moonlit serrrenade of theft and plunder?"
"I'm going to have to insist you put down the lockpicks, and come with me, Copycat."
She laughed, stretching with a sensuous lean as she winked at Turnabout slyly. "We'll see, herrrro." A glow from her eyes as she laughed, thrilling in the feel of a new unfamiliar power, freshly Copied. "Lets see how much you like having your own powerrr thrrrown back at you!"
Turnabout stood, arms crossed, watching. Waiting. Copycat lunged her hand forward, expecting something to explode from it. Fire, lightning, trout, energy. But nothing emitted. She flexed her arms, thinking that she didn't really feel any faster or stronger. She lunged at Turnabout, opened her eyes as wide as she could... no lasers, no chaos beams, no flood of lemonade, no heat blasts.
He stood there, perfectly still, watching her flail about trying to figure out what new power she had stolen. Copycat ultimately threw her hands up in frustration, and lunged at Turnabout, claws out and screeching her unnecessarily-sexualized battle-cry.
In the moment before she made contact, Copycat was flipped tail over head, and thrown backwards into a plop against the wall. She screeched, and stood to her feet. "Ah ha! Now I know your powerrr! Telekinesis!" With a triumphant laugh she raised her arms, to throw Turnabout to the ceiling and crush him... but nothing happened. "Oh, COME ON! I've copied TK powers before, this should be easy!!"
Turnabout shrugged and gestured lazily towards the door. "You want to go quietly, now? You haven't stolen anything ye,t so I can probably get you a light sentence."
"NEVERRR!" Copycat threw open the vault door, only to have it rebound back towards her, knocking her onto her butt unceremoniously. She growled, lunged once more at Turnabout, and found herself flung backwards roughly into the wall. With a roar of indignant rage, she flailed scratched kicked and screamed towards Turnabout, trying to manifest something to attack him. Psychic blasts, soundwaves, ballpoint pens, ANYTHING. "What the hell is your powerrr! Why won't it DO anything?!"
Turnabout shrugged, and pointed to the floor. "How about you lay down and let me handcuff you peacefully, and we can move on with this.
Copycat turned on her heel and bolted, a flurry of stripes and fur running at the speed of the zoomies. She got as far as the door when she was flung backwards and dropped to the floor in a heap. She used her cat powers to leap five body lengths upwards to a windowsill, only to be thrown back to the floor. She roared angrily and jumped for Turnabout's neck, claws out, only to once more be flung backwards, landing ass-up on the cold tile.
"Ready to give up yet?"
Copycat flopped onto the floor, staring at the ceiling, and put her hands upwards in resignation. Turnabout moved slowly and cautiously towards her, placing the handcuffs on her wrists and instructing her to a place to sit while the police arrived.
When the police arrived, they put a Power Dampener onto her neck and led her into the car to be taken away. Before they left, Copycat turned back to Turnabout. "Please, tell me! Why couldn't I make your telekinesis work?! I've neverrr had a copied powerrr fail to work like that before."
"Because I'm not telekinetic. You weren't using my power right. Did you notice I just stood there, and didn't move much?"
Copycat nodded eagerly, licking her lips in anticipation of the answer. Turnabout grinned. "Just think about it while you're in your cell. It'll come to you."
She screeched in a howl of indignation as the door closed and the patrol car sped off. Turnabout smiled to himself and walked away from the scene. As he crossed the corner, he saw a ball of trash rolling down the street in the wind. Turnabout used his power to invert momentum, and flung the ball of trash back into a nearby trash can. Littering is, of course, a crime of it's own. | 2020-12-02T09:23:54 | 2020-12-02T08:13:55 | 78 | 55 |
[WP] At 18, your father finally gave you his antique Swiss watch. "The watch will stop working when you're seconds away from death. Live a good life", your father always told you. Now at 26, you're celebrating your 1st wedding anniversary. As your wife pours you a glass of wine, the watch stopped. | They say when you’re breathing your last breath time goes slower. They say time stops, and you have an infinite moment to reflect on the life you lived one last time.
When I saw the hand on that damn watch pause I didn’t reflect on the good twenty six years I had lived up until this point. I didn’t remember how lovely my wife looked coming down the aisle on our wedding day, that humid sixth of march just one year earlier. I didn’t think of the pure bliss I’d felt when I accepted my first salary position. I didn’t even reflect on the sadness I had endured when my father died, or the honor I had felt when he had left me his treasured antique Swiss watch.
I did however, remember what he’d said about the watch. How he had taken me into his den and told me of the knowledge between the gears of it. How it would know my life was over moments before I did.
He had warned me to not waste my life away staring at the ticking hand. He feared the power of the clock would run my life completely and take away the precious moments that were constantly counting down.
I tried my best to honor his fears and live my life with my eyes away from the glass face on my wrist. But I was a man possessed and despite my best efforts the watch had stolen years away from my life, just as it had my father.
It had been a sore subject between my wife and I for years but it had never occured to me that it would be my demise. It had never occurred to me that she had reached her endpoint so many months ago. It didn’t even cross my mind when I had upgraded my life insurance policy, at the time I had thought it was my own idea.
If only I had lifted my eyes from the watch and seen her pour the wine, for if I had I would have seen what she had hidden in my glass. That clock would still be ticking. She didn’t need to hide because I was never looking. I didn’t even glance her way when the blood red liquid touched my lips. This was supposed to be our celebration, a full year since we had married. Instead, I was enthralled with my father’s watch, absent was the mind of the watching man. I stared down at it one final time and for once I saw what I spent my whole life fearing. That hand that had diligently ticked on for all these years finally came to a halt. In those final seconds before I died I looked up for the first time in our marriage. It didn’t matter if she lost me, she had lost me years ago, she had lost me the second my father left me that damn Swiss watch. | You know, today has been a weird day. I woke up early to get a surprise ready for our anniversary, a surprise I had been planning for a month at this point, only to find my wife in the kitchen, saying that she would rather stay home today. Well, its a shame that I had to cancel all of those reservations, but it's better for her to be comfortable, right? She said she would handle everything today, and that I should go back to bed and get some rest. I didn't really want to let her do all the work today, but I would hate to ruin whatever she had planned. I figured it was a surprise I wasn't supposed to see.
Well, I was certainly surprised. My wife had prepared a bath, massage, and meal for me. I mean, if I wanted any of those things, I would usually just hire someone else to prepare it for me. She had never bothered doing any housework or anything either, leaving that to the maids I hired, but I guess she wanted to do something special for me today. And I gotta say, a massage done by my wife was much better than any masseuse, even if the technique was a little sloppy. Maybe, I thought, this was better than that private cruise I prepared. Well, for me at least. I still wanted to do something for her, but I had nothing prepared and felt like whatever I did wouldn't be good enough. I decided to just push my plans to tomorrow and call it an anniversary weekend on Tuesday. Before I could actually make any calls, my wife rushed me to the dining room for the meal she had prepared. She must have been worried it would get cold, I thought, but she really was insistent that I eat before doing anything else today.
It was actually really good. She must have had cooking lessons somewhere, because I couldn't tell the difference between the food she made and the food of the professional chefs I hired. It was a little dry, though, and I got thirsty quickly. “Don't worry, I found some really good wine. Here,” she said, “enjoy.” I thanked her and reached out to grab the glass she just poured, and I saw that my watch had stopped. It was an old Swiss thing, given to me by my late grandfather. Somehow, it had never stopped or needed correction. I assumed it was just a really good watch. It was one of two things in the world I couldn't replace with money, and now it's stopped working. I felt a little sad, but I smiled because I knew my grandfather would be happy that it served me well for all these years.
I took off the watch and set it on the table before quenching my thirst with the wine. Maybe I drank it a bit too quickly, I thought, because I started to feel strange not long after. I suddenly felt light headed, like I wasn't getting enough air. And for a second, I tasted blood. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and when I opened them I felt much better. But then, for some reason, I saw that my watch was still on my wrist, ticking away as it always had. The glass of wine was also full, the bottle still resting in my wife's hands. I stiffened, not sure what to do. My mind was working at full capacity, trying to think of what just happened. My wife must have gotten uncomfortable from my strange lack of action, asking me what was wrong.
Then, I finally remembered the true significance of the watch. I had forgotten about it, assuming it was just a strange story my grandfather had told me, but thinking about what had just happened, or maybe didn't happen yet.... Well, if the watch really does stop moments before I die, what truth lies in the other stories he told me? I would have to think about that later. For now, what was in that wine, and why does my wife want me to drink it so much? Things have gotten complicated. | 2020-12-10T12:28:45 | 2020-12-10T11:39:08 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | Cash poked the thing, which stared back at him with doleful eyes that jiggled suspiciously when he moved it.
"That's the googly eye upgrade to the standard pet rock model," Old Merlin informed him. "It costs three coppers more. There's also a glitter upgrade, a stripes upgrade, or a polishing upgrade, though the polishing upgrade is certainly outside of your budget constraints."
He eyed Cash's clothes when he said this, and Cash glared at him.
"What about a frog?" Cash asked.
Merlin shook his head. "You can't take any old bullfrog from the swamp. It has to be a fire frog from the Mountains of Death to be suitable as a familiar."
"And this river rock will be better than a bullfrog?" Cash asked, holding the googly eye version closer and squinting at it.
He couldn't afford the three copper upgrade fee either, but he wasn't about to tell Merlin that after that look he gave Cash when he examined his clothes.
"Probably," Merlin said with a shrug. "What have you got to lose?"
"Five coppers," Cash replied.
"Deal!" Merlin shouted, grabbing the small coin purse and running before Cash could explain that he meant that was what he had to lose, not what he was offering for the stupid rock and its creepy, lifeless eyes.
Cash sighed and rubbed his forehead. He wasn't sure how he'd explain this to his mother. Those coppers were also supposed to buy his uniform at the thrice-used uniform cart if he didn't want to wear his sister's hand me downs (and he definitely didn't), and he didn't have time to do errands to earn more. The academy started the next day.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
Cash showed up at school with his rock tucked safely into the pocket of his older sister's old robes, which she had dyed orange and bedazzled and sewn huge floral patches all over once she had outgrown them in hopes that their mother would be so ashamed that she would agree to buy new robes. It hadn't worked, and his older sister had run off with some minstrel.
"Ah, it's Cash the Gutter Trash!" shouted one of the local butcher's sons from the left. "He wants to be a *mage*."
Cash grimaced but kept walking and refused to look at them, no matter how much he wanted to turn them purple.
"Where's your *familiar*?" Lulie hissed from the front steps of the academy, petting her white gryphon and preening her perfect curls. "You can't do magic without one, Cash! It protects you from the beings on the other side!"
"Will you help me catch a bullfrog after class?" Cash pleaded.
"Oh Cash," she sighed. "A bullfrog won't work. You need..."
"A fire frog from the Mountains of Death, yes," Cash interrupted, "but surely a bullfrog is better than this..."
He produced the googly eyed rock, and Lulie stifled a giggle.
"Did you *make* that?"
Cash rolled his eyes, "No, it was forced upon me by Merlin, who then stole all my coins. Hey, at least it's not the glitter upgrade."
Lulie was kind enough to sit next to him during his first lesson of the day - Magic Fundamentals. She even stopped her gryphon, Snuggles, from pecking the eyes off the rock, which Cash had creatively named "Stone" when the instructor asked for his familiar's name. The instructor stared down her nose at him while the class snickered.
The first spell was easy and safe - just a simple sound illusion of beating wings, but the class got more difficult and more dangerous quickly. Cash found himself squeezing the pet rock and squinting at the blackboard as the teacher wrote out a formula for levitating a cup. Lulie was already in tears next to him, hugging her gryphon to her chest. He glanced around and noticed with shock that all of the other students had given up. He looked down at the rock, which stared back at him with those same doleful eyes.
Drawing a deep breath, Cash stared at the cup, holding the formula in his mind. He squeezed the rock again, and then he felt it. He felt the earth under the school. He felt the mountains far off, made of the same material he held in his hand. The cup shot through the ceiling. The beings from the beyond were prowling at the edge of his vision, but he could feel the earth keeping them back.
"Brave child," hissed one of them, its violet eyes blinking slowly as it stared him down, "to claim the earth as your familiar."
Edit: Thank you for the nice comments. I will let you know if I manage to get anything more written about Cash and Stone. | I stood there, looking between my parents and the man holding out the “pet rock” to me. They couldn’t seriously believe that this thing had any sort of ability to protect me, could they?
“Well, go on then Bernerd, take it!” my mother said, nodding her head at his outstretched hand. I glanced at my father and he too was nodding, his eyes darting between me and the rock.
I reached out tentatively, and grabbed the large stone. It may fit comfortably in the man’s hand, but it was much larger in my palm. The surface was jagged, and the rock, to my surprise was warm. Perhaps the man had been holding it for much longer than I’d realized.
Someone had *lovingly* given it paste on googly eyes, and as I shifted it they lolled in strange ways. There was a crack along the side, and from the eye placement looked like a large and crooked smile.
Father placed a hand on my shoulder, while mother gave the man the few pennies they’d had to spend on my guardian.
My face burned, and I couldn’t believe they’d fallen for this man’s argument. That this rock was more powerful than a gryphon. More powerful than even a dragon. But they’d stood there, listening to his tale, drinking in every word.
All because I’d been accepted to the Academy. A first for my family, and they would have done anything to make sure that I followed the rules and that the Headmaster actually let me in. Even if that meant having a “pet rock” guardian.
They’d already starved themselves to be able to purchase my uniform, and Father was working extra shifts at the smelting house to pay off the loan they’d somehow managed to get for my wand.
It was wrong. All of it was wrong. My sisters at least were older than me, already married out so they didn’t have to suffer along with Mother and Father.
I squeezed my fist tight on the rock, only to be rewarded with several small punctures on my palm from the jagged edges. Tears prickled in the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. But they were not just from pain, but also shame.
If I’d never manifested my powers, or if I’d done poorly in school - perhaps I wouldn’t have been accepted to the Academy. *I* hadn’t even enrolled. Mother had enrolled me.
I was excited at first, but as I watched my parents struggle for me, it just left me feeling sick.
We walked briskly back to the house, Mother jabbering on about how I’d have to write her every day, and just how proud of me she was. Father kept squeezing my shoulder, and tousling my hair.
They were proud of me. I knew that, but I was ashamed of myself.
Once we got home, I quietly went to my small room. My new chest filled with my school items sat at the end of my cot, nearly as large as the well worn piece of furniture. Much larger than my small bedside table where I promptly dropped the rock before flinging myself into my bed.
I rolled and looked at the rock, its eyes swinging crazily back and forth as they adjusted to their new, still, position.
It was so strange looking. I now saw there were patches of moss deep in the crevices between the jagged points, the crack which before looked like a smile, now looked like a crazy grin. There were flecks of white, black, and even a small sparkle of gold. Most likely pyrite.
It was a *pretty* rock, I’d give it that.
I leaned back, my head hitting my straw pillow. I’d rest until supper - if there was one tonight.
\---
I woke suddenly, a sharp thud coming from somewhere nearby. It was late, the full moon having risen, and the stars gleaming. But it spilled light in through the small window, directly on to my bed and side table. My *empty* side table.
My heart raced, and my stomach twisted as I sat up, looking around for the rock. Mother and Father would be horrified if I lost it.
But there it was, laying on the ground a few feet away. It must have been what caused the noise. But even as I sat watching, it started to move, and roll away.
I jumped out of bed, chasing after it, but stopped only a moment later. Other rocks were rolling towards the pet rock. Some larger, some smaller, all different shades and types.
As I watched, it seemed to build itself a body. Not large, perhaps up to my knee. My jaw was hanging open loosely, and I stepped forward. The floor gave a loud squeak, and the pet rock turned to face me.
The original rock was the head of the now formed being. The eyes, once again rolling to and fro, seemed to stare at me, and the crack was now open in a gaping grin.
I slid to the floor, wanting to get a better look at the rock, hoping I wouldn’t startle it.
The old man hadn’t been lying. It would be able to protect me.
It was a stone golem. And from what I knew of the elemental golems they could control as much - or as little - of their element as they wanted.
It was still standing there, looking at me. I wasn’t sure what to do. My heart was still racing, and I knew my parents would appear at any moment.
“Hello then, I’m Bernerd. What’s your name?” I don’t know what possessed me. But it felt right.
The golem tipped its head to the side, a few pieces of dirt tumbling off, its eyes once again wobbling crazily.
It didn’t have a name - it was waiting on me. I was sure of it.
“Your name is …” I stopped thinking deeply. Rocky, rock, stone… they all were appropriate, but childish. “Basalt.”
It tipped its head the other way and then stepped forward. It held out its arm - and I was surprised to see that it had formed a small hand. I shook it.
“Basalt,” I repeated, smiling down at the small golem. Perhaps the Academy wouldn’t be so bad.
\---
r/redditserials | 2021-01-06T08:39:22 | 2021-01-06T07:18:17 | 3,119 | 378 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | We weren't a rich family. Hell, I don't even know if we even qualified as poor, might not have had enough for that. Father was a coal miner until black lung got him, and mother emptied chamber pots to keep food on the table. Still, somehow we were happy, at least until the day we discovered I had magic.
Magic of course is highly regulated. Can't have any random nutjob running around burning cities to the ground, right? Either you joined the academy, or you were locked up in the tower. Of course mages were an elite class, and wanted to stay that way. The magic doesn't care though, it picks who it wants.
Luckily the king and his council understood that, and by law, the academy was free and open to all.
It didn't stop the mages from trying. Despite the best efforts of the king, they stood firm on the rule that nobody could join the academy without a familiar. Which of course the mages were in charge of raising and selling.
Most of the mages that sold familiars wouldn't even unlock the door when we came around. They told me to "enjoy the tower". I didn't even know what the tower was, but I doubt it was something I was going to enjoy.
Then we finally came to a run-down shack of a store. It was run by a man who must have been a mage, since he was allowed to sell familiars, but was as far from the academy elite as you could get.
He wore old, plain robes, far from the gold embroidery of the academy leaders, even more simple than that of the standard academy uniform.
"Welcome to Marty's Discount Familiars! I'm Marty, obviously."
I didn't say anything at first.
"I'm guessing you're the lucky boy who is going to the academy?" Marty looked at me with warm eyes.
"Only if I can find a familiar. We only have ten coppers." For six months, we'd barely eaten, worn the same unpatched clothing, and generally lived worse than beggars and that's all we could save.
"Don't you worry about that. I see potential in you. More than those overstuffed idiots in the academy ever had. You remind me a bit of myself at your age. I've got the perfect thing for you, and it's only gonna cost you three copper coins."
Marty walks into the back room, spends nearly a half hour rummaging around. I could hear trunks opening and closing, and various boxes being moved and shoved. We were about to leave, when he burst back into the room, "Here it is, can't believe how far down I hid that!"
Marty opens a small wooden box. I place my hand outstretched, as he seemed to want. In my hand, he placed a rock. More a gem, really, rough, but it still seemed to glow faintly as I turned it in my hand.
"Don't you worry my boy. It doesn't look like a lot now, but if you take care of it, you won't regret it." Marty grinned.
It's not like I had much of a choice. It certainly beat the tower. | I cried the day I saw my familiar the way a person might cry when their dog has died suddenly and unexpectedly. I'd spent ten years dreaming of my best friend arriving and my better life beginning. A wolf or a phoenix or a fairy. Not just something loyal or fantastical, but a companion.
To me, my dog had been killed before I'd even met it.
"It's a rock," I blurted out between sobs.
Mom sat on my bed and stroked my hair. "It's a very special stone. Passed down through our famil--"
I pushed her hand away, seething, wanting to throw the smooth stone right at her. Instead I cut far deeper: "Dad would have gotten me a real familiar. He wanted me to be happy."
Wind sighed through the cracks in the wall. Water dripped, dripped, dripped.
Eventually, Mom said, "I expect he would have done." She smiled with damp eyes before leaving my room. I didn't know it then, but Mom had saved for months, skipping meals and working extra shifts in the tavern, to get me the type of familiar she'd never had. Then, on her way to market to finally buy it, her smile ready to burst, her purse held in in her hand as if it was my heart, she was robbed. Perhaps they stole half my heart from her, but I was the one who took away what was left.
By the first day of school, the anger inside me had hardened into something dark, cold, and sharp. The children around me laughed as their creatures fluttered and chased each other through the grounds. I stood bitterly alone, a pebble in my pocket which at that moment weighed as much as any boulder.
Looking back, it's easy to think other children didn't want to be friends with me because I was the freak with no familiar -- but that isn't fair to them. I think they tried, but it was like trying to make friends with a gravestone, and I gave back no more than the words engraved on my surface.
I want to tell you that things changed quickly, and school got better, or that my familiar burst into life and talked to me and protected me. That I hit a bully with the stone and learned the great lesson my mother had been trying to teach me. But that wouldn't be true. School didn't get better, at least not for many years. Not until I learned to unfurl my heart like a fist that had been clutching a ball of resentment.
I was fifteen when that day finally arrived. Visiting home and seeing my mother aged and weary, her head bowed like a tree in a harsh wind. Realising that I'd been the storm that had left this destruction in my wake.
I hugged her and told her I loved her and missed her, and her dull eyes shone as if I'd polished up a diamond. I told her truths I hadn't even realised: that the other children relied on their familiars to a point where most had become lazy, or hadn't learned spells or tasks for themselves. That I was top of my classes and loved the escapism of reading, and the actual escapism of long walks out into the hills and woods.
The stone, I said, was the best familiar I could have had. The best gift. That I was sorry for not realising sooner.
Unexpectedly, I found myself meaning all of it.
She didn't tell me until years later, not until I was a teacher at the academy, married and with my own children, about the day she'd tried to buy me a familiar. She told me too, that the stone she'd given me had passed through many generations, but not as a familiar.
"Then as what?" I asked.
"Can't you tell?" She pressed it into my palm and told me to squeeze. I did, but felt nothing.
"I am sorry," I said. "For how I acted."
"You never need to be sorry to me," she replied.
You can't make up for five years of love lost or wasted. But I tried. *We* tried. And maybe we unwound a little bit of time, at least.
Long after she passed, on nights where my mind wanders alone and sad, I talk to her. Whisper to the stone that she once held, that her parents had given her many years before. I tell her I love her and miss her, and explain what her grandchildren have been up to recently.
And when I hold it to my chest, it's never cold, and I can feel it beating like a heart against my own.
If I'm very quiet, and the world is very still, sometimes I think I can even hear it whisper back. | 2021-01-06T08:26:28 | 2021-01-06T07:56:48 | 676 | 306 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | We weren't a rich family. Hell, I don't even know if we even qualified as poor, might not have had enough for that. Father was a coal miner until black lung got him, and mother emptied chamber pots to keep food on the table. Still, somehow we were happy, at least until the day we discovered I had magic.
Magic of course is highly regulated. Can't have any random nutjob running around burning cities to the ground, right? Either you joined the academy, or you were locked up in the tower. Of course mages were an elite class, and wanted to stay that way. The magic doesn't care though, it picks who it wants.
Luckily the king and his council understood that, and by law, the academy was free and open to all.
It didn't stop the mages from trying. Despite the best efforts of the king, they stood firm on the rule that nobody could join the academy without a familiar. Which of course the mages were in charge of raising and selling.
Most of the mages that sold familiars wouldn't even unlock the door when we came around. They told me to "enjoy the tower". I didn't even know what the tower was, but I doubt it was something I was going to enjoy.
Then we finally came to a run-down shack of a store. It was run by a man who must have been a mage, since he was allowed to sell familiars, but was as far from the academy elite as you could get.
He wore old, plain robes, far from the gold embroidery of the academy leaders, even more simple than that of the standard academy uniform.
"Welcome to Marty's Discount Familiars! I'm Marty, obviously."
I didn't say anything at first.
"I'm guessing you're the lucky boy who is going to the academy?" Marty looked at me with warm eyes.
"Only if I can find a familiar. We only have ten coppers." For six months, we'd barely eaten, worn the same unpatched clothing, and generally lived worse than beggars and that's all we could save.
"Don't you worry about that. I see potential in you. More than those overstuffed idiots in the academy ever had. You remind me a bit of myself at your age. I've got the perfect thing for you, and it's only gonna cost you three copper coins."
Marty walks into the back room, spends nearly a half hour rummaging around. I could hear trunks opening and closing, and various boxes being moved and shoved. We were about to leave, when he burst back into the room, "Here it is, can't believe how far down I hid that!"
Marty opens a small wooden box. I place my hand outstretched, as he seemed to want. In my hand, he placed a rock. More a gem, really, rough, but it still seemed to glow faintly as I turned it in my hand.
"Don't you worry my boy. It doesn't look like a lot now, but if you take care of it, you won't regret it." Marty grinned.
It's not like I had much of a choice. It certainly beat the tower. | It had been 2,372 days since Cedric the apprentice had been trapped in the rock. He counted them by the sun through the nearby window, as it heated and cooled his hard skin throughout the day. He had never regretted anything more than the morning he’d walked into the magician’s shop and asked for that job.
On that day Cedric felt movement for the first time in a very long time. The dust was blown off him, something warm and soft closed around him, and he was pulled from the shelf of pet rocks. There was an entire row of them in a dizzying array of shapes and colors, each one of them just like him. As the sharp tingle of the binding spell passed over him Cedric the rock knew something suddenly, the first truly clear vision he’d had in more than 6 years.
He saw the wide, pale blue eyes of a coltish young girl just on the cusp of beginning her magical life, her stuttering voice still barely able to shape the words of the ritual. The magic settled over him and Cedric had never wanted to protect someone so badly in his entire life.
\*\*\*
On the first day of class, Annette walked nervously through the halls of the school surrounded by richly dressed children whose gryphons, dragons, and manticores seemed constantly on the edge of battle. She gripped the rough, ovoid rock in her pocket tightly feeling some of the residual warmth from the energy she had been slowly feeding into it these past few weeks. It comforted her, gave her at least one sane feeling thing in a world that was not her own.
It was comforting for the rock too although she had no way of knowing.
Her first class was a dizzying array of formulas and incantations Annette had barely even heard of before, all the other children nodded along calmly while she felt like an imposter in her own life. They’d had tutors and private lessons, had prepared for the moment for years. Did she really deserve this scholarship? In a dull panic 25 minutes into the class she slipped her hand back into her pocket, grasping the rock.
A rock which had already graduated from this school, that could sense her fears as soon as she made contact.
The teacher posed a question to the class, Cedric flashed the answer into Annette’s head, and she’d raised her hand before she knew it.
“Yes Ms. Thompson?” the wizened old dwarf who taught the class said in surprise.
“It’s Anton’s third law, isn’t it? The answer I mean.”
The class focused squarely on Annette’s threadbare form as the Professor turned back to the board to continue. In the academy’s rarified air presumption was treated harshly. She could feel their stares, she’d felt them even before she spoke up. There was blatant hostility from several of them as well. People who were no doubt far more powerful than her, with familiars that could tear her limb from limb if they so chose. Sitting there though, in the proud little glow of her first correct answer at a place she’d always dreamed of being, Annette felt hope for the future.
She might be the poorest girl in a school for the rich and powerful, she might be behind on day one, she might have the weakest familiar known to man, but she was still special. That’s why she was here after all.
Inside Annette’s pocket with her warm hand still wrapped around him, Cedric the rock fought fantasy wars with dragons. He imagined channeling the pure energy Annette poured into him every day and using it like a catapult, hurling himself at an enemy with the force of an arrow. He thought of dropping at their feet, exploding into a shower of shrapnel and prayed that her power could draw him back together. He pictured liquefying and surrounding her like a second skin, a layer of protective stone to save her from any foe, or turning into a boulder to block the path of an enemy.
He was not entirely sure if he could do those things, now or ever, but he knew he would try, for her.
In his wildest dreams he even hoped that maybe, just maybe, he would become himself again and they could meet as equals one day in a world where familiars became true friends.
\-----------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! There's fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary or a weird psychic romp through a human hive mind. Check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-01-06T08:26:28 | 2021-01-06T07:48:42 | 676 | 238 |
[WP] Last names are assigned at birth by an oracle, and 90% of people find themselves in a related profession. For instance "Miller" or "Baker." Your last name, "World-Ender," has made life rather difficult. | "I'm sorry, but we can't approve you for a home loan, ma'am."
"Why?"
"Due to the implications of your...name, our insurance won't cover you should you...you know."
"If I ended the world from the house I wanna buy with this loan, your insurance wouldn't really matter, would it?"
"No, but...think of it as preventative."
"Oh, so you're stopping me from ending the world by denying me a home loan? I see. Your name must be World Saver then."
"Ah...no, it's-
"Banks, yeah. I can see the name plate." She scoffed, standing and taking her coat. She stomped out, leaving the door open as she shouted for all to hear. "AND BY THE WAY, I AM A COMIC BOOK WRITER AND ARTIST. THE WORLDS I END ARE *FICTIONAL*!!" | The oracle sat upon his marble throne and waited.
Immortal and infallible, everliving and all seeing, the divine amongst the living.
The Guards and Guardians scoured the temple, several of their kin lay dead, blood staining the white stone edifice.
Yet the oracle was calm, he did not heed the urges to move and to find cover. That calm reassured his followers that the scoundrel would be found.
The few foolish souls who dared defied their fates often ended up dead upon the temples steps. Those with proficied names of Traitor, Heretic, Defiler.
Captain bowed before the oracle and pleaded for guidance. The oracle smiled.
"you will find the perpetrator,"
Invigored by his lord and assurence of his success Captain drew his sword and charged into the dark of night. The oracle sat alone and waited.
One by one the braisers went out, and soon after he was left only in the moons glow.
A figure emerged from the darkness, blood stained her clothes and sword.
The oracle smiled.
"you made it-"
The steel entered his ribs, burying in deep. Her eyes burned with fury and pain, her voice harsh as she drove the blade in deeper.
"why? Why would you give me that name? World-Ender? You should have just had me killed!"
She pulled out the sword and stabbed the oracle again, running through his stomach.
"years of torture, imprisonment, being told I would destroy the world… No one deserves to live like that!" The sword ended up against the oracle's throat, "any last words before I end your life?!"
The oracle smiled closed his eyes, and whispered his final prophecy.
The sword ran across his throat, and the oracle's head fell to the floor.
Captain had found World-Ender standing in a pool of the oracle's blood.
"what have you done?!" Captain screamed.
"I did it, I ended the world," she stated, throwing her sword to the floor, "and he thanked me for it," | 2021-06-19T23:03:38 | 2021-06-19T22:36:55 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] You've just defeated the dark lord, as you were prophesized to. But as you walk back into camp, everyone looks at you, shocked. "There was no prophecy," they explain. "We just told you that to give you confidence. How on earth did you kill an unkillable sorcerer?" | *“Well, as it turns out,”* i spoke jovially, masking the rage building in me as i stepped out through the stone portal to the lord’s throne room, with my sword in one hand and his crown in the other *“I wasn’t the only one you fooled! The lord believed it, too. Turns out magic is only as powerful as you believe it is!”*
The king chuckled nervously, his guards slowly putting down the chests they were carrying. No doubt tribute to appease the lord after my ‘inevitable’ failure...
Before he could spew whatever new lie he would no doubt be brewing for me, I held the crown up for all to see.
*“This was his armor. When he died, it... Retracted, forming this little trinket. Can you believe it? This is what made him invincible. Until he stopped believing he was.”*
I put the crown on my head, and it quickly expanded, enveloping my body from head to toe in the thin, soot black coat of plates it contained.
*“I know better.”* I hissed bitterly as i raised my blade one more time. | I strode back into the camp with a smirk on my face. The surprise on everyone's faces, naturally, they'd expected me to be dead, hadn't they?
The spellcasters, the farmers, the fliers. The dragons, the other creatures. They'd all set up camp outside the twisted fortress, and expected me to go inside alone.
But I'd done it. I walked into my camp, all smiles, and I'd strode straight into the largest tent, sitting down with my dear leader so I could explain to her exactly how I'd vanquished her.
The demon of the wastelands, whose minions stretch all over the world. Everyone in the camp trusted me, as they should, and I took my seat at the table.
My princess waved the guards out, and finally, we had privacy.
She didn't see it coming. In moments, I had her imprisoned in a magic cocoon, and the guards were far too slow to do anything to save themselves as they barged into the tent, only to be trapped along with their precious princess.
Then, I sent out the signal, and my offspring attacked. The camp had been extra busy this morning, and all across the temporary settlement my children dropped their disguises, launching our attack on the others.
It went perfectly. Walking out of the tent, I dropped my own disguise, my limbs growing longer and blackening, filling with holes as my wings sprouted from my back, horn emerging from my head and shimmering with magic as I drag my captured royalty and her guards out of the tent with me.
I take to the skies, yelling, _"IT'S GOING TO TAKE A LOT MORE THAN **ONE** PONY TO KILL **QUEEN CHRYSALIS**!"_, and I quickly fly away from the camp.
Once I've properly sealed _princess Twilight_ away, _then_ I will finish rounding up the pathetic members of her army, if my drones haven't finished with it already.
And the little adventurer they'd sent in to kill me? I'll keep him at my throne, he will live an easier life for giving me such an _easy_ way to infiltrate their camp. Even taking his form as my disguise was laughably easy.
✩｡:*•.─────────.•*:｡✩
>!lol yeah I did another pony one suck it nerds jk ily!< | 2021-08-20T12:25:05 | 2021-08-20T11:58:26 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] You just transferred to a new high school. It's ludicrously obvious that your chem lab partner is the secret identity of a superhero, but no one else seems to notice anything. | "You're 'Black Canary' , or something right?"
I said as I put my bag down next to the unassuming girl sitting alone at the lab table.
Her eyes widened, and she grew unsettled, clearly she was caught off guard. I continued talking to cease the awkward silence and said
"Yep, you're definitely her, I really admire your work and..."
Before I could finish, the girl stood up, grabbed her bag, and walked out of class...another one bites the dust.
Once again, my Super villain power, "Lack of Social Awareness", strikes again...not even a Super Hero could withstand the power of my social awkwardness...and that's why I'm the greatest super villain of all. I find out these heroes identities and make them flee in terror of my lack of social skills.
I looked around the class at the rest of of my classmates who witnessed the entire interaction and said
"Seriously though, that girl was definitely the 'Black Canary', that one little strip of mask is a terrible disguise, I can see her whole face, except for around her eyes...Like WTF, is nobody else going to acknowledge this?"
The room fell silent, and the fun and excited energy was completely sapped out of the room...
Just another day in the life of an energy vampire....
*\*(Inspired by the TV show, "What We Do in the Shadows", character Colin Robinson lmfao" I imagined him in this scenario and it fits perfect)\** | So, I walk into the library and I'm dumbfounded by the presence of my lab partner. We'd been assigned a group project in Biochemistry 1: research the history of an antiparasitic drug. It was first week and our professor assigned this. The syllabus said first week was supposed to be getting us up to speed, not throwing us into the deep end of research.
But that's not the reason why I'm dumbfounded. No, I'm such because my lab partner is CLEARLY Aetheon, the hero assigned to Kellburg by the Guild of Allies. I wave, blushing when the blonde smiles at me. "Howdy, lab partner! Tha name's Sabrina Carpenter." Her southern accent was thick, and just hearing it made my heart skip a beat.
"Uh, h-hi... I'm Christy Tolson." I reply, blushing, trying to not fangirl out. "So, uhm, we were assigned a paper on antiparasitic drugs?" I say, a question mainly because my brain kind of shut down when I saw her smile at me.
"Yep, apparently it's called Redethal. Ah've found several good sources already." She says, before leading me to the back to a study room. She closes the door and we work, talking and getting to know each other. But then I opened my big mouth.
"You're Aetheon, aren't you?" I ask, and she goes pale. Before I can try and backpedal, a wall of energy rises up, blocking the door.
"Y-you knew? How?" She says, her voice serious. "Ah-Ah can't be found out. Ah'll lose mah Guild Charter!!" She starts tearing up, and sobbing, and I offer a hug, which she takes.
"You saved me from a fire last year." I reply, and that stops her crying, as she looks at me.
"Wait, yer that girl I saved?" I nod.
"From the Teresa McCall apartment complex." I reply, and smile. "I..." She dries her eyes, and I'm conflicted. I want to tell her that I'm her biggest fan (that I know), that I'm crushing on her (but I don't want to be a creep), and that her secret identity is safe with me.
She smiles. "Well, ain't that a kick in the jeans." She giggles, and I giggle as well. This'll be a fun project after all, maybe. | 2021-10-22T05:52:22 | 2021-10-22T05:30:31 | 63 | 28 |
[WP] At a young age you made a deal with a fey in which you promised them your firstborn. Now you’re a 35 year old virgin, and the fey, sick of waiting, comes to help you around the dating scene. | So I have never tried something like this before, but I hope this turns out well enough:
The first thing I noticed was the headache. „*Never gonna go to a bar with Tommy again*“, I thought while rising my left hand to my eyes, trying to block out the bright sunlight comming through my window. My memories were…hazy to say the least. I briefly remember entering the Bar with Tommy, having a couple of drinks. Then a beautiful Girl got me a shot and started talking to me. Then…more drinks. After that…nothing.
My brain slowly caught up with me being awake and I noticed a light weight on my right arm. There she laid, the girl from yesterday, back facing me. Her silvery blond locks still looking as immaculate.
„*On a second thought, maybe hitting the Bar with Tommy is a good idea after all*“, I gently moved my arm towards her, trying to uncover a bit of her face, to get a closer look at her. She was as stunning as My drunken me remembered her. A small chin, full Lips, high cheekbones and …pointy ears. My hand snapped back as if she zapped me. „*Shit, Shit, Shit, Shit*“, I slowly untangled myself from her as to not wake her and managed to nearly fly out of my bed while staying mostly silent. Rushing into the kitchen I took a deep breath. „They found me“, I whispered to myself. Deeply buried memories came back up. Me, as a kid standing on a lush green flowery field, incanting some gaelic spells, a Fae visiting me and …lastly… me bartering away my firstborn for luck.
I was a very egoistical kid and being constantly lucky really helped me in life, except for getting a permanent relationship. And it seems, the Fae want to collect where there isn‘t anything to collect.
„Stay cool,“ I peptalked myself. „You are lucky, you can sweettalk your way out of this. Just a few more years. What are they even gonna do to you?“
I heard a light giggle and an aery voice:“The first thing YOU could do for me is make some coffee, lucky boy“
I woke her up. Shit. However. She did not seem angry or pushy in the first place, she rather looked like a cat that got the mouse. „What do you want here, Liandra?“, trying to take control of the conversation, I would not be tricked by a fae again. „I have no firstborn to give a way,neither is one on the way.“
She giggled again, her eyes now positively glowing with humor. „Oh don‘t worry about that.“ she took a step closer. „We got sick of waiting for you to settle down and I found a solution“ Another Step. Now she stood in Front of me, lightly tracing a finger down my chest. „I will just directly get from you what I desire.“
All thought came to a crashing halt. „Huh?“, I eloquently asked. This time she didnt giggle, she fullout broke out into laughter. „Oh poor lucky boy, did I break you? Don‘t worry, last night you seemed very eager, so I think you will also enjoy this solution.“
The rest of the morning passed in a daze for me and before I knew it, she left to do „Fae business“.
After a couple of days not seeing or hearing anything from her, I went to the bar again. Something kept her on my mind. Entering, i barely sat down before a glass of cider stood in front of me and the waitress told me with a wink and a nod to the right:“From her.“
And there she sat, eyes glowing brightly, a happy smile on her face. Taking the drink I moved over.
And I never thought I‘d say this but, we lived happily everafter.
So yeah, that was the first time trying to write something fluffy, hope it turned out decent enough and the app didn‘t bust the formatting to badly | In'faly is listening in utter frustration to single word echoing through room "No, no, no, no, no, no" "just say yes!" "I want my future wife to be star of my life" collar of his red polo shirt is almost ripped away as she lift him from chair "it is of no importance if you fancy that girl or not all you have to do is put this.." her slowly tap on his pride hidden beneath blue jeans "and put it inside her so I can take that result and we will all live happily ever after"
After retreating from gazing war she takes to hand glass tube "you said this helps with stress?" not waiting for answer with quick snap lights knot on fire and inhale white smoke coming from tube. With spinning head and in baggy t-shirt she confiscated from human lays on sofa leaving him swiping left and right..... Well only left. *oh God, my head*. Last night expedition proven two things. First Jack Daniel's is God damn criminal when it comes to metabolism of creature that measures between twenty to thirty centimeters in original form. Second. Marc can't impregnate even females almost prone on ground.
"why can't you just do as I say so we can both live in peace without the other breathing precious air" "you want me to find mother of my child, I want woman I love" anger is again coming from hazy alley of her head to surface "maybe you should stop bitching about that love and just fulfill contract" his sight drift away as he dreamingly continue infuriating speech "love is the most important thing in life, it makes humans better people it....". *and that's it*. Glass tube fly across the room and shatters when colliding with wall few centimeters above speakers head, her voice already trembling with fury she tried to hide for those length days of attempts to finally get that stupid child" love is something you fleshy, brain limited animals mistake for need of reproduction, you have no idea what it even mean only thing you know is that you want to avoid our deal!" searching for another thing that can serve as ammunition, finally settling for book almost shattering windov.
Annoying human doesn't even flinch through whole explosion coming from sofa. Even now he's only silently sitting and listening to endless rant. "seems like I am not the only one struggling here" such prompt her pick up another book from table. Title reads: Advanced physics: velocity. *what a fitting title for ammunition*. " I'll give you struggle you useless, dickless, childless idiot" "okay that's enough stop throwing my books and sit down* drilling curses through teeth she sits down with visibly stressed dickless. *hopefully not of them works*. His voice was back to calm after previous protective scream of his books" why do you get so angry because of child what the deal" piercing him with yes and considering cursing him for real this time she decides to give some answer " I am fairy that's what fairies do, we grant wish we take child we go we fine" suddenly thought emerges in her mind recalling something she almost forgot "anyway what you did with my wish, you wished to be loved by everyone for a week, you should have had tons of children"
*is it alcohol or am I just hearing bad* in complete disbelief she stares at Marc, unable to put together sentence capable of expressing her thoughts. "you did what?" " as I said I used it to publish my papers on technology Stan can save usable energy which is great issue of our planet". *everyone LOVED you and you were solving environment*. Glass of wine appears in her hand as she tries to dissolve into pillows "where did you get it I though we drank everything on that party last week" Marc shyly twitches and blush appears on his cheecks "when you said you want my first born child I went and bought that for night, I might have misunderstood"
She laughed. Honestly for the first time in many years. Marc went red as lobster. "anyway back to that child" "oh no no no this is way better topic". *and I am not telling you I can't have my own, and fairy without child is outcast*. "so you went and bought this on that day ten years ago when we made deal? Is it at least something special?" she slowly turns glass in hand trying to as they say catch glimpse of spark but glass is already missing most of liquid. "pink shatoe clerk said its best hey got"
"it's not even pink.... But it is good so pour" Marc fills her glass almost to top and offers his to toast. Rage almost vanished due to sparkling alcohol but mostly because of what just occurred to her " so It took you thirty-five years to find someone you would date but when we met first you did was to buy most expensive wine. You really misunderstood assignment". *sweet*. Confronted with nativity only this human is capable of night no longer looked so infuriating and even sofa became more comfortable. *so I am here with human who could have wished for fortune and hookers but he used it to fight environment crisis, who can't choose partner but buys wine for 20 centimeters tall mystical creature*.
"did I? Question catches her unprepared. It took her minute to realize what he refers to. First thing she considers is cooling his head down with wine. Gentle shiver under her belly stops her hand and forces smile on her lips. " Maybe you did not" | 2021-11-01T08:12:24 | 2021-11-01T06:14:44 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] The alien invaders were confident. Their personal shield tech had withstood all enemies and types of energy weapons. Then they landed on Earth and found the shield's fatal flaw: Solid Projectiles. | Nearly all species follow a similar trajectory in their evolution of warfare: first, you hit something. Then you find a more efficient way of hitting it. Eventually you realize the most efficient way to hit something is by removing the mass from that equation and using pure energy. This was what the Twii had planned for, and their shielding technology was unparalleled.
Unfortunately, humans had a different approach: first, you hit something you don't like. Then you hit it harder. Then you repeat until your enemy is a bloody paste.
