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[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | There were four of us. We'd meet every couple hundred years and discuss the pranks we pulled on the mortals. Such good fun the mortals were. So easily susceptible to manipulation. Would we be so simple if we lived less than a century? Barely the blink of an eye, I can't imagine that being my entire existance.
"Ok, I got a good one," I said as I sipped my poisonous drink. Since we were immortal, alcohol didn't even affect us. Cyanide for me, Arsenic for Tom, and Mercury for Bill. John was the sober one. "It kinda built off yours, Bill."
"Oh?" Bill cocked his head.
"Yeah, remember when you got the primitives to waste precious resources building huge monuments when they could've been feeding themselves?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, those Egyptians were a fun bunch."
"Well, I got the Americans to think they're being controlled by them."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I just leave pictures of pyramids and triangles around, and they just take it from there. So many are convinced there's some secret society pulling the strings."
All three of them burst laughing.
"Wait," Tom said. "So all you had to do was put some pictures around, and they think there's some society controlling everything?!"
I laughed. "Yep. Just added the pyramid to the dollar bill and it took off."
John shook his head. "A secret society of mortals. As if they could organize anything. Some of them still think my costume is a real animal, they call it bigfoot."
"Can't they tell it's a costume?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I use an active camoflage to make the area appear out of focus so they never see me clearly." He showed us a picture, and indeed, you could barely tell it was him. As immortals, we also invented a few things here and there.
"I've been sinking ships at the Bermuda Triangle," Bill said.
"Dude, people have died," I said. "I love it!"
We all burst into laughter and clinked our drinks together. Except for John. Fucking John. | Dinosaurs was our best one, hands-down. The Church of Latter Day Saints is second-best, but gets points taken off for being a religion (too easy to pull off, religions, in my opinion). But our funniest one, I think, was Michael Jackson.
Some of my friends would agree with me, but not most. The irrelevancy of his life and legacy, in relation to "The Grand Scheme of Things," unfortunately makes the accomplishment of having made him exist slightly less impressive.
I've personally been tempted, on more than one occasion, to steer the progress of mankind. Both world wars, for instance. I argued vehemently to stop them, but got drowned out by the prevailing Star Trekian attitude our group has against meddling in big, important affairs. A few of us even went vigilante, hunting down rogue immortals that were performing stunts aimed at getting those barbarians to quit it.
From afar is where we can guide things, sadly. To stir a pie's chunks, you must first puncture the crust. | 2017-06-22T21:50:06 | 2017-06-22T19:14:24 | 679 | 23 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | For the hundredth time, you glance at your computer screen, the bright bold number 23:50:58 flashing back at you. The button lies there innocuously, an entire section of the desk to itself, the words PRESS ME tauntingly painted on it. You edge your hand closer to the button, but that section of the desk might as well have a forcefield around it for how close you get. 23:51:23, and the day is that much closer to done, another day wasted.
You look back at your computer screen and this time you try to look past the time. You squint and pretend you can see the silhouette of the man who appeared there all those days ago, slight and dark with a voice that could not be his own. You remember his words as though he had uttered them but a moment ago, delivered with utter nonchalance yet seeming so cruel. His clasped hands, his calm demeanor, and your own bemusement before the button appeared just like that.
Everyone in the world had one, he said. At the very least, you know that your co-workers do, and that none of them would dare use it. But had anyone used it? Were people becoming rich and dying? You've scoured every last news outlet you can think of, checked any blog that might mention it, and nothing. Not a hint.
You start to sweat, your breath becomes short, and you wonder how much longer you can live this way. You shout at your screen, scream for the man to come back and explain, beg for more information, plead for an exception. He does not appear.
You sigh as the clock shifts to 23:57:00, and you start thinking of the next day, your next opportunity to press the button. Another day for her to suffer, you think, and it hurts you inside.
You hear her cough from the next room, and perhaps unconsciously, your hand brushes against the stack of letters and bills on your desk.
It is not your strength that fills you, animates you, moves your hand to the button and pushes it down. It is hers.
A moment later, the footsteps begin.
They are easy enough to ignore at first, but as they grow louder and louder behind you, at last you feel you must look. You swivel in your chair and there he is, black suit and black gloves, something in his hand.
A horrible death, was it? You relax, feeling a smile come to your face as you know you did what you could. You were blameless. You shut your eyes and await the inevitable.
A moment passes, and then another. Finally, you open your eyes, and he is gone. You see nothing but a scrap of paper on the ground, and you reach down to pick it up. You read it.
Your bank in all caps. The word "receipt". $40,000, it says.
What feels like enough air to inflate a zeppelin escapes your lungs as you hoist the receipt and hold it up high, laughing and grinning, calling for her. You made the right decision. Everything will be alright.
You don't even notice the white powder on it. | *You're listening to Z103, live from California! The time is 2 AM, and for those of you who just tuned in, the button has still not been pressed.*
Two timezones ahead, Bud yawned, rolling over in bed and pressing his chin into his pillow as the radio on his nightstand launched into the latest pop hit. The upbeat music washed over him; nothing but a button announcement could prevent his eyelids from drooping lower. Bud figured he had about half an hour left in him before sleep consumed him. It was probably for the best: his commute was in four hours.
That spare chunk of change would be mighty useful, though. He massaged his stomach and received an angry rumble in response. It hadn't forgiven him for the three days' worth of gas station burritos. His brain heard the commotion and sent more waves of fatigue rolling through Bud's face. He needed to sleep. He'd regret staying up at work tomorrow.
Bud's ears perked up as the song cut mid-warble. Adrenaline forced him scrambling upright, feeling around his nightstand for the button. "This just in," the DJ said, "we're receiving reports that the button has been pressed by a widow in Sacramento named..."
The broadcast seemed to fizzle for a moment, and the DJ's voice grew heavy with distortion as he spoke the name. "Anne Washington."
Bud slammed the button, and relief flooded through him. Finally, he could sleep. An electric shock coursed through his veins, verifying his final thoughts. His head hit the nightstand, and his body, limped and charred, slowly rolled off the bed and fell onto the floor.
*You're listening to Z103, live from California! The time is 2:06 AM, and for those of you who just tuned in, the button was just pressed!* | 2016-07-16T17:25:16 | 2016-07-16T16:59:02 | 1,781 | 342 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “I can’t believe they used molten lead.” I said, suddenly finding myself by a desert river, much like the one they had done the deed next to. ISIS was a cruel group, and disposing of a reporter with the morbidly creative use of a box and molten lead was shocking to say the least.
“Didn’t see it coming did you?” A man with the a strange white crown and a green face asks as he sits down next to me.
“You’re just in the box, and the next minute everything is all light and heat.”
“At least the high temperatures prevent you from feeling much. Lead turns molten at about 327 degrees Celsius, and that kind of heat seals your nerve endings shut almost instantly.” I shudder.
“It all happened so quickly, and what did I ever do to them? I was unarmed. I kept my distance. You know they actually came and found me miles from where the fighting is happening? Who does that? They even knew I had a wife and kids!” The green faced man picks up a river stone.
“You see this stone? It is like the burdens we carry in life. As we walk through the desert to the river we choose to pick these things up and carry them with us. You now carry a great stone with you, far larger than you can carry if you are to cross this river into what lies beyond. If you should try you would fall to the riverbed and remain there.”
“How is that fair?” I protest. “I didn’t ask for what they did to me.”
“They may have inflicted evil upon you through no fault of your own, but it is you who are choosing to carry the burden of this great stone. I know you don’t feel like you have a choice. They seem to have forced the stone on you. They have made you feel as if this burden is yours to carry, but it isn’t. You need to let it go in order to cross over.” The green faced man throws the stone into the river. “Let it be as if it had never been. For when you are beyond this river such things will no longer matter.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“My brother Seth did the same to me. He sunk me into this river after incasing me in a box and pouring lead down on me. I sank, both in real life and in the afterlife, and it was a long time before I learned to let go of my burden and move on to lighter places.”
“Seth? That sounds familiar, so that makes you…”
“Osiris.”
“So the egpytians were right? Should I have requested my remains to be embalmed? Wow, Osiris. That makes you one of the big gods right? Should I kneel or something? Are there prayers I should know? I totally did not expect to meet an Egyptian god when I passed on.”
Osiris shakes his head. “I am no god brother. I am just a man who, when I passed on, was fondly remembered by many. I, like many others who have been called gods were merely men that carried themselves with honor during life. It is my self-appointed task to come down here to the crossing point to escort people into the step.”
“So this isn’t heaven?” I ask.
“No brother, it lies beyond. The god, who you will soon meet, found that humans enjoy paradise the most if they first leave behind their worldly burdens. That way there is no taint or tarnish on perfection and you can be in bliss undistracted. Like a bride at a funeral all hurtful memory is left outside, only in heaven, it is never to be taken up again.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I say. Getting to be beyond painful memories forever. “But I don’t think I’m ready yet. It is no easy thing to let go of what you are asking me to let go. Can you sit with me a while longer?”
“As long as you need brother. As long as you need.” | I used to be a knight. Not a good one, mind you, but a knight nonetheless. Pride of my family; I didn't come from a noble background like most of those shiny knights you see flaunting about. I had to work to earn this, for years I worked for it. What an honor it was to be selected to entertain the young king on his name-day, at least that's what I said and how I acted on the outside. There were rumors about this young king that I did not wish to believe. I am not the greatest knight at hand to hand combat, I was not trained in the ways of the sword and the mace since I could walk like some of these other knights were. Perhaps just a small glass of wine to help calm my nerves. Perhaps just one more.
LATE!! I'm late and being called up to the king! Scrambling to put on my Armour as I run up the steps of the castle, fumbling about, perhaps that third glass of wine was a mistake. The king does not look pleased with my appearance but his words are kindly.
"Only two cups My Lord", I answer to his inquiry.
I don't think I should drink anymore, but the king insists. The kings wine! How great a treat this will surely be!
Hands, many hands grasping tightly. Confusion and struggling. Something is in my mouth? Wine, too much, choking on it, no room to breathe. Gagging, more wine, the sun begins to dim and I begin to sleep. No maidens voice calls out to spare me. No one.
That's all I recall as I kneel here on this pillow and what I can remember is foggy at best. All that seems a lifetime ago. Where did this pillow come from anyway? Looking around I can see I am in front of a large building out of which loud, gay music is coming . How did I come to be here? Where is here? This does not look like anyplace in the 5 kingdoms. In front of me stands a short man, an imp. He looks familiar but I am not sure where from. He wears a terrific grin and nods towards me as in acknowledgement.
"Where... Where am I? And who are you?" I ask
"You are dead Sir Dentes, this is my hall, where I hope we shall share many laughs together in the eternity to come" answers the imp, his grin widening as he speaks.
"You have not told me who you are though" I ask again.
"I? I am the God of Tits and Wine! Come into my hall, so that you may sample my wares!" he bellows out like laughter.
Turning, he walks away from me towards the hall. Slowly I begin to follow. | 2015-01-15T06:13:25 | 2015-01-15T05:47:55 | 37 | 19 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I stuck my hand out in a reaching motion in front of the council. Today was the day of my eighteenth birthday. The council was the nine elders who decided what your object meant and recorded it into the official records. If no object arrived within sixty seconds you were labeled as a null and sent to the labor camps where you toiled away mining for LSNA. Nobody was sure what LSNA was used for but Overlord Odin insisted, and so it was. There were rumored prophecies of a great one who would take down Overlord Odin and destroy his stockpile of LSNA, but the enforcers did their best to keep those rumors quiet.
Forty five seconds had passed and my arm was getting mighty sore. Still nothing. I looked at the ground and my hand began to lower. I was starting to accept my doomed fate as a miner. One of the council members opened his mouth to speak, but a powerful whooshing in the distance quickly quieted him down.
My eyes lit up. *I'm not a null!* I thought.
The whooshing grew louder and louder, almost to a deafening roar. My hair whipped around from the wind of it. *This thing, whatever it is, must be gigantic.*
The roar stopped with a hard thump in my hand, and I felt something soft. I looked down at it. "A... cat?" I mumbled as I looked up at the council members. They were beginning to discuss among each other, as they always do at these "ceremonies". It was a fat orange cat who seemed to not care that it was just seconds ago launched at hundreds of miles an hour into my open hand.
A grumble started to emanate from the cat, not unlike a purr, except this purr got louder to the point of the council hearing it over their own talking and quieting them down. The fact that it was an animal was strange enough, let alone the strange noises coming from it, but it wasn't unheard of. Over time the grumble morphed into speech, like a compressor had been placed over the sound and was slowly turning down. The cat's mouth remained closed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The cat slowly repeated over and over.