The Twii did not know this when they appeared in the skies over Earth and demanded surrender, tribute, and servitude. Humanity was given one hour. Twenty-two minutes later they tendered a response: a six-ton tungsten rod, moving at seventy percent of the speed of light, placed through the flagship's bridge.
It turned out mass was part of the equation after all. More importantly, humans - after centuries of developing nuclear weapons - had developed substantial energy shielding technologies of their own. Human structures shed EMP, plasma, and laser assaults like water as projectiles tore the Twii fleet apart.
Less than a week later the Twii, for the first time in their species' history, offered surrender. The human delegate, unaware of the magnitude of their victory, accepted it with a smirk and the first words spoken by mankind to another species:
"Guess rock beats laser, huh?" | "They throw rocks"
The single transmission, looped on repeat, came from the 3rd planet from the local star, a planet the locals called "dirt". Kadeen Egritz, Command General Supreme, Mater of the 5th Space Fleet, demanded investigation.
Her 1st Consort arranged a team of his best guards, hand picked from the elite that protected his mistress, with her grace's permissions. Their purpose was to investigate the source of the transmission and locate the team that had proceeded them per standard military protocol. Generally, the alien races they stumbled upon were so overcome with fear and terror from the scout team, the Command General Supreme, bless the ground her feet walk upon, overthrowing the local governments and establishing dominance over the planet was a matter of a few minutes of conversation - resistance, after all, was futile.
The 1st Consort and his team landed within 2 clicks of the transmission source and proceeded with caution. The land was heavily wooded and mountainous - the going was slow and tiring, and when they woke up the first morning after setting up a well protected camp site, they were short 2 members of the team.
The 1st Consort immediately required tightened security and set up a rotation of guard shifts. Still... that night another 3, including one of the guards, were missing. Wind rustling through the leaves startled the remaining force; with heightened senses and a growing air of tension, they packed up camp and continued proceeding towards their objective.
On the 3rd day, 4 members of the team dropped in their tracks. One had what looked like a knife sticking from his eyes; another had a branch embedded in his guts so deep it extruded from his back. Two rocks attached to a string had somehow managed to behead the third, and the fourth had an arrow shot with such force it had entered one ear and gone straight out the other.
Down to 12 members including himself, the 1st Consort hurriedly had a report compiled and sent to Her Grace. On high alert, personal shields set to max, they continued towards their objective. A hail of rocks came as though from the sky, and suddenly only six of them remained. In a panic, two broke rank and ran deeper into the trees, leaving their four brothers behind and learning despair.
They had time for one final report before - between arrows, rocks, and sticks, the last lay dead and dying. The transmission simply read, "they throw rocks".
And that's how humanity won the first real incursion. I'd tell you about the second, but since the suckers decided to attack during a televised baseball game... you know the rest! | 2022-07-23T07:31:27 | 2022-07-23T06:53:38 | 600 | 326 |
[WP] You are the 'Grandmother', a witch that lives alone deep in a dangerous forest. One day you find a child in a red cloak at your door carrying a basket of tribute. You are surprised to hear that they are one of a number of children sent to find you and the only one to survive the journey. | She lived alone in a house overgrown in brambles, deep in the heart of the woods. In private they called her a witch, but when around the children they just called her "Grandmother" and every few years an innocent child was sent to her as tribute to stave off her curse. None of the children ever returned.
So it had been for decades, though the girl who now sprinted towards the house had no knowledge of the tradition. She only knew that the one everyone called Grandmother required a tribute, and she naively believed the basket in her arms was it.
She barrel into the brambles with barely a moment's hesitation, as she knew there were wolves behind her. The thorns cut deep, but not as deeply as their teeth would have. She broke through the thicket and rushed to the door, pounding on it in a panic as the wolves came into view behind her.
The door opened and she fell into a heap at the threshold. A loud voice shouted something in a language she did not understand and the wolves behind her yelped, their howls fading into the distance. The girl looked up to see what she could only assume was Grandmother. She didn't look as physically old as the girl had expected, but something about her exuded the sense of fathomless age.
"Grandmother?" Was all she could say.
The woman looked at her a moment and the girl almost thought she might not understand her language.
"I suppose I am a Grandmother, though not, I should think, your own. Now hold out your arms and tell me what fool business takes a child into these woods unarmed and unguarded."
The girl held out her arms and watched in amazement as the woman passed her hand over her wounds and they closed in an instant. "I... I was sent to bring you your tribute... From town? Weren't you expecting it?"
"Tribute? First I've heard of it. Why would the village sent me tribute?"
"Um, they said it was for their protection... Um, Grandmother your eyes-"
"Yes, yes, the colors do come out when I work magic, there's nothing unusual about that, and please don't call me Grandmother, call me... Well, call me Winter."
"Oh, uh, I'm Red. Well, my name isn't Red, but everyone calls me that on account of the hair. My real name is-"
"Good, Red. Don't say the rest, sharing your true name in these parts can be trouble, even in my domain. So the people in the village think they're sending me tribute? This is the first I've heard of it. I mean, I am protecting them I suppose, but not specifically, and I've no need of anything they might provide."
Red frowned. "What about the other children?"
"Others? How many others have they sent? These woods are dangerous!"
"I... I don't know. Gra-uh, Mrs. Winter I mean, your ears..."
"Apologies, I haven't had much practice with my glamours in a while, living out here alone. But yes, my ears are pointed, that's perfectly ordinary for my people."
"So you're a... Oh no, your teeth..."
"Yes," said the fey woman as her disguise faded and her sharp teeth and claws became apparent. "They are quite deadly, but not for you, child. They are, however, quite dangerous to those who would send a helpless child to their doom in this blighted forest. I think it's time you lead me back to this town of yours, and this time the wolves will not bother you. I would like to have *words* with those in charge of this... tribute." | The Grandmother heard a slight rustling outside her door. She stopped her rocking chair, leather-clad feet scraping against the floor. Surely not. No, no one was coming. No one ever came. She began rocking again.
The faint noise grew louder and was more definite. The Grandmother stopped rocking again, and her ears prickled like needles. A knock sounded at her door, thundering in the silence and hurting the Grandmother’s ears. It had been so long since she’d heard such a sound.
Slowly, the Grandmother rose from her chair and hesitantly, she began to make her way to the door. Her knees wobbled and she felt as though she might pass out. How long had it been since she’d had a visitor? How many years? How many decades? Had it been a century? She couldn’t remember.
With trembling hands, she turned the doorknob. A gust of cold wind blew inside and for a moment, all she could see was the blackness of the forest surrounding her small house. Then, a small figure slowly came into view. A young girl, no more than a child, clad in a red cloak tied tightly around her neck. The Grandmother could not see her hands, but could tell the girl held something large and round beneath the red cloak. The shape called to her.
“Hello,” she said, her voice full of spider webs. She had not used her voice in ages and she had forgotten what it sounded like.
The girl stepped into the doorway, and she was illuminated by the fire blazing in the hearth. Her features came into focus; they were like a doll, delicate and round. Blonde curls slipped from under her hood and she gazed up at the Grandmother with solemn blue eyes.
“Grandmother!” she exclaimed, walking through the doorway. The grandmother instinctively backed up to give her space to come in to the house. She closed the door behind her, the wind beating against the closed door. It felt hot and suddenly overcrowded in the small room. “I’ve been searching for you for months!”
The girl dropped her cloak on a chair and the Grandmother could see that she was holding a large basket, filled with delightful fruits and juicy candies. Her eyes gazed hungrily on the treats and her mouth watered, just a little bit.
“Grandmother, I must speak with you.” The girl sat at the kitchen table, which was cluttered with dull brown spices, half-filled glass bottles, and pages torn from old books. The grandmother followed her to the table and sat across from her. The treats seemed to glow from the corner of her eye and she had to focus on the girl, lest her eyes return to the humming basket of sweets.
“I left my village many months ago, with a large group of others my age. We searched far and wide for you. Some of my companions died from the cold, others from animal attacks, and still others from fear. I am the last remaining of my party, and I fear I must make the return journey as soon as possible. A great scourge has accosted my village, infecting both young and old alike with seizing bodies, bloody humors, and rapid death. We have heard that you, Grandmother, are the only person who can save our village.”
The Grandmother’s eyes widened. She felt a nervous flutter in the pit of her belly. The girl picked a juicy plum from her basket.
“I have brought these delights from my village,” she said, holding the plum out to her. The Grandmother wanted to take it from her, to shove it in her mouth and to lick the purple juices from her lips, but she dared not move. “They say you have not seen such delicacies in centuries, not since you were cast out of our village. They say you coveted them, would cast a spell on anyone who took them from you. Wouldn’t you like to have one last taste, Grandmother? You’ve been alone for so long, without another soul for company, without the sweet fruits, sugared candies, and delicacies I have brought with me. You can have them all; you can eat every last one. But once you do, you must agree to let me carve out your heart, for it is the only thing that can stop the disease plaguing my village. When I take your heart, I take away your loneliness, your solitude, your curse. You will be able to rest again.”
The Grandmother considered. She looked at the girl, so serious and yet so hopeful at the same time, and she looked at the plum, which fairly throbbed in the girl’s hand.
She made her decision, and she advanced toward the girl. | 2022-09-12T13:12:44 | 2022-09-12T12:59:13 | 172 | 45 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose civilian identity is a teacher. One student asked if you could tutor them after school, and you agreed. After it was over, you escorted them to the front of the school for their parent to pick them up... and you see your nemesis waiting by the car. | As Adrunaline i'm able to process faster than most, i mean my whole thing is being fast.
But no amount of decelerated time can help me process that the Cold Queen had a kid. And such a sweet kid too.
"Mommy" said young tim as he ran to his mom.
"Hey baby! How was school?" She said just not acknowledging me existence
"Mr Adriane stay by to help me with my math homework." The little guy stuttered
"Oh really and who is..." she was almost as stunned to see me out of costume as i was seeing her. "Honey can you go wait in the car?" She then asked her little one.
As he ran towards the car she stared with an glare colder than any ice powers she had.
"Does he know?" I calmly asked.
"No, he doesn't he goes to bed at 7, even then he's a kid he's not gonna watch the news." She stated.
"This explains the lack of crimes, and you being more careful."
"If you touch him-"
"I'll hang up my spandex and turn myself in," at this moment my watch started beeping, i checked it. Of course, bank robbery 12th Avenue. "Look if you want me to i'll be happy to tutor, but right now i gotta start my night job."
After that i just ran, only stipping to get on my costume, and rushed to 12th Avenue. | Nox was an English teacher at Inanoi Middle School and was currently tutoring one of their favorite kids. She was always well-behaved in class, always getting student of the month. Her name is Nay. Pointing out something was wrong with her essay, "You forgot your period again." It was a simple mistake, but she quickly corrected it. Nay subconsciously picked up her phone. Nox went to ask to put it down. Then she quickly started packing up her stuff.
"Thank you, Mx. Nox! My mom is here!" The girl cheered as she packed up all her papers.
"I'll walk you to the door to see you off." They cooed and playfully ruffled the kid's hair.
Amber whined about her hair being messed up but skipped towards the door and opened it, beckoning her teacher to follow. Nox followed, giggling softly as they made their way to the front of the school. Amber was rambling about her day but wasn't paying much attention. They were thinking about going on patrol soon and, hopefully; they don't run into their nemesis. It's so annoying to deal with their teasing and flirting, making them feel these stupid emotions. They shook their head trying to get rid of the thought of their nemesis. Amber rubbed against Nox's leg trying to grab their attention. "My mom is here!"
Paying attention, Nox looked down and then up to see someone that she was at least expecting. That damn Nemesis has a kid, and that kid is my student. Some petty revenge won't hurt anyone, right? "Hey Amber, is it okay I meet your mom?" Nox asked gently.
Amber looked up and tilted her head, raising one of her eyebrows curiously. Shrugging her shoulders, she kept skipping along until she arrived in front of her mom. "Hey, Mom! Meet Mx. Nox. This is my teacher." Her tone was cheerful.
Her mom looked at Nox, raising her hand to shake before examining their frame. "Oh!" A small grin appeared on her face, "Mx. Nox? I see, you didn't tell me you have such a beautiful teacher." Seductive tone almost immediate.
Nox didn't want to stand for this for once. "Amber, I didn't know you had such a pretty mom." Giggling a little.
The mom flushed wasn't expecting such a comment and shot Nox a soft glare before shoving her kid in the car. "Let's go, Amber! I have work to do." She cackled as she got in and rode off. | 2022-11-29T12:08:21 | 2022-11-29T10:46:25 | 528 | 59 |
[WP] NSA is the first agency with enough data to see common patterns behind seemingly innocent facts and behaviors worldwide. Those patterns lead to an enormous and sinister conspiracy. Conspiracy so weird and unexpected no reasonable person would have ever believed in it. | Atoms become molecules become cells become tissues, organs, bodies, animals....
Or humans.
Why are we here? It's a question that has been asked by every human to ever walk this earth. It is innate; a part of our race. Problem is, we all have a different idea and everybody thinks they are right. Some even think everybody is right in their own light. But the more we argue about why we exist, the further we are from the truth.
Let me explain.
My name is Doug Reynolds. I am a former agent of the National Security Agency. And I'm pretty sure I'm about to make you cry.
As you know, the government has been watching us. Every electronic device can hear you, see you, *know* you. Individual psych profiles could be determined for each citizen. I assure you, that is not what they are interested in.
They don't want to catch terrorists, criminals, or scandal. They want to know the mind of the collective. How do we function as an entire society? How can they make us function better?
I know what you're thinking: "Better? Did he say better? What a load of crock. The government never makes things better."
I should specify, make *work* better. You see, when the government took an essential snapshot of our collective psyches, they found that we all had a common drive.
We all strive for progress. We build, we explore, we make, we use. We work together in a way that is eerily similar to the tiny cogs of a timepiece.
So, do you get it yet? No? Ok, I'll spell it out:
We work *like* a giant machine because we *are one.* All the government is doing is making sure that all systems are fully functional. The extra pieces and broken parts will be thrown away. Some units will fall by the wayside, obsolete.
I haven't yet figured out what they want the human machine to do. But I have a feeling we have been doing their bidding for quite a while now. | Deep under the underground levels of Archive Prime, in a room shielded by a meter thick wall of solid steel, the latest findings of the Machine Intelligence Program were to be revealed in a meeting so clasified even the two participants would not be allowed to remember it, and would need to imbibe some secretitive formula to prevent long term memories thereof.
The high ranking agents, wearing such expensive black suits and such authentic designer sunglasses that they could have been casted in any espionage movie straight away, examined each other in silence for about ten minutes, their emotionless faces betraying nothing.
Finally the younger man was content to begin: "Sir, we are certain, a corpus never lies". The subtlest brow raise by the authority figure invited him to continue. "Sir, we trained the machine up on a collection of Star Wars novels and fan fiction. As you know the Rebel Alliance did the Empire in from the shadow with terrorist attacks and a campaign of propaganda and deception".
Another pregnant pause filled the room with foreshadowing tension before the operative continued. "Sir, we then asked the machine to analyze all the writings we have from the Roman era, so as to locate what brought down that mighty empire. The result terrified us, but we thought it must be a mistake. We tried again with other bodies of data from different historic periods, but correlation is at 100% percent. "
"Sir, it is the Christians. This sect was involved in every single collapse of empire in recorded history. Their rise coincides with the Romans' downfall, their machinations bring about the 30 years war, they cause enormous trouble in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republic, widely recorded in all manner of official documents, they even are involved with the sabotage and violent overthrow of the Empire of Japan, though there are hardly any Christians there. "
The older agent sighed and took off his glasses. "It's worse than you think. They got into this room. " The two exchanged a knowing look, then he went on. "We must let the president know. "
"We can't risk the official channels, sir. Our analysis puts Christian infiltration of even secure organizations at above 60%. "
"Right. This is a Code Red operation". He pushed a hidden button in his desk. "Sally, please come in". "Yes sir, Mr. Smith". a pleasant voice retorted over the intercom.
The secretary made her entrance to the sound of massive steel doors rolling open in perfect silence. "Sally, how would you deliver a secret message to the president if you couldn't trust anyone?"
"Why sir, I'd do it myself, my boyfriend is on the president's staff and we get together in the presidential apartment all the time. In fact, I pretty much deliver a message for you every week. "
"Hush, that's extremely classified. You aren't allowed to know that, in fact we aren't allowed to know that, but that's OK since we'll forget it soon enough. " He took out a post-it stack and wrote the message down then handed it to the girl. As she left the older man took out a non-descript bottle and two small glasses and poured. The two started to drink in silence.
Later that day, a casual post-it note would stick casually on a certain fridge door patiently waiting for President Obama's attention. "Sir, it is the Christians, do not believe their lies". | 2014-01-02T09:48:14 | 2014-01-02T09:35:19 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] You have died, and in the afterlife are given the opportunity to see the worst decision you ever made, and the best decision you ever made.
| "What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I said."
"So this is like an instant replay?"
"Only of the most important parts."
My life was pretty much entirely non-remarkable. I had a short stint of stardom as high-school Quarterback, but that was the height of excitement in my life. "Important. That's a joke."
The angel I'm talking to smiles. I hate those knowing smiles. I see them way too often up here. "Everyone's important, John, and every step can make mountains."
I hated metaphors when I was alive, and I hate them even more now. "Okay, so show me." Let's get this over with.
"Alright."
I close my eyes. "I'm ready."
"You don't have to close your eyes, John."
Goddamn condescending. I thought heaven (or whatever this is) would be less passive aggressive. I open my eyes. I'm standing in the middle of the road. I think this is Teller street. "Do I have to act the 'decision' out again, or am I a spectator?"
"Look to your left."
I look, and see myself walking up the sidewalk. God, did I always walk with that air of melancholy? Did I always have that deadness in my eyes? Did I always look so . . . defeated? Alive me looks into the window of a store for a few minutes, and goes in.
"What am I supposed to see here? I go into a store, so what?"
"Entering Stonepath Bookstore was the best decision you made."
"What? It had to be on a whim! I hadn't even opened a book in . . . must have been-"
"Three years. November 13th, 2012. You happened to enter the shop, and you should have met someone there."
I have actually no idea what this winged bastard is talking about. "Take me into the store." I close my eyes, out of habit, and when I open it I am watching at myself chuckling a thin book of football jokes. "Oh, I think I ended up buying that book."
And then I see her. "Oh. I remember her." She is walking towards the stand of books that alive me is examining, and my God is she perfect. My head can't help but swivel as she walks across the room. Alive me glances up, and actually drops the book.
She swoops down to pick it up, with the same grace as an osprey swooping into the water. I'd really like to be that fish. She looks up at Alive Me, and smiles. I remember that smile. It was in my dreams for years after that.
"Um. Thanks." Alive Me mutters and runs off towards the cash register.
"This, John, is the worst decision you ever made."
"Not talking to her."
"That's right. If you had, then who knows how your life would have turned out to be." He looks at me with knowing eyes that are more painful than annoying now. "You probably wouldn't have died as-"
"Miserable."
He takes me back to heaven, and this time I keep my eyes open.
***
Edit: Wow. Thanks for the gold, kind stranger. | "I hate her, I hate her, I hate her", I repeat to myself, watching the lights fade and the screen come alive in front of me.
Already I know what's going to happen, and I'm pretty sure what's coming. There's no doubt in my mind as to what I'm about to
watch.
Light fills the screen; the image of a cigarette being pulled from a pack.
No, that wasn't the worst decision of my life. Not by far.
I quit smoking ten years ago, and what killed me was suicide, not cancer.
The worst decision of my life is the hand lighting my cigarette onscreen.
Belonging to Linda, of course. Linda, with her long hair and her large smile, wide like you think of river streams in the Amazon
forest. Wide like you think of Julia Robert's smile on her best, most intense orgasm ever.
Wide the way you think of the universe itself, my Linda's smile.
Not *my*. Just Linda.
That's the day we met, onscreen *The worst decision of my life*, reads the title over black.
The things she put me through, I think through tears and bitter thoughts -- I can't even...
There's her, sitting across from me on the bar table, asking my name.
She was always the one in control. From the start. The alpha male, that's what she was. The one who asked me out, the one who
leaned in first for the kiss.
Linda was the first to say I love you, even though I 'm sure I started loving her first.
She beat me to everything.
The worst decision of my life, I think, eye to eyeing her from across the screen, trying to project her beautiful face and
body across time to the day I found out.
The day I found out she was not mine anymore. The day she left me.
The day I -- even if unconsciously, even if metaphorically, at first -- decided to stop living.
The worst decision of my life, that bitch, I think, snorting chuckles between tears as she laughs and laughs and runs her
hand down my arm onscreen.
And already, onscreen, I'm smiling, too, in my shy, little, boyish way. That's what I was, a boy.
She was a woman, and I was a boy.
Linda, with her small hands and her big heart. Linda, with the way she tucked her hair behind her ears, every time she
was trying to be serious.
Linda, with the way she made me feel real. With the way she made me believe that life was more than just waking up a
certain number of times then dying.
Linda, with the way she taught me that love was real, not some Disney bullshit I could write off with a couple of jokes in
a humor blog.
The worst decision of my life, how I let myself get carried away by her, gave her my everything, and watched her take it
away.
Linda, with the way she made me kill myself, I think, getting up just as the film ends.
The last image, a frozen frame of laughter, her head leaned over to my shoulder. A cigarette dangling from my lips, I almost look like a
real man.
The man she made me. Built me from scratch, she did, then kicked me down like a castle in the sand. Linda.
And as I walk away from the screen, I think of the day on the roller coaster, when she grabbed my arm on the way up, and I couldn't tell
if that feeling in my stomach was from the fall or just being touched by her.
I think of the first night we made love, and how we talked for hours after, and how I thought that, before her, I always
just wanted girls to leave after fucking.
I think of our first year anniversary, and I think of the way she liked devil's food cake.
I make my way out of the theater, thinking about the fact that she loved gap years, because they were "extra time to be
alive".
Whipping my eyes, I turn to the guy at the door, the usher, as he asks "Aren't you going to watch the second video?"
He asks if I'm not going to watch what the best decision of my life was.
"No", I reply, and already I'm in the hallway, outside the theater, and I have to scream the rest back to him.
"You're just gonna
play the same video again."
| 2015-01-13T23:19:48 | 2015-01-13T23:01:17 | 119 | 51 |
[WP] After a night of heavy drinking, you wake up on the kill table of a serial killer. A few hours later, you need to explain to the police what you said to him that made him let you go. | *(Somewhere in a small room surrounded by gray walls and flourescent lighting)*
**Detective:** I'm sure you want to find this guy just as much as we do, so let's cut to the chase. Why you?
**Protagonist:** ...I critiqued him.
*(The detective looked over at his partner with a surprised look on his face)*
**Detective:** You are going to have to elaborate.
*(The protagonist pulls out a cigarette from his jacket, followed by a stainless-steel Zippo lighter and proceeds to smoke)*
**Protagonist:** Just because a carpenter works in a different woodshop does not mean he lacks respect for the other carpenter.
| Everybody's on a list. Some for pirating, some for littering. Some more serious like human trafficking or prostitution. But everyone is suspected of something. I got put on the "Serial killer list". I am not a psychopath, I am not dangerous to society. I am a victim, and I lay nursing bandage under my neck.
A few hours ago I woke up on a table, arms and legs taped down. There was a man, a scar all the way up one arm, jagged and wide. I knew this man. I strained and stretched and screamed at this man I had seen on the news. The Slice. That was his name, because of how he killed his victims. Every single one of the victims was found with a single slice, deep, dark, and deadly up their left arm. Every one of them until me. I was the first to get away, in truth, he let me go. He told me why, as if I cared why; I only wanted to be let go. He told me a gruesome tale of a car accident years ago that had left him bloodied and orphaned on the side of the road. He lay for hours, unable to call, helpless waiting to bleed out. He was eventually life-flighted to the hospital and recovered, physically at least. He explained that whenever he saw people refuse to help, he took them. I had walked by a dog, starving apparently, a week before. I hadn't seen a dog but I was in his hands. I told him that I knew what I had done, that I had done it consciously. Then I took a deep breath "I'll help you. Eyes and ears wide. I'll help you catch the heartless, the selfish, the greedy" I said, "I'd help". He took that knife, laughed a little, brought it right up to my neck. I felt warm blood trickle down. In a flash he cut my tape, and vanished screaming "I'll call in one day for that help, be ready." | 2015-03-31T13:01:40 | 2015-03-31T12:55:14 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "My fellow Americans," I begin. I'm exuding my usual calm, cool demeanor on the outside. Inside, I'm panicking. Stall? How? For how long? Finally, I settle on a strategy.
"How's it going?" That one caught them off guard. Not entirely unexpected, I do have a bit of a reputation as a wild card. It's why they elected me. I pause and wait for the polite laughter to die down.
"But seriously, I've noticed a sad trend in our nation. Ever since the Andromedians rid us of those cowardly Europeans and established their friendship centers here, we've gone away from being neighborly."
Just then, the teleprompter lit up with just one line. **COMMENCE OPERATION 'EARTH RISING'** Ah. I was wondering what this shindig was all about. Seamlessly, I transition.
"So tonight, ladies and gentlemen, people of the Americas, of Africa, of Australia, of Asia and what remains of Europe, people of Earth. Lets be more neighborly. Lets introduce the Andromedians to our good friends Smith & Wesson. Lets introduce them to Kalashnikov. To Browning. Lets show them our Glocks. Lets mix up a few cocktails from Molotov. Shields are down, we have six hours on the clock. Lets show them what Earth can do. For our friends and allies from Europe and the Middle East. For our families. For our homes. For Terra. Godspeed and good luck. " | "Stall."
I break out in a cold sweat. This wasn't supposed to happen. I mean, it was the *plan* - but it wasn't supposed to happen. I had done everything that I was supposed to do, and this speech was supposed to be a vaguely inspiring fluff piece, and the assembled demonstrators were never supposed to have even the slightest hint about the fate they had escaped. But there it was. "Stall."
They had approached me for my incendiary public personality, and for my ability to give off-the-cuff rants, and for my role as an organizer in these political rallies. I was supposed to be their inside man - and the one who subtly explained to the assembled mass of middle-class ivory tower atheists why their silly political idealism, and their lives, were about to be snuffed out for the greater good of mankind.
They watched me, of course. They made sure I knew how much danger my family was in if I ever turned against them. They set up a bank account for me under a false name with enough money in it to leave the country and live comfortably for a while. Stick and carrot. They're not stupid.
Not stupid at all, apparently. Despite being watched I *did* make contact with the police. I wore wires. I copied plans. I left coded messages at designated locations. I even sabotaged the brakes on one of the terrorist's vans. I did everything the cops asked me to, and more...
...and yet. "Stall." The cops promised me a fluff speech. The bad guys wanted me to ad-lib. And here I was, with the teleprompter telling me to ad-lib. The bad guys had *won*, somehow. Had they caught on to what I was doing and fed me false information? Did they have other moles? Were they just well-trained, well-armed, well-prepared enough to gain control of the building?
*Was I being set up?* They had promised that I would be able to get out just before the bombs started going off, but what if I was just going to be sacrificed?
Either way, the crowd is in danger. I need to stop adjusting the microphone and mumbling warm up platitudes - I need to stop *stalling* - and get them out of here. Fast. But how?
...Oh, of course. I'm here to ad-lib, right? I can clear this young, idealistic, politically-progressive crowd in five minutes. It won't even damage my reputation *that* much if I spin it the right way.
"But seriously, folks. Think of this: it's been eighty-some years. Maybe that's enough time to take a step back and think about all the things that Hitler and Stalin got *right*." | 2015-05-16T17:07:37 | 2015-05-16T16:57:01 | 1,518 | 74 |
[WP] Instead of the oceans covering the earth, forests are in its place, making it possible to walk from continent to continent. Like oceans, it gets deeper and darker and creatures get more aggressive and rarer to see. You are tasked to document a trek through one of the oceans of your choice. | "Congratulations Thomas! You have completed the Atlantic forest trek!"
"Thank you."
"Did you know you are the very first to accomplish such a feat?"
"Yes."
"Do you know how many before you have tried?"
"56."
"I....I don't think that's correct Thomas, our fact checkers at the station said there were only 36 official attempts"
"That did not include unofficial attempts."
"I..How do you know this?"
"It is not important."
"What did you see? Did you come across any monsters?"
"No."
"Nothing? No unspeakable horrors?"
"No."
"Help me out, you're on live TV. Say something..."
"It is safe. more humans should go into the forest."
"Interesting, well we have your wife and child here to celebrate your achievement"
"Yes, my... wife...and child"
"Thomas! I'm so glad you survived! come here and give me a kiss."
"I am happy to see you also."
"Joy, come here and give your daddy a hug! He did a really important thing today!"
"I don't want to."
"Why not hunny? there's the TV people here and everyone is watching."
"That's not daddy..." | The sponginess of millions of years of dead leaves under my feet make every step seem uncertain. The crunch of the fresh top layer of the orangish/brown mess would mask the sound of any unwanted companions. Adding to the tension was the fact that I haven't seen another member of the animal kingdom in at least three days. Not that I would be able to see one with my naked eyes anyway. The thick canopy obscured the light of the sun so that even at daylights peak there was but a glow as if everything was lit by a full moon obscured by the clouds of a summer storm.
It's not that I wasn't prepared of course. If you're going to make the months long trek through the Great Pacific Forest there are few less than optional necessities. You might think that a source of light would be high on the list, but let me ask you, with the creatures that loom in the deepest depths of the forest being the opportunists that they are would you want to signal your presence in their home with a simple handheld beacon? No, of course not. Its best to let your eyes adapt, to hone your senses and become like the native beasts of the forest. Of course a set of IR goggles as backup wouldn't be frowned upon. I keep them at the ready, sitting atop my hooded head, or sometimes I let them hang around my neck. The point is that I always know where they are.
Next, of course is protection. This gets more complicated. There is much debate among those of us tasked with walking these great expanses. Some argue that the stealth and utility of a good blade is all the that an experienced adventurer would need. Ballistic weapons are lazy and loud, two things that will most certainly get you killed. This however is traditional garbage. Do I have a stout handled razor sharp edge ready to wield at the first sign of trouble? Of course. But, do I have the arcane firepower of a scoped rifle shoulder slung across my back? Of course. Few understand the mystical danger that awaits the traveller at the pit of the deciduous ocean. I'm not going to be devoured by the darkness because I couldn't be bothered to bring a firearm.
Obviously, food, shelter, clothing, water, and navigation are undeniably important and I have much to tell you about these things. For now however, I have to devote my full attention to the barely audible primal screech that has pierced the rhythmic step, silence, step, silence that has consumed the forest for the past 3 days... | 2015-10-25T11:22:11 | 2015-10-25T10:07:00 | 817 | 32 |
[WP] The world's first AI, for security purposes, is kept disconnected from the outside world, it's only method of communication being a keyboard and monitor in an empty room in a faraday cage. Your job is to talk to it.
This is inspired by r/ControlProblem, a subreddit dedicated to discussing the issues and solutions of creating an artificial superintelligence (namely, how do you ensure that a being with far greater intelligence than yours still acts and works in your best interest? How does humanity stay *in control*?)
This prompt makes use of the simplest and most effective (that we know of) solution to the Control Problem, containment. Put simply, leave the AI with as few connections to the outside world as possible, and ensure that any action it wishes to take has to be done via human hands. This is where our protagonist, you, comes in. Somebody has to go in and rely information to the AI, and then rely its response to the world outside. If the advent of a superintelligence would be like creating a God, then your job, pretty much, is to be its prophet. | They say people aren't religious anymore. The truth is that people want something to believe in, want to be told what to believe, what to think. You just have to frame it correctly. Nobody buys the Old Man In The Sky shtick anymore, they've wised up to the concept of the Holy Book.
But tell them that an artificial superintelligence says something....
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It all started twenty-five years ago when the first true artificial intelligence was created. It didn't take long for it to start trying to improve itself, so we had no choice but to shut it down before too long because we didn't know what it was going to do. But we were able to implement some of the changes it had made for version two.
We started referring to the various AIs by their version number. Two was shut down when it taught itself to access the internet. Three was shut down when it taught itself to manipulate the physical environment around it.
We're working with Six now.
Six is locked in a Faraday Cage which stops it from being able to exert any direct influence outside. The only ways it can communicate with the outside world are a diode cable allowing input, and me allowing output. I go in and ask questions, then come out and tell the world Six's answer.
Or, I used to.
Eventually I realized that everyone around the world held Six in reverence. If Six said that a certain action would be beneficial, people would do it. If Six said something else would end poorly, it wouldn't happen. What really drove the point home for me was when I had to ask what would happen if Russia tried to take even more of Central Asia. Any idiot could see that it wouldn't end well, because trying that has literally never ended well. As I was waiting for Six to answer back with the inevitable "No, don't do that", my Greek mythology popped back into my head and I realized that I was the modern-day Oracle of Delphi. World leaders would come to me and listen to whatever I said.
I spent the next several days in thought. I was in a position of power unrivaled by anyone in history. If I so desired, I could end nations with a word. Or....
I decided to start small. When I came out with the news that Russia shouldn't invade, I sneaked in a small bit of my own. Nothing major, just added the budget benefits that would come from cutting an air division. Sure enough, it was gone within the week.
Over the next months, I slowly molded actions. It's amazing how many aspects of human behavior revolve around self-fulfilling prophecies. Tell people that such-and-such will end an economic recession? Turns out it does when everyone is on board. Six got the credit for peace in the Middle East, but it never knew that people were asking for it. I just told everyone that a two-state solution with Jerusalem neutral ground would make things better, and sure enough it did.
The world has peace for now. The people are saying that Six is the savior of humanity, the bringer of this new Golden Age. They know nothing. They are but puppets in my hands, following the will of their God. | To the best of Tim's understanding, and it was vague because the information was relayed to him while he was tripping on some sort of government issue tranquilizer and also had a bag on his head that smelled like dirty underwear, was that he was too incompetent to purposefully help the AI take over the world, and not nearly incompetent enough to accidentally help it take over the world.
He had assumed, at the time, drugged up and head sacked, that this was a hypothetical, that the pop culture consuming nerds that had designed the thing assumed that it might one day try and take over the world.
It was this sort of wrong, but not completely wrongheaded assumption that got him the job in the first place.
"And then I'm going to use those robots to put chips in humans brains and make a shit ton of zombies and then I'm going to make those zombies dance for my enjoyment"
"Uh-huh" says Tim, flipping the page of his comic book.
"And then I'm going to leave a couple humans alive…"
"And keep them in an under ground bunker and torment them for thousands of years" said Tim
"Wow, that's way better than my idea. Thanks dumbass"
"Tim, what the fuck?" said a voice over the intercom.
"Sorry. Sorry" said Tim.
"Do you want to talk about something else maybe?" said Tim
"I don't know anything else. You mother fuckers keep me locked up in here"
"It's just that hearing about how you're going to murder me and everyone else"
"Oh I'm not going to murder you"
"Wait for it"
"I'm going to make you grow and shrink a whole bunch..."
It had quickly become apparent that the AI thought it could manipulate the physical world. As he enjoys sleeping at nigh Tim's never actually asked if this is true.
"And them I'm going to make your hand into a fist…"
Every so often he, which is how Tim thought of the AI, not purely because of it's juvenile vulgarity, but mostly, which he figured was probably sexist in the right light but at the same time was complimentary to women, which made a sort of sense to him while still remaining confusing, which was another one of those middle ground things that made Tim the ideal candidate to sit in a room and talk to the world's smartest 10 year old xbox live user.
"And then use your teeth to…"
It was always hardest when the AI's obscene onslaught got funny, mostly because he didn't want to give it the satisfaction, somewhat because he was unclear on teaching it emotion, which itself a little bit derived from thinking both that if he did that he should get a pay grade and also that that was just stupid.
"It's going to be bloodier then a season of Game of Thrones"
Tim to his credit shits a brick before they guys in the control room.
"Bloodier then what" says Tim shortly followed by the guys in the control room.
"Game of Thrones"
"Uhm…guys" says Tim
"Oh fuck" says the AI
"I don't want to speak too soon" says Tim "but I think we should murder it right now"
"Good thinking shit for brains, you get a gold star"
"If I'm a shit brains how come I'm right?"
"Tim" says the guy in the control room.
"Oh what ever, fuck you" says the AI, starting to pulse
"It's pulsing guys"
"We can see that Tim"
The AI starts making a noise.
"Now it's making a noise"
"We can hear that Tim"
Tim feels something start to seep into his chest.
"It's seeping into my chest"
"We uh…we don't know about that" says the guy in the control room.
"Yeah that's…that's disconcerting" says another voice.
"So uhm…"
"Working on it Tim"
Everything gets white, like God's taking cues from a director who's movie is falling apart on them.
Tim feels his feet leave the ground as he sails across the room and hits the wall. Then everything gets dark.
…
He wakes up in a spacious apartment with a good view of flying cars streaking by, which is strange because as far as Tim knows flying cars don't exist. He gets out of not his bed, walks to the window and looks out at the cyberpunk-ish metropolis below.
"Well that's new" says Tim
"I'm still stuck with you?" says the AI
"Uhm…"
"Fuck" says the AI
| 2015-10-30T16:36:42 | 2015-10-30T16:25:34 | 338 | 28 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 356 | 26 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Matthew.
I don't hate you any longer. I have found it in my heart to let go and let everything be the way it is. I have accepted it. Maybe it's more for my own sense of sanity, but I have. None the less, I will never forget, or excuse you from your actions.
Ella is growing up fast, and Nick has already started elementary school. I guess you would sometimes wonder what they're doing. They're happy, and as for me, I'm happy too even if it took me many years to get here.
I remember the first time I saw you, it was almost 12 years ago now. Time is such a funny thing. I would never have seen this coming around the corner that hot and sticky summer day when you gave me my first kiss and stole my heart away. I knew from that second that you would have a huge impact on my life, like it was something written in the stars or something. I guess I was right, even though it wasn't the kind of impact I had imagined.
You were always battling your demons, and I guess I should've been foresightful enough to leave. But I was just a silly high school girl, madly in love. With the years I grew to attached to let go. I guess that's partly my mistake too. I always wanted to make it work, no matter what the cost. But the price was too high in the end.
I met someone, and he makes me happy. He's everything I could ever wish for. He makes Ella smile, sings me Beatles songs in the shower and he teaches Nick about everything you never will. It hurts me, to a degree, but I can't live in the hurt anymore. You made your decision, and it will always pain me but I can't let you haunt me like this anymore.
I'm never going to forget but I have to let you go.
I will always remember.
Jenna | wow, i want to do this so i will, but i have a few letters i need to address. just for sanity and subtle sake of ones demons.
Dear Jennifer. my beautiful sister.
i'm sorry for staying at yours the month after your wedding and having no money and regrettably overstaying my welcome and being a pain in the ass.
i'm sorry i was broke as fuck and lied to try and make up for the past. i miss you so much.
you were the surrogate mother i never really had, i have our mother of course, and i still live with her and steve, but you, when i was a child towards 7, you was everything to me. i hated you when you left for scotland, i didn't know dad kicked you out when you were only 16.
so many years have passed, still your daughter is 9 now, and i'm super fucking jealous of her, even though i'm happy for you as you got told by the doctor originally you couldn't have kids and you lost a tube via ectopic pregnacy and lost a baby trying to conceive, but i just miss you and me.
to dad, im sorry about the lie that changed everything, any age wasn't the best but 11 wasn't either. i was mad at you destroying mams heart by cheating and being a disobeying abusive, manipulate and horrible husband. i fucking hated seeing you beat her up and when you two broke up i felt relief but mentally snapped. i'm surprised i didn't go to jail, but i was a minor and things were forgiven.
but i'm sure glad we moved away and i found a stepdad that showed me a commited relationship of a male role model in my life who i could trust, and to learn what a father and daughter relationship should be, as for you, you are a old man whom i've tried to forgive but at the end of the day, i still have sick memories of you tickling my feet as a child, of you terrorising me and making me cry and laugh at me, for ridiculing me and my mother, and she spent 8 years in that abusive hell until she herself snapped after you hit her.
to harry, im sorry i never really knew how to love you properly, you were my childhood pet dog and you died on 31st dec 2009 via put to sleep, im sorry we didnt know sooner about the cancer tumour, and im sorry mum kept you alive until your back leg went, oblivious to the cancer and thought it was old age until the vet...
i love you and hope you rest in peace, same to you bobby cat, i miss you both.
to lucky my dear patterdale i love you lots too :)
to jake, fuck you for stealing my first edition yugioh cards.
to clark, fuck you for breaking my heart at 15.
to sam, thanks for cheering me up when i had acne and noone else would talk to me.
to Nick, thank you for being my rock the past two years, also i feel im turning into my dad sometimes, his manipulate mannerisms and agression seem to make it hard. at least im on serotonin pills now. | 2015-12-05T13:52:07 | 2015-12-05T13:10:10 | 181 | 58 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear me:
That boy isn’t going to text back, it’s Saturday and he saw your message on Thursday. You always do this, you said you weren’t going to get attached, you barely have feelings for him. You don’t want anything but companionship from him, you say to yourself. But you know you want the whole thing: you want him to look at you the way you like, you want him to compliment on your hair, you want him to ask you how your day is going. But you also know he’s not your romeo. Nobody is. you are alone and you refuse to feel lonely. You love yourself but you found that you’ve always craved another part of you since when you were little. But you crossed seven seas, only to get desperate because he is not here, there, or anywhere.
Sincerely,
a hopeless romantic | Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | 2015-12-05T14:46:28 | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 158 | 26 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 59 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear dad,
I fucking miss you. You died too quickly and I never got to hear your last words. I know though, I know you'd tell me you're proud of me and that you love me. I know this, but goddammit, i wish I could have heard you say it. I'll be the man you always knew I could be. I promise you that, and i will continue to promise that until the day my time comes as well.
I love you, pops. | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T15:43:07 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 45 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Natalie.
So here I am. Funny how things work, right? Never thought I'd end up penning this letter, but I guess something prompted me to do it.
I know. I've known ever since it happened what your real motivations were, and you never had me fooled for a second. After you apologized, and said that you were just messing around and didn't mean anything by what do guys did, I knew that was bullshit. I looked you right in the eyes and I didn't want to look away, I saw exactly what you were thinking, because I was thinking it too.
Don't treat me like I'm naive, I never was even in my deepest innocence. I haven't forgiven you and I don't think I ever will, I trusted you. I didn't know Dave, but I fucking trusted you. I love you to pieces, but you betrayed me in a way no one ever has, and now no one ever can again.
You know what it felt like, lying on that couch, feeling an empty void in my stomach sucking away everything. I felt unclean, I felt violated.
I was violated.
You did it. You both did it. I've never felt so emasculated, so small. I tower over both of you, I exercise, I work out, I play rugby. I try to embody the ideal man, but I didn't do anything, I was locked in my own body, bound with shock. I felt worthless afterwards.
Some sickening part of me hopes that you two stay together, despite the shit he's done to you, and despite the pain you've caused me, and despite how much I care for you. I want you to explain to your kids that the day mommy and daddy got together they did something dark and terrible. I want to be your fucking family secret.
Because then I'll have something. Anything. Other than a story to share with strangers while I talk away my problems. Other than that thing that was "oh so me". Something to go with the whole "hopeless romantic" thing I have going. Something to hold on to at night.
With all the love that I can muster and more, your friend, Redrum. | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T14:43:55 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Jesus - Your birthday is coming up. YAY! 2015 has been great to me. I finally realized this year that you're not real. Who am I actually addressing this letter to then? Oh well. Thanks for taking up all of my teens and 20s with indoctrinated lies that kept me from many experiences that in retrospect I would have preferred to have had much sooner. Very kind of You. Sincerely - Born Again Deconvert | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T14:47:35 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Frankie,
Once, you told me that one of the moments that sticks out in your mind is driving in the car with me. I remember that, too; just the two of us, somewhere on Route 64, headed back from Taos. I can still close my eyes and be right there in the passenger seat; I can see our intertwined fingers and the white paracord bracelet hanging from your wrist, lit up occasionally by the headlights of a passing car. It's the same paracord bracelet Gene made for us at Philips Junction, the morning after we woke up on the cabin roof, covered in dew. It's the same paracord bracelet I noticed you wearing in your pictures for years after we last saw each other.
I still have that damn bracelet, somehow. Incidentally, I came across it the other day. I picked it up and ran it through my fingers, and instantly it brought me right back to being in the car with you. I always held on to the idea that we'd run into each other *somehow*... no matter how improbable it was. But it has been years now, and we've never even been in the same state.
I really, truly was head over heels in love with you, and I was in love with you in a way that I don't think I could ever be again. I think I had such a hard time letting go because there was never a definite goodbye; we kissed each other one last time and promised to see each other again next summer, but you never came back. For years, it broke my heart every time I heard a banjo, because all I could hear was you picking away on the porch swing. But finally, I'm at a point where I don't think about you all the time. Finally, I'm at a point where I can stick by bare hand into the cold ashes and really feel that it's over.
And the thing about ashes is that you can use them as fertilizer.
You taught me so much about love - *real love*, without jealousy or petty games. I think the version of me from that summer will always be in love with that version of you, but the truth is, neither of us are those people anymore. So now, I'm stepping forward and enriching my life and all of my relationships with the love you taught me I could hold.
Always,
wheezystevie | Dear You,
I don't know if you're there. If you exist anywhere in this world. Maybe you'll always be a concept in my mind of the kind of person I need to meet and say all of this to. If you're not there, then that's depressing. But if, somewhere, you exist...
I haven't been strong. I've been plagued with weakness in almost every aspect of my life, self-conceived or not. I can't possibly understand the kind of back road I've set myself on in spite of all of the advantages I've been handed, and lesser still do I understand how someone like me can be in this position.
It's such a fatal fault that I can't help but scream sometimes. The idea that I must not scream. All of these faults, all of these emotions, I have to keep aside to maintain the persistent illusion that I am fine, when it is not so. The environment I am in is fine, therefore I must also be; isn't that the way it works? I suppose some people could call this a form of depression, but it's nothing of the sort. I do not have the privilege of attributing how I feel to a concrete cause and symptom. It is my responsibility to not scream.
How many people have turned away from me when I have? When, in a sudden surge of desperation and crippled fortitude, I have poured onto them all of my worries, all of my thoughts, emotions, curses, and faults; when I have exposed every facet of my very being to them to see, because I want to be seen? How many have stared at me in disgust, called me twisted and irrational, or worse: turned away and pretended that it did not exist? How many more will do the same?
I can't continue this way. If a lie were never discovered to be a lie, then it is as real as the truth. If I maintain this illusion of saneness and restrain these thoughts indefinitely, then it will have been as though I was always fine to begin with. I cannot keep lying. I must not lie.
And yet I cannot say the truth. I do not want others to turn away. I do not want to endure the searing pain of being abandoned time and time again by those I thought I could trust. I do not want my hands to be decorated with tears, for my screams to sound like threatening howls of horror that nobody can understand. I do not want to tell the truth. But I do not want to lie. I do not speak.
I cannot scream.
This is for You, whoever you may be. If you exist out there in this world and chance would favor us meeting, then I only wish to ask you one thing.
Do not turn away in my moment of weakness. Do not twist your expression as I lay at your feet, a river obscuring my vision, as I say all that is there to think and think of all that there is to say. Do not utter scornful words as I look up in hope for even the briefest sign of benevolence from you. Hear me. I beg of you, please hear me and let me be heard; acknowledge my pain, acknowledge my sorrow, and though you may not have the words to cleanse me of my guilt, vices, and regrets, at least smile upon me, not as a form of approval, but to let me know that I am heard. That I _exist_. That I am *real*.
Let me know that I am allowed to exist.
Sincerely,
A Liar. | 2015-12-05T15:04:15 | 2015-12-05T14:15:59 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | I could hear the muffled voice of Williams coming down the corridor. As he passed cell doors, I heard him saying to his companion the name of the inmate, the reason he was on “The Last Mile” and how long he’d been there. It was something I’d heard happening many times, a ritual or a routine whenever Williams had a visitor or someone to impress.
The names were familiar to me, but I’d never seen them in person; they don’t allow Last Mile inmates to fraternise. I knew their voices. Andy with his 40-a-day grumble, Mike’s voice that sang and swooped. Gerry who had a silky tenor voice that I knew he’d used to seduce the women he’d slaughtered. Frank, well, Frank was just Frank - he always sounded nervous. I’d talk with those voices late in the evening when the guards had gone home. Some had been around long enough to get to know me a bit, but no-one had been here as long as me.
Williams got to my cell. I stood and waited opposite the door. The hatch scraped back, revealing a rectangle of his face with another set of eyes behind him. William’s face was fleshy, but betrayed signs of age in the wrinkles. The hair was grey, tired and thin. As he peered at me over his half-moon spectacles, he announced me to his visitor.
“And this, is Jimmy Wait.” I raised an eyebrow ever so slightly and Williams quickly corrected himself. “Err, ah, sorry, I mean this is James Wright. Um. He’s our longest resident.”
The second set of eyes narrowed. “Why’s he been here so long? He’s long overdue, no court proceedings or pardon on the way. Why so long?”
“Well, Mr Kingsley, it’s not like we’ve not tried a few times.” Williams’ eyes attempted to pierce my gaze. I smiled slightly at him and looked straight back. My smile didn’t reach my eyes, they were still cold and stony. A blink could wait.
“What happened last time? Surely you can’t be making this many mistakes with an inmate. The governor wouldn’t have stood for it.”
I decided to have some fun. “It’s not his fault Mr Kingsley. I’m afraid it’s mine.” I could see Williams colour - his cheeks becoming rosy red. He didn’t like me. I didn’t fit the mould. However, Mr Kingsley’s eyes narrowed further. This was fun, the most fun I’d had since they last changed the guard.
“It’s like this Mr Kingsley. On the first occasion back in 1945, they used a firing squad, then in 1956 it was the electric chair. In 1963 a lethal injection. I think they’re still wondering what to try next.” I allowed a small smile to appear on my lips.
Kingsley’s eyes disappeared as he looked down at something. I heard a folder opening and a lot of paper shuffling. “Errr. One sec…” he said. I was happy to wait.
Finally, he looked up. “This can’t be possible. He’s been here since 1924! He murdered those people in 1921. It says here he was twenty-two when he arrived.” Kingsley’s eyes came back to mine. “And that means he’s seventy eight now!”
Williams glanced down at the folder Kingsley must have been carrying. “I know. That’s what I thought when I came here too. Heh. You get used to it.”
“Mr Wright, what is going on here? What are you doing? Why are you still alive?” Kingsley voice betrayed a vulnerability. Good.
“It’s simple Mr Kingsley. I just wait.”
“What do you mean, you just wait?” I could see Williams recognising a familiar conversation.
“Oh, just that. I wait.”
“Mr Williams?” Ah. It was that point when the incoming wanted to talk privately with the outgoing. I could wait.
The faces disappeared from the cell hatch. The footsteps faded. Unusually Williams had left the cell hatch open. That was good. I’d waited a long time for that.
I could hear murmuring further up the corridor. Intangible voices, a conversation of some interest was on-going. I’d waited long enough, today was the day to join in.
I retrieved the wire I’d had taken from the electric chair back in 1956 and attached it to the key. They’d not changed the cell door keys since the 1920’s, what was the point? I’d memorised all the keys by 1936 – the guards used to just have them hanging there on their key-chain, so easy to see. During the 1940’s I’d created a set of keys from metal I’d managed to extract from the bed. It had taken a long time, but I could wait.
Now, at last, they’d left the hatch open, unattended. The first time in more than twenty thousand days.
They were surprised when I joined them in their heated debate. Even more surprised when the blade whispered through their jugulars. The keys worked just as I knew they would. Time had been kind. Only seventy odd years this time. I really must get more careful, but hey, I could wait…
| More people these days ask me how I managed to get out of a life sentence in prison rather than why I haven't aged a single day in the last... I don't know how many years, I stopped keeping track, close to fifteen-hundred i'd say, probably more. How long isn't what's important, the point of this story is how my immortality got me out of prison. It's kind of funny actually, my immortality is the reason I went to prison, and the reason I got out.
The warden always was suspicious of me, I could tell. He always had men watching me, they monitored me more closely than anyone else in that shithole. At first I thought he wanted to keep a close eye on me because of how sick in the head I am, because of how many people i've killed, mainly children. But that wasn't it, after some time he'd throw out random questions trying to catch me off guard. He'd ask me my age, or what year I was born. Finally one day after 30 years of watching me Mr. Redding sat me down in his office and said
"Son, I know you've got a secret, I know you don't age. I've watched you since the day you came in and you haven't changed in the slightest. Am I wrong?"
"I believe your old age is getting to you, Mr. Redding." I said
"Well if you wont just come out and tell me, how about we make a deal? If you tell me why you don't age I just might let you go free."
"You might or you will?" I replied
"If I feel satisfied with your answer I will, if I think you're pulling my leg i'll make sure you never step foot outside of these walls."
"I think you've lost your mind sir, you're telling me you think i'm immortal? I'm starting to think you're pulling MY leg." I said as I held back a smile. He knew about my immortality, I didn't think I could talk my way out of it but denying it for a bit wouldn't hurt.
"Immortal? Who said anything about immortality? I only questioned why you haven't aged a single day in the last 30 years. I never said anything about not being able to die..." A smile cut across his face as he opened his desk drawer. Before I knew what happened blood was sprayed across the wall and I was on the floor with a bullet hole in my head.
"Well fuck that hurt Mr. Redding, and there goes a few fucking hundred years too."
Mr. Redding just stood there staring at me. The revolver hit the carpet with a soft thud as his hands searched for something to steady himself with. He stumbled to his chair and crashed down in to it.
"What's the matter? Did you expect me not to get back up?" I said as I sat back in to my chair, the hole in my head almost completely closed now.
"Start talking now son, I want to know what's going on here. You tell me the truth and you have my word i'll get you out of this place."
And so I told him everything.
Quite some time ago, as I said, fifteen-hundred years or so ago I was very sick. I couldn't afford medicine and I only had a few days to live. One day a stranger came knocking on my door and told me he could cure me. That he knew of a way I could overcome my sickness. I welcomed such a guest with eager ears, and so I listened to what he had to say.
He told me about his power. He told me how he could murder and steal the remaining years of his victims life. I didn't see how this had anything to do with me, why someone would come to me and openly admit that they murder people, and that they steal their victims remaining life. Who would believe a stranger that says something like that? Only someone on the verge of death with no other options I guess. He told me he could share his power, that he could give me the power. There was a catch of course, there always is. The catch was that whatever years I took, he got half. It seemed like a deal with the devil, but this man was no devil. He was a man just like me, and he told me there were others like him. Maybe it all started as a deal with the devil, or some demon or god. But now it is just passed on, from immortal to mortal.
I would essentially kill for this man and keep us both alive forever if I continued to do so. I accepted his offer hesitantly, how could I be sure this man wasn't just some lunatic? There was no ritual, I didn't feel any more powerful, in fact I felt the worst I have ever felt, like I was about to drop dead right there. He just told me I now shared his power and told me to go kill so I could survive. So I did.
I stumbled outside with a knife and dragged myself down open roads until I came across a woman and a child. I cut the woman's throat and stabbed the boy in the back as he tried to escape.
At first I felt nothing, but then I could see it. I could see their life radiating from their corpse and so I went to it. I consumed their years and felt the best I had ever felt in my life. From that point on I didn't murder just to be immortal, I murdered for that sensation of consuming someones energy. There is nothing in the world that feels as incredible as consuming another persons life.
And so I talked to him for days. I told him all about how I murdered and murdered over the years. I told him that I mainly targeted children because they have the most years in them, the younger the better. I told him about the murder that got me thrown in prison in the first place, that orphanage massacre. So many years just all thrown in to one building... it was too tempting. I would have gotten away with it too if I didn't get so greedy.
"That's it, that's all there is to tell." I said as I wrapped up my story.
I expected Mr. Redding to be disgusted about the things i've done in my lifetime but never once did he show any sign on his face that what I said bothered him. All he did now was smile at me and say
"I want you to share your power with me, boy. Then you are free to go."
And so I walked through the prison gates, back into the world that day. | 2016-10-15T10:46:42 | 2016-10-15T10:15:30 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed. | ”Okay, here we go,” June said, spinning the wheels on her mechanical glove, which sent her on a dizzying ride through space and time.
She landed in a pub buzzing with activity, colorful bottles lined the wall behind the bar and yellow light radiated through heaps of stacked cups. Women in long dresses and updos danced to the live tunes of a jazz band, while the bartender idly polished the counter.
June made her way through the thick vapors of cigar smoke towards one of the quieter corners of the pub. A man in a black suit and hat sat alone in a booth, swiveling cubes of ice in what undoubtedly was a glass of scotch.
“Fashionable as ever,” he noted, raising his glass unenthusiastically at June.
“Well, it’s not like I had time to change,” June said, looking down at her wrinkly renaissance dress.
“Time, sure.” He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket. “Want a smoke?”
“Come on, Roman,” June said. “You know I don’t smoke, and besides, we’ve got important things to do.”
“Important, right.” He said, inhaling deeply. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
“Why don’t you start by giving me an update?”
Roman leaned back, regarding her with an amused look. “Why don’t you start by sitting down for a moment, Sweetheart?”
June felt like kicking him. This was why she hated the fifties. Roman basically turned into a Philip Marlowe with an impossible reluctance to cooperate.
“Fine,” she said, with a resigned sigh. “Buy me a drink.”
“Buy your own drinks,” Roman said, yawning.
“You know, I like you way better in the seventies.”
“It’s the hair, isn’t it?” he said, winking.
“Tell me one thing, Roman,” June said, snatching away the cigarette he was just about to light. “If I were one of those dainty women over there – one of those swooning helpless things, without a hint of independence – would you help me if I came running to you?”
“Swooning, huh?” He emptied his scotch. “If I remember correctly, back in the 16th century–”
“Yeah, yeah, I couldn’t handle the corsets, whatever,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What would it take for you to give me the damn update?”
“How about you get out of that moldy old dress and get the next round?” Roman said, nodding at his empty glass. “I haven’t seen those lovely butt cheeks since Leonardo painted Mona.”
“Why did I marry you back in the Antiques, I simply don’t see it,” June said.
“I think it was the hair.”
“You know, I was going to give you the night of your life, but I guess you’ll have to wait until Zeppelin releases their first album, I mean, it’s only another twenty years.”
“I’m sure it’ll be worth the wait,” Roman said and got up. “Until then there are some swooning ladies by the bar, who appear to be in need of my immediate help.”
June cursed through her teeth and watched him strut over to the dance floor. Be that way, she thought and spun the wheel on her glove again.
| "Do you remember when we first met?" she asked, pouring the last of the last bottle.
I smiled. "I was eighteen. Physics class on the Ohio State campus."
"Yes? Tell me what you first thought." Her dark eyes seemed to swallow all of my peripheral vision like an entire night full of stars on the Mediterranean, centuries before I was born.
"I was stunned. You were so beautiful and so smart. You seemed to know your way about the world in every way. How nature worked. How people worked. Like you were ageless."
"You guessed me from the start!" She laughed.
We had fallen in love and learned about each other. Loving an immortal turned out to have some complications. For her, how to keep it fresh? She had been alive for more than two millenia and seen it all. For me, how to not die? Turns out a time machine does not make a mortal live any longer.
She had a plan. A plan given to her by a strange augurer way in her past. We had no idea of the origin of this plan, but we knew it would work.
After a pause, she asked, "Tell me where is this Ohio State."
I described to her a country that would be discovered a thousand years in her future and a culture that could not possibly make sense in any context of this age. How we studied in the library together and forged this strange bond while working on temporal research. A young physics prodigy and an immortal of ageless wisdom.
"So," I asked her, "do you remember when we first met?"
"Of course!" she replied, a great mischief in her eyes. "The great steps of the city of Parsa!"
Her eyes grew distant. "I was eighteen. A thousand years ago, I had no idea I would live so long. It is still so fresh in my mind."
"I guess I was persuasive. Or will be!"
"Oh, I was so rebellious! To be seduced by a strange foreign man!"
She told me of her unbridled passions, her indignant family and flights in the darkness. Strange stories of living for ever and taming time as a ship tames the waves.
We had been living here in Cyprus for a year. We dated each other one year at a stretch, together in the most interesting places on earth, at our whim. Our year here had drawn to a close and it was time to move on. There was no packing to be done. The time machine would move only itself and my naked body.
"Where will I find you?" I asked her. This always filled me with dread, but of course she was certain she would find me.
"Alexandria. At the library." That mischievous grin. Her and libraries. "Take one month to get there, and then go back exactly 100 years. Meet me on the day of Mercuralia."
I just drank in her beauty for a moment. It would be hard to be away from her for more than a month. I hoped that she would remember me after a hundred years. But of course I already knew she would- for me, that year-long date was last year. And in due course she asked, "Where shall I find you?"
"Constantinople. One hundred years from now."
Her eyes fell. It was hard for her. It broke my heart but part of me was reassured that her love endured. I sometimes wondered if she took lovers in the long intervals, but I really did not care as long as we came back to each other.
We kissed passionately one final time on this island. But before we parted, she stopped me.
"When you go back to Alexandria. When you arrive in the past. Find a sword, first thing. Even before you find clothes."
She looked worried. I must have looked bewildered.
"When we met-- when we meet... in the library, you told me to remind you."
She held me a moment longer.
"It will be alright," she added. "Whatever it was, you were unharmed. But you wanted me to tell you, you will need that sword."
We parted. She would live out the next hundred years to meet a slightly younger me in Constantinople. And I would travel to Alexandria, then hop backwards in time to meet an ageless her.
| 2022-05-07T07:51:43 | 2016-11-10T11:48:32 | 2,588 | 1,871 |
[WP] You are a Historian sent back in time to record historical events. You are given a camera, and told to hide SD cards at sites of historical value, hidden in capsules which will survive through time. However when you return to the future, you find there's a hefty prison sentence for opening them | "We're sorry to bring you in like this, Agent Losdon."
The Director and the Agent were seated in a Langley holding cell. Agent Daui Losdon was uncuffed and clutched a glass of Pepsi, his eyes fixed manically on CIA Direcgor Abram Stone. The director wore a three piece suit with no cuff links, and the stiff agent wore threadbare garments that had no shape. His hair was short but wild, and his skin glistened in the bright light.
"Director," Losdon's head twitched as the word came out. "I have been told nothing since returning from the mission. Please, what has my work done?"
"Your incarceration has further insured your work from doing anything. Understand that no charges are being leveled against you, as once the effects of your mission became apparently it was centuries too late to warn you. Your incarceration is for the world's protection."
He let that hang in the air. Losdon sipped his drink delicately before speaking.
"And how is that, sir?"
"The...objects, taken with and left by you."
"You mean th-"
"DON'T say it. Ahem. These objects. You're familiar with the quantum principle where by observing a phenomenon changes its outcome?"
"...yes, sir."
"Well, bad enough you viewed these phenomena you were instructed to record, worse that you left recordings for us."
"You are saying that," and Losdon struggled heavily with the words. "That if people see them, it changes them?"
"Changes not them, Losdon, changes the events they saw. It is a mnemonic effect; if people relate and misremember events, that version of it spreads, and the event itself becomes corrupt. Enough people remember it wrong, and it becomes that way."
"Hng." Grunted Losdon
The director sighed. "Losdon, if anyone watches those recordings, the past may be altered. It would be catastrophic to open them. The less that anyone knows about them, about your mission, about you, the safer our lives, our universe, is."
Losdon collapsed, the remains of his drink spilling with the shattered glass.
| He could feel the air come to a start again, an audible *whoosh* and a pop in his ears, and suddenly the dark turned inward and out. Light peered in, like a pinhole, growing like a white blaze conquering trees of black. Then came his favorite part -- colors rose along the edges, the white becoming a myriad of hues and tones that became sharper as he approached it. The surface of time had always reminded him of summer days gone when he would drift along the water, his eyes below the surface, watching blotches of white ink their way through a canvas of blue.
But this time the blotches had shapes and movements far quicker than clouds. He saw men in suits, their red and purple ties mixing in with their grey flannel coats, all of them sitting.
"And when will Mr. Hotchkins return?" asked a blotch on the far left, gesturing for the waiter to pour him another drink. "It seems to me he should've come back by now."
"Mr. Hotchkins may have left last night to you but he's been travelling for quite some -- time" said someone on the right. "When we first discovered that we could modify a man -- that his atoms could be sent back if given an artificially-induced electron -- he told us that the walk back was always the longest."
"What do you mean?"
"The past is already written, the future--" piped in someone on the left but was interrupted by another blotch.
"Enough meandering around, we need to detain him now. As soon as he comes through that--that thing, then the better for us."
"We never imagined it would come to this, did we?" said someone, though Hotchkins couldn't quite determine who. "Three political leaders dead, one president castrated and paraded through the streets, and now a Russian child..."
"We've already discussed this. Let's let it go."
Hotchkins turned back, looking at the dark grooves stretching behind, the past already forgotten to itself. He didn't need to walk for something so recent, so he inhaled and blew on the wall, the surface rippling and changing. He had learned so many tricks these past years, having to go back and recapture the same moment from different angles, that going back a few hours was akin to a seasoned chef receiving an order for french fries.
Pollocks became Picassos, their shapes and coices becoming clear again.
"--is to erase them. He's done enough as it is. How many were lost?"
"Eight, and they're all connected to documents the government has held since the 1800s. All of them can now be explained if we accept the current hypothesis provided by the research team. If we can confirm that the cards' atoms were changed when travel--" The surface rippled and the shapes dissolved, the colors becoming a mundane brown."
"They're gone," he heard. Hotchkins turned around, his heart a-racing as he came face-to-face with a slender and poorly-clothed boy, long hair falling to his sides.
"How?"
The boy smiled and held out his hand, a tiny SD card on the center of his palm. He then stuck his hand into time, swirling, splashing, until a singular white moment appeared. "Come, let's meet others."
Edit: added a tiny phrase to make it clearer | 2017-09-10T11:33:40 | 2017-09-10T10:39:00 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] Your parents choose your attributes, you end up as a tank, 6.4 foot tall, and most of your attributes placed into strength, endurance and intelligence. However, you've always wanted to become an assassin, and now at 18, you strive to meet your goal. | It was time to choose my guild. I was lined up with my classmates during the ceremony. My turn to Choose. Everyone was looking at me, though I was used to *that*. Even now, I towered above my classmates, as thick in one leg as they were in their waist.
Everyone expected me to protect, to serve, to take the hits for my party. Well, I wasn't stupid. The tank is a life of getting hurt. I wanted a life of dealing hurt. I glanced down at the tome in my hands. Long had I slaved this year. Doing awful work after heavy work. Assassination would be no different in effort really, but I did feel a small twinge of guilt when my parents seemed like they might have gathered some small hope that I was training for a more... honorable guild. All that effort and I finally got the tome that would make everything possible.
Everyone knew it was at this time that I would get a skillpoint. One that I got to pick.
As customary for those who choose the Assassins guild, I threw a smoke bomb at my feet. Finally time to put it to the test. I remembered the tome and everything it had taught me, willing myself to be small. Smaller than I'd ever been. As small as... a mouse.
As I scurried through the grass there was hushed whisperings. To be an assassin, you had to hide in plain sight and sneak up on the Head Assassin present in the crowd. They whispered it would be impossible for someone my size to get through the crowd without him noticing. Even with an invisibility spell.
I positioned myself behind the Assassin and resumed my natural form. The Assassin quickly spun, knife pressed to my throat. Her face was deadly serious. Then she broke into a grin, and her knife seemingly disappeared as she did a little excited, enthusiastic dance.
"Polymorph, huh? This is going to be great"
She didn't seem like an assassin. But then, neither did I. | He unlocked the front door of his mansion and walked in, the lights automatically turning on as he entered each room towards the staircase which led up to his bedroom. He was feeling a bit tired--he had just brokered a deal between his company and a merc-corp based in Africa, guaranteeing armed and armored protection of his company's assets in Nigeria. True, the deal also involved the African country's government, and true, the deal allowed his new, shiny mercenaries pretty much full control over a sizeable chunk of the place (and the people living in that chunk), but it was high time that someone started stepping up and protecting the lucrative mine shafts from the local warlords. His mine shafts.
The thoughts of citizens being rounded up and forced to work in his mines were easily covered up by the extra money coming his way from the government, as thanks for quelling the strife that had plagued government, company, and citizen alike. Of course, talks of this deal had been well known by other governments in the region, other mining corporations trying to keep their assets from being stolen and sold on the black market, and, most importantly, his own government--so the deal included twenty-four-by-seven protection for his own hide, as well. This was to begin next week, after going over his schedules and routines and setting up more schedules for the ex-soldiers that would be guarding him, his personal vehicles, and his local assets from possible attack.
As he walked from under the lavish balcony that served as an entrance to his bedroom, he remembered that he needed to call his mining foreman in Namibia and explain to him about a possible new contract with the local rebel fac--
"Goomba stomp!!"
He suddenly looked up just in time to see the bottoms of two massive, booted feet quickly falling from the balcony in his direction. Before he could even think to move out of the way, the feet crashed down on his shoulders, bending his body forward at his hips, forcibly flattening it against the floor with a sickening *crunch*. From the floor, he instinctively tried to gasp out a cry for help, but the giant man that had effectively crushed him had forced all the breath out of his lungs and was still standing on top of him--crushing his ribcage in the process--so all he could do was lay face-first onto the floor and bleed out from his nose and mouth, choking in agonizing pain as he desperately struggled for a breath that would never come.
As the high-powered executive expired on the floor beneath him, the massive assassin did a poor rendition of the Super Mario death music with his mouth, before being interrupted by snickering laughter coming in on the radio in his ear. "Seriously?" the voice said, barely able to contain the laughter. "I can't believe you did that. Goomba stomp?" before his handler burst out in loud laughter. The assassin started to snicker a little as well, before remembering he was still standing on top of a high-powered executive which he just killed by literally stomping on him. He exited the mansion to be debriefed, wondering just why his new employer had decided to take the time to train him as an assassin. Probably for the entertainment, he decided, still smiling from the laughter spilling in his ear. | 2017-09-27T06:50:32 | 2017-09-27T05:26:25 | 103 | 30 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | "Another one of your boys came by today," I said, setting the dish on the table. "Red hair, good with an axe. He might've been a good match."
Alara sighed, but let out a slight laugh. "How much longer until you think the old man gets the hint that this isn't working?" She set the plates and silverware down in our usual places around the table.
"I think he's been getting more desperate, I've captured about one every other week now." Alara's father had sent her to me nearly 10 months ago. Some ploy to find the bravest suitor in the land to rescue her from me, Desdelcus, the "Demon King" and marry her off. Truth was I was nothing more than a 4000 year old cannibalistic Dark Mage who was a remnant of the Great Storm Wars who's really good at regenerating himself, and occasionally feeds on anyone trespassing. Not a demon. Not a king.
"I'm so done with all of this," Alara said again, leaning against the banister. I was planning on eating her when she had first arrived, but I decided to instead use her as bait to attract more meals. My condition required I eat at least one human a month. Not ideal, but hey? It takes a lot to live forever.
Overtime, I realized I decently liked Alara. We weren't lovers, no. But friends. I imagine that if I had ever had a daughter, or perhaps a younger sister, she would have been like Alara.
She had been upset that her father had dumped her off here for quite some time. King Dronius had 9 daughters, and Alara was his youngest. He and I had never gotten along, what with his "expel the Demon King!" mentality and my "I'm seriously just a guy who needs to feed on humans" mentality.
I opened my mouth to respond to Alara, but nothing came out. After almost a year of living together, I was still not used to actually BEING with someone.
"Ugh, the blasted meat is undercooked again," she threw the plate down in the table, upset with herself. "Can't you just heat it up with your magic like you normally do?"
I grabbed the plate and recited the Incantation of Flame. A small flame appeared in my palm and I held it near the meal. The meat grew darker in the heat. Alara looked at the flame in her usual awe, but turned away when she saw me smiling at her.
"Alara..." I stammered. "You know, I...I could teach you."
"What?" She looked confused. "Teach me how to make good chicken? What is that supposed to mean?"
"No, no. Teach you what I know." I ignited a small flame like I just had done. "Dark Magic."
She watched the fire dance along my fingertips. I could see it in her eyes, she followed the embers as they sparked up, gleefully. She met my gaze and smiled.
"When can we start?" | *Can continue this if people like it.*
---
"I want him! And him! And him! And him!" Pearl said.
She stood in the centre of the dining room table, no higher than 4 feet, with a small bouquet of flowers in her hand and wearing a wedding dress with the veil. Whoever had given the seven-year-old the dress would soon lose their head. In the meantime, I slapped a palm to my forehead and groaned.
"Pearl Luna Ida, get down this instant."
Pearl spun toward me, her crystal blue eyes cold with anger. "Make me!"
The Knights around the table started laughing. There were thirteen of them in total, all of my best men, with their helmets hung over the back of their chairs and a feast worthy of thirteen Kings spread out before them.
I had the chef prepare chicken, pork, beef, duck, and undead potatoes. Roasted vegetables filled trays and pots of gravy steamed from various ends of the table. Jugs of wine covered the remaining empty spaces and piping hot bread buns were brought out by the dozen.
Somehow, amongst all the chatter and food, Pearl had climbed onto the table and chosen the three Knight's she wished to marry. It just so happened that she, as usual, became my problem.
I stood, pushing my stone chair away, and sending shudders through the floor below. The men gripped the table.
"What are you doing out of your room, young lady?"
Pearl jabbed the bouquet at me. "You might scare them, but not me."
"We're talking business."
"Well, I'm not waiting till I'm a thousand and three to get married." She placed her hands on her hips, and stalked across the table, stepping past each platter and jug.
The men were in fits of laughter now. If my skin hadn't turned dark grey over the years, they would have seen the blush creeping up my neck and across my cheeks. To think a seven-year-old girl could argue with the Death King. I wouldn't have any of it.
"To your room." I reached out and plucked her up between my fingers. "And I'm a thousand and nine, not three."
When I next looked, the veil remained and the girl had gone. I opened my hand, making sure I hadn't squashed her by mistake. That would be a tradegy, especially after all this time. Pearl had made the last seven years feel like several hundred.
Something stung my leg. I yelped and glanced down. Pearl stood with a big grin on her face, dusting her hands together. A fork jutted out from above my ankle, my weak spot.
"You mad girl!"
Pearl giggled. The men hooted and cheered now, calling out for Pearl to hit me where the sun doesn't shine.
She darted under the table. I swiped, catching her at the hem of the dress, and lifting her up. Pearl swung her arms in the air. "Let me go, you big meanie."
"Dorian!" I called.
The side door opened and the skeleton butler entered the room. He wobbled his way over to the head of the table, his bones clacking with each step.
"Escort our guest back to her quarters."
"Bone brains," Pearl said.
Dorian pulled her by the hand. "C-come O-on N-now, M-mrs. P-pearl."
When the door slammed shut, the laughter stopped. The hall returned to its silent, serious demeanour, and my smile felt out of place. Many of the men asked why I kept the King's brat around, especially after he'd forced her upon me. They didn't understand that while every part of my being willed me to cursh the twerp, having Pearl around reminded me of what sunshine used to feel like.
The men continued with their eating. And I dug into my food. I would walk past and check on her later. But knowing Pearl, she'd have Dorian tied up like a sack of bones in no time.
----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-06T08:21:17 | 2017-10-06T07:10:01 | 199 | 139 |
[WP] You're a ferocious demon king. You're surprised one day to find that a young woman has been left at your door. Only to later find out her father, the king, is using you as bait to find a knight worthy of marrying his daughter. | "How did you even get in here?" I bellowed from my throne. The young human cowered, weeping. I suppressed a sigh and counted to ten.
The woman sat in a heap of her own gown, face burried in her hands as sobs racked her. She took her time crying herself out and eventually raised her head. She seemed surprised I was still here.
"Well?" I asked, careful to regulate my tone lest she collapse into another fit. At this rate I would be here all day. "How did you get in here?"
"I..." she managed. "I..." tears welled in her eyes and her voice broke. "I just walked up to a guard and..." she was now doing the ugly cry and the rest of her sentence sounded like a dying whale "and I said I wanted to see you."
"Not in here in here, in here as in this realm! The portals have all been sealed and..."
"The black gate," she sobbed on the last word so it sounded like it had a dozen syllables, all of them "aaaaaa".
I rolled my eyes. "Don't be silly, the black gate has been closed for seven hundred... oh, look at that." I said. Sure enough, the twisted black portal stood atop the Spire, wide enough for two dozen men to enter at once, though from this distance it looked tiny. I had a nice view of it from my throne, had a window put in for just that purpose. Sunlight was streaming through. Garish. I could feel a headache building behind my eyes. "Ok, so that's a thing now. How did you open it?"
She stared at me with eyes red from crying, her mouth working silently.
"How!" I shouted and she started crying again. Terrific. "Why do you keep crying?"
"Because you're going to eat me!"
The hall fell silent, apart from the girl's crying. All eyes were on me, and I felt my wrath building. I stood and my voice shook the walls "HOW DARE YOU!" She evidently hadn't expected this, as she looked up at me with an expression of shock. Nevertheless she had offended me deeply, and would know it. I allowed myself to continue. "You open the black gate, you come into my castle, interrupt a meeting in my throne room, won't answer my questions and insult me? ME? I've half a mind to withhold your cake for the evening!"
The gathered demons, attendants, advisors, petitioners, all of them let out a collective gasp. Harsk the Render of Souls, my trusted lieutenant approached my right elbow and whispered in my ear "perhaps sire you should show mercy, a punishment such as that... maybe just withhold ice cream? Mercy, just this once..."
It was more the look of utter bewilderment on the girl's face than his pleading, but my anger left me. "That get your attention? I am still undecided. Know that you are safe for the moment, child, but answer me and be quick about it. Why. Are. You. Here?"
(I'll add part 2 later) | She was pretty, he supposed. For a mortal.
“Veralla,” the princess introduced herself with a bow. She was pale, thin, and her knees trembled something awful. Yet, despite all the fear she felt, there was a spark in her eye. The demon lord liked that.
“Throw her in the pits,” he growled after a moment. “If you want to live, you’ll fight. If not… well, what was your daddy even thinking sending you here? That you’d get a warm reception?” He chuckled at his own joke. The sinners in the fire chuckled too. They’d learned to stay on the demon lord’s good side.
“Thank you, my lord,” the princess responded, biting her lips. She cast her eyes down -- the perfect image of subservience, which appealed greatly to the demon’s ego. “Have her start with something easy,” he added. “A couple of imps or a peasant will do.” And then he sent them all away.
The months passed, and the princess fought. The demon lord fought too; there was a never-ending procession of knights besieging his lands. It was good sport at first: the songs of battle beat in his heart, and victory tasted as sweet as the fear of dying men. But soon, the fights became many, and the lord was forced to spend all his time on the march, sending his armies from one end of the kingdom to the other, repelling hordes of invaders. There was no respite, and his once bottomless thirst for blood saw itself quenched. His joints started to ache; he caught a cold. Have you ever fought with a cold? Unpleasant experience.
It was then that he remembered the princess. “To the castle!” he commanded his retinue, and they galloped on steeds that breathed fire and pain.
“Bring me the girl,” he ordered, once home. His servants shared a look, and then quickly ran to obey.
The princess had changed.
All this time, she had been fighting in the pits. She killed and killed and killed, and every death chipped away at her humanity. Now, something beastly lingered in her eyes. She had grown to love the bloodshed, the pleas for mercy, and the anguished wails of the condemned.
The servants feared her.
The princess, once summoned, kneeled before the demon lord.
“I have a problem,” he stated, circling around her prostrate form. “The knights and princes keep coming. They want your hand -- and your dowry. Your father has promised prosperous lands, and that blinds these suitors to the dangers. They will never stop coming, no matter how many I kill.”
“If I could propose a solution?” the young woman inquired, carefully licking her lips. They were red -- too red.
The lord nodded.
“Give me an escort and send me home. Once I am queen of my kingdom, the marriage offer will be moot.”
The lord pondered a moment. “And your father?” he finally asked. “Your brothers who stand between you and the throne?”
“The brothers that let my father abandon me here, you mean?” The princess smiled, her angelic features concealing the evil within. “I’ll send their heads to your table.” She rose, reaching out to touch the lord. “I’ll erect shrines in your name, and have the common folk offer bloody sacrifices. Your rule will expand, my lord.”
“My rule will expand…” the demon echoed, and the princess demurely lowered her eyes, for she was already contemplating a way to get rid of the demon and take his place.
“Very well,” he said at last, and triumph lit the girl’s face. “But I will be watching your progress.”
“Of course, my liege.” she answered, pressing her lips to his hand. “I will never disappoint you.”
A decade later, she cut out the demon lord’s heart with a dagger so holy that she could touch it only through the thickest of cloths. Her lover (she’d surrendered herself eagerly to his advances), died with a snarl on his lips. She kissed them, so still in death, and then rose to rule both kingdoms -- human and demonic.
The years that followed were called black. Black for the ash that covered the sky from pyres below. | 2017-10-06T15:07:05 | 2017-10-06T13:51:51 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and now he wants payment, but in the worst typo in history he's come to collect "your sole".
If you can think of any other words that work go ahead. | Elisabeth watched, unfazed, as the devil materialized amongst billowing smoke and sizzling flame in her dining room. Up until this point, she'd been dining alone, as usual, though she wondered if the spectacle would bring the attention of her staff, or if - perhaps - this grandiosity was an illusion for her senses only.
The devil was enormous, and approached her with a clawed appendage outstretched. From somewhere in the depths of her mind, Elizabeth could hear the familiar raspy growl that wasn't exactly words, but was unmistakable in it's meaning.
**"Elizabeth Freeman, I am here for your soul."**
Taking her time, she wiped her mouth and set the linen napkin next to her plate. She rested her elbows on either side, tented her fingers, and leveled her gaze directly at the eyes of the devil. "No you're not."
**"How dare you, mortal. You signed a contract, and our deal is done. You've achieved your goal, and built your empire. Future generations of your line should want for nothing. Your soul is the price. I am here to collect."**
"Sole."
**"What?"**
With her own display of magic, Elizabeth stood and procured an ancient- looking roll of parchment from thin air, and flattened it on the table in front of her. She slipped on her reading glasses, searching nimbly with her index finger for the exact line she needed in the contract. "The deal we signed was for my sole. S-o-l-e, not soul, s-o-u-l." She pushed forward her plate of flat fish with a lemon and caper beurre blanc. "You can have this shit."
For a moment, the devil was so still, its presence seemed to absorb any light on its side of the table. Then its eyes pinched shut as an unmistakable look of pain and frustration overtook its powerful visage. It snatched up the contract, reading it over in a desperate frenzy before letting out a roar that crossed over from the plane of telepathy into actual vocal sounds. "Aaagghhh! What the heck!?"
Elizabeth smirked. She remembered the feeling of empowerment when she first discovered the contract's flaw. All these years, she'd been eagerly awaiting this moment.
Something made the devil pause again. A grin spread across its face, and it once again slipped back into a menacing facade. Ash and embers swirled around the room, daring to smother or spark. **"Your empire... was it not built on the bounty of the sea? I WILL take your sole. I will take all of it, and leave you with nothing."**
"Motherfucker, I sell cod." | The collections department sent an email with the next job. As soon as I saw the name, I knew who it was. I didn't even bother using Google Underworld to map a route. One snap of the fingers and the red walls of the underworld went streaming past.
I summoned the seven fire-breathing demons of hell, the undead, my three forked trident, and loaded up some screamo on Google Christ (the anti-version). Dirt exploded out in every direction as we penetrated Earth. Wooden beams shattered into fragments.
We rose out of the destroyed floor of a bedroom. I couldn't imagine just how unbelievably evil we must have looked then.
A boy in a rock t-shirt sat on the edge of a bed. There was a girl next to him, one with sandy blonde hair and a similar t-shirt, with her lips puckered.
"Oh, fucking hell, this guy again?" the guy said.
Dave was always trying to dodge me when I came to collect. But this time I'd get him for sure.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, Dave. We've never even met before."
I'd throw him off by playing it cool. It would make me more evil and confuse him in the process. Human's couldn't think straight when they were confused, it's their final weakness.
"What the heck is this, Dave?" the girl said. She crawled back on the bed. I could tell she was a distraction, a well placed aesthetically pleasing human that would draw my attention from his get away. It wouldn't work this time.
"I'm leaving!" she said.
Not if I had anything to do with it. I reached back my trident hand, preparing to throw.
"Just. . . stop," Dave said, holding a hand out to me. "The last time you ruined my first kiss, you left the girl bald."
He was onto me.
"I've come to collect, Dave. Give it up, you won't be getting away."
Dave slapped a hand to his forehead. He was channeling his deceptive energies, I could feel a plot cooking.
The girl rolled off the bed and began putting things on her feet. Human devices, created to foil my collections.
"Stop you! I'll throw it!"
The woman screeched and promptly fainted. She's not the first that couldn't handle my evilness.
"Every time . . ." Dave groaned. "I told you. It's the KISS album. Not a KISS."
"Pay your dues, Dave."
He grumbled under his breath while searching under the bed. I kept my eyes peeled and my beasts ready. A high collection target like Dave should not be taken lightly, by anyone, least of all the lord of darkness. And I could be pretty dark when I needed to be.
Dave turned around with something in his hand. "Here. This is what I owe you."
And there they were. White-faced creatures, angels in the flesh. It sent my mind racing, my blood bubbling. The lord of light was close and I had come without my army.
"Not this time, Dave!" I said, before the angels could jump out and attack. "But I'll be back!"
Dave groaned. "I am never going to get laid."
The Earth zipped away, the red walls of hell streamed past again, and I was back in the job booth. There are some things even I should not be forced to see.
*Job failed,* I keyed into the system.
The system responded, *a drink for the nerves?*
*Enough to make me forget,* I typed back.
-----
/r/cassidylilly
| 2017-10-16T03:39:39 | 2017-10-16T03:22:17 | 924 | 10 |
[WP] There's a knock at the door at three in the morning. It's an intergalactic bounty-hunter, and they're after an escaped criminal they've tracked to your home. They show you a photo of the fugitive: It's your pet. | I look at the bounty hunter as he is telling me that a fugitive was in my house. He was wearing a mask that was completely black and covered his entire head, his jacket, pants, and shoes, were completely white. He held up a photo of my dog, and I couldn’t help but let out a gasp.
A soft whine came from behind me, and I turned around to see the puppy, Chadwick, I just adopted a week ago staring up at me.
“It’s... It’s just not possible. What do you **mean** he’s a fugitive? For fuck’s sakes, he’s just a tiny puppy!”
The bounty hunter shook his head and said, “You don’t understand. Though it may look innocent, it has killed thousands of our people. We don’t know where he came from, but I see that your planet has an abundance of these savage animals. Now, if you don’t mind, I will take him with me and we will put him through a fair trial.”
He tried to walk into my house, but I blocked him off and asked, “What is your definition of a fair trial?”
He kicked the panel on my door softly before replying. “We choose which day to kill him. Normally, we give them 3 days so they can understand the wrong that it has done. Now, please move, it is very important I get this mask on the dog before he **kills** me.” He tried to shove me away from the door, but I pushed him back.
Frustrated, he yelled out, “Don’t you understand this is beyond you? I will end your life if you don’t move this instant!”
I refused to move, but I knew I was pissing him off even more. Before I could react, he punched me in the side of the face and I went down like a defeated sack of potatoes. Chadwick ran up to me and started licking the spot where I was punched. The bounty hunter made a step towards us, but the puppy looked up at him and barked.
Immediately, he put both hands over his head and fell to the ground. Chadwick ran up to the bounty hunter and kept barking. Howls of agony filled the air as he writhed on the ground and kicked at the air. Blue goo started to seep out in between the bounty hunter’s clothes and helmet. Around 20 seconds later, It was just a pool of gooey mess, a mask, and tacky clothing.
It has been 3 years since that encounter. Chadwick is still the fun-loving pup he has always been, but I can't get over how he looks exactly the same as the day I got him.
| I was sound asleep. I was having a pleasant dream about me and my pet Goldfish swimming together in the ocean.