Unsure of what to do, I asked it what was wrong. The voice stopped. The cat's head slowly turned to face me. An alarm sounded in the distance. The cat gaped its mouth open wider and wider. Darkness filled the room. Centipede-like legs sprouted from its sides as it grew to fill my entire field of view. A feeling of utter terror took over my soul at the sight of this eldritch horror.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I ate all the LSNA." It groaned. | As I wait in the field, the usual assortment of examiners and recording equipment scattered around, an awkward silence surrounds the entire group. It has been nearly an hour. Most people's Soulbound appears within 10 minutes. What could it be? If we go by distance maybe something halfway across the country? But what only exists there that you couldn't find within an easy walking distance? I remember hearing news articles about the man who summoned a whale... To the middle of Texas. It was big news at the time; hundreds of buildings had been decimated by the high-speed collision, and the whale unfortunately did not survive the impact. The examiners are also starting to get nervous looks on their faces and I bet they are recalling the same story. Suddenly off in the distance I start to hear very large crunching noises, sirens, screams and just utter pandemonium. then comes the grating, like thousands of pounds of metal rushing against pavement I know something horrible is coming, but my hand is frozen out in front of me. Finally it crests over the city skyline and I am dumbfounded. It is worse than I could ever have predicted. Looming over me, growing closer by the second is the mangled, ruined visage of one of our country's greatest monuments. The Statue of Liberty, now covered in dust, blood and debris followed by a swarm of helicopters grinds to a slow halt in front of my outstretched hand, just close enough to touch the tip of my finger. What have I done? | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T09:38:04 | 42 | 24 |
[WP] You reach the afterlife, but before you find out where you'll end up, you have to watch the entire life of someone and decide where they should go. What you don't know is all of your memories have been wiped and it's your own life you're watching. | America was in mourning. The greatest President who had ever lived had passed away far too soon. Tragically, he had suffered a heart attack barely a year into his first term.
In just that short time, he had accomplished so much, and inspired so many young people all around the world. America was great once again, all thanks to him. People simply couldn’t believe that he was gone, and that he had actually known best all along. Sure, he had to say a few questionable things to get elected in the first place, but when you’re the only one who can fix anything, how could you not?
Nobody could deny his greatness now.
***
Donald’s eyes opened with a pop. He pushed his upper body into an upright position and looked around. Somehow, he was in a vast courtroom. Where could this be, he wondered. Behind him were many seats filled with many blank faces. In front of him stood the large courtroom dais, where a Judge was sitting calmly.
“Welcome, Mr. Trump,” said the Judge in a clear, steady voice.
“*President* Trump,” responded the Donald. “What the hell is this? Where’re my guys?”
“I’m sorry to inform you that you have passed away, Mr. Trump. This is a place of limbo. It is here that we will decide where you go nex–”
“*Excuse* me, excuse me, I will be deciding where I go next thank you. I’m the President. I decide.”
Donald rose to his full considerable height, and dusted off his shoulders with his hands. “What kind of a lame joke is this? Did Vlad put you up to it? I’ll kill him.”
“This is no joke, Mr. Trump. You are, unfortunately, dead.”
This was a very difficult thing for Donald to accept.
“But- but I’m the President,” he choked.
“Not anymore, I’m afraid. Vice President Romney has just been sworn in.”
There was a loud silence as this information sunk in.
“That slimy SCHMUCK!” yelled Donald, “I only picked him to shut him up! *He’s* President?!”
“I’m afraid so-” opined the Judge.
“He’ll send the Country to hell in a hand basket!” interjected Donald, “Not to mention the Planet! There’s just no way he’ll finish the Treaty for World Peace. Idiot Mitt, we call him. Never negotiated a deal in his life. You have to send me back Judge. You have to!”
“If only I could,” said the Judge, “You deserve as much. You are the most illustrious person to ever appear before me. This Court is not usually packed to the rafters, you know. We have all been watching you with great wonder.”
Donald did not like being told ‘no’. On the other hand, he did like being told how illustrious he was. His emotions swirled internally, each one fighting for dominance. He turned to look at the crowd, at the adoring, concerned faces. He could never keep a crowd waiting for long.
“Well, how’s everybody doin’ today? Y’all excited to see The Donald?”
The crowd clapped and hollered with great enthusiasm. Donald began to think it wasn’t so bad here.
“To business,” said the Judge, “We are here to determine where you end up, Mr. Trump. It’s either Heaven or Hell–”
“Heaven, obviously,” interjected Donald. He turned to the crowd “Can you believe this guy?”
The crowd laughed appreciatively. Even the Judge seemed to be holding back a snigger.
“Yes, ahem, well, the only person who can judge you is yourself,” said the Judge. Donald nodded in agreement. “If you’ll just be seated in the witness box, we can go through the formalities.”
Donald walked over and took a seat in the box.
“When I snap my fingers,” said the Judge, “Your life will play out before your eyes, but you will not remember that it is your life. You may then decide whether that life deserves eternal salvation, or damnation.”
“Oh gee, I wonder which I’ll pick,” said Donald sarcastically.
The Judge smiled and snapped his fingers.
At once, Donald was transported to another world. He watched as a baby was born, grew up, went to military school, had his first dance, his first kiss, his first pat on the back from his father. He watched the young man go to business school, do his first deal, his first wife, his first mistress, his first inheritance, his second wife, his first press interview–
“Hell!” cried the Donald. “I’m not sharing Heaven with this maniac.”
The crowd gasped as one, as ropes of flame emerged from the floor to pull Donald down.
| In anger the fire swore at me. Foaming at the mouth,it lapped up the darkness of the room.
A man of average height entered the room and immediately flipped on a light switch by the door.
The room became cold, sterile, and revealed a layout resembling that of a doctors office. No fireplace, no ash, nor char was visible in the place where the fire had sat only seconds ago.
My body remained tense. But my mind made no attempt to grasp or even gasp at this unusual behavior. However, as soon as this clean shaven balding man came closer to me I began to throw up.
After cleaning up and changing into a hospital gown I was brought back into the room. Or at least I thought it was the same room. I knew I was disoriented but I would definitely of had a hard time telling the difference even on a good day.
No words had been exchanged between me and this man. Not before or after my throwing up episode. Yet somehow it wasn't awkward and communication between us seemed unnecessary.
Beneath the light switch, another button suddenly appeared. He aptly pressed it.
A projection screen slid down the wall across from me, the lights dimmed, and the man quietly made his exit.
A live action claymation presentation took hold of the screen. My attention waned. It was boring. Newborn, to baby, to toddler, to child. It was blurry. I could only tell the stages based on the obvious progression taking place. Finally, a girl in full detail came across the screen. The style changed to that of a comic book and the perspective became first person. She was pretty and seemed interested in me, er I mean the boy. She smiled a lot, but as time went by her appearance began to deteriorate. She became shy, reserved, and developed a lazy eye. Try as I might, she would no longer look at me. Just at the ground. So I started looking at the ground too. To see what she was looking at. And before I knew it we were sitting on a bridge looking out at the ocean. She smiled at me. And then the ocean caught her.