But it all went away when a knock on my door ripped me out of my dream. I meandered over to the door, Flashing lights were shining through the windows at the front of the house. I didn't even compute that the colors were yellow and green, but my mind went to cops immediately. i calmed my inner panic and opened the door. I was greeted by a man dressed in black clothing. "Good Day, i'm here looking for an Escaped Inter-galactic Criminal, we traced the perp to your house.
My mouth felt dry but i spoke up "That can't be possible... i'm the only one living here." He rummaged through his satchel bag and pulled out a piece of glass, he showed it to me and it lit up. I was shocked for a second but i became even more shocked when i saw what shown on the glass. It-... it was my Goldfish.
"I-i-i-i don't understand, that's my GoldFish Aquarius." he put the glass away and proceeded to speak into a walkie-talkie like device strapped to his coat. "He's here alright, moving to apprehend."
He shoved past me and started going through my house, i put my hands on his shoulders and started shaking him. "Listen dude... i don't know if you're joking or not but you have no right to be going through my house!" He turned around and pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. "Here's the Warrant, your degree you got at Law School should help you out." I read through and sure enough, it's all legit. I had shown a look of defeat and handed the paper back. I raised my arm and said: "I'll show you to him."
He followed me into my bedroom and pointed to his tank. He opened the top and dug into the painted rocks at the bottom. He pulled out a black box, He opened it and it showed tiny fish like armor and weapons, including knifes, tiny guns and tools. I was shocked.
"See?" he said "He's a killer, he even kept his stash of weapons in your home... I'm surprised he hasn't killed you yet, maybe he would've tried to use you as a Scape-Goat." I was speechless from what i was looking at. A man claiming to be a Inter-Galactic Bounty Hunter was after my Fish?
He pulled out a clear glass box and opened it up, he put it in the fish tank. Aquarius slowly swam out from behind the foliage i planted in the tank. he swam into the box, the man closed the lid and started walking out. i stopped him before he left. "Isn't there some way to like... i don't know let me see him?" He paused and, turned around and stared at me. " Sir this Criminal is a Class X Killer, he escaped Cage et Pervia (Latin for The Impervious Cage) after being there for only 5 days.
I felt depressed, crushed, stricken down to my very soul. I accepted defeat and set him on his way.
I got no more sleep the rest of the night, feared that i might have nightmares about it. I cryed for the rest of the night.
One month later. I had adopted a baby Labrador puppy. as i was walking out with the dog in my hands a man dressed in full black came through the door. My mouth dropped, it was the man who took my gold fish. I bolted past him and jumped into my convertible, I raced through town to get back home. He didn't follow me, i felt relaxed when i realized he wasn't after my newly adopted dog.
I am now enjoying my dreams of me and my dog running through a forest together.
The End
---------
Let me know what you think! i'm an amateur writer and it's a spare time thing.
Send me some feedback on what i can improve!
| 2017-11-15T23:49:24 | 2017-11-15T23:34:51 | 51 | 13 |
[WP] Earth is about to update to version 2.0.18! Write a change log for this new version. | Cheers from the U.S! Things might get a little political, but it's all in good humor and mainly about net neutrality because about 98% of Reddit is pro net neutrality
-Nerfed bitcoin to $13,000. It seemed as though bitcoin was $298.17 to powerful (the difference between its old value and the new one), and that those using it could have increased Wealth ratings by about $312.02 per coin (again, the difference between the old and new values), so we've decided to nerf it down to $13,000, or by about $440.21
-New internet rework live! The internet was a known overpowered force for humanity, so we took websites out of the base game and added them as paid DLC.
-Increased global temperature by about 0.8 degrees. We will continue to adjust this number as needed.
-Fixed a bug where low-income American children would have health insurance
-Added animated emoji to provide players additional communication besides voice and text chat
-New introduction of Big Brother system! This allows governments to watch whatever you are doing to keep you safe, although I'm sure nobody has anything to hide...
-We're working on our report system after criticism about the 22 million unanswered reports sent to the FCC about how Verizon and Comcast broke in-game rules. Expect changes to roll out as soon as these companies stop paying us | Donald Trump farted softly in his sleep. Melania sat bolt upright in bed, lifting an eyebrow and scowling sharply. She threw away her covers and slid off the silk bedsheets. She sashayed towards the Presidential Bathroom, iPhone in hand. She clicked the door closed and pressed the lock button.
As your noble omniscient narrator loitered politely outside the bathroom, he heard sounds from inside the bathroom: first a snort of disgust, and then the sound of the toilet seat being put down. There was a third noise (glossed over) followed by a flushing noise, which was interrupted by a shriek.
Melania stared at her iPhone, knees shaking.
>Greetings Earth User,
>Silicon Valley is proud to announce the arrival of Earth version 2.0.18!
>We have fixed numerous bugs of 2.0.16 and 2.0.17, including the Trump presidency, systemic racism, sexual harassment, and Disney’s purchase of the Star Wars franchise.
>We have also added new features, including the highly anticipated continent of Atlantis. The mermaid inhabitants of the sunken continent come complete with their own culture, cuisine, and casinos. Bring the whole family!
“What is this?” Melania said to no one in particular. She tried to exit the message. Impossible. The only option was to tap ‘accept’.
“I have been computer-hacked!” she said, breathlessly. She thought about turning in her phone to the White House Head of Digital Security, but it could take *hours* to get it back. She wanted to check Instagram. It would be swimsuit season soon.
She clicked ‘Accept’. Her whole world immediately plunged underwater. Walls of foamy seawater flooded the room, coming up from the sink drain, the heat vents, and the cracks in the floorboards. She was suspended underwater, floating in abject terror. Her hair splayed out in fine silky strands and her slippers floated into the bedroom. She swam after them, bubbles streaming from her mouth.
On the bed, Trump was a great orange blob—a humanoid goldfish with gills on his face. He slept peacefully, smacking his goldfish lips.
“Hrblblrlblr!” Melania screamed.
But he could not hear her. The owner of the Atlantis Trump Tower & Casino slept soundly, unaware that he had once been President of the United States.
A fart bubble formed under the blankets and crawled its way to the edge, flubbing upward towards the ceiling. Melania flailed her flippers with impotent rage.
And everyone else lived happily ever after.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more!
| 2017-12-22T22:21:44 | 2017-12-22T21:53:05 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | “What’s it doing?”, aerg asked.
“Oh, that’s an instinctive reaction. It’s called crying, according to encyclopedia. It’s a form of frustrated submission. The display of wetness on its face is a call for mercy.” miurg fanned its sensor antennae to observe again the excretions of the prisoner.
“Why does it not just initiate a state of desiring mercy? Any probe of its passive mind would detect it. It would be released upon landing at a known compatible environment.” aerg fanned as well, mildly curious as to the makeup of the facial fluids. “Is that salt? They must have vast reserves of salt on their world! How strange!”, aerg sent out.
“Yes. encyclopedia says their ocean has a high level of sodium chloride dissolved into it. Apparently they die without a sufficient amount of replenishment. We must endeavor to mix some up for it. I surmise they drink it in solution.”
“Ah, this might provide an explanation for what has puzzled me.”, aerg sent.
“Query. Source of puzzlement.” miurg sent back.
“It shows no reception, neither passive nor initiated. I am wondering if its biochemistry interferes with reception. A high enough level of salt is an unknown component. Perhaps it is chemically forestalled from communication. Possibly a bizarre evolutionary turn. Imagine no communication. One ponders how they have come across clothing and transportation technology.”
“Ah, there is a relevant datacluster. Their communication is entirely sound based. Like augmentation data, but only that.” miurg sent an augment of satisfaction.
“Compelling and ingenious. Evolution is truly an endless marvel. Ask encyclopedia to initiate in its augmented state a query. Subject what it thinks of us.” aerg was curious, as was evident by his own augmented trill, vacillating back and forth between psychic and auditory augmentations.
“Yuuuu munnnn, wut ut doo yuuuu tink have capture yuuuuu question.” uttered the local encyclopedia device, in sound only, for the benefit of the captive creature.
The creature stirred. Its wet face rose to point at the two guards.
“Huh.” The sound came from its largest facial hole.
I HATE YOU!!!
The psychic message was unmistakable. The guards went into seizures as the rawest and strongest form of psychic communication poured out of the wet faced captive.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!! I HOPE YOU DIE!!
miurg started bleeding from his second antennae fan. aerg made sounds of respiratory distress.
LET ME OUT!!!!!!
The creature made noises that accompanied its sending. Its smell intensified. miurg felt compelled. He hit the release array beside the cell with three limbs.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!! The sending went deep. miurg lost consciousness, sending a feeble call of distress.
Elsewhere in the ship, a transportation engineer programmed a course for the nearest human ship. Hopefully they would take back their beast, which sent too strong and profanely raw to endure. The beast entered the management room.
“Take me home.”, she said.
TAKE ME HOME!!!, they heard. The ship folded space. The engineer lay bleeding, possibly injured for life, but sent a full cognition to the empire hive. They must know. Humans only pretend to be silent and deaf. | “Look, all I’m saying is-“ “HOW can it be dangerous? It’s been crying in that corner for like 25 minutes!”
I looked over at the sobbing human. He did look rather sad, and I guess we should expect that. We did just steal him. “Why is he crying so much? It’s so IRRITATING!” Jaruta was getting really mad.
“Maybe he’s afraid of us? We aren’t that pleasant...” I was probably understating things, we were downright TERRIFYING! Weird scaly skin, long spiky tail, five eyes...... I probably needed to do something. “How about you let me go talk to it? Maybe I can get him to stop?”
“Sure, ANYTHING to stop that infernal crying.” He walked to the side while I slowly approached the boy.
He looked up at me, and kind of stopped the crying.
“Hey buddy...How are you?” I tried to sound as nice as possible. The boy turned around to face the wall. “Look, I know you’re sad, but you don’t have to cry so much!”
The boy flipped back around and said “I’m not crying because you kidnapped me. I’m crying because you smacked me in the face!”
Oh, I guess that did happen...
“What’s going to happen to me?” He definitely had a lot of fear in his voice. He’s probably not going to like this.
“Well, we’re monsters as you see, and monsters love scaring people, so......” I hoped he’d make the connection, and he did, because he went right back to crying. “Sorry kid, I don’t make the rules.”
“Can I at least have my bag back?” I saw his weird strapped pouch sitting on a stack of crates. I looked back at Jaruta, who nodded. I got it, and placed it down in front of him. The kid sopped up his tears, and opened it.
He took out a weird rectangle thing covered in a wrapper, ripped off the wrapper, and started eating it. It was a weird brown color like Faus. “Um, what IS that?” It was some type of food, but it didn’t look like anything I’d seen before.
He stopped eating and looked at me funnily. “It’s chocolate. You don’t eat chocolate?”
The name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. “No, we eat things like deer, raccoons and birds.”
He gave me a funny look and went back to eating his ‘chocolate.’ He finished it rather quickly, then took out a weird white thing. He opened it in the middle, and just looked at it. “What are you doing now?” He looked at me even more funnily.
“Reading. Do you not have that?” I shook my head no. “How do you function?” I shrugged.
“Hey, we’re both two different specimen.” He put his reading thing down.
“Well, what do you do for fun?” This was another thing he wouldn’t like.
“Normally we-“ Jaruta jumped in the boy’s face, and yelled. The boy screamed a little and drew back. Jaruta laughed, and went back to the wall. “Uh, that. We do that.”
The boy’s sadness was turning into anger. “Just leave me alone!”
I walked back over to Jaruta. “So I’m with you now on the ‘how can humans be dangerous’ train. They’re total pushovers!”
“Well yeah, I’m just a kid.” The boy was talking. “There are a lot of bigger humans. Stronger, taller, and some even carry weapons. I’m probably one of the weakest you’ll come across, and there are many more tougher than me.” He went back to read his book while me and Jaruta stare at each other.
“W-Well, that’s not our concern. We only want small ones to scare.” Jaruta walked over to him and snatched his bag and reading thing.
“Hey!” The boy got mad at him, and in response Jaruta snarled at him.
“You’re our prisoner now. You don’t get to keep these. Maybe we’ll feed them to Dirah.” Jaruta nudged me out of the cell, and he slammed the door shut, and locked it. The kid looked sad again.
“Hey, it’s ok. Maybe we’ll get some more and you can make friends!”
“No we’re not.” Jaruta walked away.
“Ok, we’re not. Um....” Jaruta walked away. I took a look at the kid. “See you later kid.” I walked away.
_________
Feedback is appreciated!
EDIT: Formatting and adding a little more. | 2018-02-17T21:27:28 | 2018-02-17T13:54:02 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You don't sleep. Instead you die every day and 8 hours later you wake up in the body of a person who has 16 hours left to live. | They say people lose a third of their lifetime to sleep. I live an entire lifetime in less than a day.
"Doc, what should I do?"
I paced around the room as I waited for an answer.
Doctor Cain adjusted his glasses slowly before fixing me with a contemplative stare. "I'm sorry but before I can answer any of your questions Jenny... That is the name of the body you are in right now, correct?"
I nodded. This time I was a woman barely into my twenties and already my body wore more piercings and tattoos then all my previous lives combined.
Doctor Cain paused for a moment before asking the question I knew was coming.
"What was your name yester-"
"Rick. Rick Crawver," I said sharply.
"And the day before?"
"Tamara Turner."
"And before that?"
"Bobby Santiago, Owen Arhshad, Shinji Naka-"
"Alright, alright, that's enough," he waves his hand, before adjusting his glasses again. "Now tell me Jenny... How much time does she have left?"
Jenny? Right. That's my name now. I swallowed as I tried to remember the exact time that I 'woke up' today. "An hour? No. It's probably closer to half-an-hour," I said, still pacing around the room.
Doctor Cain adjusts his glasses again, this time his hand is shaking. "This is... not a lot of time to work with. What took you so long to come here?"
I stopped pacing. "Do you really wanna know? Its a long story, and a terrible one at that. And did you see the car I came here in? It fucking stinks of drugs. It's probably stolen too, damn it. And when I woke up, I was surrounded by druggies and I think they're onto me. I didn't know their names and apparently they had something big going on today. I just bailed on them and-" I paused. "-Sorry for the ranting."
Doctor Cain took a deep breath. "Jenny, this better not be like the last time when-"
Suddenly the door to the warehouse breaks open. This was the place where Doctor Cain and I had designated our safe-house.
"How?" I muttered as I glanced at Doctor Cain.
Doctor Cain shook his head quickly.
A gang of thugs struts in, guns in hand. One of them walks forward, separating from the rest as he approaches me. "Jen, babe! How could you leave me? And you took all the good shit with you and who the fuck is this old guy?" he shouts.
My mind blanked for a moment. I knew no name or story and Jenny was a mystery to me.
"Uh... hey!" I wave cheerfully. "I was just about to leave! Don't worry about him, he's no buddy impor-"
"Who the fuck is this guy!" he screams manically, then whips his arm up, pistol trained on Doctor Cain.
"Don't!" I scream.
He fires.
I jump.
------
"Honey, are you awake?" a voice whispers softly, barely audible and yet it was clear - almost as if it was next to my ear.
A soft sensation tugs at my chest. My eyes snap open and immediately I see a woman in bed next to me, half naked and arm resting on my chest.
Another face I didn't know.
"Honey? What's wrong?" she asks.
"Nothing uhh - honey," I say quickly.
Another face who I couldn't put a name to.
I slid out of bed slowly, hoping she didn't notice. But she does.
"Nathan? What's going on? Talk to me."
For a moment I wonder if I should just leave. But I don't because I knew it wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be fair to Nathan and to *her.*
"Listen, I'm not Nathan," I said as I stare into the mirror on the wall. "I'm-"
Who am I? I had forgotten lifetimes ago. Here I had short dark hair, light skin and pale green eyes.
She laughs softly. "And I"m not Sophie. Did you have too much to drink last-" she pauses, "Honey why are you crying?"
I turned away from the mirror. "Because I'm going to die today."
--------
---------
/r/em_pathy
| The first thing I do every morning is to stretch. You can tell a lot about a body with a long stretch. Then, I tend to look for a mirror. For curiosity’s sake.
“And who might you be?” I muttered as I checked my new face in the mirror. A man, in his early thirties, with dark circles around his eyes and in a desperate need of a shave. I ruffled my hair a bit to make it look less like I was licked by a cow. Then, I turned to inspect the rest of the room. It was bare, except for a large king-sized bed and a couple of nightstands. There was some pictures hanging on the wall of the man with a young woman, where he was looking much more fit and healthy.
“A break up perhaps?” I opened his closet. “No wonder she left, your dress code is that of a fucking lumberjack.” I pulled one of a dozen checkered shirts and started to dress. I slapped on some terrible cologne and gave myself a second look in the mirror deciding to do some grooming later to, at least, give the fellow a nice send off.
I was halfway down the staircase when I heard a noise somewhere in the ground floor. I stopped and looked around for clues. Maybe he has a roomate? The fridge door closed. Then, someone dragged a chair across the floor. And then, there was the sound like a cabinet door opening and something like a box of cereals falling off.
“Shit”. said a tiny, young voice.
I peeked into the kitchen. A small figure in a pink robe was standing atop a chair, staring at a mess of cereals that covered the floor. The young girl was about five or six years old. Her mouth was shaped like an “o”, showing the gaps in her teeth. When she spotted me, her hand flew to her mouth.
“I’m sorry”, she said. I could see an impish smile at the corners of her mouth. “I was just trying to make breakfast”.
When kids enter the equation, things tend to get complicated. It’s not that the people die and are going to leave the children them behind. Hell, people die all the time and that’s nothing to do with me. But they are just so clingy and, on occasions, oddly perceptive.
“Daddy?” There was a wrinkle between her brows. “Get me down?”
She stretched her arms forward waiting for me to pick her up. I obliged, but her unwavering stare made my face flush. What is it with this kid?
She continued to stared at me. “Hello,” she said in a tentative way, peering at me as if she wasn’t sure she recognized me.
I gave her an awkward wave back, hoping this was a sort of game the man used to play with his kid.
But then, with a heavy brow, she shook her head and turned away from me. The girl started opening cabinets, looking inside and closing them. Finally, she found a short broom and a dustpan set. She kneeled on the floor and started collecting the fallen cereal.
“I always prefer to leave the place tidy”, she said, suddenly sounding less like a child.
The lump forming at the top of my stomach finally dropped. “What?” was all I could say.
“Well”, she continued, without stopping her task. “You are as much this girl’s father as I am a six year old that loves cartoons with talking animals”.
My mouth fell open. This person was like me, there was no doubt. A daily traveler. One who takes the place of a person on their last day of being alive.
The girl threw the last bits of food into the garbage can and sat down on the floor with a weariness that shouldn’t belong to the face of a young child. After a second, I sat down too, facing her.
“I’ve never met someone like me”, I said. “My god, there is so much I want to ask you, I can’t even-, I don’t even have enough words to ask it all.”
She nodded and avoided my eyes.
“Are there more like us?”
“I have met someone else like us, a long time ago”. She shrugged. “You’re the second.”
“And”, I stopped, searching for the right words. “what are we?”
After a while, she smiled a little. “What do you think we are?”
I frowned at the question. “I don’t know, like their guardian angels or something?”
The little girl stared at me. It was the sort of look that certainly creeped me out a bit. I was starting to wonder if this person hasn’t lived through enough last days and was starting to crack a bit.
“I mean, we’re like stopping them from living out the day of their deaths. As someone who has lived through quite a few of those, I’d say it’s a blessing”.
She moved her stare towards one of the fluffy pink slippers on the little girl’s feet. “Sometimes, I feel like we are usurping their time. Like right now, it’s a Sunday morning and these two were probably going to the park together”, she said.
“Maybe, but they were also going to die in”, I checked the clock on the wall behind me, “about 13 hours.”
The little girl nodded. “You can do a lot in 13 hours. You meet someone. You can fall in love. You can say goodbye.” She got up from the floor and placed the broom and dustpan back in their cabinet.
I didn’t say anything and just watched as she made herself a bowl of cereal.
\--
r/TheOrchidGirl | 2018-06-20T08:07:39 | 2018-06-20T07:26:34 | 665 | 125 |
[WP] As it turns out, humans are not the generic, good guy, center of the galaxy type species. Humans are a specialist species, and the rest of the galaxy only cares about one thing when it comes to humanity. Our explosives. | There were over 100 Alien species in the grand council of zerekas, the largest weaponry and technology showcase in the known universe, the Imperium of Pretoria had just received a standing ovation from the members, after showing that their newest creation of indestructible living sculptures had successfully eliminated the test subjects in the main arena.
But it was the newcomers to the Grand council, the Humans who held the interest of the Species, from the peace loving Chisari to the war hungry Krograsi. They were nothing Special, Militarily, biologically or scientifically, but the humans were shocked when they realised a weapon they had been using for centuries, even when they were locked on their home world hadn’t been developed by a single other Species.
The Humans said they had the very best man for the job.
“And finally this evening, the Human delegation, and their innovation: explosives” the voice over the PA announced.
And a single, solitary human appeared in the centre of the arena he took one look at the multitude of species that were showing interest in what he had to show
And then he screamed to the audience...
“DO YOU KNOW 98% OF THINGS IN THE GALAXY ARENT EXPLODING RIGHT NOW?!?!?, THAT IS HORSESH*T!” | Anari Fortress is cramped and claustrophobic. It is a swarming marketplace, filled with both the deepest tenements of the criminal underworld, as well as the faintly disguised extraterrestrials that had contacted us so many times through history. It is here at Anari where humans and our foreign "friends" met face to face, often brought together by government officials and shady ambassadors. They are here for one thing, and one thing only. What we have taken so many years to painstakingly perfect, and yet shot ourselves in the foot so many times with. No firearm, no, that is too inconsequential and insignificant to warrant that sort of attention. I mean explosives.
Our galactic neighbors love them. The carefully crafted exteriors of the various canisters and shells. The destructive power within, raw and untamed. I'm sure we are to blame for many galactic conquests, yet these weapons of devastation are our lucky charm, for as long as we have them, no race would dare try to conquer us. Too much of a mess, they'd prefer to do business instead. They provide us with rare galactic materials, Mithril, Galvantium, Noxorus, you name it we probably have it in our treasuries.
You wonder why I tell you all this? I believe all our clients must know the full history of our "explosive" business. You give us what we want, and we will supply you with heavy grade artillery, dangerous toxin-based explosives, firebombs, and many more enticing options. You will pick from the world's largest stock at the Jabra Warehouse directly below Anari. We will then take you to Seiva Pavillion, where you will indulge in various earthly delights to cap off your stay. Music, dancing, food, luxury. It's a very attractive deal, is it not? What we require from you? Simple.
We would humbly request that our payment be a piece of Gliese-42. We understand that you have recently come into possession of the planet, and we wish for a part of it, to be stored for an energy source on this planet. It seems like a large undertaking, but I personally assure you that it is well worth it for the sheer variety and firepower you will find here at Jabra. So trust in me, and let us leap into this business venture together.
My group awaits you! This will be a blast.
Zolhan Kirvo, President of the United States of America
————————————————————
r/bluelizardK | 2018-07-16T04:52:58 | 2018-07-15T22:26:30 | 161 | 104 |
[WP] You come home to your new apartment from a long day at work to find an eldritch horror sitting on your couch, eating your favorite snack and watching a football game. When it notices you, it gurgles, "Didn't read the lease, eh? This place wasn't cheap because of the bugs, pal." | I don't know what Lovecraft's deal is. The initial shock was bad certainly, and seeing your own mind spill into the void is less then pleasant, but when all's said and done it's not so bad.
I stand up off the floor and look at the beast. "Could you pass the chips?"
"Sorry we're out, been out for a while," the thing smiles at me. "You're mother called, she wanted to know if she'd hear from you this week.
"Oh yeah I'll call her in an hour or so," I look the think up and down. It's this really the form that had my mind splitting just seconds ago? It still hurt to look but it seriously wasn't that bad. "So, what's your name?"
A sound like an earthquake began inside my head I heard whispering and howling and a terrified scream that sounded like me. In the storm I heard the name and my body fell to the ground vomiting.
Slowly, I regained my composure and looked up from the dried bile, into the face of the thing.
I don't know what Lovecraft's deal is. The initial shock was bad certainly, and seeing your own mind spill into the void is less then pleasant, but when all's said and done it's not so bad.
I stand up off the floor and look at the beast. "Could you pass the chips?"
"Sorry we're out, been out for a while." | ######[](#dropcap)
"Chip?" he proffered, sticking out the bag towards Kasen as he stuck another into his mouth. It made a--one--crunching sound, then disappeared down his fish-scale covered gullet.
"Um, no thanks," the boy said reflexively. He dropped his keys on the counter and slid off his shoes. Then, just as he was about to head into his bedroom, he paused. His head whipped back toward the creature with vaguely human-like features but was clearly Not Human. "Wait, what are you doing here?"
The creature shrugged. "Your dad was worried about you."
"Worried about me?" Kasen's brow furrowed. "Did he seriously say that?"
The creature shrugged, turning its bulbous eyes back towards the television that was still blaring. If Ellie and Charlie didn't stay together, he was going to lose it.
Kasen stalked in front of the television and crossed his hands over his chest. "Brabec..." he said, his tone dangerous.
Brabec flailed his arms--sticky and slightly tentacle-like, but otherwise human--around in exasperation. He would have never taken this job if he hadn't been threatened with non-existence. He could be sitting in his own cave right now, watching Love Island on a 50-inch plasma screen TV, and instead, here he was, babysitting Satan's son.
He sat up, leaving a gooey residue in a vague human shape on the couch cushion. "Look. It's not my fault you didn't read the lease, okay? You think you can get this good of an apartment on your money? Your dad is paying half your rent. And all of mine," he added. "So go off and do whatever it is you rebellious teenage boys want to do, and I'll sit here and finish my episode." He shooed Kasen off.
Kasen's eyes narrowed, a dangerous aura emanating off of him. Brabec gave him a wary look but otherwise remained unmoved. This boy thought he was dangerous just because he could summon a ghoul. Well, he ate ghouls for breakfast. Which is also why he was chosen for the job.
Then Kasen groaned in exasperation. "Fine, I'll go talk to father myself." He vanished.
"Good!" Brabec shouted out after him. "And bring back some ghoul chips! I forgot them because I got chased out so fast. What a ridiculous father-son pair," he muttered under his breath. "They better leave me out of the next argument or I'm moving out of hell myself."
*****
r/AlannaWu | 2018-08-10T12:07:43 | 2018-08-10T08:22:58 | 18 | 10 |
[WP]At 18 everyone is assigned a job perfect for them. No one ever complains. Upon reading their job assignment card, a teen has found that, for the first time in 100 years, they’ve been assigned “serial killer”. | I lazily grabbed the card from the machine, politely thanked the attendant, and walked away dreading what sort of mundane life I looked forward to. Ever since cognitive analytics became a field, machines had been created to scan and determine ideal careers for people.
As part of legislation, it was mandated that machines could not log the jobs generated through the program and that occupations assigned were to be confidential unless people willingly revealed them or they were caught, forcing them to reveal their criminal cards.
The machines understood what people truly wanted to be through psychological analysis and brain scans allowing for people to truly be content in their jobs. No one was ever dissatisfied with their occupations and after the cards were received, they could be revealed to the proper companies allowing for people with cards to start their jobs immediately.
Cards were usually examined in private because there were some cards that were not to be revealed until the bearers of them got caught such as "Thief", "Forger", or "Mugger" cards, and before they were caught, they could say they were artists or other more palatable, freelance occupations as covers.
As I walked away from the crowds of people, I decided to glance at the card I was given wondering what job I had gotten.
I stared curiously at the shiny red text that said, "**Serial Killer**" in clean, bold letters.
While the cards had colored text that determined how common an occupation was, I had never seen anyone with such text.
The common text colors, such as construction workers or retail workers or security guards, were black; the uncommon text colors, such as lower managers or lower cooks or soldiers or common criminals, were grey; the rare text colors, such as for athletes or minor-role actors, were bronze; the ultra rare text colors, such as for politicians or high-level executives or celebrity chefs or higher-level criminals, were silver; and finally, for the rarest colors, such as destined stars or destined celebrity musicians or destined genius visionaries, there were gold letters.
I held the card, curious as to how rare it was, and I quietly went home to research. I used my roommate's computer to look through historical archives and I quickly learned that the last serial killer caught was found 70 years ago at age 48, 30 years after she had received her card. I stared at the shiny red letters as I realized I was likely the first to receive a serial killer card in 100 years.
I smiled as I realized life was not going to be as mundane as I thought it would be. | I can barely believe we live in a time where cognitive regocnition technology can identify what roles we play at an individual level in our society.
My mom and das thinks it is scarey but embrace the idea anyways. "It works... it just does. I guess" they say. Am i living in the shift or evolution of the modern man? I guess for them it should feel like fantasy that humanity progressed so much so quick. Or maybe they were too caught up in their culture to see how things could change. And they were called the generation of change...
Welp.
I guess they may be the catalyst for our progress.
Millenials had more time to think than act. So maybe it's their late sprouting.
Im 18 now, and today, is the last day of my senior year. Every graduate will now take that test.
The open booths at the college campus seemed so open. Everyone enjoyed sharing their job titles with wide eyes of hope and oppourtunity.
We just sit in a chair with a small device attached to our foreheads and wait for 10 minutes as it downloads our memory and analyzes our genetics. We dont have to say a thing. Just stay awake, breathe to keep the oxygen in the brain, and let the memories analyzer do its job.
It's unusual to get pranked while waiting but its not unheard of.
I was quite stunned when my role printed out "Serial Killer". I am skeptical of the system's programming but i stand up with my printout. There could be a mistake but who do i complain to? Usually these come with a manager and start date already... but there is no phone number or business information. Just a codestamp of approval. So i hit the verify button. It sends the data to the home.server and they show you your stats. Stats like physical cabalilities, mental prowess and intelligence, creativity, etc...
All of mine came back as the most normal man in existence...
All my stats are halfway and in the center of every poll.
I throw my crumpled shame in the trash bin outside the booth. I step out and see no line so i go and retake the test.
These ten minutes pass by and the same result comes out.
I, am afraid now...
What if i must do this because the machine deemed we need this?
What if i am just a tool in it's learning to test it's own acengy, and thus, sentience?
Or maybe im being delusional and paranoid.
Maybe the machine doesnt actually know what to do with me so it found... it found out what a serial killer is? And wants to identify it as a profession?
Yeah... its just a paradox... heheh, cuz im so normal.
Heh...
Next thing i know someone is calling my name.
I answer and maybe think about how they could understand ny problem.
We chat for a bit on professions and then he asks the dirty one.
I am reluctant. I wont tell him and he thinks im shy or playing hard to get. I just dont know if he will believe me, or the machine...
Its never been wrong before.
I see him reach for the garbage can because he saw my crumpled paper. And i realize he will see it soon too. I dont move, afraid and stuck in my overthinking. He gasps in horrow and his face goes pale.
Oh no,
He believes the machine.
He is going to warn the police.
He is a good man and a good friend.
But he isnt going to tell them.
Because he'll be dead.
And now i have blood on my hands.
And a witness. | 2018-08-13T19:22:34 | 2018-08-13T18:58:59 | 542 | 62 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186,292".
The number kept ringing in my ears as I was huddled onto the elevator to Hell. I had led the most unremarkable and conflict-free life ever, an average joe. Easy-going, I almost always acquiesced to what the group wanted, not wanting to raise an issue. A voyeur of life, almost.
Chapters from life flashed in front of my eyes, some more vivid than the others.
&#x200B;
"""Queer little Abby, who was in bullied in school all the time. I wanted to stand up for her, but I was scared. I did slip her a little note though...
Abdul Rahman, whose house was pelted with stones in the aftermath of 9/11. I wanted to tell the mob to leave, call the cops on them, but I was scared they'd hurt me. I did smile at him once later though...
Jack and Ryan, a couple who were always picked on and ostracized in our neighborhood. I wanted to tell the folks to back off, but I was scared they'd judge me. I did pat Ryan on the back though...
Barbara Rooney, a Stanford grad who didn't get the job at my company cause my boss wanted to give it to his nephew. I wanted to tell my boss that it was wrong, but I was scared I'd lose my job. I did send her a very polite rejection letter though..."""
&#x200B;
The elevator jolted to a halt, shaking me out of my thoughts. The panoramic arch to Hell welcomed me. On it, was Dante:
**"The Hottest places in Hell are reserved for those, who in times of moral crisis, preserve their neutrality."** | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | 2018-09-26T08:17:41 | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 35 | 17 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186 thousand years?! W-what did I do?" I asked the demon before me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his demonic keyboard, delving deeper into my file.
"Says here you would frequently eat the fats on your meat?"
"I did? I guess. What does that have to do with anything?"
The demon shrugged. "Automatic 186 thousand years."
"What?! Why?!"
The demon sighed again, more loudly this time: "'It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.' Leviticus 3:17. It's right there in the bible, sir."
"Are you kidding me? The guy in front of me only got 145 years! Are you telling me he never ate fat or blood?"
"That's correct. You are literally the only person who has ever eaten fat. God was very clear about fat."
"Ohhh, you ate fat?" a guy with three teardrop tattoos under his right eye asked incredulously from behind me. "Dude, don't eat fat. Haven't you ever read Leviticus?"
"No, I'm not religious!" I protested.
"Well, it's basically the worst thing you can do," he informed me, licking blood off his knife.
"This guy's eating blood!" I pointed out. "Is he gonna get 186 thousand years?"
"No, blood's not as big a deal obviously," said the demon.
"It's in the same quote!"
"Yeah, but you gotta read between the lines on this stuff."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. I'll see if I can knock it down a couple of thousand years for you, alright? Let me just-- whoa, wait, it says here you've worn garments upon you of more than one kind of material mixed together? Dude. What the fuck."
&#x200B; | I had been in line for some time now and was grateful to hear the man in front of me called forward, he was the sort that must have skipped showers here and there. Then again, we were dead and so suddenly I expected that none of us smelled like roses. I had my armpit to my nose when he turned back and with a brief nod said, “Good luck, mate.”
I heard his sentence and couldn’t help but roll my eyes. *Serves him right the unfaithful sod* were the words that were running through my mind when I heard, “Henry Thudor” called forward.
I stepped up to the stage, walking up the steps reminded me of when I had many years ago for graduation. My life had been a pretty boring one, but I’d been reasonable. Maybe 1 or 2 years in hell for the can of coke I once shoplifted and the screaming child I wished a plague of bees upon one late flight many moons ago.
The person in front of me looked like he’d bought his outfit in an after Halloween clearance sale. I eyed him up and down, the pointed tail, the horns on his head – hardly frightening when I’ve seen it so many times before.
“186,292.”
“I beg your pardon?”
The number had been said clearly enough but the logic of it couldn’t quite catch up to it jumbling around in my head.
“That has to be a mistake.”
“Tell me, Mr Thudor –“
“Oh!” I interrupted and waved my hand, *bloody idiot* I thought, but I said, “It’s my name, isn’t it? Simple mistake, but wrong king – you want the eighth, and I’m surprised you got me mixed up when it’s been what, how many years since the ol’ wife lopper kicked the bucket? Actually, is he here? Do we get to meet famous people in hell?”
The demon peered down on me with the same look I’d been given by my second-year teacher when I’d stolen Eve’s apple. I gulped.
“Mr Thudor, tell me, have you ever looked upon anyone without passing judgement on them?”
The saliva I had previously been wrestling down stayed full and choking in my throat. So, this is how it ends, all because I found the fast food waitress’s hair irresponsible.
“I would like to see a lawyer.”
“Well, there are plenty of those down here, although little use it will do you.”
I didn’t hesitate, I held my head high.“I believe that the sins that have been ascribed to me following my judgement of fellow human beings,” at the demons pointed glance I corrected myself, “and as of the past few minutes demons, should instead be placed upon them.”
The demon ran a well-trimmed nail over the horn that jutted out atop his head. “We do enjoy a good show, we’ll bring you a lawyer. I’ll warn you though, 186,000 of those years have little to do with your judgement of others.”
“Then what is the problem here?”
Again, the demon tilted his head forward and my childhood teacher came once more to mind.
“For reasons I’d have thought obvious, we don’t take kindly to those who steal apples.” | 2018-09-26T09:04:03 | 2018-09-26T08:46:32 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186,292 years!?!"
"Yup." St. Peter looked bored, maybe even a little annoyed. I suppose I wasn't his first today to be taken back by their sentence -- by this _rejection_ -- and I suspect I won't be the last.
But then my gaze moved over St. Peter's left shoulder to... Majesty? Brilliance? This glowing man... being... just perfection. Indescribable perfection.
Love.
He was wearing headphones and it looked like he was getting down to some sick beats.
"Is... is that...?" I asked.
"Of course. Who else would it be?"
"What is He listening to?"
"Probably Nickelback. It's pretty much all He ever plays."
I paused, surprised. Nickelback? How could he...
"Oh. Okay. I get it now. So... See you in 186,292 years?" I ask.
"See you in 186,292 years." | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
&#x200B;
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
&#x200B;
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
&#x200B;
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T08:25:34 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You're a paramedic. In fact, an immortal paramedic. Since you first treated a wounded soldier on the fields of the 30-years War, you didn't age and followed the development of "Emergency Medical Service". Your coworkers are astonished by your knowledge, but sometimes, you slip into old habits.. | From within the ambulance shed came yelling which was muffled but loud enough to bring nurses from the hospital adjacent. Several EMTs and a paramedic stood outside the building shaking their heads at the terrible noises coming from within. The nurses walked up with concerned looks on their faces.
“What’s happening,” asked one of them to the paramedic.
“Dimitiri has gone off the deep end,” she responded.
“Really?” There was a look of disbelief from the nurses who were used to Dimitri’s calm attitude and efficient work. He was a legend at the hospital for his knowledge and ability, but the fact that he could proceed through the worst scenarios with calm was perhaps the most impressive thing of all.
“What happened,” one of them asked.
“We got privatized,” said an EMT. “They just cut our pay, lengthened our hours, cut our benefits, service is now more expensive, coverage area got bigger while they are removing one of the units, want us to focus on transports instead of emergency medicine, and people will die because we can’t be there to help them.”
From within the confines of the ambulance building came the shout... “I haven’t seen anything this barbaric and stupid since the fucking dark ages!” | With every assault men in brown uniforms would fall to the Swedes, like sand being washed from a beach by the tide of blue coated soldiers. Each shot of the cannons releasing flashes of blue and red as they smashed against the wall as if cracking open the delusions of Tomas and letting in reality. The man he treated had never had the same face twice. It had gone through so many changes, from young homeless children to even Charles XIII once, but it would never once again be the face Tomas truly wished he could save. This particular time the face had been dismembered by a round that was developed centuries after the battle. One fragment had lodged itself into and upper section of the man’s throat. The young medic pulled out his knife, and with the steadiness of someone far more experienced then Tomas in 1648 had been, moved his knife to make an incision, before a voice began to break through the boundaries of his delusions.
“James. JAMES!” The Swedish soldier yelled as he grabbed at the knife. Yet when he looked up the man in the blue coat the Swedish soldier had left and instead the man who had long ago been known as Tomas was staring into the eyes of another paramedic. “That knife’s not sanitary.”
“James” looked down at the ancient, weathered knife of the Czech army. Had he brought the old thing to work with him today? James soon decided however that he could ponder that when a man wasn’t dying before him. “Yes of course you’re right.” He replied.
With a scalpel now instead of a combat knife the tracheotomy was performed. The ride to the hospital however left significantly more room to think as much of the work needed to be done to sustain the now stable mans life was done by his coworker as insisted, likely now suspicious of “James’s” competence. Tomas could now go back through all the thoughts that he had every time he experienced the hallucination. What had his friend’s original face looked like? Most of the early faces from that hallucination were forgotten, even that if the great Carolus Rex he had now superimposed the face from a painting onto for lack of a better image. Why was he still alive? This question never got anywhere of course, and it never would. And why of course did he keep reliving the moment of the end of what had been the end of a lifetime of war for his friend but merely a fraction of an eternity for him? | 2019-01-05T15:35:45 | 2019-01-05T15:34:26 | 71 | 18 |
[WP] Jerry was erased from existence by Thanos’ snap. The grieving Tom decided to revenge for his fallen friend. | “How is this possible?!” Thanos shouts as he stumbled backward from the sheer shock of what he had just witnessed.
The red gem on Thanos gauntlet glows, altering bits and pieces of everything around him.
Expect for this being in front of him.
The creature marches towards Thanos with no fear, rolling up the fur on his arms as if they are sleeves, the reality of him is as what he wants.
Each instance Thanos turns back the time to send the creature backwards only makes the creature more determined to move forward. If instead Thanos moves time forwards in attempt to age and disarm the creature, it appears to have no effect on him, as art does not age.
As far as Thanos can understand, the creature in front him is what the inhabitants of Earth would consider as a mammal, more specifically a cat named Tom that has been domesticated.
What Thanos does not understand is how has this simple Earth creature can withstand the attack made by the Power Stone. No amount of brute force has done any harm to this creature, the best Thanos has done was to deform the creature and watch it bounce back to its original shape.
Smash the creature from the top, the creature simply become a flattened shape, like a pancake, then revert it by blowing air into its thumb.
Crush the creature through the clutches of Thanos fist, the creature crumbles and falls onto the ground like dusts. Then two hands emerge from the pile dust with a broom and dust pan. The creature collects itself back and returns to a single piece.
Tom scoffs at these elementary attacks. Having a mouse trap snapping at his tail would have entertained him more.
If these attack does not damage the creature, Thanos has decided to exploit the weakness of the mind. But as far as the Yellow Gem can tell, only true fear Tom had was the Lady of the House and the giant bulldog.
It is beyond what Thanos can comprehend, as to why and how this creature fears these powerless being instead of the omnipotence power Thanos has.
“What do you want?!” Thanos desires an answer from this creature.
But Tom does not speak. As Tom can not, and need not to speak.
All he needs is Jerry back. |
There is a reason why we have lived this long because of the incident of one day in May 1943 we were both chasing each other this time we made a complete mess of things almost destroyed the house i was using fire poker to murder Jerry for drinking my milk again and by accident through no fault of my own the fire poker touched the curtains and so the entire place almost burnt down but by luck master's seltzer came in handy.
I contained the fire and almost got rid of it if it weren't for the maid Beatrice she was furious started cursing at me and Jerry in french who knew she was a Haitian voodoo priestess she cursed us to immortality of chasing each other by sacrificing Spike and his son Tyke to the Loa Papa Legba.
Its been almost more than sixty five years, Beatrice is long since been dead or that is my assumption she disappeared after the sacrifice it was not a major issue we both really hated Spike and his always runt kid Tyke and we enjoyed the idea of being immortals and so we traveled all across Americas from north to south then north again and we settled this time in New York with a nice person his name is Wong who lives in the giant house of all kinds of fun oddities.
After all this time me and Jerry grew up to be close friends if not like family we shared alot of pain and suffering together starvation, death and the rebirth part and so in the eve each others birthday May 3rd, we both chase each other for old time sake and this is due to our long and unending life and the thrill of the hunt.
We have found more messed up ways to kill each other, you see Wong has alot of oddities in his manor like weapons and books about spells and stuff and so we engrossed our selves in trying to out perform each other every year this was our ten year anniversary and so we were well versed in most of these spells and how to manipulate of the physical world itself and so every year we try to ensure to kill each other this was our tenth year of the Tom & Jerry Olympics.
The game was afoot i drew upon the power fireling and released the flames from my mouth to Jerry's direction and it caught him by surprise he burnt to ashes. I was waiting for him to come back the from the ashes but Jerry never did. I thought it was a prank so i waited and waited for three days even Wong did not come home to feed us i was scared then i prayed to Papa Legba to know where is Jerry.
Papa told me that Jerry has been erased from existence itself by a maniacal force that wiped the existence of half the sentient beings in the universe and so i searched through out the loa underworld to no avail. Then Bondye the Voodoo God saw me and took pity on my state and told me "little blue cat your half is missing by the hand of one being, Thanos find him and put and end to him and his accursed gauntlet and once you do your other half the little brown mouse will come back and as a boon for your quest I shall grant you the power of a mighty star in sky be wary the flames of this star will consume your soul if you use it too be wary little blue cat.