The style shifted again to that of a black and white silent picture show. The boy was much older now. His face was hidden beneath a tangled mess of hair. But his eyes still managed to catch a glimpse of a little boy dressed in funeral attire coming into his room. The little boy spoke to him. But nothing translated. Tears began to form in the little boys eyes as he stormed out of the room. Dropping the obituary he had clung to for the past month. The older brother made no attempt to follow after him. Night came into view and with it the bathroom.
Hair began to fall as inch by inch was cut. Feeding the scissors a slow methodical meal. Afterwards, when nothing was left but food for the Wahl buzzard, his tears came into full view. The mirror shook and broke around him as his fist made contact. Blood and hair covered the ground and with it the medicine from the cabinet fell to the floor. A bottle of this and a bottle of that became his answer.
The film's sound caught me off guard as the perspective changed to that of his little brother in full HD. Yelling, screaming, and swearing. Fighting back tears, he chose anger. With ambulance sirens drawing nearer the boy's fire became inaudible, yet raged all the more.
It ended. And there I sat. Alone. In the dark.
| 2016-05-11T03:01:23 | 2016-05-10T23:51:44 | 49 | 14 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | I didn't intend to kill Hitler. I'm not the average time-traveler, you see, I just wanted to have a quiet life in the country side of the Old Europe. I found my lifestyle. I found a beautiful girl named Annabelle and worked my way up in French society at the time. I married Annabelle. I found and bought a quaint little house in a village. The village was built along a road, and at the end of the road lay a villa with pad-locked gates and streaming white walls. I had two children. The first was a boy named Dante, and the second was a girl named after my mother: Beatrice. Unfortunately, I hadn't read my history and forgot about World War II.
Germany invaded France and so came upon my little village which lay in Burgundy. First, came the overwhelming buzzing as the Luftwaffe began to toss their bombs. I didn't understand why they were attacking us at the time; I later found out that the villa was the site of large oil tanks and reserves, and just a few kilometers off was a hidden military base. The bombs swept over the village like a fiery storm, spitting fire, twisting and burning everything and everyone. My Time Machine was destroyed in my house during that first wave. My daughter burned to death; she was in her crib and was crying out as her flesh melted off her bones. I found her later, charred black with a gaping mouth but no tongue. Her teeth were still white as snow. The few bombs had created towering infernos that dashed and killed as an avenging angel of death. The Germans wasted an immense amount of resources on our useless village. When I returned to my time, I learned of their assaults on Paris and London, but I would never hear of their experiments of these techniques on small towns like mine.
My wife was changed after the storm. She would chatter in gibberish for a short while and then scream, pointing towards the darkness as if she saw a devil materialise in front of her. She would rock back and forth on the ground. I had to move her everywhere in a wheelbarrow I found. We met up with the other survivors. Night fell, I fell asleep, I woke up and my wife was gone. Not even a note was left. She had dashed off into the forest like a wild animal.
My son was twelve years old, and was all that remained of my past life. He supported me, his father, and saved me from despair. I cried on him every night, and he would muffle my tears so that the others in our make-shift refugee camp didn't hear me and disapprove of my weakness. Soon, French trucks came and brought us to Paris. My son and I took up residence at my wife's parent's house, they were grieved over their daughter, but gladly brought us into their home and reassured us of victory against Germany.
The next day, all of France bowed to Germany in defeat.
The soldiers marched in with crisp uniforms and rigid steps. They goose-stepped their way to their glory and France's shame. In trucks stood their leaders, and from my weak knowledge of 20th Century History, I recognised Adolf Hitler.
The machinations of my terror and the evils that had befallen in me lay in this man. My doom had been set at the moment I lay my eyes on the man. My blood heated up, and my heart beat twice as fast when I saw him. My brain pounded in my head and I felt sick in my stomach. I looked at him through my in-laws' windows, and only one thought dashed through my mind over and over.
*Revenge.*
My time machine had been destroyed. All I had left were the tools I brought from the future. A knife and an invisibility cloak. But the cloak would break if I attempted any action outside of it; it could only be used for reconnaissance.
So I set out for my revenge. I went to my in-laws and spoke with them for a few minutes, I told them to take care of my son, and that I intended to return, but that I would be gone for a while. They nodded but they seemed afraid. My tone of voice and pale pallor scared them. I left without saying anything to my son, I didn't want him to stop me with his words. I walked off to stalk Hitler.
| After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T08:59:12 | 2016-02-20T08:40:02 | 204 | 23 |
[WP] You deliver meals to elderly shut-ins. One of your clients is convinced you are Death, and you play along, letting them "outsmart" you every day. Today, however, they're dressed in their Sunday finest, saying, "I'm ready." | "I'm ready."
Two words, so simple. And in saying them, Abe was about to realize something dreadful: I wasn't Death. I can, considering he supposedly had some mild dementia, sort of see why he might think that. I wore a lot of black, for starters. It wasn't for any thematic reason. It was just that food stains happened to show up less, in general, on black. Especially since most of my deliveries involved soup. I was also told to "dress casually, like I'm going about town" by my boss. She personally never said a word about my wardrobe, a myriad of band shirts collected through high school, and it featured its fair share of skulls, skeletons, devils, and so on. In the eyes of most clients, you could see that gleam of disapproval. Abe had laughed, told me Death must've employed his son. He also emphasized I should give everyone hell if they didn't like it. He knew what it was like to be young.
All that made this that much harder. I looked him over, ran my mind through all the little routines. "Alright Abe." I answered, trying to come up with some way out of it. My eyes roved around the room, hesitating over the photos of neon hell. Right, Abe used to hang out in Vegas. He had regaled me with tales of how he cheated the casinos to show the Rat Pack and mob bosses what to look for. Abe was very, very good at cheating at cards, and age hadn't robbed his dexterity. I figured if I had any way out of it, it would be with our game of cards. He was a card shark, he always dealt me a decisively good hand as the dealer. It was almost always something ridiculous and implausible; royal flush, a straight with Ace high. In one hand I even had five Aces. Abe always showed first, "in good faith" and he'd generally have something low, like four twos or the like. I figured it was his way of outsmarting me, to see what I would do. I always cheated back, because Abe was notorious for never specifying his Ace value. I know we both assumed it went both ways, but I'd always come back "Oh, I just have four ones" or "Drat, and so close to a straight, too." He'd give me a hellraiser smile, and invite me back next week.
Back to the motions, Abe was standing. We hadn't even played cards yet.