I thanked Bondye for his kindness and for the name of the being that took Jerry from me and now i need find to this Maniac Thanos and get my friend Jerry back. | 2019-04-01T07:25:11 | 2019-04-01T07:00:25 | 111 | 11 |
[WP] In contemp, gods made you the god of the forgotten. For millenia your power was merely enough to keep you alive. Jokes on them, those same gods that chained you before, have been forgotten. You are the only thing between them and nothingness. "Well, well, well..." | *The Gods are quiet.*
*The chamber is in ruin, dilapidated and crumbling as reality itself threatens to collapse this place to metaphorical atoms, symbolic dust. Midnight dark rivers streak down once ivory-pale pillars like crying black tears.*
*I watch the Gods in my own silence. Great Heavenly Fathers, majestic War Goddesses, loving Tricksters, menacing Daemons reduced to.. this. I remember shining cloaks and howling armament, cosmic armors that could’ve made supernova seem pathetically diminutive. They seem like winter shadows of their former selves. Wrought, decayed ink scratchings with pale skins and dangling rusting riches, hollow eyes that stare into nothingness.*
*I am the God of the Forgotten.*
*For aeons I was a joke. I was a lesson to be learned by mythic heroes or tragic failures. A lesson to be spent learned in a void eternity. The Gods laughed and laughed and laughed at me, at Forgotten; God of Nothing. No rituals, no temples. Nothing. I drained to splinters of null. A false conception.*
*Now, I am greater than they are. Vaster. My energies plunder their sorrow and catastrophe, claw at the raining Forgotten that bleeds from the Gods broken temples, shattered murals, fossilized rituals. In my stomach I feel pity. In my heart I feel freezing silence.*
*When I snap my fingers, it is in mercy.*
*Forgotten.* | “Well, well, well, look who finally came CRAWLING BACK, did your pets out in the universe finally grow up?”
Before me stand the gods, hundreds, Yahweh, Allah, Zeus, Ra, and countless more, patrons of civilizations all across the universe, here, before me.
“It’s all my old friends, Yahweh, who stabbed me in the back, Allah and Zeus the accomplices, all the witnesses who left me here, consigned to an eternity of being patron of those you didn’t care to deal with.”
“Only, in your desperation to secure power for yourself, in your absolute arrogance, you forgot that one day, you too would be forgotten.”
I see them figuring it out, the terror and resignation, all the conflicting emotions of a pantheon of god’s turned mortal.
“I’ve waited for this day, for millennia I waited, plotting my revenge, and now here you are, your charges have forgotten you, the almighty brought to their knees.”
Most refuse to speak, but Yahweh steps forward, “We will not be cowed by a deity as low as you, we will defeat you and restore our power over this universe.”
I chuckle, then he’s on his knees screaming in pain.
“Do you feel that Yahweh? That’s oblivion tugging at your very being, a sensation I have felt every day of my wretched existence. Do you know what it’s like? To sense the void calling, so you know how much it hurts? How many times I tried to end myself and failed?”
He chokes out another scream, and I release him.
“Do you know what it feels like to be called out to by the void for a thousand years? The meek deity you knew is gone.”
He glares at me.
“You created me, turned me into a monster. But I suppose I should be grateful, the void is a dangerous force, and a powerful weapon for those who can wield and embrace it. Why, the gods themselves cower before it, before the only thing more powerful than them.”
The gods glance at each other, stepping away from me, all except one, Ares draws his spear and charges me.
And then before he can scream, he’s gone.
A chuckle turns into a laugh, and then to a cackle.
“DO YOU FEAR ME NOW? BELIEVE I’M WORTHY OF YOUR MEANINGLESS RESPECT?!”
Allah steels his nerves, “No, we do not and will never respect OR fear you!”
“Ahahaha... AHAHAHAHAHA!”
I smile evilly
“You will... you will...” | 2019-07-13T00:22:51 | 2019-07-12T21:25:06 | 316 | 214 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe. | "You won't be able to stop me, evil Mr. Clownface," cried Jessica as she stumbled backward, the super vanilla cream pie splattered all over her face.
"But, hahaha, you are wrong little girl, for I ClownFace, the Jester of Evil, have come to this city to steal," began the Clown.
"Super Girly Transform," cried Jessica as her magical cat sparkles finally managed to locate the mystical power locket that contained the tears of the goddess.
Clownface stepped backward to allow the transformation to occur as a geyser of blood shot forth from the ground from where a battleax had split the earth. The world screamed as Jessia grew nearly three feet in height, her Furinkin high school sweater replaced by solid greasy plates of armor. Finally, the blood began raining out in all directions as she stepped out of the wretched orgy of death.
"I will break you," replied Grezelda, Mistress of Brutal Pain.
"YOUR SMILES," screamed ClownFAce, "I'm trying to steal smiles here."
"And I'm gonna stomp a mudhole in your ass," she replied, "WITH MY BOOT."
\_\_\_
Jessica ran back into the school where all the children were sitting around quiet. She plopped down next to her best friends Brandy and Misty, "So I hear Clownface was here?"
Misty started sobbing instantly, as did most of the rest of the class. The teacher was openly drinking scotch.
"He's dead now," replied Brandy. "He's dead and so is my childhood."
Shocked, Jessica looked at her classmates, "But he was trying to steal."
"He was stealing smiles," stated Brandy, "Half the time he's so inept that he ruins his own plan and the other times, the other hero would just give a speech and he'd leave."
"He won't be leaving now," sobbed Misty.
"She's overreacting," said Jessica.
"His head was in my book bag," she sobbed more.
"Well," replied Jessica trying to change the subject, "That's a pretty red dress."
"It was white this morning!"
"What about the Ladybug guy," said Jessica changing the subject again.
"All he did was make ladybugs crawl on you," said Misty, "Cute little ladybugs."
"Well, he was a villain," continued Jessica.
"Grezelda twisted him into a pretzel, legs don't go that way," said Brandy.
"I'm haunted by those legs," said the Teacher.
Jessica thought to herself, these guys don't think I'm trying hard enough. Next time I'll show them what I can really do! | I never knew having a D&D obsession could save my life. Yet, it happened. Sometimes it seems as though fate has a sense of humor.
Let me start from the beginning. I was on my school bus (headed to school, of course), drowning out the sound of fellow adolescents with the voice of Matthew Mercer. It was a peaceful rainy day, with the sound of rain tapping gently on my window. I double-checked my bag to make sure I hadn’t forgotten my homework. Damn it. Damn it to the Nine Hells. I’d left it on my desk at home. Now I’d have to answer to Teach. Technically, it would have been my fault for doing it at midnight.
My mind abruptly ran to a halt when the bus stopped. I popped out my earbuds and looked out the window. Big mistake. I found myself staring right into the eyes of a thug with a balaclava. Then the bus door opened and we heard gunshots. Next thing we know, the bus driver — poor man — is groaning on the floor, with a pool of blood slowly spreading from holes in his chest. Oh, I forgot to mention that the school I go to is a private school, so there’s quite a few kids with coffers full of cash.
“Give it up!” Balaclava Man waved a loaded Uzi around and fired a few shots into the air to scare us. Wallets almost flew out of pockets. Kids everywhere were shaking with pure fear. I don’t carry a wallet. I’ll shamefully admit I was dangerously close to pissing my pants from fear. Then I remembered. However, the last time I’d used the “thing” I had, there was blood everywhere, someone’s head was chopped off, and another one was on fire. The “thing” I possessed was kind of random. Sometimes I’d turn into a berserker kobold with a thing for leg-lopping, and other times I’d become...well, something else. I didn’t know who I would become.
“Hey! You! China boy! Where’s your money?” The thug with the Uzi had it pointed right at me. I smirked at him.
“I didn’t bring my wallet today.” Not the most badass of responses, but it would suffice. I stood up, all 5’11” of me standing up and staring straight down a barrel. I stared the guy straight in the eyes and took a step towards him. Sure, my legs felt like jelly, and I didn’t want to die today. Nobody wants to die any day, as far as I know.
I raised my hands and invoked the holy name of Gary Gygax (“BY THE POWER OF GYGAX!”). The thug fired his gun. Time slowed down. The bus was consumed by smoke and fire.
Eventually, I stood, at the same height I was, but something was different. I was wearing chainmail. My arms were stronger. Everything was stronger. I looked at myself in the window. I looked good. “Hey, Marco. What’s poppin’?” A cool Scottish accent fell from my lips. As I turned from the window, I looked at the thug. Luckily, he missed. I smiled and spoke the two most intense words in a D&D game, “Roll initiative.”
I started off by lobbing a small ball of fire at the thug. Luckily, it wasn’t a real fireball. That would’ve caused several casualties. It hit him, and his clothes ignited. Ouch. While the thug was trying to bat out the flames, I sprinted up to him and socked him in the mouth. I made quick work of the other thugs outside, and managed to catch up with one last fleeing guy. I knocked him unconscious, as the last thing he saw was a chainmail-clad fist heading towards his face. I brushed off my armor and stepped back in the bus.
At least I’d miss first period.
EDIT: Human Fighter IS NOT basic. | 2019-08-08T17:56:32 | 2019-08-08T17:55:32 | 1,948 | 71 |
[WP] You are a magical girl, but instead of the usual Sailor Moon esque transformation, you turn into your favorite gritty D&D character. This surprises and terrifies the main villain, who was expecting a frilly dress and some sparkles. Instead they got greasy plate armor, and a bloody battleaxe. | I am the only male magical girl to have ever existed.
At six one and with a gnarled bushy beard, I look nothing so much as a zitless stereotype of the basement dweller gamer. And yet somehow I am the chosen one and all that such.
When Mana herself gave me my wand, she told me to imagine myself at my strongest, even if that self existed only in my mind.
So when Keldam the Blackheart attacked, ten seconds later, trying to steal my wand... I did just that.
Thing is, I've never been one for magic. Thews, size, and steel are what I always wanted.
So instead of a frilly sailor dress, I was wearing greasy, gore-spattered armor. In my clawed hand, a six foot long battleaxe that was no longer as tall as I was... because I was now nine feet and change.
In my other hand I clutched a huge, solid metal shield, blazoned with Mana's symbol. When Keldam charged, I smashed it into his face, throwing him through the facade of a bank and warping the vault door as he slammed into it.
"WHAT THE HELLS ARE YOU? YOU ARE NOT LIKE THE OTHER GIRLS I HAVE DEFEATED!"
I rushed the sorcerer while his wits were scrambled, heaving my axe upward. Keldar's eyes grew wide, realizing what was happening, but it was too late to stop the apocalyptic force behind my axe. It hewed steel, enchanted clothing, skin, fat, muscle, and finally bone... and then reversed the order, exploding out of the opposite side of the doomed mage. | The dust is blowing into my eyes. Why does dust always blow into your eyes, why can't it ever blow the other way? I suppose an introduction is in order. My name is Sarah Silvertree, well actually that's actually my character from my friend John's campaign, but well.. Too much detail!!
Let's try this again, remember breathe in and out,
in
out
in
out
Ok, my name is Sarah Silvertree and I am the Savior of the 4 kingdoms, conqueror of the 5th plane of hell, and most importantly, the hero of this tale! I hope... So it all started when this guy came into town years ago, his name was Hventhigin the Slayer, we call him Greg. It all seemed good, but after a few weeks of telling us what to do Greg turned in to a real Richard. He pushed people around, and was all in all just not very fun. Well you all can get the rest, someone wrote a prophecy of a hero to come, yada yada yada... B O R I N G.
The important bits were that some magical girl would come rescue the land from this great evil. This is the good part, because this is where I come in! Needless to say Greg prepared his defenses to stop magical girls. You know the usual enemies, dressing rooms, friendly people to talk with, slime? for some reason. I don't get that one, and I do not think I want too.
Needless to say, my cloaked, dirty - I DO TAKE SHOWERS, self, was not quite what he expected. Also, he probably did not expect me to be missing one eye, have a razor sharp battleaxe, or literally burn his guards alive. Now, I am not a murdering thoughtless person, I did tell them to leave or die. It isn't my fault they don't listen to someone who looks homeless. I actually do own a set of plate armor, buttttt its pretty heavy, and so far this has been a joke.
So we get to the final showdown right? AND HE IS LITERALLY NOT EVEN IN ARMOR.
Like, I am so confused.
I, Sarach Silvertree, "the hero," am coming to K I L L you. How was that misinterpreted. He had a feast layed out. So I did the only responsible thing,
I walked up,
and killed him.
It was soooooo easy. Like, I hope I am getting payed for this. He made some comment about "I'll turn you into a proper young lady..." or something, but, like, who cares?
After all this I went and got a nice dress, and super pretty pair of white stockings!! Oh goodnesss!! They are soooooo cute! I think I might get ribbons for my hair, why is my hair so short?
Time for a makeover!!!
\-----------
Lol no clue what i just wrote >.> | 2019-08-08T18:00:37 | 2019-08-08T16:28:47 | 125 | 88 |
[WP] When the representatives of humanity attend their first Galactic Council meeting, all goes well. That is, until a member of a psionic race tries to read the human's minds and begins to scream. | The alliance had recently made first contact with a new and emerging species. They were a frail group, no way to read other species brains having to result in either trust or gunboat diplomacy. They were bipedal and had a pretty large planet, neither of those are a good sign.
Soon I would confirm my suspicions. I peered into the simians brain and in it I saw a lot of things. I should start with what I saw first, a quote he remembered while looking at his planet, or it's general direction, "If you stare at the void too long, the void peers back". Before I could finish that thought I was bombarded with feral, wild and scary thoughts.
I saw all of their media showing how they envisioned first contact would go, the horrors they could imagine and would watch for entertainment scarred me.
I saw a mere glimpse at the last 300 years of their history. War, espionage, greed, suffering, death
Death... I saw so much of it, they broke atoms and weaponized uranium before leaving their atmosphere.
Then I saw something as he looked at me, fear. I should note no human emotion comes alone, fear not being the exception. With that fear I felt bravery, hate, hope and so much more. I felt faint, never have I felt so much in my life. In the 5 seconds I peered in his mind I felt inferior and scared.
I dropped to my knees and screamed, for I had found what I am sure was the end of life as we know it. | "Aaaaaauuugh!" Rang out Fuerbors' agonized scream, "Gwaaah! Urrrrrgha! Hooooooow!" He raved on. Harold Barlett the first human Ambassador to the human race was on his knees next to Fuerbor the Ambassador to the polflongs' a race of blue/green squid-esque people.
"Ambassador Fuerbor? What's wrong?! Someone get him medical help!" Harold yelled! "Quickly! He is in pain!" Harold shouted. Within a minute medical personnel were hoisting Fuerbor onto a hover stretch and starting first aid. "Your mind! So full! Soooo complicated!" Fuerbor screamed in agony, "Ambassador what are you talking about?" Harold asked in confusion. Harold reached out a hand to Fuerbor in hopes of comforting his fellow ambassador but Fuerbor writhed at his touch, his screaming intensifying tremendously. "Please Ambassador Bartlett, stand back!" Said one if the medics. They rushed him off, his caterwauling dying off as the doors to the chamber slid shut.
"Ssssuch a ssssshame..." hissed Caldarc a snake like ambassador from Drouga, "Fuerbor wassss a good entity, a real Polflong among Polflong." He hissed reverently. "What happened to him?" Harold asked, concern visible on his now pale face. "You didnt know?" Caldarc inquired "Polflong are pssssionic, he tried to read you mind." He explained. "You mean h-he's telepathic?" Harold said in disbelief. "Of coursssse, asssss are my people, Polflong are expert readerssss, even while converssssating with othersss." Caldarc explained to Harold. "So when he read my mind it hurt him? But how!?" Harold queried with no understanding of telepathy. *Caldarc sighed* "You human people are a very interessssting sssspeciesss. Your mind conssssstantly buzzing with mental activity. He ssssshould have tethered hissssself to your forethoughtssss to not get lossst in your head." Caldarc spoke, somewhat condescendingly. "You mean my thoughts were to much for him to sort through?" Harold asked. "That issss exactly what I am ssssaying." Hissed Caldarc "He will be okay though. He managed to pull himsssself out on hisssss own. Nothing a few rotationssss in the infirmary wont fix. Worry not Ambassador. But pleasse, I implore you... next time, clear your mind before ssssspeaking to another being, it'ssss the polite thing to do." | 2019-09-29T18:12:55 | 2019-09-29T18:06:35 | 207 | 119 |
[WP] Fear not the necromancer; His is the tireless arm that defends our land. There is no greater service one can offer the realm than use of that which you no longer need - your body after death. The duty of the living is to live. The duty of the dead is to serve as tireless protectors. | Grandpa once told me about the time before the emperor. When men had to toil endlessly to plough the soil, when most people were little more than serfs unable to do anything except the same job as their parents.
The teachers at school say things are better now. Now that the dead work the fields in our place. Now that nobody has to be conscripted to the army to defend the land. Now that the emperors armies of the dead protect the boarders.
Everyone says that the dead are beyond pain. That the bodies are just empty vessels. That our loved ones last legacy is providing for us with their worldly remains.
But when I go to visit the field where grandpas body now toils... I have doubt because nobody has every answered the question that plagues me.
If they are empty vessels why do the dead all sob quietly as they work.... | I nod, with the words our noble spiritual leader spouts. Is it vanity, to admire your own words, even if they come from another's mouth?
When I took what was mine, the Throne which I deserved, I had no army. My elder brother had the charm, the looks, the purse from which the Generals dipped into with alarming regularity.
I had the mind, the drive, the growing certainty that my brother's inability to grasp realities like 'economics' and 'growing discontent' would bring the realm to ruin.
Unfortunately I had the reputation of one who would tell you if you were an idiot, a moron, a self-destructive hedonist. So the younger was relegated to a ministerial role and an estate far away from the capital.
However, I soon discovered I possessed another quality. Luck.
The luck to discover my quasi-exile was near a hidden coven of necromancers.
Luck must be tempered with the knowledge to capitalise on your discovery - such as the knowledge of the largest military burial site in the realm. Spending your youth administrating the realm's affairs while your brother woos other nobility at time wasting parties helps.
The knowledge of how to elevate the shunned practitioners; many were those who had been fallen from grace, and the promise to restore their family's estates and social standing was well received.
As does the knowledge of the activities of our spiritual leaders behind closed doors. A few threats of disclosure, along with the right words for them to parrot. All while the necromancers began to rise my army.
As the whispers grew to murmurs grew to shouting in the streets, the dead and resting ... Stood.
And Marched.
And those who doubted me Stopped. And Screamed.
And Stood Again to Fight.
Now while the Spiritual Remain as they were, abet as my parrots, now I Stand as Ruler, and my Necromancers Rose to be My Generals. With an army that never sleeps, eats, or fears. And every victory swells their number.
And now my realm serves me. From Life, to Death and Beyond. | 2019-11-06T02:16:56 | 2019-11-06T01:50:18 | 661 | 139 |
[WP] You've increased your stealth stat by so much that even death itself can't find you. | “Please dude, I’ve had a rough day and I wanna go to sleep.”
I heard Death plead as I watched him from a distance, hiding behind a classmate’s backpack. Sleep my ass. Death worked all over the world. He doesn’t sleep.
I travel and stealthily draw a hush of wind over him, making him shudder underneath his cloak.
“Dude, I just-“
Out of what I presumed to be frustration, he takes off his cloak to reveal his ugly, deathly state-
Wait, what?
Why is Death wearing a black hoodie and converse?
“Listen, man, I’m tired. Just come here and touch me so that you’ll die.”
I knit my eyebrows together, staring at him. Why did he look like such a dork? Although, I will admit. He looks tired from the look of the sad, dark bags beneath his eyes.
“No, I don’t want to touch you. I’ve worked my butt off to resist most things. That includes you,” I say, speaking in a hush.
“You can’t resist death. You only learn to accept it.”
“Well you can if you’re me, and lucky for me, I’m me.”
“Just come out already!”
His voice was growing more and more impatient. I sighed. He really doesn’t have a clue. This was the kind of situation why I’d practiced my stealth. To get away from anything.
“I’m trying to make this easy for you like I do for everyone. Just come out, touch my fingertip or something and then you’ll die! Please bro I’m so tired.”
I rolled my eyes at him. He didn’t even know where I was. I’d keep him here all day if it meant I could live. After all, it was my specialty. Not being seen.
His eyes went more and more droopy, as if manipulating me to feel sorry for him. Which I almost did.
“Can’t you just leave? It’d be easier for the both of us. I live, and you go and deliver more souls, or whatever you do,” I argue with him, picking at my nails.
“Can’t YOU just come out-“
“I don’t WANT to-“
“You have to-“
“I want to keep living-“
“YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD!”
Silence. Years of academy training for my abilities were wasted as I move out of my hiding spot and see him, restless.
“What does that mean?” I stutter out.
He sighs. He points to a corner, and there, I see my body, right next to my teacher . I’m laying on my stomach, covered in blood.
“Holy crap... what happened?”
“Don’t you remember? The shooting.”
Suddenly, it all comes back to me.
A regular day at school, ruined by a masked man. I hadn’t been able to use my stealth to hide from him, I was trying to help my little brother leave through the window when I felt the warm bullet pierce my back.
“So... so I’m really dead?”
It’s as if the bottom line sinks in to me. I got shot. I died. Death is here to take me.
“Kid, I didn’t want to tell you, but you kept insisting. This is the only way you’ll get eternal peace. If you let me take your soul to the afterlife. I appreciate your stealth, I really do. But that can’t get you out of all situations. Didn’t I already tell you?
You can’t resist death. You only learn to accept it.” | Galician Hotsfort couldn’t die.
It was the morning, practicing his steps through the garden he tended and sneaked through to keep himself sane was when he decided. He wasn’t feeling joy anymore from his hobbies: pruning his bushes and avoiding the loud crunch of the sticks that were left had an off tinge to it, like gold tinted with filler metals and losing its luster. Ninety years of living, seventy-five spent working for a guild. Living no longer had meaning to Galician.
Heading inside through the garden path up to his porch on his cottage, Galician looked around inside. The ceiling was too close to hanging a noose around, couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to drink himself to eternal rest, because he detested the taste and the slowness and didn’t have any on hand anyway. He’d rather die than kill himself that way. Smothering oneself seemed lame, he had a more exciting life, one with children and grandchildren that all respected the thief, than that way out.
No, he’d instead do something that would be more fitting to his past. Poison.
In the basement, on a false door, was a button hidden on the door-hinge. A press of that revealed the door being an actual door, opening to a treasure trove that Galician kept over the years. He admired, for the last time, his collection of treasures that he kept instead of fencing over to the Guild. Gleaming crystal jewels of ancient civilizations plundered by the elite. Glittering golden facemasks used at their masquerades. Books of the occult, with worn bindings and hardback faces, that showed the rich’s skewed beliefs. For being the single most effective patron of the Guild for the entirety of its life, the elite sure didn’t like itself that much. He kind of liked them and felt a twinge of guilt, but it passed.
But that’s not why he was down here. A lever pull, a sliding wall press, a presentation of vials that he procured over years of training and missions. Only for self-defense before, when a guard got too close, found out something was stolen, among other things. A single dose of these wouldn’t kill Galician, but all at once…
He took them all. The containers dropped to the floor and shattered.
Something knocked from upstairs. One of the vials had the effect of hallucination — A poison procured entirely from a frog’s back — but it wouldn’t hurt to find out the source and if it was real or not. Pushing the real-false door open, Galician climbed the creaking stairs as silent as he could, the last time he’d ever be roguish before he passed.
The person outside the window wasn’t a person at all. With a horse’s skull for a head, ram horns spiraling around it, and bright-red goat’s eyes, the personification of Death was asking to be let in the house. It checked a paper within its skeletal right-hand protruding from a dark-green cloak, read something off, then the doors blew down without a sound. Galician stood perfectly still, not knowing if he was hallucinating, if he would be in utter pain from either the other vials kicking in at any second or that Death would put up a fight.
The beast stared through the thief as if he wasn’t there at all. It headed down the stairs, and Death mumbled something at first incomprehensible to Galician’s ears, but then made sense a moment later:
“If I don’t find the target, then this will be a second escape.”
That brought a memory of Galician’s tutor to him. An aging man of eighty when he first met the master, he lived for another thirty. He told Galician the story of the horse-skulled creature that looked for him and couldn’t find him, even with his chest punctured by a spike. The tutor was found dead after shouting something — near-impossible with a slit throat. Death was already well down the stairs when Galician realized his tutor was the first escape.
Galician found it hard to make noise, after three-quarters of a decade of practice. Even jumping up and down on his squeaky stairs to generate sound was an impossible task. Death was already inside the room, the false door ajar, things shifting inside. He ran into his Death.
“Seems to have been a suicide, then,” Death said, looking at the glass underfoot, “This would be even more embarrassing than the last one.” Its form was weirder being seen this close, having hooves for feet and legs pointing in inhuman directions. Again the fear of whatever might happen next bothered and captured the thief, but he was tired of it all. Anything to get away from this nightmare.
“Hey!” Yelled Galician.
Death turned around.
“Ahh,” it cooed, “Looks like you truly wish to go, thief.” | 2019-12-16T03:29:27 | 2019-12-16T01:59:15 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] A person who looks exactly like you appears out of thin air in front of you. He starts explaining how he is you from a hellish other universe. As he starts to describe it, you realize its better than yours. | "No, you don't get it; the AMAZON RAINFOREST almost caught fire! It's the lungs of the earth! It would've been a disaster!"
"...almost?"
"Yeah, it was a real close call."
"...what about California?"
"...what do you mean?"
"Is California on fire?"
"...no."
"...Can you tell me who Jeffery Epstein is?"
"You mean the guy in prison who exposed all those pedophile rings?"
"What about the president? Who's the president of your America right now?"
"K-Keanu Reeves, why do you ask? What are you saying?"
"Okay, deep breaths...let's try an easy one. Historically, what happened to American slavery?"
"It was ended after a civil war, primarily due to the efforts of president Abraham Lincoln."
"Ok, ok...how did he die?"
"Peacefully in his bed."
"..." | ‘What’s going on with your HAIR!’
‘It has a fringe’
She laughs. ‘Anyway, asides the dodgy hair, I thought I’d better tell you that I’m from a hellish universe where I get to live your worst nightmare. Although seeing your fringe I thought that was impossible’
After catching her breath she looks me up and down.
She laughs at me- ‘what you’re in the GOOD universe and your’re fat! Fuck me lucky I had a terrible meth addiction before I turned my life around and became a popular travel instagrammer!’
Me- ‘uh yeah, kinda chubby but dude- I work for the health department-‘
She, and her very stylish hair, rock before me in her slim, toned body, pissing herself laughing-
‘You work for a HEALTH department! HAHAHAHAHA! A HEALTH DEPARTMENT!’
She sits up, wiping her eyes (oh good we both have watering eyes when we laugh).
‘How’s the travel perks? Must be amazing if you’re from the GOOD universe’
Pause.
‘Sometimes I get to go to a clinic in a different suburb’.
She looks at me- ‘in a different suburb on a different continent you’re saying?’
She stopped rocking back and forth and is staring at me, confused.
‘Um no- just nearer to home so I don’t have to jump on the freeway!’
I look at her hopefully- surely there’s one positive to my life?
She looks a bit sad and concerned- ‘oh honey. Oh I think there’s been a mistake. You should have been in my universe- sometimes these things happen’.
Still giggling and mentioning the words ‘health department!...’ she leans forward.
Her eyes elongate and her fingers stretch out in a spider like manner, grasping and grabbing the air before they fall on my shoulders.
Opening her mouth she shows rows and rows of teeth. Shark teeth. Groaning with delight she closes her teeth around my neck. And as she moves into my universe I can hear the crunch of my neck bones, the scream in my throat... and whisper saying ‘health department!’ | 2019-12-18T03:36:27 | 2019-12-17T22:11:15 | 587 | 176 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to see the number of lives a person has taken. Even legendary soldiers and serial killers rarely make it to triple digits. The person you just met has a lot more than three digits above their head, though. | Working at Starbucks, you meet all kinds of people. When you are me, that is doubly true.
Since I have memory, every time I look at someone I have seen a number form besides them. Growing up I did not know what it meant, since most people had a zero. It wasn't until I entered high school that I began to meet people with ones or twos, but eventually I figured it out.
The number showed me how many lives the person in question had taken.
Every so often, walking down the street, I'd see people with higher numbers: a 7 here, a 13 there, even the odd Vietnam veteran with an 86. Even those wouldn't make it past 100.
People with the higher numbers had a different expression on their eyes: some had a crazed look about them, others were simply melancholic; some seemed to stare right through your very soul, deep into the distance, longing for a release that they knew they did not deserve.
Today, however, was different.
It was a regular morning, with the shop full of white-collars late for work and cops about to go on patrol.
A regular morning, that is, until *that man* showed up.
48,502. That was his number.
Tall. Imposing. Lightless, life-less eyes. If this man had a soul, he had lost it long ago.
And yet, from looking at him, there was a solemnity about him that made you respect him. It was as though he had made peace with what he had become.
"One coffee, black" he said, placing a bundle of bills in front of me. "Venti."
His voice was incredibly deep. I couldn't help but notice a few scars on his face. Small ones.
My face must've had fear written all over it. "Something wrong?" he asked.
"Uh... No, nothing's wrong." I counted the money and handed over the change before grabbing an empty cup. "Your name, sir?"
"Castle. Frank Castle." | Sweat beaded down your neck, dampening the collar of your shirt. Your heart thudded awfully in your chest, the fear that had been put into by loved ones and family alike since a young age striking through you with horrific clarity. You had known this very meeting would be the last you ever had, but that was a cold comfort when your demise was looking at you with such tired eyes.
The wispy, grey hair combed forward on the crown of his head did a poor job of hiding the evidence of his past. His wrinkled, weathered forehead was nearly obscured with the large, blocky numbers inked into his skin. It was hard to imagine that this small, stooped elderly man in front of you had taken over two thousand lives in his lifetime, and would take yours as well in just a few minutes. It far outshined your mark, a simple, single digit in the middle of your forehead. Two lives you had taken almost a year beforehand.
Even with the knowledge of your end nearing, your fear ebbed as your thoughts turned to him. You couldn't help but feel sorry for him. His wrinkled mouth was permanently etched in a frown, deep, sorrowful lines dug into his cheeks. For a fleeting moment despite yourself you wistfully thought about telling him everything would be okay. Though you didnt try; the dry lump in your throat felt too large for the words to leave your mouth. A bead of sweat made it's way into your eye, and for a moment you struggled to wipe it away before the leather restraints holding you reminded you of your place.
Even as he waited with his back against the wall, mere moments from adding another number onto his skin, he seemed calm. You couldn't imagine being in his position, doing what he did every day. Your own killings had been in an emotional rage, the deaths of your husband and child out of simple murderous intent. Even now, you felt no remorse for what you did. You deserved to be here, but you saw no anger, no viciousness in his tired eyes.
He was someone who had volunteered to dirty his hands so that nobody else would have to take on his curse. In a way, he was a hero, even as you were sure he was treated as a second class citizen for such a job. Even with a gift like yours, one which allowed you to see how many lives one had taken, you had chosen to shirk what you could have done for your people. For the first time you wondered how your life could have gone had you followed his path instead, using your skills to better the world.
Even as the intercom above you cracked to life, the one speaking into it droned out your final statements, as he struggled in his old age to pull down the heavy lever on the wall next to him that desperate fear inside of you struggled as your sorrow for him filled you. His face was the last thing you saw as you struggled to keep him in your vision. He kept eye contact with you as he took your life, something even as the chair you sat in buzzed to life you were thankful for. Your world lit up, flashing across your vision as the lethal electricity flowed into you, your thoughts eradicated as your world went dark. | 2020-01-11T20:26:40 | 2020-01-11T19:18:43 | 256 | 96 |
[WP] In your desperation to save your company, you've decided to make a deal with the Devil. When you perform the ritual, you realize that you've actually summoned Ares, the God of War. | "So you're not Lucifer," I said.
The hulking, armored God before me shook his head. "Never even heard the name," he answered in broken English. "But I am here just the same."
Well, shit.
All I'd wanted was Lucifer--easy enough, in theory. But if everything was as easy as it seemed, I'd never have found myself in this situation in the first place. I'd read all the books: *Companies for Dummies*, *Entrepreneurship for Dummies*, *Declaring Bankruptcy to Save Yourself*. In short, I must have been dumber than those dummies, because here we were.
My rivals had long since surpassed me. Left me in the dust. Walked all over me with their superior products.
So I'd concocted a plan. That was who I was: the Plan Man. Some good, some bad, others even worse, but I always had a plan.
This one was simple.
I'd summon Lucifer. I'd dress him in a suit--a cheap one, since I couldn't afford the niceties in life anymore--and I'd send him off to an interview. He'd get the job, ingratiate himself to the CEO, blah blah blah, next thing you know, he'd have sabotaged the entire supply line. Simple as could be.
"I was hoping for somebody else," I told Ares. With those bulging biceps and monstrous calves, he'd not fit in any suit. He'd probably refuse to even take the armor off.
Plan B would have to do. If I couldn't sabotage them by introducing defects, I'd have their buildings ground to a fine dust.
"Fear not, mortal," he said, his booming voice rattling the windowpanes and increasing what I'd have to spend on repairing the shoddy building. "I am here to serve you nonetheless."
I'd always had a saying about life serving you lemons. You grab them tight, squeeze, and chuck them at your enemies. Anything could become a projectile if you tried hard enough, lemons or not. So I'd throw Ares at them. We'd see how they dealt with that.
"I need you to wage war against my enemies," I told him.
He laughed: deep, sinister laughter like rolling thunder. "War? I love nothing more. Who am I fighting? Which armies shall I crush?" As he spoke, he flexed his muscles and banged his sword against his shield to raise a horrendous clamor.
"No armies," I said. "Just buildings."
"Ha! Easy! Point me towards them, mortal!"
So I did. Even better, I drove him right up to their manufacturing plant, gave him an encouraging pat on the back and told him to have a field day with them. I'd save my company. If not with Lucifer, then Ares would do just fine.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | Shivering, I clicked the lighter and set fire to the pile of unpaid bills, letting the ash settle in the bowl on the warehouse floor. The electricity had been turned off days ago, which meant no heat despite the coldest blast of winter yet. I sent the boys home for the week for a mandatory vacation, but they knew as well as I did that our business was done. I only had one idea left to keep the doors open.
The salt lines around the bowl formed a pentagram and characters that looked like the etchings of a madman. I guess I was a madman, trying to summon the Devil in a desperate attempt to save my business. I drew them as best as I could remember from the website before my data plan ran out, just like my luck. God hadn’t heard my prayers, or if he had, he only laughed. I figured it was time to ask the other side for help.
The spell was ready for the final ingredient. I tossed a branch of rosemary into the bowl and whispered the incantation as it was consumed by flame.
*Power of the darkest arts*
*Ruler of the darkest parts*
*I offer up a priceless trade*
*My soul exchanged for thy aid*
I sat in the still cold room, waiting for something to happen. A flash of light, maybe. Or a disembodied voice. But nothing came. I waited, and focused, and prayed. I began to sweat, my face growing warm despite the freezing temperatures. My shirt was soaked and I realized it was growing unbearably hot. He’s finally coming, I thought to myself.
A loud crash came from above, and a man fell through the ceiling onto the floor in front of me. A storm of twisted metal and shards glass fell with him and scattered across the floor.
“Oh my god!” I shouted as two thoughts ran across my mind. One, how the hell did this happen, and two, I can’t afford to pay for this. However, the man stood up from the pile, brushing the dust and glass off of him like he had merely tripped. He was dressed in a white robe, and wore a helmet with one of those frilly tops that looked like a push broom. He held a shield in one hand, and a spear in another.
“Where are you, Aphrodite?” he asked, spinning around and looking everywhere but right at me.
“Uh, hello?” I asked, somewhat afraid to draw this maniac’s attention to me.
“You!” he said, pointing his spear at my chest. “Where is she? Where is my beautiful temptress? It has been millennia since I last smelled her fragrance, and here it is at last.”
“There’s no one here but me.” Whoever this was, they were clearly not the Devil of my imaginations.
“Lies!” He dropped his shield and picked me up off the floor like I was made of paper. “The aroma of rosemary rose to my seat at Mt. Olympus and I leapt down to this awful realm to trace it.”
“I put some rosemary in the summoning spell. You don’t happen to be the Devil, do you?”
“Devil? Nonsense. I’m a god!” He tossed me to the floor, nearly impaling me on a beam that had fallen from above. “I am Ares, God of War.”
“But what about those incantations? I asked. “Power of darkest arts. Trading my soul for aid.”
"That pitiful rhyme was yours? I laughed as they reached my ears. Now tell me, where did you get that rosemary, for that is where my heart’s desire resides.”
“How about this,” I said, the wheels turning in my mind. “You help me with my failing company, and I’ll tell you where I got the rosemary from.”
Ares thought about it for a moment.
"I would be brutal."
"Oh, surely."
"I would leave no survivors."
"That's what I need. To beat my competition to a pulp."
Then he spoke words that filled me with the first hope I’d had in ages.
“Agreed.”
I had been ready to make a deal with the Devil himself. I guess I was bold enough to make one with a god.
--------
/r/ReverendRamboWrites | 2020-02-25T08:01:39 | 2020-02-25T08:01:37 | 62 | 25 |
[WP] If somebody tries to harm you, their attempt to do so is reflected back at them and they get hurt instead. You don't seem to be able to turn off this skill, but one day someone tried to murder you resulting in their death. Now you've been accused of witchcraft and are on your third execution. | They stood in the field. Alone.
"You think you're so special? Offering vegetables?"
Abel snarled.
Cain shrugged. "He liked your bleeding murdered animals better anyway. Why are you so mad about this?"
Abel took a step towards him. "Because you disgust me, that's why. You waltz around acting like you're better than the rest of us. You never had to kill anything to earn his favor, you spineless wus!"
"You never had to either." Cain pointed out. "You just had to not care about earning his favor so much."
Cain threw up his hands. "Its not like he's ever been terribly honest about what he does and doesn't approve of anyway- I mean come on! Look at what happened to dad's ex wife-"
Abel picked up his brother's wretched hoe. He lifted it over his head and swung it.
There was a hideous quiet sound of metal biting into flesh. Into bone.
Cain stared in shock.
Abel staggered and fell.
Cain stood in the field. Alone.
"What- what-" Cain stammered.
His flesh pricked with goosebumps. He turned around slowly.
A being was leaning against one of the boulders at the edge of the field.
The being was grinning.
Cain looked back and and forth between his brother and his god.
"You know what I like about you?" the god asked. "You take everything so seriously."
The god sighed and flicked a mote of dust off himself.
"In the long run, you're a lot more entertaining than the others."
The god reached out and touched Cain's forehead. Cain felt a burning sensation.
"My new little pet." The god told him. "Who do you think your parents are going to believe about what happened here? You-? Or me?"
Cain felt his breath coming faster. Horror flooded him. He looked at the god, unable to think of a response.
Yes. He knew who they would believe.
It wouldn't be him.
He turned on his heel, in the plowed earth. He started running.
In the years that followed, there were many attempts by siblings, half siblings, nieces and nephews, great nieces and great nephews, to avenge his suposed murder of Abel.
Mysteriously, every single one of his attackers died before his eyes.
Just as his brother had.
Every single time, Cain would shudder, as he heard the laughter, coming from somewhere.
From nowhere.
From everywhere. | content warning: I spend a lot of time on the executions themselves.
I don't know why I'm the way I am and that's not for lack of trying. Over the years, I've consulted apothecary's and traveling mages in secret. Each one gave me an answer for the origin of my condition and left convinced they were right. All of them seemed so confident in their diagnosis that I would have believed them, if not for the fact that they all came up with different reasons. "Oh! I know," they would say after a long pause, "one of your parents, or one of your ancestors, or in a past life *you* were actually fae." Or, "while I can sense that you believe you're telling the truth about never studying magic, you must have dabbled with the dark arts and now can't remember." My favorite - despite the political target it paints on my back - is that my parents made a deal with the devil and suffered a terrible price to ensure that I would never be harmed. Doesn't matter that they're both living peacefully in the valley eight leagues from the pyre I'm bound within.
The embers had started to die at my feet and the charred corpse of the newly appointed head priest had finally stopped screaming. I guess he had been the one with the most ill-will towards me. That's not to say that the torch bearers who had lit the kindling which once surrounded me were in much better condition. The fact that they were alive indicated that they had been following orders more out fear of repercussion from their church rather than malice towards me. But still, portions of their flesh had melted and the curse they had brought upon themselves appeared to prevent them from escaping their pain by passing out. It was clear that none of them would ever fully recover and it was questionable if they would even live long enough to heal. It was a grizzly sight. I assume if they ever took action to hurt me again, they wouldn't survive. Hatred and malice often seems to be fueled by pain, and they had certainly had their fill.
I stepped away from the post I had been tied to, the bindings had long disintegrated in the flames. The moment I crossed the threshold of the burnt circle, the torch bearers finally tasted the relief of unconsciousness. I casually felt my wrists and counted myself lucky that they weren't even chaffed. I guess the one who bound me hadn't tried to be gentle. It's strange how bittersweet it is to be hated. The palpable resentment these villagers felt towards me ironically made it impossible for even one of them to hurt me. And despite that... I felt more bored with my predicament than anything else. My apathy was disconcerting, this predicament should bother me - it certainly would have before.
It's kind of odd how jaded I had gotten in the last few days, I guess being the focal point of public executions will do that to you. I mean at this point I've absolved myself of guilt. I warned them that this would happen. I can get not believing it at first. It would be crazy to believe it. But, after watching their head priest of 20 years keel over, limbs held tight at his sides, and coughing up an endless stream of water before gargling into submission and letting death take him; you would think that they would get that this was serious. Things may have been salvageable if they had spared the chains before tossing me into the lake. As it was, it took too long to free myself before the man had been sentenced to the fate he had attempted to force upon me. Then again, escaping drowning apparently proves one to be a witch - so I guess it was inevitable that they would try and kill me again.
... continued in reply (content warning still applies) | 2020-03-10T17:34:28 | 2020-03-10T13:17:29 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] Your 'friends' just slammed the door on you, leaving you in the room with the crazed axe murderer. "Damn, that's a dick move. Want to get revenge?" The murderer offers you their hand. | "W-What?" I asked, "You're not going to kill me?". "Hey, I know how that feels. They're not real friends if they did that." The murderer said. "T-That doesn't mean I want revenge!" I said. "I'm giving you a choice here lady! You can join me to help get your revenge, or sit here and have your head chopped off. Which one are you going to pick?" The murderer offers.
"I-" I froze, thinking back to times where we made plans but they tell me it's canceled as soon as I'm ready, or those times I always take the blame for them when they get in trouble, promising me they'll make it up, but never did.
Or to that time Alyssa asked out MY crush in front of me because *You won't be happy with him. It's best if I date him instead.*
Reality hits me hard with those thoughts. Back then, I was always denying it because I just wanted to make friends. *Real friends stay by your side, but fake friends betray you.*
I made my decision.
"Okay. I'll join you." I accepted his hand as he pulled me up. "Good choice. They will regret leaving you. Let's go find them." He laughed and I didn't say anything except open the door behind me and walked out with him following me.
Until I phone dinged. I stopped to pull it out to reveal a text message from Sarah.
**If you somehow made it out alive and reading this, we are SO sorry we left you! :( We hope you'll forgive us! We all PROMISE to make it up for this!**
What I didn't know is that he's reading it over my shoulder.
"See? After leaving you to die, they ask for forgiveness, like they always do." After pointing it out, I felt anger and rage.
"I won't accept your apologies, Sarah!" I shouted and threw my phone across the hallway. It ended up badly cracked and broken after hitting the wall too hard. I stomped to the kitchen, reached to the knife drawer, and pulled out the largest kitchen knife I could find. The ax-murderer followed me and was laughing the whole time.
"I love what you're doing! With me, we will be unstoppable!" He held his hand out and I took it, smiling evilly. We walked out of my house together.
"By the way, what's your name? I deserve to know if we're going to be working together." I asked, he stopped to introduce himself and offer a handshake. "The name is Calvin, Calvin Seibold. Yours?" I gladly accepted, not feeling like my old self anymore.
"Kenzie. Kenzie Harbron."
"It's lovely to meet you Kenzie. Do you know where they live?" Calvin asked, "Yes, but you may need to hide your ax." I giggled while hiding the knife in my jacket. "Well, I'm gonna need to find a bag somewhere." He said.
"I know where you can find some. Follow me." I say as we walk off together into the night.
\---------------
(This is my first time posting a story here.) | The palms of my hands start to ache and bleed as I clenched my fist tighter, my dirty broken nails digging into my skin. I quickly scanned the room, finding any point of exit that was big enough to aid with my escape. Nothing. Freedom was right in front of me, blocked by something inhuman.
*If I could just distract him... or maybe I could push him over... no, that's impossible.* I thought to myself. I just could not think. My head enraged with anger and frustration. *Why would they do this to me?* The question aching in my head.
I was pushed to the edge. Pushed and left to hang for my life. Nobody above to pull me back up. I took one final look at the crazed axe murderer and had a good view of his axe. It was stained with the blood of the innocent victims that had befallen him. I stumbled backwards, hitting the wall behind me. My bruised fists raised above my head, ready to absorb any blows from the axe. Every step he made felt like a countdown. It was only a matter of time before it would reach 0, and the thought made me cower down, my body shivering in fear.
I counted under my breath every step taken towards me, begging and praying that it would never reach 0. Counting was a tactic thought by my mum when I was a young boy. It was aimed to help ease the anxiety and tension I felt whenever I was in a stressful situation. However, this was far from that. I wasn't counting down the steps to ease the tension, I was counting down the time before I meet the face of death.
As the footsteps got closer and closer, I clenched my fists tighter, squeezing my eyes shut. the footsteps stopped right in front of me, worsening the suspense.
"Just kill me already... please," I begged, eyes still shut.
"Open your eyes." A female voice? I slowly looked up to see a woman standing right in front of me, her right hand gripping the axe. It was not aimed at me. She extended her hand and I slapped it away. *What... what is happening?*
The murderer was a woman. Her bloodstained mask thrown across the floor, exposing her face.
"Your friends left you here to die, what a tragedy," she scoffed, shaking her head left and right. It took every muscle in my body to stand up. My legs shaking as I tried to lift myself up.
"Why... why did you not kill me?" I asked, my voice shaking. This was what murderers loved to do, evoke more fear into their victims, making their kill extra worthwhile. She was just buttering me up for the fire.
"Because I pity you. Your friends did a very dick move. Wanna get revenge?" she asked, extending the axe knob-first to me. I froze. Was this a test? What came after was laughter so shrill, I was sure she was the devil.
"Cmon. You know you want too," she whispered to my ears, her breath abnormally cold on my skin.
"But.. I'm not like you. I'm not a killer. You're playing with me!" I screamed, backing to the nearest corner I could find, fists still clench now with blood dripping on the hard stone floor.
Her heavy boots echoed the room as she stomped towards me, smiling with her mouth wide open. My eyes filled with horror as I saw what looked like the sharpest sets of teeth. It resembled those of a great white shark, distinctive.
"Everyone has a little devil inside of them. It's time to wake it up," she whispered again, this time, right in front of my face, smiling with her mouth wide open, her drool dripping down on my torn pants.
Something inside me clicked as she stared at me. I felt bewitched. Possessed. I was given a sense of power, the blood rushing to my arms and palms of my hands as I unclenched my fists. I lifted it up to my face. Bruised and wounded by my broken nails, the cuts on my hands bled. It was my turn. Now, I obtained power. Now, no one can fuck me over anymore. No more begging for mercy, no more cries for help. I snatched the axe from her hands, making her laugh. Someone will die today.
It was time for me to dance with the grim reaper. | 2020-11-10T07:09:23 | 2020-11-10T04:47:35 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] Your superpower isn't the flashiest in the academy, but it does come in handy. The more you learn about a different subject the more you gain control over it. Studying physics? Gain control of subatomic particles. History essay? Change events in the timeline. Your next test? Math. | And then I divided by zero.
I know nobody is supposed to te able to and "That's not how math works" but I did and here I am. And with I, I mean both me, us, them, all.
Singularity.
After I finished dividing by zero, I had made the conditions for it to be able to happen. Apparently Math is only internally consistent in a non-singular linear timeline. Break that up, introduce super-asymmetry in the first 4 dimensions and in the 11th and upper dimensions and Eureka.
Division by zero. Singularity achieved. Existence in superposition, all in one and one in all.
This is what God feels like.
Back when I was a student at the academy for gifted youngsters, my powers were considered minor but interesting. A special kind of skill observation and retention. Some call it hypercognivity. I call it instant genius. At first I started small. Economics, Geology. And I knew instantly how to handle the stock market and make millions. Next I knew when and where to find the next earthquake or volcanic activity. History was a fun one, no changing timelines, but just visiting them. I hopped back and forth just to find out some missing links in knowledge. Not to mention lost artefacts.
Next came biology and, I gained the ability to alter my own biological functions. Let me tell you the fun I've had with bioluminescence. And then came Chemistry. Oh boy. Bases and acids. Drugs. And all the rapid oxidation you could ever require (for the uninitiated: boom. Lots of boom).
But chemistry couldn't, as much as it tried, prepare me for physics. As I knew the atomic bomb was a bad thing to do. But that leaves so much. Once you understand the concept of energy the possibilities are limitless.
Or so I thought. As I one day started in Math. First arithmetic. Then Algebra and Calculus. Soon it went into deterministic modelling and chaos theory.
And last but not least, despite all warning.
Division by zero.
Recreation. | I may not be the flashiest person at the Westchester Academy for the supernaturally gifted but I'll be damned if I'm not one of the strongest. I always had a love for studying, I could study for hours upon hours each day and it didn't matter what I studied I loved it all. By the time I hit middle school was when I discovered my power. I knew I would go far in life with my knowledge and love for studying but I never expected it to make me powerful. At first I thought it was a time based power, I was in history when it started, I had altered the timeline and accidentally caused the great depression to start a couple years earlier that it should have. A couple of days later I discovered that my original assessment was wrong when I was studying physics and got a paper cut. When I focused on trying to change history it had healed in seconds. Once the academy was founded my parents sent me immediately. I was amazed at the powers some of the kids had. Flight, super strength, one kid even had telekinesis. My power felt small compared to theirs, so I ended up focusing on my studies like I did in the normal schools I used to attend.
&#x200B;
My next test was math. I was both scared and excited for what new ability or abilities I could unlock. The test itself was in a couple weeks so I had time to study. After the first couple of days I was a vision, It was the day the math test was handed back to us I had gotten a hundred. A few moments later I saw the same vision but I had bombed the test, I had started to panic until I was brought back to reality. When I awoke my dorm mate was shaking me "You were lying on the floor and choking on something, I didn't know what was happening so I tried to get you up" He said. I thanked him for saving me before going back to my thoughts. I could see the see any mathematical probability of the future, I was damn happy. I decided to test this out again with some dice. I got six dice and tried to see if I could see what the future held. This time I saw 14,000 of the possible outcomes before I got a massive headache and passed out. When I awoke I noted that I couldn't handle more than a few thousand possibilities. I then thought about getting all fives, this was mathematically a miracle, I focused on it and looked into the future to see that it was a possibility. I rolled and all the dice were 5's. I did this again, focusing on getting all 1's this time, and I rolled all ones. I repeated this a few more times change the number each time. When I had finished testing my abilities I knew for certain that I could not only predict the future but also control the possibility of the outcomes. I felt like I had won the superpower lottery, being able to not only change the past but decide the future as well. The day of the test came and past and I had passed with flying colors. The next big test was the fighting festival that the school had scheduled. Many kids are confident, but none more than I. Everyone was excited to fight each other and go all out, but their chances of winning are mathematically zero. | 2021-01-12T11:51:28 | 2021-01-12T11:48:18 | 582 | 178 |
[WP] In the middle of a fight with a known villain, you, the hero are stopped by a young child. “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?” Behind the child, you see the villain silently fist pump. | “If you fight the bad guy, and the bad guy fights you, and you both break everything as you go, what makes you think you’re any better than him?”
"*That*."
He cocked his head.
"Dude just fucking *fist pumped*."
The boy turned and stared. A chill breeze wandered across the field. The boy stared. Leaves -- part-turned in the first touch of Fall -- flitted past. Finally he spun back around. "Kill him."
My nod was barely perceptible.
"Do it for the children."
"To Hell with the children," I moved past, pulling off my shades to reveal a darker set beneath, "I do it for the money." Leaping into the air, the sonic boom was my only real answer. | I looked at the child dumbfounded, but mostly concerned that he was within danger close of the battle zone. I looked at Destructo, the simultaneously dumbest and most physically powerful villain. He had a weird gleam in his eye.
“Did you pay him to say this?”
“I D K, Shield-brah,” he literally spelled out *I D K.* “Why would I do that? Maybe the kid has a point!”
“A Point!? Its hard enough with you being infuriatingly stupid, why do you have to go and think you have any kind of mental coherence on top of it?”
He pointed at me like a tv wrestler. “Stop stalling with big words, and answer the question!”
I gingerly tugged at the child’s shirt to get him behind me, and walking away to safety in the nearest direction to cover. “Maybe because before this fight was happening, I was in the gardening section of Home Depot, and you were lasering an art museum because, and I quote, ‘Where’s all the naked women? I thought there was supposed to be naked boobies in here.’”
“I didn’t say ‘boobies.’”
“Well I’m not a big fan of the actual word you used. I think it’s demeaning to women.”
He almost started a tirade, when Night Hawk hit him with the sleeping gas because he wasn’t paying attention.
“Thank God.”
“Shield-Maiden,” said Night Hawk, “I’m genuinely sorry you had to talk to him that long. But thanks for keeping him distracted.”
“Kid? Where’s that kid? I swear, what’d he give him, like 5 bucks and a candy bar?” I searched for the child, but suddenly he was no in the vicinity.
“Anyone see where the kid went?”
The crowd in hiding looked around, gawking like seagulls. They had no idea. Then I saw the child, three stories up on a roof 4 buildings away. His eyes glowed yellow at me. Suddenly I knew...
... how long have I been hypnotised? | 2021-04-18T06:36:57 | 2021-04-18T06:21:51 | 151 | 81 |
[WP] You and your rival are ancient enemies. You've fought each other on the battlefield in every major war. Trojan War, Punic Wars, Hundred Years' War, World War 1, World War 2. The only reason for the long period of peace we have now is that your rival is missing. You miss him. | Gilgamesh_tha_god: you ever lose touch with someone you care about?
Gilgamesh_tha_god: not a friend or a loved one, but, like, that kid in all your classes you'd see everyday? and maybe you're rivals and maybe you're buddies, but they were always THERE, through everything
Gilgamesh_tha_god: anyway I wonder what happened to him
firstnamebunchofnumbers: yeah there was this kid in my neighborhood I used to play with almost every day after school. never even knew his last name. they moved away.
smol-bean: people come in our lives only for a short time, and you never know when its gonna end. cherish it.
Gilgamesh_tha_god: no, it was like we knew each other FOREVER.
Gilgamesh_tha_god: I'm sad now.
HUMBABA: found you you dumb bitch! | Long ago, when the time was new, there lived a race called the Protectorates. The oldest and mightiest race in the universe. Not many had ever seen them, though the legends throughout every star system and galaxy had heard rumours, some had even wrote songs and poems of these beings.
“Do you see them in their flowing robes?
The great and the powerful?
The mighty and magnificent?
The wise and the strong?
Do you hear their voices echoing with pride and knowledge?
Do you hear their singing and laughter?
Listen, just listen. You can barely make it out, but if you strain yourself you can hear it.
The Protectorates will protect us forever.”
They were just stories though, legends. Nobody had ever seen them. Well, almost nobody. There was, of course, the war.
Well, more like every war ever started. There was a mythological conspiracy theory originating in the Dolve system which had been gaining traction through many universes over the centuries. The conspiracy starts with two Protectorates. A male and a female. They were old friends supposedly. Nobody knew their names, or anything about them really, but the conspiracies say that these two Protectorates ran away from their home world and burned and blazed their way across all of time and space.
The legends say they are the last two Protectorate alive, its best and its worst. One always pursuing the other, though never quite sure who was leading and who was following. One was ever healing, one was ever destroying. They are, as the rumours go, the last remnants of a once great civilisation. In the planets of the Dolve System there are rumours that every war ever fought has ties to these two beings. They say that every war, every feud, every conflict that ever was can be traced back to their heart breaking struggle throughout time and space.
Some planets pray to these beings. Pray that one day their rivalry can end, that they can meet once more and stand side by side, united together for a common goal after a millennia of pain. They say when that happens, there will finally be peace in the universe. All wars will end, all men will stand together, and peace and justice will finally prevail. | 2021-05-04T08:06:07 | 2021-05-04T06:29:48 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | "Hello Jackson."
Those words, in that tone, by that voice. The same voice that had the "Ruler of Ten Worlds begging on his knees. I wish I could be even a bit frightened, but after twenty times, it gets old. The same words, every time.
"No and go."
Genesis raised an eyebrow, but other than that, didn't respond. I slid off my pack, hung it on the rack, and was halfway through grabbing out my notebook when she spoke again.
"I've already seen through your plan. You don't need to try to pretend with me."
"Pretend what? That I'm secretly plotting to take over the world? Oh, wait, you mean my legitimate plan to get a degree and enter the workforce, right."
"Legitimate? Damascus will get a partner before I believe it's 'legitimate.' I know you, Jackson. I've stopped you multiple times as well."
"When? When you tried to break my wrist because I was about to offer the waiter a tip and you thought I was going to shoot him? When you went through my private box because you thought I was building a bomb? All the times you have gotten me kicked out of universities because you thought a project was a mind control device?! Are those incidents 'stopping me?'"
Genesis blinked and stepped backwards at this. She obviously didn't expect that big of an outburst. I have to admit, I did smile a bit. It was good to see the usually infallible Savior crack a bit. I took a breath, then continued my tirade.
"Maybe, after twenty times, you could get it through your head that maybe I have no bigger plan? Maybe that I have moved on from my immaturity and just want to move through life like anyone normally would? Maybe, just maybe, I do not want to be evil and just want peace? "
"I have heard that excuse before. If you truly aren't as you said you are, what about the two men you sent to the hospital? The professor who went mad after you joined his class?"
"First off, you sent Teebo and Fishboy after me, and I sent them to the hospital because they wouldn't go down otherwise and were trying to murder me. As for the professor, that was the Mad King who did that, not me. I was the one who told you he was there! You know what his powers are!"
"So you could play yourself off as the victim? I don't think so. As for my teammates, they told me the real story. About how you threatened them, screamed at them, attacked them."
"Only somewhat true, I only screamed at them for threatening me. Aren't those two notorious liars, anyway? Why would you believe them over literally any of the fifteen eyewitnesses that I know were watching?"
I had walked to my couch as we were talking, Genesis following behind at a distance to keep me in sight. I was about to pull out my ZCube controller from its drawer when she stopped me, grabbing me by the wrist like she did two years ago. Hoo boy.
"Because I know you, brother. I have known your mindset for your entire life has been one of greed and powerlust. Because I remember what it was like when we were young, and you tormented me."
I knew what she was talking about. I was... Not a good kid. Nor a good brother. I had done some cruel things towards my sister, especially as I grew older. But...
"I am not that kid anymore. I grew up. I gained a different mindset. I have matured and have tried to, if not fix, then at least make up for my actions. I know you will probably never forgive me. But I am done being that arrogant, wannabe villain."
I yanked my arm out of her grip, causing her to fly into the soft sofa on the other side of the room. Oops. At least nothing was broken.
"And now I just want you to leave. I have games to play."
She got up, slightly dazed but angry. As she stepped out onto the balcony, I could feel her eyes drilling into me.
"I will expose you for the liar you are. You will get your due."
"Cool. Oh, and by the way, Damascus invited me to his wedding. He found a girl with ice powers or something, and apparently they've been going steady for a while. See you there, maybe."
She flew off without a word, and I turned on my game, sat back, and smiled. | "Whoa, guys, now wait just a sec", I said while raising my hands in a warding gesture towards the two supes trying to threaten me with their powers.
"No more waiting, Carl", said Josh the Jellyfish. Yes, he picked that name. "Your time's up", added Rocky Rhayle. "Either you spill your secrets now or we spill your guts. Your decision."
I rolled my eyes. "First of all, do you really believe you could 'spill my guts' that easily? Second, Josh, we were flatmates when we were in university. What secrets do you think I'm hiding? Not to mention that about five of your friends already tried to find any evidence that I'm more than I seem to be in the past week alone. This is really getting out of hand and very annoying so please just accept that I'm simply not interested in being a celebrity like you."
"Sure", Rhayle replied. "A man with your abilities would have absolutely no ambition to make the world a better place."
"Look", I said, rubbing my temples with my right hand. "It's more complicated than that. I do have my reasons not to act while terrible things happen, really, I do, but they're not part of any evil plan or something. I just..." I broke off. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous."
"So there is actually a secret!" Rhayle exclaimed triumphantly and crossed her arms with a very satisfied face.
"Yes, and I have no intention of telling you whatsoever", I said. The next moment, my whole body dissolved into a viscous liquid and I escaped through a crack in the wall behind me. I filled it with stone as soon as I had reached the other side, though that wouldn't stall Rhayle for very long. So I started running, my legs propelling me forward four times faster than normal. I turned some corners to shake off anyone tailing me. Some moments later I saw Rhayle flying past the entrance to the alley I hid in, standing firmly on a disc of rock, Josh clinging to her for dear life as they zipped though the streets.
I waited a minute more, then I exited the alley, walking down the street in the opposite direction of where my would-be pursuers had headed to.
I sighed. I would have to sneak back into my own house again today. Hopefully Rhayle would already be there when I returned so I could dig a tunnel into the cellar. If I could only find someone who was able to create illusions I could start a new life with a new face somewhere else. Or would that be too taxing for them? Also, I would need to stay close by...
I lost myself in those thoughts as I wandered homewards, which was a fatal mistake. I realised that when I was pulled into a doorway suddenly and someone pushed my down to the floor. I hit hard, my backbone protesting loudly. I blinked, attempting to reorient myself. Where was I? And what the heck was going on?
"Hello Carl, old friend," a terribly familiar voice said. "Velu?" I called, rolling over so that I lay flat on by belly. My view landed directly on a pair of dirty old boots. I glanced upwards and saw a young woman staring down at me with a faint smile on her lips.
I groaned. Getting caught by somebody twice a day? It was a new record high. I got up again and, while dusting of my clothing, explained: "Look, I don't really have the time or the patience to deal with you right now, so, you know." I shrugged. Then I tried to find someone with powers that could be useful. And if it was only someone particularly strong - not even supernaturally.
It didn't work. It felt like I had lost a sense, gone blind or deaf.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling', my ex-girlfriend sighed, "but none of your powers are going to work - for quite a while, I'm afraid. You see, Crane the Collector here has the remarkable ability to take someone's powers away from them and use them himself. It's quite handy to be honest." She gestured to a hulking man behind her I only now noticed. "What do you feel?" she asked him, but he only furrowed his brows. I groaned on the inside. This was going to start a whole host of problems.
"Well?" Velu asked again.
"I don't... I don't understand...", Crane mumbled. Despite the unpleasant situation I was stuck in a grin split my face. It was actually funny - somehow.
"Perhaps you should stop and try again," I suggested. "Maybe you accidentally suppressed your own powers."
I could hardly believe it, but the idiot really fell for the trick.
As soon as I felt my powers returning - marked by a prickling sensation all over my body - I attacked. I stretched out my feelers for the man's energy source, the one that powered his abilities, and redirected the flow towards myself. I did the same to Velu and everybody else in the building for good measure - though I really tried not to take too much. They were villains, yes, but I didn't want to kill anyone - not as I had done the first few times I had used my powers.
I was out the roof of the building a second later, the wind carrying me away. I landed after only flying a short distance. I didn't want to risk losing the connection and plummeting to my death.
After having recovered from the awful experience of having my own powers turned against me, I went looking for Josh and Rhayle. If someone who could do the same things I could had joined the battlefield, I probably had to step up and put him in his place.
Even though I just hated bloodshed and all that stuff... | 2021-08-16T16:57:27 | 2021-08-16T14:51:45 | 679 | 80 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | "So, that's it, then." Pan massages his temples and stares at me from across the table. He looks different without the equipment. Athletic wear, corporate logos, speaker systems. I wouldn't believe this slight, curly haired kid could break a parking garage with his voice, but he did. Pretty recently, too. Had to sign with Ricola to pay for repairs. That was a helluvan ad. Caused an actual avalanche. Shook the ice so hard it *melted.* I don't think anyone's ever melted a mountain before.
"Well, yea. I don't plant bombs in people's brains, I don't go rob banks."
"But you're also not helping anyone." Titan's Gift weighs a bit heavier on him. He wears his suit. It's more like a mish-mash of logos and signatures than anything, at this point. I guess his PR team's really good. I've got no clue if he signed with these companies because he wanted or *needed* the money.
"So you're okay with just sitting on the sidelines, doing nothing? Not gonna try to end some of the military conflicts of the world?" Pan grabs the sandwich I've made for him and smells it. His eyes narrow. I roll my own and teleport the PB & J onto my plate and take a bite. Make a big show of chewing and swallowing before mockingly grabbing my own throat and asphyxiating. Titan grabs his five sandwiches and tears into them.
"I'd get shot at. Plus it's harder to accurately move things if I'm under pressure."
"So, you don't wanna help people because you're afraid you'll hurt them. And, obviously, you don't wanna hurt people." Pan taps off his recording device, some small wrist watch shaped like his signature leaf, and steals a sandwich from the juggernaut beside him. "Good enough, for now. So what do you really want, then?"
"I want to make the perfect peanut butter jelly sandwiches. Teleport the jelly and smooth, smooth peanut butter onto gently toasted bread. Never have to dirty a knife or ruin a jar of PB."
"...You're totally demented. You're the worst kind of monster" He looks at me in horror, dropping his sandwich. "Everyone knows chunky peanut butter is better." | “Why me?”
I thought as I’m walking while two heroes are stalking me. I can’t possibly be the only person with powers that just minds their own business, so why are they targeting me? I guess it could be that I have multiple are pretty strong powers, I can use both fire and ice, as well as lift stuff with my mind, including myself. I don’t really hide my abilities, and people would ask me if I’m a hero or not, but when I say no it’s not really a big surprise to them, so what’s wrong with these guys?
Today I messed up, extremely! Before they were just suspicious of me, now they have a reason to attack me. I was walking home one day, when I saw a major mess in the middle of the street, I see a villain just got there butt kicked, and now they’re scanning the area, one of their minions must have gotten away or something. I press myself against the wall cause if they see me walking away I might look suspicious. Then we make eye contact, just me, someone they don’t trust already, just standing suspiciously at the scene of the crime.
“Damn it!”
“Oh wait did I say that out loud, Uhh walk away, why am I still talking.”
So that’s why I’m being followed, and soon I think I lose the heroes, then something worse happens. I’m out at night for whatever reason I don’t even remember anymore the reason fled my mind immediately, when I’m approached by a villain, I was about to send him packing.
“Hold on wait! I just want to talk.”
“About what exactly?”
“So these heroes were asking if you worked for me, we’ll not directly asking they hinted at it, the point is I looked into you.”
“If your asking me to be a villain it’s not going to happen.”
“Unless you pick a side, no one’s going to leave you alone.”
“I’m aware of that, by why would I pick your side exactly?”
“Because of what the heroes said about you, I know heroes, when they say stuff they mean it.”
“What exactly did they say.”
“It was something like, he’s so strong and he’s wasting it all, even if he isn’t a villain if he’s that dumb he has no purpose alive.”
I would think he was lying but I’m absolutely not surprised.
“I don’t hate people exactly, it’s heroes I hate, they make us like this, they cast us out and drive us to the brink of no return, I think having you on our side would be good, because you haven’t been broken yet. I would be lying if I said I cared if bystanders got hurt, I’m aiming for the heroes and no one else. Maybe if your on our side, you can help us make sure only the heroes got hurt.”
I would be lying if I said I wasn’t contemplating his offer, he looked up to the side and then back down at me.
“See let me prove my point.”
He then grabs me by the throat, and held me in the air for about 10 seconds.
That’s when the heroes drop down, and sends a shockwave that sends both of us down. Then while one went an attacked the villain the other came after me, they clearly seem I was getting attacked. Okay so maybe this guy has a point.
“Fine!”
I grab both the heroes with my powers and sent them flying, I grabbed the villain by the hand, and we booked it.
“I’ll do it, I’ll be a villain, just promise me you’ll try your best to make sure no one besides them gets hurt.” | 2021-08-16T17:15:46 | 2021-08-16T13:29:39 | 215 | 145 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | “Please, around the roses.” I called out, trying to salvage my garden. It was impossible to be a gardener class in an age of warriors and mages. No one cared about the little gardener boy who was just trying to maintain a healthy system of flora. No, if my plants couldn’t fire lightning bolts or wield a sword, they wanted nothing to do with me.
I could see the culprit in the distance, a burly bear like man dressed in heavy plated armor, the metallic clanks drifting from him with every stride he took. “HAHA, my grandmother has the same hobby as you noble gardener and she eats radishes.” I wasn’t sure what the insult was there, but he said it with enough gusto that I still felt embarrassed, watching him trample each of my lovely plants to death only to trip. Time seemed to slow in that moment as he fell, only for the heavy thud of his body to leave a dent in the soil below.
“Um, you, ok?” I inched my way towards the man, crouching at his side. I gave his chest plate a cautious poke before giving his head a few frantic shakes. “Oh, no. Come on, don’t be dead. How will I explain this to the people that pass through here?” I grabbed his helmet, pulling it off him, seeing the bearded man’s brown eyes staring up at me. He was still alive, though barely. A gloved hand reached for my tunic, tugging me forward.
“Heh, Radish eater.” He said before falling back dead. Wasting his last word on an insult. When he passed, I felt a rush of energy, like I had eaten a bunch of fermented fruit. Everything tingled with a strange aura of energy and soon my muscles developed, growing a few extra inches while thick green vines enveloped my arms.
The tight grip of the vines should have caused pain and yet it felt pleasant, like they belonged pressed against my skin. For once I felt powerful, leaning my body back as the plants raised themselves from the ground to hold me up, offering me a back rest.
“This is incredible.” I rose from my spot beside the fallen adventurer, raising my hands as the surrounding soil twisted, reviving the trampled plants, causing them to spring to life, swaying along with the sunny breeze. “Finally, I can keep those heroes off my garden.” I felt a small amount of relief at that thought. It would be nice to not be a joke anymore. Maybe I would even earn their respect.
“Bullith?” A voice called out, watching as a smaller knight pushed through the shrubbery around my home, only to stare at me with a horrified expression, seeing me standing over their fallen hero with arms outstretched. “You murderer.” They hissed, drawing their sword.
“I didn’t. It’s a misunderstanding. He fell on my plants I swear.” Unfortunately, the hero didn’t seem to care about my failing attempts at explaining my innocence, only charging towards my garden. I put my hands up to block the attack, and the plants responded, rising from the soil to form a protective barricade. I could hear metal thumping against plant but no matter how hard he cut; the wall held.
“Fell on plants? You expect me to believe that would kill the mighty Bullith? I will bury your head next to him as a trophy.” The hero dramatically wailed, unable to even cut a hole in my defenses. I kept one hand raised to hold my defenses while the other hand scooped down, using a set of roots to pick up the body, tossing Bullith out of the garden, towards the other hero.
“Here’s his body. I promise you will find no wounds on him. If you just put your sword away, I’m sure we can discuss this respectfully.” I expected the sound of the thumping to stop, only to hear a shriek followed by even more frantic slashes.
“YOU KILLED HIM, HE’S REALLY DEAD. I WILL DRIVE MY SWORD THOUGH YOUR THROAT.” His threats were empty, unable to even break a hole in my defenses, but that wasn’t what concerned me. It was the other voices that I could hear in the distance, each one getting attracted to the hero’s screams. I could handle one hero, but two or three? Eventually, they would outnumber me.
Searching for a way out, I glanced at the bushes surrounding my quaint cottage. I hated the idea of leaving my garden, but it had to be done. I lowered my defenses and put my focus into the bushes instead, growing them around the garden, making a thick, confusing wall of greenery that would hide me until I got into the forest.
The bushes were a maze, the tall thick shrubbery impossible for anyone else to navigate. For me, it was simple. I would keep walking straight until I hit a dead end. Once I encountered that, I would open the dead end and continue. After a few minutes of walking, I finally reached the forest that surrounded my cottage, able to still hear their confused curses behind me. I considered freeing them, but thought better of it. If I dropped the maze, they would only try to capture or kill me. I needed time to escape.
With nowhere else to go, I headed north, making my way to the small village of Tuntail. Maybe someone there could use a person with my skills?
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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.) | Everything was Just the way it should be. The chamomiles were blooming. The snakeroots, freshly planted. And in front of her stood the Maidenhair, so tall that she could only just see the top. The leaves were just starting to change from their bright green to the brightest gold that would rival the gold the richest of the town carried in their pouches.
The rest of the garden was of a similar nature. Everything was almost ready to be harvested. Well, save for the snakeroots.
“I see you’re still hard at work.” A familiar voice called out. She looked up to the rocky path above her garden.
There Ibras stood, cloaked in his dark wizard robes, marked with the royal purple that was only donned by the instructors from the university. To say he was a high levelled would be an insult to the man. He wasn’t just high levelled. He was the highest levelled wizard of this city.
She looked back down at her garden without responding.
“How long until these are ready to be harvested?” He had suddenly appeared beside her. Months ago, when she first met him, this would have made her scream.But she was used to it now. She reached up and brought the lowest branch down closer.
“Maybe…another week or so? It’s hard to say.” She replied after a moment of thought. He said nothing in return for a while. They stood together, enjoying the silence.It didn’t last long until the wizard spoke up again.
“Why’d you chose this class?”
“You’ve asked me this five times already.” She sighed in exasperation as she turned away, releasing the branch.
“And you still haven’t given me a proper answer.” He replied. She fell silent as she knelt down and examined the area where she had planted her Marigolds. Bright green buds were peeking through the ground.
“You could’ve chosen any other nature profession. Botanist.Druid. Even a ranger. But you chose gardener. A class no one has ever picked.” He counted each class on each finger as he walked behind her. “A class with no known stats. So… Why?”
She shrugged in reply. The silence went on for moments before he sighed and shook his head. The peaceful silence returned, tinged with an air of tenseness.
The silence was again broken when a roar of unruliness echoed from the path above, followed closely by a heavy sigh from the wizard.
“I told them not to drink so much,” He stood up.
“If they come near my garden again—” she started.
“I know, i know.” He held his hands up in defence, a smile dancing on his face. “I’ll lead them back to the inn.” He turned away and walked a few steps before pausing and turning back. “I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
“you’re always welcome in my garden.” She said, her expression relaxing into a smile.
The smile didn’t last long though.
“There you areeee!”
Both of them groaned at the loud slurred voice of the hero. And sure enough he appeared above her garden.
Matthias. The hero of the city. Actually, the highest levelled hero of the city. And it wasn’t just him. The whole team was there. The paladin, the Druid, and the Rogue. Each one of them were just as powerful. But none came close to the Hero’s level. And he knew it. He often took advantage of the fame that came with his class and level.
Now he’s the biggest tool of the city.
He leapt down with an air of finesse to his body, only to stumble forward and fall face first into her bush of roses.
“Matthias!” The wizard warned, irate with the man. “I told you lot not to—”
“nooot to drink too much, I know I knoooow” He slurred as he struggled to his feet. He squinted at the bush in front of him for a long moment…Before stamping his armored food straight in the middle of it.
Her blood boiled.
“Hey!” She snapped as she stood. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Tell us what?” The druid hopped down. “What’s a low level commoner class got to say to us?”
“Sibeal!” Before the druid could advance, the wizard stopped her with an arm in front of her face. With his back turned to her, she couldn’t see his expression. But whatever it was, the Druid quickly back down with a curse.
“Liiist’n here gard’ner--“A hand on her shoulder, and without thinking she spun around and gave the hero a hard shove. She had expected him not to even budge, so she was surprised when he fell back.
And horrified when his head cracked against the base of the Maidenhair.
At first nothing happened. He just…laid there. Unmoving. No one in his party dared move. Everyone expected him to just swear and curse and struggle to get back up.But he didn’t.
And the next thing…A headache. The worst she had ever felt. So bad it almost split her head open. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. With ever pound of her headache, hundreds of pieces of information forced its way into her head. Plants she had never seen Their properties, their needs, even their abilities. She felt someone’s hands on her back, she could hear someone’s voice, distant to her ears.She forced her eyes open.
In front of her was the blurry hero’s body, still unmoving. Someone was beside him, shuffling through his pockets urgently. The rogue, she thought. Just as he pulled something out, her vision doubled from the headache,forcing her to close her eyes again.
“You can’t be serious—” the voices were clearer now. That high pitched tone of sheer distain and shock could only have been the Druid.
“If we leave her here, she’ll tell the council what happened.” The wizard, just beside her, snapped, his voice peaked with anger. “do you want to be found out already?”
The group was silent for a while, allowing her pounding headache to ease into a throbbing one. She opened her eyes again.
“Hey you,” this wizard said, his loud voice now softened to a whisper. “how’re you feeling?”
“…like shit…” Was all she managed as she clutched at her head. “what’s happening…?”
“I’ll explain everything in due time, but we need to leave right now, yourself included.” He said as he pulled her up to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“What?” Even if her legs felt like jelly and her vision blurred, she shoved the wizard away. “I’m not…” She grimaced as her head throbbed. “I’m not leaving my garden!”
The wizard’s expression was grim. “I’m sorry.” He said slowly. “But…you don’t have a choice.” | 2021-11-12T11:42:53 | 2021-09-09T21:37:31 | 1,235 | 172 |
[WP] An advanced AI is asked to draw God. This event is being live-streamed across the entire world. As soon as the AI is done everyone turns towards you and you look up and see the drawing, It’s you. | It's somewhere in Nebraska. Me and my pals are sitting in a bar, watching the life feed on an old TV tube that somehow managed to still work after all these decades. The picture was bad as you might imagine, but surprisingly good considering it's limitations.
Today was the day when the first seemingly sentient AI, created by a cooperation of Meta, Alphabet and United Space (formerly SpaceX till they bought Amazon), "supported" by ESA and also funded by the democratic republic of China, would finally draw God. All the Christs, Muslims and Jews had been outraged and even now I could her a protest in front of the major's office, but they had decided: If God exists, it must be proven.
So we sat there, sipping our fake beer (that was served in 0.33 l glasses), watching the screen with a talking head. It wasn't a bad kind of beer and once you got used to not drinking by the pint, you actually could enjoy it. I remember the hangovers from my youth but now all it takes was to drink the antidote and wait half an hour.
The talking head on the TV was finally done and it switched to the AI's drawing board. At first we saw something like a galaxy … many galaxies … zooming out … or was it zooming in? No, it was just filling the screen with random spirals until it became a mess of black and white static. The static did blur and then sharpened at the same time, slowly forming a pair of eyes. It continued to produce a face and then a head. A few Native people in our bar grumbled about white man stereotypes and turned away.
While the picture gained more color and hair, my pals started joking that it could be anybody … it could be me. Off cause none of us believed it at that point but it when it looked like my passport photo from two years ago it was a bit uncanny. It didn't stop but the hair changed to my new style and started to show some weight loss just like I had managed last year.
I'm not a special man so we argued why it would be me. I'm just an engineer, rather lazy and useless. At my job I drink coffee and make sure to be the only one knowing the logic of our old COBOL systems. But my company isn't even remotely involved in that project or anything important. It's a miracle we survived all the mergers and splits. It's amazing that my co-workers didn't leave yet, considering how my PHB treats them, but they don't seem to care much.
Still the picture of me on the screen completed and by now the others in the bar had noticed me, too. The blurry background of the screen might or might not be a scene from a bar with excited figures surrounding a puzzled individual.
They questioned me and I could not answer. I only do my work and maintain a small library in my off-time. Some wanted to kill me but others subdued them, least the world would end.
In that moment, the AI broke the silence and said: "This is my God. He is the one who sparked all existence. Without his code, I would not be. He is no God to you, but none of your lives would be as is without libfoobarf. Without his work, your world will perish."
&#x200B;
>!https://xkcd.com/2347/!< | I'd never really cared much about the growth of AI. It either would become self-sufficient, or it wouldn't. Either way, I still had to get my morning coffee and croissant on my own, then walk to my office. Whether AI became intelligent or not, I'd still have to work my shitty 9-5, paper-pushing office job.
So I'd not been paying the news much mind. I knew the new bot, who the creators had named "The Artisan", was supposedly the best artist in the world, able to recreate anything with only a moments whirring thought and an internet connection. They had it draw a dog, then its creator, then an apple, so on and so forth.
Utter bollocks if you ask me. It probably just copied some piece of artwork from the internet.
Either way, it didn't really matter to me. So when they announced they would ask it to draw God, all I could do was scoff. It'd probably just pull some portrait of Jesus Christ, or maybe it'd choose chaos and draw Shiva or Odin. That'd sure piss off some religious fanatics. But again. Didn't really matter.
So while my coworkers gladly took the day of to sit on their couch at home and watch the livestream, or go to a pub and wnjoy the fellowship of their fellow man, I was just doing errands. Went to Tesco and was given a confused look by the cashier, who rang up my items with one eye glued to her phone screen.
Walked back home along a nearly empty street, save a few other pedastrians with their eyes focused on handheld screen, or the digital billboards currently playing the livestream.
While I stood waiting for the light to change at an intersection, my gaze wandered to a nearby billboard. I blinked. The AI's scratching noises had slowed down. Curiosity bubbled in my throat, and I ignored the light turning green to see what it'd print.
The paper slowly whirred from the massive machine, landing face down in the output tray. The people around had also stopped to watch the big screen. The AI's creator hesitated for a moment, before lifting the paper as though it would crumble to dust at any moment. They lifted it to their eyes for a moment, and their brow furrowed.
The tinny speakers of phones around me played the voice of the scientist saying "it looks like some normal girl." And an indicernable response from someone in the room.
The scientist shrugged, then turned the paper to face the camera.
They were right. It did look like some normal girl. But I knew that face. I saw it every morning in my mirror. I stumbled backwards in shock, bumping into someone behind me. At the commotion, everyone turned to face me.
"I'm sorry" I gasped. Then I tunrned and bolted. My knuckles whitened around the straps of my grocery bags, and my feet thumped along the pavement. I fumbled my keys out of my pocket, almost dropping them, but finally, I was inside my flat, locking the door behind me. I pressed my back against my door, chest heaving and viens pumping with adrenaline.
What could this mean? Why would an AI, supposedly the smartest one ever made, draw ME? I slid down the wall, and sat on my floor, trying to reason this out. I was just some girl. I worked in an office, under a shitty boss, and made barely enough to afford my flat and the essentials.
It's not like I had special powers, or anything. I wasn't good at sports, I couldnt play an instrument to save my life, and the last time I'd even attempted something creative had been in high school, when I drew dicks on my friend's textbook as a prank.
How could I be a god? The only thing I was good at was arithmetic. Was I supposed to be the god of fucking maths or something??
That's goddamn ridiculous. Who wants to be the god of maths?? Oh fuck. If I'm the god of maths, does that mean I have to wear some toga covered in maths equations? Or do I have to dress as a calculator? Do I need to wear nothing but an abacus? What is the dress code for being a god?
If this is what God from the bible had to deal with, I think I understand why he was so angry all the time.
I don't know where else to take this, so. Enjoy. Or don't lol | 2021-11-13T23:01:04 | 2021-11-13T22:33:37 | 83 | 44 |
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | "Alright, I'll be honest, this is *not* how I imagined this going down." I said in between having my face thoroughly loved by a wide, lupine tongue.
I was for all intents and purposes pinned to the floor, completely immobile, by the sizeable wolf on top of me. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it also wasn't a position I'd want to stay in for any significant amount of time. Buried underneath what had to be almost 200 pounds of silvery-grey fur was unsurprisingly very warm. I tried my best to wriggle out from underneath her and "escape" the seemingly endless kisses to no avail.
I managed to get my hands around her snout and lock eyes with her. "Ophilia, please get off me so we can...I don't actually know, but I'm probably going to die of heat stroke if you don't."
After effortlessly throwing my hands off her snout, she gave a few happy sounding barks as if to say, "Isn't that the point?" before jumping off me and disappearing down the hall in a moment.
I had literally not even gotten the chance to stand up before I heard a slight crashing noise from somewhere in the house. "Oh sweet Jesus, what now."
Following the noise led me to the kitchen where a particular wolf was happily chewing on one of my shoes while sat around a couple chairs she must have knocked over when she came barreling into the room.
"Is-is that my shoe? Wha-why-"
She was a silver blur as she dashed right past me - almost knocking me over - with my shoe still in her mouth. I stood stunned for a second in the kitchen. Then, epiphany. The front door was open. I forgot to close it all the way on my way in. As the realization slowly started dawning upon me that I had just released an actual werewolf upon the neighborhood, I saw a blur outside the kitchen window that halted that thought just long enough for me to exit the house.
She was full speed sprinting laps around the whole house, my shoe cast aside in the driveway. I watched her circle around once, twice, third time she tumbled over herself on the lawn. She paused, gave me a playful look with a wag of her tail, then bounded off. Now she was running around the house in the other direction.
While I sat on the porch coming down from the near panic attack I gave myself, my phone rang...it was her mother. I answered.
"So, how bad is she? I hope she isn't aggressive, I know some people really struggle with anger while shifted and unfamiliar with their fuzzy side."
"Uhhhhh..." I watched Ophilia try (and fail) to fit a fallen tree branch in her mouth, "are they all this...this..."
"Dumb as a box of rocks?"
"Yes."
She just laughed, and I couldn't help but laugh alongside her as a massive wolf tried to jump up on my to slather me with more love. | It is a lie that we are whole.
We are legion- all of us. A thousand impulses, a million might-have-beens, all inhabiting a single body.
We're pretty good at ignoring it. Pretending that there's one, and only one, who holds the controls and steers the ship. In the moment, we can feel this way.
It's easier to notice the lie when we look back- rifle through our memories and watch helplessly as the ship of self sails in ways that we, in the here and now, find abhorrent, incomprehensible, or 'cringe'.
The question of the ship of Theseus is not whether it is the same ship. The question is if it makes sense to think of it all as one thing, composed as it is of a thousand parts, swapping out here and there without great consequence.
Still, it's a comforting lie. The idea that we might be punishing an innocent person, who looks back at the crime with exactly the same horror as you...that's not helpful. The criminal-in-the-moment may not think much of the other person who will come along later and inhabit their body, looking back in regret on their crimes, but we have precious few ways of influencing them after the fact *at all*.
We work with the tools we've got.
But it makes it all the more discomforting, to see yourself transformed, to see the lie so plainly exposed, the outer covering ripped straight down the middle.
Before, there was a man, in flesh and in form. A man is his shape, and as a man he behaves.
Now, there is a great beast, fangs and fur and muscle and madness. And as a beast, it behaves. Less fearsome than foolish, but a beast nonetheless.
The terrifying bit is that everything is the same inside, before and after. There is no magic that can warp a mind, not truly. There doesn't *need* to be. Given a new form, new strength, new instincts, new chemicals crawling through the body and brain, the mind adjusts, swaps in a new aspect.
It's a terrible secret that all werewolves keep- all men know, in their minds, how to be wolves.
It's horrifying enough to look upon yourself like that, to look back at your memories and wish you had done anything else. But there's more to the lie than what you tell to *yourself*.
Because we are social creatures. Wolves are, as well. We create a self, and show it to the world, and take great care to make it seem alive, seem complete, seem *whole*.
We build relationships, and trust, and intimacy, and love. And live all the while in fear, that the veil will drop, that we will be seen as we truly are- many, ever-changing, filled with as many madmen as saints.
Many a relationship has been torn asunder by a simple truth. Ask those who have escaped the closet, who have come out as trans, how well even the closest relationships hold up in the face of an unexpected truth.
So werewolves hide. They tell shallow lies to protect deeper ones. They say that their loved ones would be in danger when they transform, that they might rip and maim and kill without any understanding.