"Oh no, Abe. There's rules. I can't just take you." I said, making up an excuse. "Always a game, and your game is cards. I win, you come with me. The higher my hand, the more peaceful you'll go. Suit determines how. I'll shuffle this time, but you can still deal."
I watched the old man grin. It was disconcerting. "Alright then laddie." He broke out the well worn cards and handed them over. I shuffled. I shuffled for a long time, and Abe was patient as ever. When I passed them along, he dealt them back. It was fast. Always was. I still couldn't keep up with his fingers when he was dealing, and I tried.
"Alright boy, toss what ya want." He added in. I checked the hand, the whole thing utter garbage. I grimaced, betraying my poker face. Abe must have been ready, so his hand had to be stacked to the heavens.
"Put all five back for me, would you Abe?" I said with a grin, hoping it looked somewhat casual, all knowing. He put them on bottom, of this I was sure. I waited for his hand to move. "Ah, mind if I deal my own, this time, old friend?" That got a laugh out of him, but he let me take hold of the top card. His palm was flat. If he could cheat in that position, I'd be impressed.
I drew my five. Abe flipped his hand, showing up a straight flush in spades, King high. I still hadn't looked at my hand. No bets in money, no reason to bluff. I moved to show my hand, and he stopped me, his fingers on mine quicker than I could have thought he moved, even though I knew better. "Aces high, lad." I swallowed, feeling the panic, and nodded. My hand went over. Hearts. Royal Flush.
My mind raced. How could he have stacked the deck in such a way? Or was it just straight luck. His voice snapped me out of it. It sounded far away, and getting further. "Hah, looks like ya win, Boy-Death. I'll let ya get your things real quick and I'll be waiting right here for you. No walking out the door if I'm asleep now." Abe added. I nodded. I owed Abe the finish to this, whether he knew the truth or not. If he didn't, I'd owe him an explanation too. I got the rest of the affairs in order, tidied up a little bit. I didn't dally, not intentionally, but it did take a good fifteen minutes for me to be ready to go.
I went back to the chair. Abe had his eyes closed. I reached down and gently shook his shoulder. "Abe? We're leaving." Nothing. A few seconds, another light shake. Still nothing. Shaken, but not yet shaking, I reached down, hand over his heart. I waited a full minute, just in case, but Abe's heart had stopped, and he was most assuredly dead. | I wave goodbye to Carol as I open the door to my car. She always follows me halfway to the end of her lawn telling me different news items and tidbits about her children and grandchildren. She’s a sweet lady and I really wish I could stay just ten or twenty minutes longer and give her some more company but I have so many people to visit. I always feel bad like I’m trying to escape from her when all she wants is someone to talk to.
I turn the key and my engine sputters to life. I turn to Carol who is still watching me with a sad smile on her face. My heart breaks a little as she raises her hand and we wave for the fourth or fifth time. I start to drive forward as I don’t want to prolong this much longer.
This job is okay as far as jobs go. All my clients, I guess you could call them that, they are all great people and it feels good delivering food to them and chatting with them even if it’s for a small bit. Most times though I just wish I didn’t have to be in such a rush. Maybe I should come and visit Carol on one of my days off.
Next on my list is old man Wilkins. He used to be my neighbor when I was young. I used to mow his lawn and shovel his sidewalks for comic book and video game money.
I guess he had a really rough time after his wife Jeannie died because he sold his house and moved into his current tiny apartment. She was a real treasure, his Jeannie. She was hands down the nicest person I have ever met.
Maybe that was why it was so hard to bring him his food. It was really painful to think of losing a loved one, especially someone like Jeannie. But what also made it tough was that he kept calling me death and trying to hide from me each time. I literally have no idea where he got that from. He was kind of a goofy guy even before Jeannie died.
I stop my car outside his apartment complex and grab his meal box from the back seat. I walk up to his apartment door with his food under one arm while I use the other to knock. “Mr. Wilkins! It’s me, Bradley. I got steak and mashed potatoes for ya. I know that’s your favorite.”
“It’s unlocked”, yells Mr. Wilkins from somewhere inside his apartment.
I open the door to his apartment and almost drop the meal box when I see Mr. Wilkins standing beside his kitchen counter dressed in a dark grey suit as if he was going to a fancy party. He usually wore baggy sweat pants and a white shirt.
I say, “You’re dressed well. You don’t have to get all fancy for me.” I try lightening the mood. It usually worked with him but sometimes he would still try to run away calling me death and saying things like ‘you’re not getting me today!’
“It’s okay Bradley. I’m ready.” Mr. Wilkins says.
“Ready?” I ask.
“I’ve been mourning Jeannie’s death now for twenty-two years. It’s about time I moved on. I may be sixty but I still have a lot of life to live. I’m sorry I always called you death and caused you such a headache. Jeannie always thought of the neighborhood children as our children since she couldn’t have any herself.” A tear rolls down his cheek. “Seeing you these years always reminded me of her death and combine that with the drinking… I’m sorry.”
“Mr. Wilkins, it’s okay.” I walk over to him setting the food down and I put an arm on his shoulder.
“Thank you Bradley, you’re a good kid. I’m sure Jeannie would be proud of the man you turned into. But now I got to make her proud of me.” Mr. Wilkins shakes my hand and then walks to his front door. He picks up a suitcase that sat beside it and heads out.
I stand there in shocked silence watching him walk to his car, a red Oldsmobile. He looks back at me as he's opening his car door and gives me a wave. I waved back and watched him drive down the street and on with the second part of his life.
| 2017-08-31T17:24:26 | 2017-08-31T17:01:13 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an "elder" species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like "be quiet, you are in danger" to the aliens, because we are still childish morons. | Zulth had believed in humans for as long as he could remember. Theories of them had been around for decades, of course, but only with recent advances in radio telescopes had their existence been all but proved.
The first patterns came through just fifty solar cycles ago. 26 unique patterns. A codex? A language? A password? Scholars had puzzled over the patterns for decades. Some argued that they were simply binary stars in eccentric orbits, but these held little weight when the repetition of the pattern continued unabated with no error or ‘eccentricity’.
Then, thirty years, a breakthrough. A message, left overnight in rural Rhiuu’th, in the middle of a large, flat tors field. The symbols meant nothing by themselves, and could have been explained by local pranksters. But soon other, similar but definably different messages appeared across the globe. That, as we say, was all there needed to be. Soon the patterns became linked to the shapes and a language was born. A method of communication.
The problem; the truly infuriating thing; the thing that really, really frustrates the minds, is that we are still not advanced enough to send up our own response. Where would we even send it to? And how long would it take to arrive? Would this mega species still exist? Would they still care. Well, yes. They would.