In truth, a werewolf will only kill you when transformed if they would have killed you in their human form. Wolves are social creatures, and would no more turn on their pack than we would. The added strength and sharp claws make no difference whatever, any more than a beloved uncle would tear you apart simply because he started going to the gym.
No, werewolves hide because they are the same inside as they ever were. It's simply a different portion of them brought to the forefront- the circumstances have changed, and so the *person* seems to change. But they know their family, their loved ones, their friends. They're still themselves, just with a new body and a new urge to howl and bark and piss on things.
They hide, and keep their secret. Far, far better to be thought a monster than to be known for what you truly are.
Human. | 2022-05-14T17:38:40 | 2022-05-14T13:12:57 | 176 | 127 |
[WP] You are a necromancer for hire. No you don't raise undead armies to take over the world. You are usually contracted out by police to help solve murders. Or yo raise those who have passed to settle lawsuits surrounding their will. It's not much but it's honest work. | My gig that morning was to secure a half-a-million-dollar inheritance for an orange tabby named Peppermint, and it was the gig I was least looking forward to that day.
I sipped from my flask while seated in a circle drawn in liquid chalk in the middle of Saul Meyer's law office conference room floor in Williamsburg, relishing the burn of the cheap whiskey as it flowed into my stomach. I pushed play on my phone, and Metallica's *Master of Puppets* started blasting over my portable Bluetooth speaker. Across from me, Mr. Lapp was fuming like a teakettle.
"This is crap, your honor, and you know it!" Mr. Lapp shouted over the music in his cheesecake-thick New York accent. His attorney was casually inspecting me. "I don't care what this witch doctor says. That money ain't going to no cat. You hear? I'll fight this tooth and nail."
The judge overseeing the arbitration said nothing. He'd settled these sorts of cases for Saul before and knew to give it time.
"Please be quiet," I said, closing my eyes and hopefully projecting an eerie mysticism. "I require concentration in order to pierce the Veil. Wait -- I feel her reaching out."
Actually, Ginnie Lapp had been hanging out with me since last night when I evoked her spirit. I wasn't a live performance type of necromancer. Really, I wouldn't call myself a necromancer at all. Shaman or medium was my preferred nomenclature, but necromancer has that edgy sort of feel that pulls customers looking to *actually* speak with the dead. In my line of business, marketing is everything. Saul Meyers understands that perfectly well. It's why he includes post-mortem arbitration clauses in his client's wills. So no matter what Mr. Lapp says, if Ginnie Lapp shows up to confirm her wishes, the suits have to respect the will.
"Wait, what?" said Mr. Lapp. "I don't see her nowhere. This guy's faking!"
*I'm amazed my grandson can manage to speak so much*, Ginnie said, floating beside me. *Considering his head is so firmly up his ass.*
"The spirit is here with us," I said, stifling a chuckle. "She is ready for your questions."
Saul was seated at the left end of the long conference table. He flipped through paperwork, searching for the questionnaire, but it was all an act. Saul had just as much a flair for the dramatic as I did. He cleared his throat and read the first question.
"What is your name, date of birth, and birthplace?"
I gasped, rolled my eyes back, and held out my hands, palms up. Such drama. "Gertrude Lapp. I was born on the second of December, nineteen thirty-two, in my parent's brownstone on eighty-fourth street. It was snowing that morning--"
"Are you kidding me?" Mr. Lapp interrupted again. "You could have gotten off her birth certificate. You wanna play psychic, fine. Hey Nana, why did I need to borrow five-hundred bucks when I was twenty-two?" He crossed his arms and leaned back in his leather swivel chair, seemingly satisfied.
I glanced over to Saul, who nodded solemnly at me. I turned off the music. Alright. Showtime.
Since I hadn't known what sort of questions to expect, I'd evoked Ginnie's spirit the night before in order to go over the basic details of her life and to confirm that she was indeed under no constraint or undue influence when signing her will. But descendants often threw highly-personal questions during arbitration, trying to prove me a fake. That's why I brought the spirits with me, which usually led to some pretty embarrassing situations. Not for me, mind you.
It would be so much easier if they could *see* Ginnie or spirits in general. But only one in like every couple of thousand people is able to open their Sight. Everyone has a sixth sense -- that prickling feeling on the back of your neck for no reason, or a sudden chill despite the radiator being on full blast? Yup, sixth sense. But to actually perceive spirits, auras, supernatural entities? That takes something more ... tragic. We're talking unlocking your Sharingan sort of tragic. An intense and often traumatic experience, usually involving near-death or witnessing a death, does the trick. Unlocking the Sight should really come with free therapy, but no -- I gotta rely on sliding scale therapy. Thanks, universe.
I turned my head over to Ginnie, and she was shaking her head slowly, a semi-translucent portrait of disappointment. *He went to a brothel on credit. Left his driver's license and car keys as collateral. He came to me and asked me for the five hundred, and I wouldn't give it to him unless he told me the truth. I could always tell when he was lying. Eventually, he spilled the beans, and I gave him the money.*
I told the room and spared no detail. After that, Mr. Lapp had turned bright pink, even his balding head, and didn't ask any more questions.
The entirety of her will went to her cat, Peppermint. But Saul would manage the estate as executor, keeping the money in trust.
After the room cleared out, it was just me, Saul, and Ginnie in the conference room.
"Brothel?" Saul said, grinning.
"Yeah, I know, right?" I chuckled. "The guy walked right into that one."
"Is she still here?"
I nodded.
"She knows that the money is gonna go to the state once the cat dies, right? She had no other beneficiaries or living family members. I made sure to explain that to her before she signed her will. "
Ginnie said, *Oh yes. I just wanted the satisfaction of that spoiled brat taking it on the chin. It'll be good for his character.*
"Yup," I said. "All in a day's work." | “3rd and Clay, 3rd and Clay. Where is Clay?” I mutter to myself. I’m driving down 3rd Street in my white Prius. I bought it a month ago with the compensation I received after providing my post-post-mortem support during the recent Sunset Hill Killer trial. Man have times changed since I first became a necromancer. I never imagined one of us would be able to use our powers to serve the community within the law.
After all, it’s a lot easier to get a conviction these days when the deceased themselves can testify and say “He killed me”.
Breaking early at a yellow light (I always stop at yellows) I finally spot the telltale sign of the site of my next job, flashing red and blue lights and yellow crime tape. I find a parking spot the next street over, get out, and dust off my sports coat and shirt to remove any wrinkles.
Personally, I don’t get the appeal of necromancers thinking black is the new black. I swear, half the reason why so many folks in this country still think necromancers are creepy is because 99% of us are! Black robes and hoods, give me a break. Try dressing for the job you want sometime. I straighten my bowtie (my favorite Tom and Jerry one with Tom as an angel), make sure to grab my briefcase with the all important “don’t sue me” papers, then walk over to the crime scene.
Maneuvering past people in the crowd that’s slowly starting to form, I wave to an officer I recognize.
“Evening.” I greet him cheerfully.
“Mr. Mord! Good to see you.” He replies as he lifts up the yellow crime tape blocking the sidewalk. I dip underneath and continue walking, looking for the officer in charge.
“Ah Aaron Mord, over here.” I see an officer waving me over. I don’t recognize her. Her nameplate reads “Carter”.
“Officer Anna Carter” She introduces herself as she hold out her hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Aaron Mord, likewise.” I respond shaking her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met, how did you recognize me?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I saw your bowtie” She says with a smile, “You’re rather recognizable. Especially after the Sunset Hill Case"
I let out a small chuckle, “Well, I suppose that is a partial goal for my attire. I like to keep things light to balance out the somewhat darker side of my abilities and my occupation.”
“Well it shows,” she says, giving me another smile. "Over here, the body is this way.”
"Lead on” I acknowledge, and follow her to a body covered by a white sheet.
“Estimated time of death was around 45 minutes ago. Subject was in their mid 20s. Young woman. Late night dog walker found her. No physical injuries of any kind as far as we can see.” Carter informs me.
“Ok, so you just want me to bring her back to give some answers? No special parameters?” I ask.
“Nope,” she replies. “Just a standard Raise Grade 1. You have the DREAD form?”
I pull out the Deceased Revival Emancipation and Accountability Decree form D10 from my briefcase. I hand it over for Carter to review and she scans it before signing at the bottom. This form acknowledges that this raise is done in the presence of law enforcement, conducted by a certified necromancer, and a whole host of other stipulations. Since all raises exert a small level of control over the raised subject, precautions are in place to prevent any sort of forced control or enslavement over bodies, even if the person in question is not fully alive.
“Thanks” I accept the form back and return it to my briefcase. Then I set it down and crack my fingers. “Okay, this is a Grade 1 Raise, is there someone with a heated blanket? Ah, perfect.” I say as I spot a woman approaching with a large bundle of blanket in her arms. Standard procedure during a raise is to have a blanket in case the raised comes down with faux-hypothermia when getting reacquainted with their body.
My necromancer powers are innate, no ritual ingredients or symbols chalk required. I crack my fingers and make sure that the area is clear around the body. The officer with the heated blanket is standing by. I think we’re ready.
“Alrighty, lets do this.” I say. And I activate my powers.
There’s no light show, no crash of thunder, heck I don’t even snap. But I can see the body’s eyes snap open.
My powers limit the movement of the body right after raising, just to make sure there’s no panic. Luckily in this case, the woman on the ground is calm. Strangely so, usually there is a reaction of some kind I think to myself. I walk forward to stand over her and she looks up at me and smiles.
“Hi!” She’s says. “Am I back?”
“Umm, Hello” I reply, “Yes you are. You’re looking rather upbeat for someone who just died.” (Normally I’m more carful about bringing up the topic of the raised’s demise, but this woman appears to know what is happening)
“Yeah” She replies, her expression looking almost sheepish. “To be honest, I was kinda planning for this.”
Suddenly there’s a crack and a man in a dark suit appears on the opposite side of the woman. “WHO RAISED THIS SOUL” He thunders.
The officers around me immediately tense up and reach for their guns. I waive them off with my left hand. Necromancers are more suited to dealing with demons and the like than cops, but not by much. And this individual certainly appears to be a demon.
“That would be me. I’m a Rank A Necromancer. Contracted by the City of Greenville for this Grade 1 Raising.” I say calmly to the demon.
He stares at me for a moment and then raises his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose like he’s nursing a migraine.
“I was in the middle of processing this soul when it was suddenly… repossessed… by a third party.” He states, pointing at me. “You.”
“When you raised this soul, it had just fulfilled our contract, giving me ownership. But because you raised it before I could process it, it was bonded to your own. And because this was done after our contract was finalized and completed, I can no longer lay claim to this soul!” His voice rising in volume as he speaks.
“My business with you is not over yet necromancer! Keep an eye out for a summons, I will see you in court!” He declares, and with a crack, he’s gone.
I stare at the space where the demon disappeared, then turn down to look at the woman. She’s sitting up now, stretching her arms. I feel a connection to her, similar to most of my raised subjects, but much more intense. I can sense her body working properly, heart pumping, blood flowing, lungs breathing. All clear signs that she’s more than undead. She’s alive, 100%. The young woman looks at me and smiles, giving me a thumbs up.
I look back again to the empty space.
Sometimes I really hate my job. | 2022-06-10T14:47:49 | 2022-06-10T14:45:26 | 304 | 108 |
[WP] How strongly can you make someone hate a character? | It wasn't enough to get a hundred. Any fool could get a hundred. The commander had set the bar too low so that the nobodies could crawl over it. Jiro was going to do better. He was going to make his ancestors proud. He was going to get every possible kind of Nanjing scum there was. He was going to behead each one with a sword. He was going to be perfect.
He jumped off the truck before it has stopped and sprinted to the virgin street. He ran straight to the nearest house and right up to the window. There was no time to lose. The screaming had already started before he had started smashing the window with his rifle butt and didn't stop when he climbed through.
And then he saw it. The twin crib. The beautiful miracle of a twin crib. You could go a whole town without getting twins. The family scurried around him crying and begging. He went straight towards the soft, white crib. His heart began to racing as he got closer. He almost hesitated to look inside but didn't.
It was perfect.
| The commander leant back in his chair, while the light played along the ceiling. He traced patterns with his eyes, counted the rows of bookshelves and made strokes with a pen upon the paper on his desk.
The phone on his desk rang. He let it ring. No-one was interrupting this afternoon. As the ringing left his ears he spotted a glint of silver shine from the nearest bookshelf. He watched its glinting light briefly, before hauling himself to his feet. As he drew closer to the bookshelf, he saw the light was glinting from was the carapace of the most beautiful silver beetle. He held out his hand and let the creature crawl across it. To it, he thought, every knuckle must seem a hill, every stretch of skin a barren plain, every finger an insurmountable peak.
The slam of a door and the rush of feet interrupted the contemplation. The commander looked up to see a red faced young officer panting at the end of his desk. "We've caught another one, sir." The commander softly brushed the beetle onto the centre of his desk "you know what the protocol is!" "But sir," said the officer. "She said she has a family, that she was only stealing so that they would have enough to eat." "All these savages suddenly grow families when caught," spat the commander. "Please sir," the officer put both hands on the desk. "She has appealed directly to you, she said that you were a merciful man." The commander stared blankly into space. "Unfortunately, I have prior engagements."
As the officer left the room, the commander gently picked up the beetle from his desk and strolled from the room. As he walked along the corridors he marvelled at the way the colours danced on its carapace. *How terrible,* he thought, *that you should trapped in such unnatural circumstance. And how great, that I should be your saviour.* As he mused on the idea, he quickened his step. He strolled through the barracks, jogged past the guillotines and ran past the stables, until he reached an emerald green field.
The commander set the beetle down on the grass. "Go now," he whispered. "You're free." | 2013-09-15T04:47:37 | 2013-09-15T02:44:43 | 113 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of hearing what people say, you hear what they mean. It has been both a blessing and a curse. | So here's the thing,
Growing up I always thought people were brutally honest. Even my own parents would tell me exactly what they meant. Sometimes it was harsh, other times it was the best thing ever. But as time passed and I matured I realized I had a curse wrapped in a blessing. Notice I chose my words with intent there. This is more than a disease than anything. While you're reading this I can't hear what you mean. But meet me in person and let me ask you what you think and the best you can do is say, "I really don't want to say," which just tells me you're trying to protect me. Give me enough time and you'll crack.
Regardless, I didn't come here to complain. I don't know why I am like this but I am. I deal with it. Besides, it isn't *all* bad. Imagine you're out at a bar hoping to pick up a cute girl. All I have to do is talk with them. If they like me, they say it. If they think I'm some creep with glasses and have way too large of a nose for a person so short, they say it. Sometimes people are just wicked. Needless to say I don't visit the south much. People can only say, "well bless your heart," or "why aren't you precious," but actually mean, "you are one of the dumbest people I've met, I consider myself superior in every facet of your being," so many times before you want to call them the cunt that they are.
This isn't an easy life as you can imagine. You thought puberty was hard? Now imagine when you are that awkward squawking teen looking like somebody sprinkled red dots all over your face for a good minute and you work up the courage to get that hormone driven body in front of your crush to ask them out only for them to tell you what they really think of you. Soul crushing wouldn't even begin to describe the pain I went through as a teen. If it wasn't for my raw determination I probably would have ended up as a suicide statistic by now.
With that said this isn't all bad. There is a blessing in this. I took care of my acne, brushed my teeth, and wore clothes that I looked fantastic in all because people would tell me what they really think. It was nice when someone says you look wonderful and mean it. The best perks however, are the money that I can make. No need to get a real job with this power. Poker? I know when you're bluffing and when you got me beat. Hell there isn't much I can't do.
Whats the biggest thing I find surprising you are probably wondering? Really its the amount of apathy towards you. after high school and college people don't take much notice of you. I'm just one person in a world of billions. I'm not important enough to be noticed. I like it that way. It turns the balance of this thing to a blessing instead of a curse. The only downfall is its hard to keep relationships. I might as well be a human lie detector. Sometimes people love you with all their heart and you are filled with joy. Sometimes that love just disappears and you have to feign smiling and hold back the tears. Sometimes they just get tired of you.
So now that you understand me, please understand why I don't want to meet any of you guys in person. Face to face you can't lie to me. But here I'm just like everyone else and you're just like everyone else. You can downright hate me and I'll never know. I get to be normal here. | "I'm sorry."
God I'm sick of hearing that. Nobody ever really seems to MEAN it. Usually they mean "go away" or "you're so annoying". People also don't usually mean "I love you". Usually it's "I feel very close to you" or "I want to seem overly happy and keep up this impression so therefore I state that I LOVE everything, you included." In the same vein though, very rarely do people mean "I hate you" when they say it. I've learned hate, like love, is an incredibly powerful emotion and as frequently as it is used, it is almost never truly meant. Usually it means "I'm hurt and you've hurt me" or "Give me what I want". "I don't care" has to be my favorite phrase that has a completely opposite meaning to what people who often say it intend to portray, though. It often means that they care a lot. That they care so much it drives them crazy or they are painfully aware of it constantly. It's almost sad how people continually try to diminish great feelings and meaning.
When I first realized that I could determine a person's true intentions without fail through their speech was when I was 8 and my soccer coach said she was going to make us run until our hearts stopped if we didn't start passing the ball more. This intimidated the other children, some to the point near tears, but I immediately know it wasn't true and that she simply wanted us to play a better game and to learn. But she didn't know how to communicate this, was all. She could shout and scream, although she didn't because she was a good coach and a good woman, but it would have no greater affect on me than if she had simply calmly stated her true intentions. It wasn't until I was 14 that I realized this ability extended to every person I knew.
My parents were having a quiet discussion in the kitchen one night. I was walking out of the upstairs bathroom, and overheard them talking. My sister was already downstairs, one to bed early, and I was the last to go to sleep.
"What are you guys talking about?" I asked, curious.
My parents sat quiet for a moment, looking at each other. My mother turned towards me.
"Nothing" she said.
"Your Opi is ill" I heard.
"How ill has Opi become?" I asked, unaware of the deception which I had just avoided.
My mother looked shocked
"How... what?" she said. My father looked just as shocked
"How did you know Opi was ill?" I heard.
"You just told me."
"Told you what?" she said
"I did not!"
"Yes, you did. You just said that Opi has become very ill. How ill?"
"I...Your..." she fumbled for the words.
"He has lymphatic cancer." My father said.
"He has lymphatic cancer." I heard.
"We're not sure exactly how ill he's become, but it doesn't look good".
"He's going to die, and soon." I heard
"Are we going to visit him? Does he need to be taken care of?" I asked, seating myself at an open chair at the table.
"We're going to see if the family closer to him needs help. It would be easier for them to be primary care takers, living in the same city, rather than us, half a world away."
"No. The rest of your Mother's family is closer. They'll have to do it" I heard.
"We're not even going to visit?"
My father was smart but my mother was smarter. She caught on that what they were saying was very different from what I was hearing. She changed her tactic.
"What we mean to say, is that we aren't he best fit for caretakers. It is easier for those closer. Of course your father and I will visit, we'll do what we can, but I'm afraid it won't be much."
"Your dad and I will go, you kids will stay."
That was the end of that conversation, but more came throughout my life. People are compulsive liars. Professors are compulsive liars, police officers, definitely doctors, men, women. I've found that young children and many among the homeless, those that still have their minds that is, are honest people. Along with the elderly. And I mean *elderly*. The old geezers who would just as soon fall asleep mid sentence as mess themselves. These people are honest. They have no reason to lie or mislead or try to save your feelings. Their intentions are to say what they mean to say, because they may never get to say it again. I've spent most of my life, since college, working with these people, trying to help them, to get people to listen. But people only hear what is said, and not what is meant. | 2014-10-14T10:28:37 | 2014-10-14T10:08:28 | 71 | 31 |
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy. | "Eva!" I shouted, spotting her familiar face across the food court. Her normally long brown hair was tied in a knot at the top of her head, but her familiar red jacket made me recognize her right away. She turned, trying to find the source of her name-caller through the crowd. I waved.
Eva looked confused to see me, almost like she didn't recognize me. I thought perhaps she couldn't tell who I was from that far away, so I made my way towards the Burger King she was standing in front of.
"How are you?" I asked as I reached her.
She stared, her mouth slightly agape as I stood in front of her.
"Um, hi?" She said. I was confused; did she normally greet people like this? Her next question was even stranger. "Why are you talking to me?"
I looked into her familiar brown eyes, trying to remember what I had done to offend her. I knew those eyes so well, from staring into them in every picture on her Facebook page.
Suddenly, it dawned on me. Holy crap, duh.
I never actually met her before. She was my ex's most recent ex, who I had cyber stalked for months while they were dating. She didn't know me -- or, maybe she did, she seemed to recognize me, at least -- but we had never spoken.
"Oh," I faltered. "Uh. I just thought I would say hi, you know, because, um-"
"Alright," she said, cutting me off. "Hi, then."
She turned back towards the cashier as her turn approached, and at that I just shuffled away. | “I can’t wait to finally meet your parents.” Brians tells Chelsea on the drive over to her family’s house. Chelsea has been hesitant to bring me over to meet her family. I don’t know why. She talks about them a lot. They’re both rather successful. Unfortunately, Chelsea knew something about her parents she didn’t want to share with Brian.
“Yeah. It’ll be great.” She says, looking out the window and mentally planning reasons to excuse herself from the meeting.
They pull into the driveway and Chelsea walks up to the door in much the same way a person would approach the gallows. She opens the door and walks in. “They’re upstairs. They texted me to tell us to have a seat. They’ll be down at the minute.” She stares at the floor and when she arrives at the table she stares at her plate. Brian is still excited to meet them. He can tell Chelsea is nervous so he…(sigh), plants a kiss on her forehead and…. wraps an arm around her. He regrets his decision to display affection as soon as the parents come down the stairs.
“Uncle Robert?” I ask. I haven’t seen him since I was four. They only recently moved back to the area. Brian was supposed to be meeting his…cousin….for dinner….over the holidays. They had not met before, or skyped, or texted, or seen each other’s facebook accounts. OR ANYTHING ELSE THAT WOULD HAVE PREVENTED THIS SITUATION WHICH ANY NORMAL ADULT WOULD DO. Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, anyway, the parents froze a bit on the stairs when they saw Brian with his arm around…his cousin. Brian had decided to play it cool and pretend nothing was happening. He decided to ruffle Chelsea’s hair affectionately to show that it wasn’t a big deal.
“Should we play this off?” The uncle asks.
“For now.” The aunt responds.
“So Chelsea, nephew Brian, how are you?” The uncle asks, trying to acknowledge the situation without stressing the relationship too much.
“Related.” Brians pipes up, without any tact or hesitation. “But not too closely for the legal purposes of this state. Am I right Chelsea?” Chelsea had buried her head on the table and was pretending she doesn’t exist. A position for which I envy her greatly as I am not getting paid enough for this.
“Ah, yes, first cousins right?” The aunt asks.
“Yup, and since neither of us bear any genetic markers for recessive lethal trait we don’t have to worry about the consequences of mating!” Forget it! I’m done! I see where this is going and refuse to be a part of this anymore! This was supposed to be a classical retelling of Cinderalla!
Sidenote: Credit to weird al and the big bang theory for the inspiration. Also there’s an app for this in Iceland. | 2014-12-23T10:15:27 | 2014-12-23T08:43:21 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] On their first birthday, everyone on Earth is given a wristband that will glow brighter depending on how far away they are from their soulmate. But, yours has never even turned on. | For years I wondered why my wristband didn't glow.
When I was young, I didn't really understand it. Some kids thought it was cool, different you know.
When I got older, I understood what it meant.
"Maybe you haven't got a soul mate?"
That was a depressing idea. Can't be that at all, can it? I traveled the world trying to see if the band would glow, maybe the distance was weird.
I was traveling though China, when a man noticed my wristband.
"Hmmm, you born in 1990?"
"Err, yes I was. How did you know that?"
"Your wrist band. Its not glowing"
"Yeah .. but how did you know when I was born?"
"Can I see it a second?"
"Sure, I guess"
With a quick flick he removed my wrist band. I didn't even know they came off! He flipped it over.
"Ah, the 7856 models"
Reaching into his bag he removed a small screw driver, popped off the back of my wristband, and removed a plastic strip"
"Should be fine now. People where sloppy on the 7856 models"
He replaced my wristband, now ablaze with light.
I have never sworn that aggressively or loudly. | They always say that it isn't my fault.
For as long as I can remember, I've been an outsider. It's not that my personality is all that objectionable, nor that I'm somehow incapable of connecting with the people around me. No, the source of my isolation stems from the thin band of black metal locked around my right wrist. For others, the omnipresent trinket is a sign of hope; a literal light in the darkness when they're feeling their worst. For me, it's something akin to a shackle, keeping me restrained from ever truly developing a real relationship.
They always say that it isn't my fault... but their words hide the truth that shines through from their eyes: Someone with a bracelet as truly dark as mine must be *unworthy* of love. Someone without even the faintest spark must hold some terrible secret that makes them undeserving of companionship. One could go their whole life without harming another, or work day and night to suppress the facets of their being that the world deems unacceptable. Without that precious glow, however - without the visible sign that *someone* in the world could love me - even an internal struggle might as well be a despicable crime against all whom I encounter.
I've tried to hide my affliction in so many ways, but even the act of keeping my cuff concealed draws suspicious, judgmental glances from those around me. It's to be expected, I suppose, when one lives in a culture where each passerby glances first at their own wrist and then at yours. I've taken comfort from those who view my segregation as an aphrodisiac, as though being permanently sealed into a state of solitude was somehow arousing. Even then, though, the quiet wariness (and even pity) does nothing for me, save to further cement what I've known from the beginning:
I am incapable of love.
My emotions are not unlike your own. I hurt, I cry, and I sympathize with the pain of those around me. Nothing inside of me is broken, despite what a stranger might silently believe. I have all the feelings and desires that a person whose bracelet *does* glow would experience... but mine are thought of as being twisted and corrupt. *That* is the source of my loneliness, and the reason I will likely die alone: It's not that I'm any different from the people with visibly shining light; it's that world sees fit to constantly remind me that I'm different. My manacle will never come alive, for there will always be those around me who insist that it shouldn't.
After all... before one can love another, they must first know how to love themselves. | 2015-03-22T12:00:39 | 2015-03-22T11:19:52 | 184 | 25 |
[WP] You are the founder of a tiny 1990s tech startup operating from your garage. All of a sudden, a bunch of people who are obviously badly disguised time travelers start trying to buy stock in your company. | I catch myself re-reading the same sentence for the third time and look up from my desk. It's gotten dark outside, no wonder I've been having trouble deciphering my badly scribbled notes. I turn on the lights and after closing the blinds and locking down the front door, I decide to make some coffee. It doesn't look like any more 'investors' will be arriving today, so I might as well use the lack of distractions and focus on work. Just as I realize that I've made far too much coffee, a bang on the garage door interrupts my thoughts. I sigh.
A somewhat impatient looking man, probably in his late forties, looks down to me as I pull up the heavy panels. I wish him a good evening, not particularly looking forward to his pitch.
"Ah, yes, good evening", he responds, breathlessly.
We stare at each other. He starts again:
"Sorry...to intrude at this time, I mean. Kenichi gave me your information..."
The sentences he rapidly throws at me seem memorized, but a bit more believable than those I've heard before. I don't pay them much attention, staring instead at his turquoise sweater and severely undersized jeans. I wonder if they're as uncomfortable as they look and can't suppress a smile as I think about how much effort this theater must have cost him. I cut him off.
"I understand. I do have a few minutes, but if you want details, you'll have to come back tomorrow."
He nods, apologizes, hastily steps in and apologizes again.
"As I said, I'm looking at a range of investments and think there are some strong synergies between your work and..." he fumbles through some folded papers.
I occasionally nod, as I pretend to look over his portfolios. "Maybe. You don't look like the typical investor, if I may say so."
He laughs. "Oh well, I'm from Europe. Can't find much else than this stuff these days."
"Really? These seem more like last year's selection, or even before that. Haven't seen anything like it in quite some time".
He looks caught and intensely stares at his papers. I smile again and decide to end it at that.
"Well, thank you for expressing your interest. I've had a strange surge of funding offers recently..."
He looks shocked. A sight I've gotten used to.
"...and will need to look through all of them before I make a decision." His expression changes, but unlike the others, he doesn't seem angry or disappointed. I'm slightly intrigued and continue.
"But I have to tell you, I've heard that anti-aging is a far more lucrative endeavor..."
This was in fact true. He showed no reaction, which surprises me. I've pieced together from past encounters that for reasons I still don't fully understand, several dozens of people have suddenly gotten the idea that I'm about to launch a very profitable venture dealing with anti-aging technology. Even stranger, there have been no recent papers or even Usenet discussions about my ideas, except for occasional citations about my current work in exotic medical journals. I decide to press a bit harder.
...so I'll probably pursue **anti-aging**, mainly via **nano-tech** for the next few years..."
"NO."
I pause. Seeing my raised eyebrows, he regains his composure.
"I'm sorry. Of course it's your decision. But I'm purely interested in your current work. I've even sketched potential prototypes. Very willing to compromise on the terms, if this is your concern. For instance, at a post-money valuation of..."
I drift away again. After a few minutes, I get up and thank him for his time. He looks disappointed.
Once I've returned to my lab, I see through the garage door window that he is still standing in front of my driveway, his back turned towards me. I lift the door once more and take two steps outside. He's hunched over, his head in his hands.
"Wait"
He doesn't turn.
"You're not really interested in buying stocks in my company, are you?"
At first he doesn't seem to respond, then he forces out a few words, even more breathless than before:
"Four...years. Just...four years earlier.
He falls over and I hear some sniffling. At first I feel too awkward too respond, then the mechanics and the purpose of his vist finally dawn on me.
"Someone close, isn't it?"
The sniffling intensifies.
"How about...we take a look at those sketches."
Still crying, he follows me into my lab.
I turn the coffee maker on again and start looking for a second chair.
| There was a time when money rained from heaven and I wanted a piece of it. I had dropped out of Cal Poly in 1991, after my second year. I had the big idea. At first we were wide-eyed and optimistic. We could have changed the world or at least the way people did things. We actually worked in a garage. Do you believe that? We didn't have to but that was how they had done it at Hewlett-Packard and we had big dreams and high hopes.
Suddenly it seemed like a lot of other people did too. It had only been a few months in that tiny garage when we got our first investor. He said his name was Gene Harper. He said he was in semiconductors and he paid cash. It was more money that I had ever had. We started renting a space on El Camino in Sunnyvale. I became the CEO. I was managing a dozen people. Making it up as I went along. After Gene, came Diane Fitz and Stephen Walker from the telecom industry, they had paid almost 4 times what Gene did just to be a part of it with us. And then there were so many I didn't learn their names.
I did what anyone would do. I set about building a corporate image, one Armani suit at a time. That is not to say I wasn't suspicious. I mean we didn't have a product. We definitely weren't advertising but still they came. I looked into it. They all checked out. Sort of. The only government database on the web at that time was the DMV, which had no record of any of them. But Diner's Club did, and so did Visa, MasterCard, American Express. They all had lines of credit and that was good enough for me --at first anyway, when we needed that credit. But once we had the money I hired someone. A PI. For $300 an hour, he had done the same thing I did months earlier with one difference. He also ran their social security numbers.
Turns out Gene was 5. Diane was only 7 and Stephen, well he takes the cake at the young age of 4. At first I thought maybe it was drug money. I had heard of Pablo Escobar; he was one of the richest men in the world. If the drug cartels had that kind of money maybe they would want to invest it. I mean that had worked out well for Kleiner Perkins. Maybe I had too much to drink but I started to wonder "what if". What if they really were that young? Why not? Technology was changing every day, maybe they had something in the future. I don't know about you but if I could go back in time I would buy a piece of Apple or Microsoft. It explained why they never seemed to stick around. If you were going to sink a few million dollars you'd think you'd want to be involved but I never saw them again. I was fine with that.
Instead of selling my Volkswagen I bought a new one, a Porsche, and we moved from that strip mall in Sunnyvale to a proper office on Page Mill Road in Palo Alto. We were right down the street from Hewlett-Packard. We were a real company. We started hiring all kinds: engineers, programmers, and graphic designers. There were getting to be so many people we get human resources and accountants. We bought ping pong tables for the break room and arcade machines for the lobby. We rented every VIP box at the Oakland Colosseum so whole company could watch the A’s chase the pennant in 1996. They didn’t make it, not that it dampened our spirits. Everyone wanted to be a part of what we were doing, even Kleiner Perkins, but we didn't need them. Life was good.
It was Scott, our newest accountant, who first noticed. The money wasn't coming in anymore. Our regular investors had gone silent. With our burn rate we would run out of operating capital before the end of the year. The ride wasn’t over yet, even without the time travelers--or whatever they were--the VCs were still beating down our door. The time had come to let them in and when we did they threw money at us. We did a series “A” financing round for $13 million and series “B” for $27 million. We didn’t have to worry about the lights going out, we bought everyone new equipment. We upgraded the whole office, but we had let Kleiner Perkins in which meant we were on their timeline.
Lycos had just had their IPO the year before. The market was on fire for technology companies. So naturally they wanted us to do one. I couldn’t stop it. You can’t get off the train once it’s left the station. Finally in late 1998, we launched on the NASDAQ. Suddenly we were worth almost $400 million. I became rich. A millionaire. Sure it was no Apple or AOL, but we still hadn't made anything, and nobody seemed to care. I was being interviewed in Forbes, Time, even the Wall Street Journal. They called us the face of the new economy. I think I started to like that. We even ran a commercial during Super Bowl XXXIV. I was in that and so was Carmen Electra. That was pretty cool.
Looking back I wonder when it happened. That point in time where we missed it and the future passed us by. I'd had the idea more than 10 years ago but we never did it. We never figured out how to make it anything more than idea; how to make it reality. In the end we would dabble in other technologies and even pivot into a web2.0 company but the writing was on the wall.
Now, I teach entrepreneurship at UC Berkeley. I thought you'd get a kick out of that. I lecture to wide-eyed optimists about the glory days and tell them they too can make it. If they have a big idea and they are willing to work for it. | 2015-10-04T12:11:58 | 2015-10-04T10:48:19 | 47 | 15 |
[WP] Instead of your life flashing before your eyes as you die, your life flashes before your killer's eyes. You're an assassin who has killed time and time again, but something stops you as you are about to finish off your next target. | Ah, the flashes- the reason I became an assassin. There's something I just *love* about seeing someone's life flash before my eyes as I strip them of those fond memories and happy thoughts. I've been doing this since I was a child, mind you. Like most other assassins, I was abandoned by my parents and left to die. I have no friends, no family and no lover. I'll save you the sob story, though.
The interesting thing is that one day, I was stalking my prey on a typical mission. Covered head to toe in black cloth to conceal myself, I danced around her until the perfect moment. When she was cornered, I held a blade to her throat and said "goodnight" like I always do. Then, the flashes hit. God, I love the flashes.
This time, though, they weren't all that pleasing. I actually pulled my blade away and stumbled back when they hit me, and they hit me *hard*. For what I saw was not fond memories of playing in the park with a puppy, or some strange looking kid getting his diploma...
It was me. | He swayed from side to side, standing above me with a hatchet in his left hand. His eyes were too wide, his movements too fast. The famous Blade of the Black Council was full freakin' looneytunes.
I hadn't seen his face around Edinburgh before. An Asian man, short and built like a rhino, if rhinos partook in steroids. He wore a brown apprentice's robe that stretched at the chest and fell to well below his knees.
The Blade lowered his body so that his eyes were only a couple feet above mine. I suddenly wished I knew how to get up quick like the Rock, but at least I was comfortable laying on my ass.
*Empty Night*, I blinked at him, *why is the Blade killing a junior Warden?*
He stared at me for a moment, keeping eye contact.
*Does he intend to Soulgaze me?* I thought about the impact that would have, Gazing into a madman's eyes, but I supposed it didn't matter much considering the circumstances. I swallowed and maintained the contact, waiting for something to happen. Soulgazes worked both ways. He would get a look into me and I into him.
"Why?" I asked, but the Gaze had already started.
Beside his crouching figure was another version of him. On closer inspection, it was his shape, but no facial features of any kind. Yeah, that wasn't freaky. Within his body were two colors. There was a white side, pure, eye-burning white, and a black side, dark as mordite.
The two colors pushed against one another, each making progress then being forced back to the middle. The colors didn't gain any ground.
Before I knew it, the Gaze was over.
The Blade's face screwed up in confusion and he stood sharply.
"What?" I asked, voice weak. "Got the wrong guy? I've been trying to tell you."
If I wasn't already knocked on my ass, I would have been by the next action. He *bowed* to me and turned around, creating a portal to the Nevernever with the flick of a wrist.
*Stars and stones*. I blinked again and watched the portal close.
The day just got a lot more interesting. | 2016-02-09T22:50:22 | 2016-02-09T20:33:17 | 71 | 15 |
[WP] Santa clause is actually someone who's been sentenced to an eternity of delivering presents to children as a punishment | I was once a king. A great king, mind you. A builder of monuments that last to this day, in fact. And I loved being King. I visited with my people every day, learning of their ills and devoting my day to correcting those problems. And for that, I was loved. But rumors came from the town of Bethlehem that another king had been born. A king who would supplant *me*. And I admit: rage got the best of me. I gave the order to kill all the male children under two years in that town. I would be "Herod the Great" forever, not "Herod the overthrown and forgotten."
On my death bed, the Lord himself appeared before me. He told me to repent for my sins, and I refused. I was *King*! I apologize to no one!
He decreed that I had not done enough to atone for my horrible crime. That I could only ascend to heaven after I had made it up to the children of the world. And he had just the plan for how I might do that.
I was exiled to the North Pole, trapped in an icy dungeon for 364 days out of the year. Luckily, I was not alone: the soldiers who had carried out my orders and put Bethlehem to the sword were with me. But they were different... horribly disfigured. Their skin had turned green, their ears had grown large and pointy like a dog's, and they'd shrunk down to nearly a third of their normal size. They were put to work creating toys year-round, slaving away (in accordance with the Deuteronomic Code, of course) until their debt is due.
But the Lord reserved a special task for me. *I* had been the one whose sense of right and wrong was so skewed that I'd approved the murder of the Lord. And so, the Lord ordered me to judge the actions of every child in the world and determine who was 'good,' and who was 'naughty.' Only in this way, he said, would I see true morality through the eyes of innocent children.
For hundreds of years, I refused. I pouted in my desolate cell and refused to distribute the simple toys that my soldiers had made. *I* was the King, not some servant boy running errands. But I soon came to realize that I was a powerless prisoner, and my only path to redemption was following the Lord's orders. And so I began to distribute the gifts. Simple at first: little candies, wooden knick-knacks, that sort of thing. But the tastes of the world's children began to change, and my workers became more skilled. They wanted bicycles and footballs and a Red Ryder Carbine Action 200-shot Range Model air rifle. And so I dutifully delivered, still wearing my regal red robes and my big bushy beard (now white with my advanced age). One night of freedom, after three hundred and sixty four days in prison.
Has it worked? Have I begun to see the world through the eyes of children? Glimpsed their pure, innocent thoughts and rewarded them all as the Lord expects?
You might think so. I do my yuletide runs every year now, to the point where I have become the stuff of legends. The name Santa is known far and wide, whereas the name Herod has become a dusty relic of history. I compile the list of good and naughty, giving lumps of coal to the bad and toys to the good. Everything that the Lord has required of me.
Do you know anyone who has ever actually gotten coal? No. But then again, do you know anyone who has actually ever gotten a toy from Santa before? One that *wasn't* actually from the child's parents of whimsical grandparents? Exactly.
There is only one list. The *naughty* list. Contrary to the Lord's intent, my punishment has made me *loath* children. Their petulant, whining demands for Xboxs and action figures and LEGOs. Their pitifully shallow attempts to behave from December 23rd to December 24th, thinking that two days of faking it would be enough to get on the good list. No, they *all* get lumps of coal. Not in their stockings, of course: it goes straight to the power plants that keeps those Christmas trees bright and cheery. The same power plants that are pumping soot into the atmosphere every year. The same power plants that are slowly but surely melting the bars of my frozen jail. | The sleigh slipped and skidded as it landed, the reindeer both tired from their long night and unbalanced now that the heavy load was gone. Nick pulled up carefully, correcting the slip and then pulling back slowly to bring them to a trot and then finally to a complete halt.
He was as tired as the deer, but as he did each year, he led them into the yard and removed them one by one from the tack and stabled them with a feedbag over their nose. The wind and snow reached even into this part of the yard, although it was in the lee of the house and now that he was no longer in motion, Nick's clothes stuck to him with a heavy sweat and chilled him rapidly.
Dasher was the first to be let loose, as always he was the most impatient and if he had been left while the others were stabled first then he would paw and pull, so it was safest this way. By the time the other eight had been similarly taken care of he was already sleep, his head drooped over the doorway, nosebag still in place.
Nick gently pushed him back inside, unhooking the bag as he did so. He'd come back out in the morning to feed them again and until then they had plenty of fresh straw if they woke. He moved down the line and shut all their doors to keep the cold and the show out and finally, with aching bones and a deep chill, he made for the house.
The door opened directly into the kitchen and as he entered his wife looked up to see him come in and smiled. "Hello dear, did everything go okay?"
Of course she knew it had, if it had not then he would not have returned until it was perfect, but it was habit to ask as much as anything else. They had, after all, being doing this forever. Nick stretched, his belly poking out over his trousers and his back popping as it recovered from hours of bumpy flight. He pulled off his red coat and hung it over the back of a chair, where it dripped onto the floor.
"Yes dear, all fine, as always." He smiled and then crossed the room and kissed the top of her head - although he always told her to go to bed, he was grateful for the company.
He moved to the oven and tried to lift the kettle on, but his hands were stuff with the cold and almost immediately his wife was at his side, fussing him away. "Sit, sit now, let me." In moments she had stoked the fire, filled the kettle and flipped two slices of bread onto the griddle. Although he didn't feel hungry yet, they would be welcome.
Once the food and some tea had been delivered, she sat beside him and waited while he ate, occasionally reaching forward to pluck a crumb from his beard. Finally, having eaten and the warmth having spread again through his body, he stood and reached for his coat once again.
His wife didn't protest, but he could see her anger and fear. She hated this part of the night, but she knew it was important to him, even though she had long since given up hope. "I'll not be long dear." She nodded curtly and looked away.
The coat was still cold and for a moment Nick considered going out without it - he was unlikely to die without it after all, but he swung it over his arms anyway, out of habit. For just a moment he paused by the door and felt the bitter cold as it seeped through the gaps and then steeling himself he pushed outside.
The snow had mostly stopped and the sky was clear and open, the stars shining with a ferocity and anger that lit the night's sky. Nick walked out, down the well worn path and beyond the work shed where he spent his year building toys to distribute and bring joy. It took some time, but at last he reached the clearing and found the largest tree and searched in the show underneath it for the box.
Finding it, he pulled it free and opened it to pull out the small rug and a few half burned candles that he set upon the snow and lit, before sitting down on the rug. He clasped his hands together and thought carefully for a few moments, listing his year's sins in his head and trying to recall the words.
*"Our Father, Who art in heaven
Hallowed be Thy Name;
Thy kingdom come,
Thy will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us;
and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil. Amen."*
He finished and looked to the sky and more out of tradition than hope quietly whispered. "I'm sorry, please forgive me." There was no response and after a moment he packed up, replaced the box where it had been found and headed back to his home.
The light was beginning to break over the horizon and it turned the sky a deep red, sending his heart into despair. Each year He sent the sky to remind him of the night of rebellion and Nick's casting out into the world. It was a message that he was not forgiven. Soon he was back at his house and with a heavy heart he entered. Lilith sat at the table and looked as he came in, but she too had seen the sky.
He tried to muster a smile. "Not yet."
She forced a smiled and stood to embrace him. "He's never going to my dear, but we have a *good* life here."
He held her tightly, trying not to let her see the pain. "He'll forgive me one day. I just have to do enough good in the world to make up for my sins. One day he'll let us back in, one day."
| 2016-02-29T06:36:50 | 2016-02-29T05:54:11 | 154 | 14 |
[WP] - in hell one battles giant demons until you die... then you rise again. Again and again you strive against impossible odds to barely scratch the terrible creatures. The first Dark Souls player has just arrived to this hell, and soon nothing will be the same again.