And we can prove it.
Just 5 short solar cycles ago a message came through, as if answering our cries of impatience with omnipotent clarity. The message is repeated hourly, and has permeated our culture. It drives us. It helps us retain our ambition and our scope. We repeat it as a mantra, hourly. A planetary obsession, if you will.
We know they will wait for us. They have told us as much. For they tell us, and we tell ourselves;
“Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down...” | I've seen it. I know it's there. The messages, unending stream, they're everywhere!
I saw it first when my days were young, the plants withered, the wind child and I felt a...presence... They were here for me! To tell me! I was chosen to decipher their language, and I swore to my destiny on that day.
The connection revealed itself to me. I finally have it! The message... From the others! Their intellect unbound. I record it here, for all to see and remember.....
**Wubba Lubba Dub Dub. Not all will understand its depth because to be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Rick and Morty.** | 2017-10-31T15:29:32 | 2017-10-31T15:26:39 | 7,012 | 80 |
[WP] You're the person who keeps mowing lawns during the zombie apocalypse of The Walking Dead.
Bonus: Are you a living being or a hyper intelligent 'walker' with a landscaping fetish? | FIRST PROMPT.. I AM NOT A GOOD WRITER.. :) But I always had a theory about why the lawns weren't overgrown....
No one ever thinks about what the world was like before people. Huge flowering meadows and endless prairies where animals grazed and huge herds of beasts thundered across the landscape. Landscape, that word meant so much more to me before the world turned itself upside down. Sometimes I chuckle when I remember I got paid to maintain lawns for the snobs who lived here. Those first months I was locked in here it almost drove me crazy to see all my hard work overgrown. I had dreams about digging up weeds and laying down mulch, things I never thought about twice when I was done for the day. I guess I loved it more that I ever realized, it was soothing to think about being outside, even if it was work.
I awoke one morning to find deer grazing just outside the house. My heart leapt and I couldn't help but smile. It was just nice to see life, real life, not those shambling corpses that strolled down the streets. From the second floor I watched the deer graze for several minutes, until the proximity of walkers in the area spooked them sufficiently. I was disheartened at the departure of the only living thing I had seen in months.
From that day on the deer returned regularly to graze on the lush, thick grass around the homes in the neighborhood. It seemed like everyday the deer grew in numbers, maybe something about the neighborhood provided them safety? It definitely was much easier to hear walkers shuffling down the pavement than in the grass. The deer also had a distinct speed advantage, anytime a walker was within 10 feet of them the deer darted down the street to continue grazing, un-phased. When walkers came in numbers or surrounded them, the deer would just jump the variety of fencing that encompassed almost every home. Placing numberous obstacles between themselves and the walkers, before they would temporarily retreat to the woods. The deer adapted quite well to their new environment.
Over the weeks and months, I watched with interest as the world around me changed. This once upscale neighborhood was turning into a modern savannah! Swimming pools became watering holes that all variety of animals flocked to, which provided me with a bounty of creatures on which to sustain myself without having to risk long treks to scavenge food. Even the lawns were regularly manicured by the wave of creatures that passed by on their way to one of the old swimming pools.
Before, I arrogantly thought I was bending nature to my will in my futile attempts to control her. Now, humbled, I take pleasure in watching Nature reclaim what was always rightfully hers.
| They laughed at first. They aren't laughing now.
First I did it to feel normal. To keep some sort of sanity I kept my yard trimmed, was always a great way to eliminate stress. At first, I only mowed my lawn. Soon, the whole neighborhood was tripped. Kids made fun of me, they called my neighborhood haunted because it looked good.
Slowly this expanded to taking care of the neighborshouses. Cleaning out their rotten fridges to find compost. Fixing broken doors to keep out looters. I've seen how the others live, like scavengers going from city to city destroying what is left of the old world. I do not want to be one of them. I do not want them to even see me.
Soon I was building my own stores. Always had gas. Always had fruit. Always had veggies. Always had weapons. Some people started leaving offerings to me.
First time one of the walkers crept up on me while mowing I thought I was a goner. But then, I managed to use the mower to defend myself. To attack the walker I reared up my mower and shaved him a little. Until I caught an arm and finished it off. I went back and forth over the walker, as it screamed, until my job was down, slowing grinding it down to goo.
Sweet sweet compost. | 2015-11-05T10:28:09 | 2015-11-05T10:18:03 | 43 | 22 |
[WP] They year is 2035. A colony is built on Mars. While excavating an area, colonists find a red flag among the red sands. The flag has 4 Latin letters written on it: SPQR | They had been briefed, once they were safely entrenched on the red planet. It had been a pivotal moment, a watershed. Before the briefing James Carlson had not held any doubt that at the end of his term on site that he would return home, to Earth, to his family. They were merely the prep team, not colonists.
After the briefing, once there was time for the information to process through his stunned mind, James knew that he was never going to be allowed back on Earth. He, and the rest of the team, had been informed of humanity's greatest secret: Earth was not our point of origin. The declaration had been met with silence at first. As the presentation continued, narrated by an unnamed intelligence official back on earth through secure channels, the reality dawned on each member of the crew. Some seemed quite excited by the idea, Samuel Hampton, the medical chief, was the most vocal of their enthusiasm. Others had become distraught, having to be ushered from the communications dome.
Among those who took the revelation poorly, Andrea O'Hare was the most extreme. Ultimately she had been confined to her habitat capsule pending psychological evaluation and clearance. James was surprised by that particular turn of events. He knew Andrea quite well, they had even dated for a time when they were both newly ensconced in the Global Space Program. She had always professed a belief in extraterrestrials and was quite proud of her pragmatic world view which she referred to often with a catchphrase, "Just the facts, ma'm." In retrospect, anyone with their own catchphrase might not be the most emotionally stable to begin with...
At any rate the discovery during the excavation process for the green house dome wasn't entirely unexpected. In fact artifact retrieval had been added to the long list of mission objectives the prep team was already tracking. Perhaps it was the fact that they had tangible evidence to back up the Power Point presentation, but the flag struck a chord with the excavation crew. It wasn't anything particularly special, a red flag of some sort of synthetic material with the latin letters SPQR printed in white. It was pretty crusty having spent an unimaginable number of years buried beneath the planets famous soil.
The excavating crew claimed the flag as a trophy, giving it a place of honor hanging from the machinery dome's radial support beam. Obviously the command group tried to impound and log it as the first archaeological discovery of the forerunners of Earth's civilization. This lead to heated exchange between the operations groups but in the end seniority reigned and the flag was cataloged.
This made the flag's disappearance from the archaeological vault a flash point for the nerves and stress, expected on a long range mission and excited following the latest mission briefing. The excavators and engineers raised hell when they were accused of it's theft, and a thorough search of their operation dome turned up nothing. This didn't quiet suspicion but it did help entrench the growing hostility.
No one is certain about the chronology of events, but the instigation can't be disputed. When Andrea was found sans atmosphere suit and wrapped in the flag in the excavated pit suspicion gave birth to fear. Combined with the static brought on by the flag to begin with the fear eventually devolved into basic tribalism.
By the time the response team made it's landing on Mars, the original crew had been out of contact for 8 months. It was the soonest they could have arrived, but it didn't take the edge off of the concern over the state of the camp and it's inhabitants. What they found was far better and far worse than they could have expected. The flag was still there, flying on a makeshift pole in the center of the camps operation domes. As for the members of the prep team, only Andrea O'Hares remains were ever located. She was in stasis within the the medical dome where she had been placed the morning her body had been discovered. The only other indication that there had been anyone else in the camp was the graffiti found throughout the facility. Each dome, both inside and out, had been marked in paint, etchings, ink, and in one case blood, with the letters SPQR.
[First submission. I've never been much of a writer, but always a lurker here. For some reason this one caught my attention.] | "Today we are joined via facecam by Captain Sara Lee of the IMM who has an interesting discovery to share with us here on the show."
God I hate having to do these interviews. Half the time I have to dumb down what I'm saying so the people at home watching while they drink their crappy cups of coffee can understand me. The other half the time I feel like the interviewers are just trying to rush through it so they can get to a video of a puppy sneezing on a baby or something asinine like that. But it's in our contracts to do interviews to help "get the public interested in space" or some shit like that. I know how I got interested in space and it wasn't from watching a morning talk show.
"Great to be here Tom." I tell him.
"Now you've been on Mars for about five years now is that correct? Everything's going smoothly up there I hope."
"Yes it's been about five earth years or under three Martian years since we arrived." I know he probably wants me to explain how a Martian year is longer than an Earth year for like the fifth time but I don't want to explain it so I continue. "And it's been going well. But we have made a discovery recently."
"What sort of discovery? Aliens?" He chuckles. I ignore him.
"During a land survey we discovered relics of some sort." I hear him stop chuckling.
"Relics?" He asks. "What kind of relics?"
I bring the towel holding the items closer to me and begin by holding two knives up to screen.
"These daggers, and the rest of the relics, were found during an excavation." I tell him. He's really quiet now. "They appear to be bronze and their hilts are intricately carved."
"What else did you find?" He asks me, his shit eating grin is completely wiped of his face now.
"We also discovered this." I hold a piece of cloth up to camera. It is completely blood red sans four big golden letters on it spelling out SPQR.
"SPQR?" Tom asks. "What does that mean?"
"In Roman society SPQR stood for Senātus Populusque Rōmānus" I tell him. "Translated to 'The Roman Senate and People'"
"How did this get there?" He asks me quietly.
"Most likely a colonist smuggled this with them while coming to the planet, and once they heard how strict we are with weapons hid it hoping no one would find-"
The transmission cuts out before I could finish.
"This fucking thing never work-" Again, I'm cut short, this time by a lound *BOOM* and I get up from my chair. Officer Hernandez rushes in.
"Captain we're under attack we need to go NOW." He tells me.
"What?" I ask. "How by who?"
"I don't know but we need to get moving right now-" That's the last thing I hear him say before I hear another *BANG* and I lose consciousness. | 2017-02-21T17:26:40 | 2017-02-21T15:36:13 | 267 | 84 |
[WP] In the fear of becoming a Main Character, the main character lives his whole life avoiding cliche story lines and interactions
Inspiration from /r/manga top post.
http://imgur.com/gallery/J5sbp | **I Am NPC**
I feel blessed to live in a pretty nondescript town. There’s a weapons shop, armor shop, tavern, side-quest alley and mini-game market down by the river. We’re not too close to the bandits in the East or the royal capital in the North. All in all, the winters are pretty mild, the summers aren’t too hot and the day/night cycle is a good ten minutes, which takes some adjusting, but at least we’re not stuck in permanent day or permanent night unless a Main Character comes along and decides to change it. I hate the god-awful warp/save spot set in the square in the middle of town. It looks fucking terrible, to be honest, all bright green and pulsing out of the sky day and night. I can’t even begin to imagine how much energy it takes to maintain it. Still, it’s good for tourism and cuts down on the amount of horses in town, which keeps the streets noticeably clear of giant piles of horse turds, so at least there’s that.
Some of them seem pretty nice. I’ve met a few Mike A.’s who were decent folks and while I have met a number of dickbag111’s and sexywifequeen452’s who rubbed me the wrong way, I’ve generally done a good bit of trade here and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I like wearing a long, forest green cloak with a hood. It suits me. I don’t like it when people see my eyes. That’s how they always figure out that I’m not actually like the others, with their scripted conversation trees and penchant for constantly referring to Main Characters by their names over and over again in a way that any normal person would obviously not do. NPC’s don’t have violet eyes, you know. It’s just not...done.
Still, I find myself doing a good turn of business, and as long as their gold’s good (there’s really no such thing as fake gold here, which is nice), I don’t mind. I do business out of an abandoned store that was forgotten and has to be entered through an invisible gap in the wall. It’s janky, but it’s mine, and the difficulty finding it means that I don’t get any Level 1 morons endlessly browsing through my wares with a chip on their shoulders and nothing in their pockets but hot air.
Apparently, there used to only be one Original Main Character in this world. But when he (or she, but most people always assume it’s a dude- typical) disappeared mysteriously halfway through the Chosen One’s Quest to Rid the World of Darkness, suddenly it became possible for anyone and their little sister to join the world and attempt to continue where the Original Main Character let off. Now, I don’t know about you, but the way these things tend to go, it’s almost like the Quest is an excuse for the Gods of this world to basically make things as fucking dark and depressing as possible. Most people are stuck halfway through the original objective before they start becoming distracted by mini-games and side-quests. If I had a piece of gold for every time I’ve seen a would-be Main Character stumble out of the mini-casino mini-game to the save point after ten hours of rolling the slots, I’d be rich.
Well, ok, I’m already rich, but you know what I mean.
When they come to my shop, they’re looking for something a little...different. I’m happy to give them what they want...for a price. Sure, I don’t have to pay rent, but a player’s got to eat, you know?