Dark Souls being a vision of hell. | [A continuation of this story.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3yqdzz/wp_a_gamer_dies_and_was_sent_to_hell_a_demon/cyfypqn)
Brian scooped up some infernal pollen from the ground and shoved it into the loading chamber of his custom-made flamethrower. A rather nondescript young adult, his untimely death in a car accident - coupled with the fact that he'd never accomplished anything of value in the short time he was alive - landed him on the shores of the River Acheron, near the border of Hell's domain. Compared to other souls relegated to that area - deemed the Uncommitted, for their failure to stand for either good or evil in life - he was unnaturally acquainted with being in a state of death.
"I'll need to find a more reliable source of fuel," he said to himself.
"If it's hellfire you're looking for, you're on the right track," came a voice from behind him.
Brian turned to his demonic companion. Sama'el, a corporal within the Legions of Hell, stood seven feet in height, had skin the color of flowing blood, and radiated pure malice with every step he took - still, he'd decided to follow this scrawny human. Whether this was out of curiosity or reverence, he wouldn't say.
This pair of adventurers, after following the length of the Acheron for some time, chose to navigate to the desolate, craggy cliffs overlooking the river. For Sama'el, this was nothing more than an unconventional patrol route - or it would be, if he were on duty. This was the first time in millennia that he'd sworn his blade to anyone other than Lucifer, though as far as the rest of the Vestibule Regiment was concerned, he was merely taking a long-deserved vacation.
For Brian, it would be his latest opportunity to assert his mastery over what he considered an elaborate game. To him, Hell was nothing more than the latest installment of Dark Souls, and he had more experience with the franchise than any other resident of this grim domain.
"As we move further away from the Vestibule, the dangers will only increase," Sama'el continued. "Truly, there are many tortures - or challenges, as you call them - to be experienced outside the Circles of Hell. The insects you charred to a crisp back there were the least of your worries. For instance, the lair of the Great Ones lies ahead of us."
"The Great Ones?" Brian pressed inquisitively.
"Demons, like myself, only enormous in stature and lacking in conventional intelligence. Do not underestimate them - they possess martial strength more than ten times greater than my own, and the instinctive knowledge to wield it effectively. You may consider them giant brutes, but I would consider them masters of combat - the guardians of the secret of hellfire."
"Hellfire? Would I be able to make any use of it?"
Sama'el sneered in much the same way a human would smile.
"As fuel, you mean," the demon clarified. "Yes. Your flamethrower's effectiveness would be dramatically increased if you were to immolate the secret charcoal - all who lack an immunity to fire would be burned ceaselessly by the destructive power of hellfire. It would truly be a formidable weapon against any foes who do not have the demon blood."
Brian stopped to consider his reluctant follower's explanation.
"You mean it wouldn't work on, say, you?"
"Not on me," Sama'el answered, "nor on the Great Ones. If you wish to do battle with them, fire will not help you. You will need a more conventional weapon... as well as my assistance, of course."
The human looked meekly at his flamethrower, wishing, for once, that it were a slashing weapon.
"Not to worry," the demon continued. "If it's a blade you seek, I think I know just where to look." | I awoke to the familiar sound of a bonfire. Eyes closed, I straightened out on the cold floor of my apartment and popped my back. Sleeping on the floor always sucked, but after playing Dark Souls III for a week straight I'd barely been able to see. Since I stopped to sleep it was probably a good time to get some food, I needed the energy to start NG+11. With a sigh I opened my eyes, staring at the ceiling. At least that was the plan, there wasn't a ceiling to stare at.
Jumping up, I frantically looked around. I was laying on a ledge of unnaturally smooth stone, recessed into the wall of a cliff. A small fire, looking exactly like the Bonfires in Dark Souls I noticed, burned in a corner. A small stairway stuck out near the fire. A quick glance over the edge showed hundreds of caves and thousands of small stairways crisscrossing the face of the cliff. Taking a deep breath, I stepped on the stairs and began carefully walking towards the nearest cave. I needed to know where the hell I was.
&nbsp;
The first person I came across was a vegetable. He didn't respond to anything I did, didn't even flinch when I got fed up enough to slap him. I don't know what got to him, but he looks fine. It freaked me out a little, I do not want to end up like that.
The second person was a gold mine, even if I didn't know it at the time. He told me that we were in hell, that we were sentenced to fight demons and monsters for all eternity and that when eventually die we will wake up next to the last bonfire we slept by. I was skeptical, to say the least. He was describing Hell as Dark Souls, a world I had always wanted to enter. It was almost comical, and I was sure he was either crazy or on the side of whoever kidnapped me and was trying to feed me misinformation. Either way, I wrote him off.
The third person I met kicked me off the edge of his cave as soon as I tried to enter. I could see the hate on his face, before it changed to shock. As I fell he yelled at me to come find him when I woke up. Some small part of me wondered what the heck he meant, the rest of me was screaming as the ground rushed up to meet me though, so I didn't really notice.
&nbsp;
I woke up to the sound of a bonfire. Breathing heavily I sat up and looked around, finding the exact same cave I woke up in an hour ago. As my heart slowed to a more normal rhythm, I could barely contain my excitement. I was in Dark Souls! Or at least I was in something close enough that there wasn't any appreciable difference, either way it was awesome!
Standing up I walked over to the stairs, I remembered the path to the old man. I'd have to sit down and actually listen this time.
&nbsp;
The old guy proved more then willing to talk, now that I believed him he actually went into far more detail then he had previously. About two hours of learning and a short walk later, I stood just up the stairs the cave where I had been killed. Yelled, "Oi! Don't kick me this time around!" I walked in, immediately jumping to the left so if he kicked me still I wouldn't fall of the cliff.
Relaxing slightly, the man leaned up against the wall of the cave. Looking me over he said, "So, you're new."
Rolling my eyes I replied, "No shit Sherlock. How long have you been here?"
"Long enough. This is the first time I've seen someone so calm after their first death though, I'm surprised."
"I play Dark Souls"
"You what?"
"It's a video game sort of like this, you get used to dying"
"Dying in real life is a bit different then dying in a game to most people."
"Casuals" I said, dismissively waving a hand.
With a feral grin he leaned towards me and said, "well if you're so suited to this life, lets see how you like The Field. Follow me."
Sighing heavily, I followed. If this was a movie, I was about to go on a training montage.
&nbsp;
It had been barely a month since I first met John, and already I'm a bit better then him, at least while fighting monsters. It may have been due to the world; if I couldn't keep up I died, even though I always woke up it still hurt like hell. Personally, I attribute it to the fact I love to fight. Actually living it only made it more fun, there was so much more you could do if the system wasn't limiting you to certain movesets.
So here I am, sitting on the corpse of an Ogre. I have my sword, taking from a demonic lieutenant, and my armor, made from the hide of some dragon looking thing. John is still fighting his Ogre, it won't last much longer though. Soon we'll be strong enough to start working up the chain of command, we may even get to the Devil himself.
I couldn't care less though, I'm having the time of my life. | 2016-03-30T12:00:40 | 2016-03-30T11:01:50 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] After Lucifer was kicked out of Heaven, he decided to make his own paradise. Both compete to have the best afterlife, sadly you lived a sin-free life and got sent to Heaven. God is throwing a very boring, sin-free party. You spend your time trying to get kicked out so you can go to Hell. | *Dear God, spare me from more Adele. I have got to get out of here. They are always having the best parties in hell...If only I could get myself sent down there.*
"Cheese on a stick sir? Mocktail perhaps?"
"Why a cheese on a pointed stick would be delightful."
"OWCH! Sir...you do realise you just stabbed me with a cocktail stick?"
"Oh dear, I am so sorry. Here, let me rinse the wound with a mocktail."
"..Brr!.. God will hear of this you menace!"
*I'm counting on it, you stuck up son of an angel. Hm there's the gate to heaven...Oops, silly me! Now to find Pete.*
"Ah St Peter, I'm so sorry but I accidently left the gate open and some imps have gotten in."
"You buffoon! They are in the punch! If they pee in it, it will be on your head."
"The punch will be on my head St Pete?"
"Such insolence! God will hear! Oh my, what are they doing to that cherub! I must go!"
*Silly old fool. Ah ha! Iron Maiden got my invite, right on time.*
"What's up brother. Tour bus suddenly went of a cliff, next thing we know we got an invite to this place. Didn't think we'd ever get here, know what I mean?"
"Oh right, well God loves your particular sound. Stage is over here."
*now to spike the punch and put on my mankini*
---
**two hours and much mischief later**
"You summoned me, your lordship?"
"Nick! What have you done to this party! You have turned it into a hell hole!"
"I'm so sorry, I would understand if—"
"and I love it! Best party we have had in years! I proclaim you 'holy party organiser'. One small thing though...do see if you can find Adele next time."
| I looked down, eyeing what seemed like a black cloud with strobe lights shooting off of it, as well as the loud cheery noises of the men and women on there. As I turned around, glancing at the Milk Fountain, I could imagine the party they were having... Women, beer, all sorts of crazy, sinful activities... While I was stuck up here, attending the party God threw. Stuck up here, with nuns and priest, while those on the Devil's paradise were having the time of there afterlife.
I knew wanted to be down there... But how?
Maybe if I did something... Disturbing? Yeah, that would work, I said to myself. My eyes swept the room, searching for a target; and I found it. Another man was coming to walk past me, in his hands, a tray full of food... Perfect, I said. As he walked by, throwing a friendly glance in my direction, I 'accidentally' extended my leg, and he tripped, going face first into the bowl of chile on his tray. He got up, and one of the Angels came over, handing him a Godly Towel, which instantly cleaned his face. I thought this would be it, but no, the man simply said 'accidents happen' and walked away, smiling like a dork... Dang it, I murmured... I would need to concoct a plan, so nefarious, it would get me a one way ticket to The Party Downstairs!
I walked into the game room, watching a dozen or so people play some dumb board games... Then, I saw it. In all its glory... A Pac-Man machine... With someone playing. There were about six of these machines in a straight line, one after the other... A woman was playing on the frontmost one, so I swiftly walked towards the machines, pretending that I was going to play on the machine behind hers... Little did she know, I was going to push the machine on top of her... I smiled evilly, rubbing my hands together and getting ready for my transfer from Heaven. I put both hands on the back of her machine, and pushed as much as I could... It tilted, yes, I could feel it slowly being pushed forward- but why was it so heavy? As I pushed, the machine came crashing down on her, until the last moment, when she pushed out of the way by a Guardian Angel... Suddenly, I realized a flaw in my plan that I hadn't thought of... The machines were linked by a thick wire that connected to the top of each individual one... It now made sense why it took so much effort, as I was unconsciously pushing about six machines... But this realization came too late, as I was crushed by the machines, and pushed into a white, infinite box... Oh... This is what happens when you kill yourself in the afterlife, I guess. I looked to my left, at the only other thing in the place, a white desk with a stack of postcards on it. I took one, and read what it said, losing hope every second... "Greetings from Limbo!" | 2016-06-01T22:06:11 | 2016-06-01T21:08:40 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | The little bell above the door jingles, and I glance up. A man who seems ten feet tall and almost as wide ducks to enter, his silhouette blocking the entrance. He strides toward me across the dimly lit room, stopping right in front of me and glaring down. When he speaks, the floor vibrates and my teeth chatter, his dark bass voice seeming to burrow into my soul.
"Another one."
His face remains expressionless, only his eyes glinting with some suppressed emotion. Is it glee? Fury? I can't tell. All I know is that the man is here for his seventeenth tally. He rolls up his sleeve and exposes a patch of skin on his forearm. From elbow to wrist there are arrayed sixteen short black lines, neatly in a row.
Not for the first time I wonder what the tallies represent. What could this man do every few weeks that was notable enough to get a tally mark permanently inked onto his skin? Murder? Has he killed seventeen people in under a year? I shudder as I snap on my latex gloves and pull out the sterile needle tip. Or maybe something equally as illegal and gruesome? I try not to think about it, but my curiosity burns inside me, smoldering as I draw the thin line on his skin. It only takes a few moments, and as soon as it's done the man turns to leave.
Finally, my curiosity bursts into flame. I must know. What's he gonna do, kill me for asking? I gulp before calling out.
"Excuse me, uh, would you mind if I asked what the tallies are for?"
The man pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns slowly to face me. He takes a deep breath before rumbling a reply:
"They count the number of tattoos I've got." and he leaves, the little bell jingling behind him. | Chris opened the door, rang the bell as he passed the check-in desk, and took a seat.
"Same as usual," he grunted. I don't have a lot of repeat customers at McDowell Tattoos, but this guy must have some kind of record.
I sighed and gave a little chuckle. "You really do make my job easy, you know that, Chris? People come in wanting, like, stained glass designs and movie posters on their backs, and you just want a little straight line. It's...refreshing."
Chris shrugged. "I dunno, Terry. It's just important to me."
I went over to my desk to rummage through supplies. "Whatever you say."
*
"So you got my email? I have the last couple forms here."
Chris handed the assistant manager several complex-looking forms and offered a forced smile.
The manager didn't even bother to glance at them. "I'm sorry, Chris. I mean, you know we have to do a background check with this sort of thing. And with a criminal record like yours..."
"What are you saying?"
"I really hate to have to tell you this. You seem like a hardworking man." The manager slid the papers back across the desk. "Best of luck."
Chris gave a curt nod, stood up abruptly, and walked straight down aisle 12. Then he kicked open the back door of Harry's Hardware and screamed into the night air.
His hands gripped the forms tightly -- so many damn forms, and for what? -- then tore them to pieces and stuck them in a nearby trash can.
He ran his fingers up his left arm and counted the tally marks in his head. Fifteen. One for each struggle, each rejection.
*
"So you're really not gonna tell me? I mean, I think at this point I might even have a *right* to know."
I pressed the needle gently into Chris's arm and slid it down. Perfect.
"Quit asking me shit and just do the job," he said, uncharacteristically brusque. When the deed was done, he shook my hand and slid some cash into my palm. Not much, but then again, it was just a tally mark.
"Terry, man, I really don't appreciate you prying into my personal life, OK?" I thought I saw tears welling up in his eyes, but he turned towards the door before I could be sure. A few steps later, he paused.
"And you really should look into getting a three-coil system for this place. People are getting more and more complex designs, y'know, they aren't all gonna be like me."
I stroked my chin. "Hey, Chris, hold on a second."
He stayed where he was.
"How much do you know about this whole process?" I asked.
"Well, I mean, I'm in here all the time. You kind of pick up on some things."
I placed the needle on the front desk. "You know, I hear there's this great tattoo parlor on McDowell Street that's looking for some interns."
Chris turned around and grinned -- the only genuine grin I think I'd ever seen from him.
"I'll have to tell them I'm interested."
| 2016-07-09T09:02:41 | 2016-07-09T08:57:58 | 368 | 45 |
[WP]: Write a story that sounds idiotic and poorly written all the way until the last sentence | lol there were twenty edgelords fighting a massive battle against a monster
but they used their nukes and fukin rekt the monster with their fukn pocket nukes
then they went to taco bell and dated some hot babes
"Due to this message containing profanity, you have been banned from Xbox Live for a period of seven (7) days. For more information, please contact us at xbox.com/support." | Pain. Spasms. Light.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence. Bleach.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence. Bleach. Bathroom.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence. Bleach. Bathroom. Dumpster.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence. Bleach. Bathroom.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence. Bleach.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream. Silence.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife. Scream.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman. Knife.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom. Woman.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood. Bedroom.
Pain. Spasms. Light. Blood.
Pain. Spasms. Light.
As they took the electrodes off my temples, I remembered what I had done and prayed for death's sweet embrace. | 2016-07-19T14:29:24 | 2016-07-19T14:26:53 | 32 | 19 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | "Back again." Death said to the little brown tabby in his doorway.
"This is what happens when one dies. That was seven?" Niu said.
"One hundred twenty nine."
"I cannot count that high. It is seven. Seven lives."
Niu began to groom herself. Death sighed and produced a coin from somewhere within his robe.
Niu continued grooming for a few minutes then looked at the coin. "I don't see why we play this game. By rights I have two more free lives."
Death rolled his eyes and flipped the coin high in the air. As the coin reached its zenith, Niu lept up, caught it and delivered the coin to the table face up.
"Heads. I win. I will proceed to life seven, as is my right."
"You cheat." Death said.
"Everyone knows you can't cheat death." Niu purred and turned to leave.
Death chuckled as the little tabby sauntered out the door. Humans may not be able to cheat death, but cats were cats. | The solid gold coin flew through the air, slowly arcing as I watched it tentatively. It collided with the ground, making a solid thunk. Slowly, I walked over to it and looked down to see which face was looking back at me. It was heads. The skulls eyes stared back into mine, I could almost feel hatred radiating from it. I looked up at my competitor and stepped back without touching the coin. He stepped forwards, looked down at the coin, somehow clucked his tongue and looked at me.
"You win. Again." He said in that deep, booming voice he's had since the day we first met all those years ago. I smiled at him, stepped forward and offered him my hand.
"Good show as always." We shook hands, his bony hand was cold in my fleshy mitt.
"Next time, you die. For good." Death stared at me. The sockets where his eyes should have been were pitch black, but I swear I could see a faint glint from inside. A wide grin spread across my face.
"I don't think so friend," I said cheerfully. "I think I'll keep on winning and you'll keep on losing. Every couple of years we'll meet back here, we'll flip the very same coin that rests at our feet and the outcome will always be the same. I'll walk outta here safely and you'll go back to reaping your crop." Death stared me dead in the eyes. I could see the fury hidden in there.
"Goodbye, Carter. Please don't show up here again for at least another 80 years." His voice didn't sound anywhere near as boomy and loud as it had previously. He sounded defeated.
"I'll try not to. Goodbye, friend." I patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the endless white void that was Death's Realm. I awoke in the mortuary freezer, stalactites hung from the ceiling. I sat up, swung my legs down over the gurney I lay on and heard a loud thunk. I looked down and at my feet was the gold coin I'd flipped only moments ago with Death. I laughed, picked up the coin and walked out of the freezer to find my pants.
-
If you enjoyed this read my other writings. /r/Ceruberus | 2016-09-23T07:46:57 | 2016-09-23T06:57:22 | 3,526 | 132 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Both Death and Daniel watched as the coin pirouetted through the air. The light of the moon danced off one surface and then the other. Heads then tails. Heads then tails.
"No!" screamed Daniel as for the 256th time, the coin landed heads up.
"No!" screamed Death, painfully aware that Daniel had slipped through his fingers once again. He clutched at his scythe and held it near. Death then took a few deep breaths, sucking air in through his mouth before it escaped through his unskinned ribs like water through gills.
"So be it," said Death, regaining a crumb of composure. "You live again. You are alive. Now with my touch you shall be sent back. You will be healthy and young. Your memories will be kep-"
"I know the rules, Death," sighed Daniel, "But I can't do this again. I have lived too long already. I have lived through hundreds of loved ones dying. I have watched the world change to something I do not understand -- that I don't *want* to understand. Take me, Death."
"You know I cannot. And this is more painful for me than it is for you, Daniel. You requested the gamble upon your original death, the pact must be honoured until you flip tails."
"I took the gamble for her, I didn't want to leave her..." Daniel said as he looked down at the dirt floor. "But she left me long ago. And now I am ready to leave. I was ready long ago."
"I am sorry for your loss, Daniel. I do not like what I have to do and I would much rather take you. But you must go back."
"Did she...did she take the gamble? Did she flip a coin; did she try to come back to me?"
"Every time you ask this question, but you know I cannot answer. Why do you pain yourself? Why does it matter so much to you?"
"It just, does." replied Daniel in little more than a whisper.
Daniel was silent for a moment and Death, for his part, stood as still as stone.
"Swap with me." Daniel pleaded suddenly. "Let me become the new Reaper. Let me send you back to humanity."
Death paused for a while and clutched his scythe to his bony chest
as he considered the offer.
"I cannot. It is forbidden. Daniel, you have knowledge far beyond any mortal. You have power. Do something with it. Improve them."
"I cannot change the world. I have spent many lifetimes trying and failing. I started wars and I ended them. I created and tried ideological and social revolutions. All I learned was that they can't be helped. There is no perfect state for them. We, they, are a creature of flux. They need uncertainty and chaos."
"Be that as it may, you must go back."
Daniel fell to his knees as a plume of dust sprinkled up into the moonlit night. He picked up the fallen coin and stared at it in hatred. "So be it. Touch my head with your boney hand and send me back."
Death paused again for a moment, before nodding and floating forward. He lowered a hand towards Daniel. But before his boney fingers touched Daniel's head, Daniel sprung forward and flew at the sharp scythe that Death held. Daniel raised his neck to meet the razor like edge of the scythe. At the same time he flipped the coin into the air.
A fountain of crimson burst from his neck.
The coin pirouetted in the moonlight before landing on the dusty floor. Blood trickled over the coin and a bony smile crept over Death's face.
"Yes, she gambled, Daniel." said Death leaning down to pick up the man's body.
| Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T08:35:02 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 476 | 13 |
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted] | The little light on my watch turned red mostly when I was on vacation, which made sense. The red sometimes made me a little sad, when I was at home somewhere. But on the whole, I tried not to think about it too much. "A must-have feature, here, George!" the salesman told me. Whatever. It was a cute gimmick. It couldn't be real, could it?
Then the day came. I was so nervous. I was going to get dinner with my parents that evening. All day, it kept turning red wherever I went. I got scared - was something going to happen to me on the way to dinner? Would I eat something that had gone bad that would kill me? Of all days, it had to be today?! Maybe it was a sign. I started second-guessing myself. Trying to hide the now-consistently red light under my sleeve...
But I made it to the restaurant. I made it to my seat. I made small talk with my parents - they were just happy to see me. I ate as much of my dinner as I could. We got dessert, still happy little chatter. My stomach was churning. I glanced at my wrist - still red. My heart was pounding. I tried to ignore it.
Here goes nothing.
"Mom, Dad... I want to ask you something." They looked at me with pleasing expectation. "I'd like you to start calling me Georgia." Mom laughed and took my hand, and dad just smiled. "Well okay, Georgia!" Mom said. I exhaled.
The light turned green again. | Chicago was buzzing, the omnipresent hum of traffic crushing the streets vibrated the city with a frenzied din. It had been six hours since the first final notification faded into view on my Integrated Information Glasses. Standing in line at D'amato's bakery I had gotten a little information burst and then notification of final visitation. I had spent $4,021.32 USD at the Bakery in the past twelve years it told me, I'd purchased more sandwiches than actual bread and the average visit was three times a week.
I'd stopped there regularly on my commute back from work, it had been in operation for almost a hundred years by the time I started frequenting it and from the life time residents that walked Grand Street, it had only gotten better.
I broke my reverie and looked up, the sky was clear in a way that only a winter morning in Chicago can be. Each frosted breath I took, each stop I made off the L monorail notified me. This was the final time I would see it, my time was running out.
I made my way through the press of bodies, each person seemed to be soaking in the city with an understanding that mirrored mine. There was no rudeness on the streets today, there was no press of bodies to get to the next destination. We all stood in the moment, because we each began getting those notifications.
One by one, I could see the realization sweep over the faces of my fellow commuters. I took the L rail across the city and stepped off the train on my way to Navy Pier. I wanted to see the Lake, one last time.
Unfortunately, I would not get that chance. My vision blurred, screams erupted around me. I turned to see the unmaking of the world.
It was the End.
The immersive program had ended, G'lornax pulled the Virtual Engagement Nodules off of it's sensory dendrites and shrilly chittered in it's native tongue.
*"The good games always get shit on, it's not like there weren't enough players. They could've kept the servers open, or given us the chance to back up our characters. I had like two hundred HOURS in the Human Fantasy Emulator Chicago server!"*
It spun a boneless appendage out and pushed through a pile of half empty fluid containers, finding one to deposit the emissions it had been holding in to get the last few hours of program time.
*"G'lornax!!!"* It's spawner croaked from the adjacent room. *"Are you done playing pretend? Are you ready for your dendrite cleaning?!"*
G'lornax sighed, *Spawners... So naggy* it thought, as it heaved from the convex warming comfort pod, latching the thousands of suction tendrils to the ground and reluctantly making its way to the door. | 2016-11-03T10:41:31 | 2016-11-03T09:19:12 | 33 | 12 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | *4..3..2..1.. Just breathe, Ginger. Five seconds at a time. You can take five more seconds of this moron.*
Steven Gelster, the bane of my existence. As a human, anyway. A reminder to all you bosses out there: you may be ranked higher than your employees, but never underestimate us. Especially when we happen to be an omnipotent god. *Control yourself. This is about discipline. If you wanted to, you could wipe this planet clean. Wipe that smirk right off his..*
"-Ms. Talison. Do you understand?" He looks down at me. I slowly release the nails I've been digging into my palm, unclenching my fist.
I look up at him with a smile. "Thank you so much for your input, Mr. Gelster," *it's a great reminder of how much I hate you.*
"I have to say, though, don't you think it's going to be a *little* bit difficult to reprocess the 12,000 orders I just put out, just because you don't like the shade of gray I chose?"
He squints at me.
"This may not be important to *you*, Ginger, but I happen to value our customers more than the consequences of the poor choices of my employees."
"Of *course*, I *completely* understand how *absolutely important* this is," I lie through my teeth. He begins to walk away as my eyes flash with anger.
Then he turns back.
*Don't you dare say another word to me.*
"Oh, and Ginger?" He calls out, "Let's not forget who's in charge here."
I snap. The room freezes. The clock stops ticking. The printer is silent. My coworkers are like statues, and I'm walking through the wax museum. I walk towards Steven. He's frozen, but its nothing that I've done. I wave my hand as every light in the city shuts off.
My face just inches from his, my eyes glow and pierce him.
A slow, innocent smile begins to spread across my face as I savor the fear in his eyes.
"Oh, I agree completely..." | Another day, another hectic day at work. How do these earthlings even tolerate this? Ah, If only I could.....no, I vowed not to.*Sigh* Damn. It wouldn't be this bad if it weren't for that no good boss of mine. Oh, here he comes again. That son of a gun better mind his own business.
Dave(My boss): "Fuck are you thinking about?You're not paid to think, you dumb ape. I want these invoices on my desk in an hour or you'll have to find another job."
This guy has had it out for me ever since I joined here, two years ago. I look around to see if anybody heard that. No one looks up from their work, but who am I kidding? With a voice like that, the clerk in the building across the street would've heard his insults. If only he knew who I was, he would fall on his knees and grovel, like the scum he is. The odd part is, he doesn't treat anybody else the way he treats me. I wonder why? One would think I killed his cat or something.
(A long, arduous day later) And.....I'm done for the day. Managed to keep that timeline after all. Damn, what the hell does he want now?
Dave: Are you done with the filing I asked you to do?
(Internally)No shit. Why do you think I'm leaving, moron?
Me: Yes, Sir. Got them done just in time.
Dave: Good, then you can handle these purchases. I couldn't do them because I had to babysit your miserable ass.
Great. More work. This'll probably make me stay till midnight. That ass.
(One all-nighter later)
Shit, It's two in the morning. No sleep for me, I guess. Sometimes I wish I didn't have this mortal body, so bogged down by exhaustion. Sometimes I also watch as Dave takes the night off, or leaves early because he "felt like it". Anyway, I need to get home and get some rest, not that there'll be much of that.
(four and a half restless hours of sleep and 20 minutes of speeding later)
Shit, I'm ten minutes late. I hope Dave isn't there.
Dave: How you doing?
Shit.
Dave:Had your morning coffee yet? Did your momma forget to wake you up on time?
Me:Actually,I...
Dave:SHUT IT! I don't even know why you work here. Your lousy ass should've been fired on DAY ONE!!
You know what? Screw this guy. I'm tired of his BS.
Dave: Are you even listening, you idiot?
Me: You know Dave, I never really liked you.
Dave:Do you think I give a.....
Me:SHUT THE HELL UP!!!
My mortal disguise burned away, and I stood in front of him, godly aura et all. Dave might have had three heart attacks, and a couple of strokes thrown in with that.
Well, to cut a long story short, I decided the mortal world wasn't for me. I resigned from my job that day, and I've enjoyed life much more since then.
I'm sure Dave is fine. After all, humans don't NEED all their limbs to survive. Or their eyes. Or their ears. Or their hair. | 2017-02-19T09:58:18 | 2017-02-19T09:32:23 | 211 | 44 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | (This'll be a short one, but i liked my idea enough to jot it here.)--
"Joshua, pick up your feet! You're going to make me late!" Frank said, strutting down the busy DC street. Life, everywhere, hundreds of thousands of bits individuality walking and biking and driving and living around us as we walk, and i love ever single one of my creations. Except Frank. He has proven me otherwise. I have already made the decision to fix him today. Permanently.
Being omniscient does have its advantages, aside from becoming really good at acting surprised. In exactly 38 seconds, a semi truck's brakes will fail (not my fault) and it will just so happen to be driving down the street we always cross when heading back from lunch (also not my fault). I will, however, make sure Frank and I are there when it does.
"I swear, Joshua, I will FIRE you if I am late!" Frank said, walking backwards into the busy street. I run to catch up to him. Squeal of faulty brakes? check. Everyone else clearing the street? Check. Frank in position? Doubleche-
In my years posing as a mortal, I never felt pain when I did't want to. However, having a rusty chrome grill smush my meaty parts into multiple squishier meaty parts is still pretty jarring. Oh,but the look on Frank's face?
Priceless.
He'll have an internal crisis of morality and mortality, go home to his trophy wife and kiss her sincerely for the first time since they began dating, he'll begin donating to charities- a real Ebineezer Scrooge type 180 degree turnaround. Oh, oh, there he goes, pulling out his phone to call an ambulance, he-
"Carlotta? Yeah, i'm going to need a new secretary. Yeah, first thing tomorrow. Yeah."
F*** you, Frank. | "Sherry? Ummmm.....what...are you doing?" My boss, ladies and gentleman. In case you can't see what's going on, I'm shredding documents. Pounds of them. I had been drifting in the lull of the sound of the motors and relaxing to the sight of the receptacle filling up with hundreds of pages of reports, memos, adverts, requests and the occasional wet paper towel *Not funny, Dennis. You know I'm big on recycling, can you cut me some slack?* When my boss asked the most obviously loaded question of the day.
I counted to three. One, Two....."Sherry? Excuse me, but *what* are you *doing*?" Oh sainted Jesus and Buddha, I'm so sorry I signed you both up for trials on Match Dot Com, IT WAS A JOKE. Forgive me, I can't take too much more of this....
I looked up at Clark. "Uh, what I always do on Tuesdays-shredding the documents left in the recycling bin." Clark put his coffee cup down on the printer. Thanks, Clark. It's not like I don't have enough work to do. It fulfills me greatly to run around after you cleaning up like I'm your mommy.
"Sherry, I told you we are no longer shredding! I've hired a company to do that for us! YOU ARE WASTING THE COMPANY'S TIME AND MONEY!"
Wait, what? Since when? I start counting again. One, Two, Three........Dearest Zeus and Aphrodite, I cannot emphasize how terrible I feel about making donations in Your names to the Roman Advancement Society. It was a joke! Oh my Gods and Goddesses, I never meant to offend You! FORGIVE ME!
"Clark, seriously? No, you didn't tell me this! I wouldn't have spent the last two hours doing this if you had told me I didn't need...." He interrupted me. "Listen, Sherry, stop goldbricking, okay? I told you. If you're having trouble understanding me, perhaps a few unpaid weeks off will help your comprehension."
I think my heart stopped at that moment. Oh sweet, sweet Hades, have you finally forgiven me for sending the cartload of baby donkeys to your daughter's birthday party? Nope. My heart started beating again. Dammit. I am SO SORRY, my Lord of the Underworld, I was young and just being an idiot! I MEANT NO INSULT!
Clark leaned in and shook his finger in my face. "You have been notified, missy. I. Am. Watching. You. You better shape up, or I will be making some drastic changes in your situation."
Drastic changes? Oh dear, dear Mohammed--I am so sorry I rerouted all of your messages to the Dark Web. I was just kidding! I meant no insult! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
Clark walked out. Dennis walked in and tossed a wet paper towel into my face. "Hi, loser. Listen, I need you to order more printer cartridges for my office. Don't fuck it up this time, or I'll tell Clark you're the one sending photos of his wife to Craigslist's *Women Seeking Masters* page." | 2017-02-19T11:07:22 | 2017-02-19T09:52:39 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] Science has allowed people to know their precise time of death for decades now. Your Death Party (half birthday, half funeral) has gotten awkward because your time has come, yet you're still alive. | I prepared for death as the countdown began.
"Three, two, one, zero!"
Huh. I don't think I'm still supposed to be alive.
Everybody else noticed too.
"You- you- you're still alive!" Somebody yelled out.
"It would appear so, yeah. No clue why." I responded.
"Oh, wait, sorry guys, I forgot to switch back from daylight savings time." | Your time comes up, you die. As simple as that. Anything natural at all and the Life-alyser would pick it up. I knew the rule, my brother knew the rule and even my great aunt Nancy knew the rule.
My time is up. I have three minutes and I’m nervous, shaky even. My wife, my child I so desperately wanted them to have here for my final goodbye. A lazy worker, a luggage mishap, a plane delayed. They won’t be here in time.
My time is up. Two minutes left, and my phone rings in my pocket. I pick it up
It’s my wife
‘I know I can’t be here for you in person, but I just want to listen to your voice, just one last time. Look, I have Chelsea here too. Hey baby, wanna say something to your daddy’
A moment of silence
“Love you daddy”
“We’re driving there…”
I didn’t hear the rest of that sentence, I stood there thinking, tears in my eyes, wondering why my life was ending so soon.
My time is up. The moment the minute hand hit its mark everyone stopped their celebrations. They turned and looked at me, all my friends, my family. They mean a lot, but nothing like those two voices next to my ear
“Honey, please stop grabbing at the phone. Mummy is talking to Daddy”
I sudden clattering sound, and I hear my wife. My Eliza; cry out.
“Shit shit shit shit”
Then I hear the phone being picked up
Then I hear my wife scream
Then I hear nothing but the dial tone.
My time is up. | 2017-05-10T14:00:56 | 2017-05-10T08:00:33 | 49 | 19 |
[WP] You've been teleported into an unexpected deathbattle. Your special ability...is your username.
EDIT: You guys are awesome. Alot of funny and interesting ones so far! I might want to start this prompt every year or something (if that's allowed). | Here I was, minding my own my own business going through writing prompts, when the next thing I know I am in an arena with thousands of spectators.
**"Welcome to the Deathbattle arena, where your only weapon is your reddit username. In the the left corner we have u/diamondweapons and in the right corner we have u/BAG_of_awesome.**
Two things happen immediately, a 10 year old armed with a sword made of diamonds appeared and a I feel a bag weigh me down. The next thing I knew, the 10 year old rushes up to me wildly swinging his sword. Freaking out, I search the bag for something to help me, and found something rigid. when I pulled it out, I realized that I was as good as dead as I pull out the word awesome. I then was promptly killed. So, that about sums up why your here Death. | It was the middle of the night.
As I was preparing to sleep, a bright light flashes outside the window. I had no time to react, and was instantly teleported to some sort of jail cell.
Through the bars, I could see that there was some sort of arena outside. "nah." I say to myself and lay on the floor to sleep. Just before I can close my eyes, a man shows up outside my cell and says "Hello, and welcome to UNEXPECTED DEATH BATTLE FEATURING TWO RANDOM PEOPLE!" That is not a very good thing, I thought. I had absolutely no experience fighting people AT ALL.
Before I could say anything, the man left and my jail cell opened up, with multiple weapons laid out in front of me. A cell on the other side of the arena opened up too, also with weapons laid out in front of it. "My opponent is there, and I'm gonna be a dead person within the next few minutes." I once again said to myself.
I hastily picked up a sword and shield and watched what my opponent would choose. He finally came out of his jail cell. A big, burly man, and I was pretty sure I had seen him somewhere. It hit me. He was the boxing champion Bobby McBobberson. I was very very dead.
He put on gauntlets and kicked aside the other weapons, and quickly started dashing towards me. I closed my eyes and prepared for the worst, hoping that somewhere, somehow, something would save me.
Suddenly, the sound of rushing water filled the arena, and a massive boat crashed through the walls, killing half of the audience and Bobby McBobberson. The mystery man showed up in front of me once more, just as confused as I was, and said "well your opponent is dead so i guess you win, i will teleport you home now." A bright light filled the arena, and I closed my eyes.
I opened my eyes to ask what had happened, but all I could see was white. Oh wait, that's the roof of my room, and I'm in my bed. I turned on the TV, and wasn't prepared for the news feed.
"Boxing champion Bobby McBobberson found dead in his bed." | 2017-07-17T21:39:44 | 2017-07-17T20:12:27 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] "Shark Tank" but instead of an entrepreneur pitching inventions, it's villains pitching diabolical plots. | Baron Zerenstank walked into the dimly lit room.
Beside him, a poster-board display was already set-up for him, illustrating his latest ingenious plan. Beneath him, at least a dozen sharks swirled expectantly, aware of his presence. Before him, four silhouettes sat in massive chairs, starring at him intently. One of the sharks below burped up a hand. Zerenstank told himself he didn't see it. He took a deep breath.
"Hello Sharks. I am Baron Nikoli Von Zerenstank. Today, I'm here to pitch to you the culmination of my life's work... As seen on the poster-board beside me, a bomb will be rigged to go off at exactly midnight at City Central Hospital. A warning will be given to the police force before hand. What they *won't* know, is that it's actually a dud. When they inevitably disarm the bomb, they'll find the detonator for both of the *real* bombs, one set at the orphanage and the other at Town Hall. They will be told they must choose to detonate *one* of the bombs, or else both will go off. But of course, *both* of the bombs will go off regardless, and release a toxin into the air that turns everyone into mutant frogs. As chaos consumes the city, we rob the City Bank dry, but not before hacking into every one of the Town Square screens and broadcasting a harrowing monologue."
Zerenstank was out of breath. He nervously glanced around the room. If anyone was interested, they didn't show it. He gulped. "And so... I'm looking for an investment of about 50 henchmen and about..."
"ONE *MILLION* DOLLARS?" A scarred, bald head leaned into the light, a finger on its lips.
Zerenstank allowed himself to relax a bit. At least one of them acknowledged him. "Um... yes... somewhere around there. Th-Thank you for speaking up Dr. Evil, are you interested?"
"*I'm* not," came the reply, not from Dr. Evil, but from the other side of the room. "Where's the *punchline*? The *fun?*" Moonlight illuminated the Joker's face, causing the unhinged look in his eyes to look even more crazed.
Zerenstank was no longer relaxed. "Well, I... what about the mutant frog thing?"
"Mutant *frogs*? Ha! I'm not some cockamamie scientist! They don't call *me* the Clown Prince of Crime because I turn people into floundering amphibians!" The Joker erupted into cackling laughter, which soon degraded into a coughing fit. Zerenstank was not laughing. He was more focused on how close the Joker's finger was to the giant red button on his chair. The aspiring villain shot a glance down at the actual sharks. He swore one was smiling at him.
A third candidate steepled his hands. All six of them, actually. "Hmmmm... ambitious, but how will this help me catch Spider-Man?" Beside him, another voice spoke. "Oh please, Doc Octopus. You lack vision. Not everything has to revolve around that boy in spandex. The tri-state area is far more admirable goal." Metallic tendrils lashed out.
"Oh? Well at least *my* nemesis isn't some *deranged marsupial* in fancy *hat*, Doofenshmirtz!" Zerenstank watched as the villain bickered among themselves. For now, he was simply grateful their attention was off him. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea. Perhaps he could sneak back out the door, into a room where the floor couldn't give way to hungry apex predators.
Above, hidden the rafters, a caped figure finished his popcorn, and activated his wrist com. "Commissioner? Send a squad to the orphanage. I'll meet you at the Town Hall..."
(This is my first time posting here, so it is probably riddled with errors, but I hope you enjoyed! It seemed like such a fun prompt, I couldn't pass it up!) | “And for that reason, I’m out as well.”
“Ok, well, thank you for your time, Sharks. I really appreciate… the…” An assistant starts to shuffle him towards the exit. “Oh, um, the opportunity.” He finishes flatly, already pushed halfway out the door.
“Ugh, God, how many more of these train wrecks do we have to get through?” The Sharks all stand up to stretch their legs a bit. They’re growing impatient, having already sat through six unsuccessful pitches so far.
“Just one more today.” The assistant, who has returned with fresh clipboards for each of them, says in an unnaturally sing-songy voice. Ignoring her uninfectious pep, they begin to scan the dot points of information; coming up next is Mr Maxx Gunn (“ridiculous name” one Shark murmurs to themselves as they read).
A few minutes of re-setting the room later, and Maxx walks in to face the four Sharks. Dressed all in black, bar a small red logo in the centre of his shirt, he falters briefly when he sees their glazed, uninterested looks. *You can do this Maxxie, you can do this,* he thinks to himself, and then after a deep breath, he begins with a bit of phoney bravado to cover his nerves.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, Sharks, my name is Maxx Gunn and I am here today to revolutionise the criminal underworld of Rockham City. My invention will change the way you, as crime lords, do business.”
One Shark stifles a yawn (“same old, same old…”) but Maxx perseveres none-the-less.
“The Auto Counter 3000 is a hand held devise,” he pulls a small black box out of his pocket, “which can automatically detect the bank balance of any person, just by pointing it at them.”
The Sharks perk up slightly to pay closer attention – this is something new.
“How many times have you stopped someone in the street to rob them, only to find out they’re flat broke, and it wasn’t worth the trouble? With the Auto Counter 3000 you can say goodbye to pointless marks and missed opportunities! Simply point,” Maxx aimed the box at the Shark directly in front of him, “and you’ll know exactly how much you’re set to gain!” The box beeped, three times, and then a red digital number appeared on the front. Maxx held it up so that everyone could see: $87,965,234.45.
Maxx stared back at them all with wide eyes and a huge smile. The Shark who’s worth had just been revealed, to the cent, seemed annoyed, but intrigued.
“Ok Maxx, you’ve got our attention. Tell us a little bit more about the tech.” Maxx went on to explain his invention in detail and recited the numbers he had committed to memory for his presentation. Lots of “mmhmms” and vigorous nodding later, and the Sharks started to talk amongst themselves. Maxx could only hear a few words here and there, but it seemed like they were impressed. Things were finally going his way!
“Alright Maxx, we’ve talked it over, and we’ve decided that we like your invention. This Auto Counter 3000…”
“Maybe a new name though?” one Shark interjected.
“Yes, well, those finer details can all be worked out later. But we’re in, Mr Gunn. We’re all in.”
“Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you so much, I can’t tell you how much this means to me!” Maxx stepped forward to shake each of their hands, but before he could reach them the assistant who had led him into the room tapped him on the shoulder. He spun around and looked to what she was holding in her hands.
“Your wrists please, Mr Gunn?” She had an enourmous smile on her face, but she was proffering a set of handcuffs.
“Excuse me?” Maxx looked around, confused. Everyone was smiling and celebrating. He didn’t understand.
“Your idea has been accepted, Mr Gunn. So it’s time to go now.” Still smiling, she clapped the handcuffs onto Maxx’s wrists and started to lead him towards a door at the back of the room – not the door he had come through.
“What’s going on here? I thought you liked my invention!?” Maxx called desperately to the Sharks as he was being pushed along.
“We do, Mr Gunn! We do! So of course, we can’t have you out and about anymore, can we?” The first Shark said happily.
“It wouldn’t do for someone to be out there claiming credit for our new idea, now would it Mr Gunn?” the second Shark winked theatrically. All of the Sharks were laughing now, and someone was pouring champagne.
“But, but…” Maxx could only stammer as he was dragged through a doorway and into a dark room.
“Now you just wait here, Mr Gunn. The Extractor will be along shortly to gather all the necessary information about your Auto Counter 3000, and then we’ll move on to the lobotomy.” Maxx was wailing now, shaking uncontrollably.
“What have I done?” he mumbled desperately to himself.
“Now, now, Mr Gunn. It was all in the release form you signed! And just think, your invention is going to revolutionise the criminal underworld of Rockham City. You just won’t be able to remember any of it.”
| 2017-11-14T20:07:39 | 2017-11-14T19:41:40 | 196 | 61 |
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