Most Main Characters eventually get disillusioned with the Quest. I can’t blame ‘em. Finding out that every step is getting you closer and closer to The End is fucking depressing, if you ask me. Sometimes I wish I could be like Colonel Bobbert in the pub with his three dialogue responses, thinking only of his ale, pretty women, and joking about what’s in your pocket, but I’m not.
So I offer them side quests. Ones that you can’t find anywhere else. They keep changing, too. It makes them feel special, like they’re the real Chosen One.
They don’t know what’s in the cellar, and I’m not about to tell them.
They can have it, you know? The glory, the fame. I just want some money to drink and gamble until I can’t see that stupid beacon turning the sky a sickly green, even in the middle of the fucking day.
Sometimes I’ll travel. I don’t need to use the warp point. Those came...after things changed. But I can’t stay too long in any one place, because that gets me recognized by some of the less dimwitted NPCs and I can’t stand them and their lectures and accusations of laziness. So I move on, and I hide in my secret shop and I hoard and spend my gold. I’m no hero, but then again, who says I have to be?
I never asked to be what I am. But I can sure as hell choose what I want to be. | “Johnny is so much more interesting than Mary. You're right, my name is Mary. One thing that was learned growing up is that you never say the word I. Fuck, just said it. Anywho. The center of attention is one thing Mary avoids. She hates it, makes her feel self conscious. Yes, she understands its supposed to be her story, and yes she can feel you. Anywho, she lives in a black and white world but has pink hair. The hair is not that big of a deal. Can you really base your main character on the fact that she can jump on light poles and has different hair. Thats a bad start to story isn't it. Anywho, she can feel you, could of just said blah blah blah and you would have stopped reading. She would consider that rude. She is a loner and prone to anxiety but not rude, ya know.”
Amanda and Johnny waited patiently for her outside the bathroom. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. He hated when Mary took this long. “I bet she is talking to herself in the stall again. She thinks I dont notice. Poor girl has so much anxiety. She thinks the world is watching her.” Amanda nodded her head. “She should see a psychologist.”
Mary heard them outside. “Oh you're back again, they were much more interesting than me huh. Let me tell you about the two of them. Johnny is a smart dude who could solve any problem. Yes any problem. Don't look at me like that. It's true, this is a character introduction. So just sit there and listen. He is so much more interesting than a girl who is in a stall, huh. Its alot of pressure, thousand want to claw their way into your life, sucks huh. Imagine, if you sat on a toilet and a bunch of people stuck around to see if anything interesting happened. Sick huh, yet you are still…... here …….reading. Anywho, Amanda is pretty cool too, much more interesting than me. Did you know she is from another world, yup, totally an alien. Why don't you check out what they are up to huh?”
Amanda finally had enough “lets just go, she is not coming out again. We are going to have to call the teacher.” Johnny frowned in disapproval. “She will never get over her anxiety that way, she needs to suck it up and go to class” Amanda put her hand over his mouth. “Shhhhh, we have to be supportive remember.”
Mary flushed the toilet. “A story about my own anxiety, What a dumb story huh. Please, like she didnt seen this coming a mile away. Look, Mary does not need help. She is happy in her own world. No story here today.” She yawned but and refused to get off of the toilet.
Johnny knocked on the door. “Come out Mary, you can't hide in the bathroom forever.”
Mary said “Bullshit, she is not coming out.” Amanda frowned. “You called it, she is talking in third person again”.
Mary was desperate. This is the third time the writing switched to her.. She wanted this to be downvoted in reddit. To make the story invisible to most readers. “Omg, you people are still reading about Mary on the damn toilet. Fine, I know where this is going. Johnny already freaking said OUT LOUD “she needs to get over the anxiety.” That’s it isn't it, the problem I gotta overcome. She knows you people want whats best for her. You want to see her overcome anxiety. Tell ya what. Lets just skip all that and call it a day. You know what she really wants, she wants to be left alone. That makes her happy. You have that ability, just hit that down vote button and this all goes away. Anxiety solved. ” She waited silently hoping this would be downvoted. “Come on people work with me. Make me invisible again.”
| 2014-11-08T10:56:03 | 2014-11-08T08:43:35 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] A super villain who runs a number of retail stores, not as a cover, but as a means of recruiting their staff as villainous side-kicks once they are inevitably filled with seething rage for customers and the general public. | I often walked around the store. The employees knew who I was. I wasn't there to pick at their faults. I just liked wandering about the store. They actually liked me. I was often greeted with a smile or a quick nod.
I had one policy though. I asked them never to engage with me in front of the customers. I liked my privacy. Or thats what I told them. They respected that.
Today is no different. I walked about the store and reached the cash register
"For the last time ma'am, this product is free with the purchase of either the kitchen ware or the tea set. I can't just give it to you" Mia said as politely as possible for the 100th time
"Why not? I come here all the time. It's free anyway. Just gimme" the karen said again stupidly
A subtle smile crept across my face. I couldn't help it. This is how it starts. The anger. The frustration. And then they would be ready to bomb half the city.
Young Mia was a prefect example.
When she first joined here, she was a bright eyed high school student saving up for college. Now. Well. Now she was a disillusioned 19 year old with enough rage to power a nuclear reactor.
In the last 3 years, she had to deal with literal spawn of satan day in and day out.
One young couple had made her open every single carton in the store room looking for a toy they swore they had seen on the website. Turns out they had been checking amazon.
An elderly man had straight up exposed himself in front of her.
A whole team of little league champions were let loose in the store leading to multiple aisles being covered in what she desperately hoped were soda and ice cream.
Multiple guys assumed she was in love with them simply because she smiled at them and said "have a nice day". Two of them insisted that waiting for her in the parking lot after dark was "just chivalrous" and that they were "nice guys".
And the karens
They were a never ending barrage of karens. Ready with the usual nonsense of "you just lost a loyal customer". "Let me see your manager". "You'll find yourself a bad review on yelp". And the very audacious "I can get you fired".
No they couldn't. But they could ruin her day. And they did.
Every single day.
Very soon. She would be ready. That's when I would come into the picture. I needed a new lookout person. Someone agile and light on their feet. Mia would be perfect.
Oh and the victim?
The mayor.
As I walked past her I could hear the lady threatening Mia. "You dont know what you're dealing with missy. I could get you fired. Do you know who Iam? My husband is the mayor".
My smile turned into a grin...... | The Scowl never trusted your typical run of the mill henchman, they often were easily swayed to betray one another given the right opportunity. He tried using temp services but ran into the same issues. The Scowl remembered his time before he donned his signature midnight black body suit with dark crimson gloves and boots, a time when his only frustrations were toward the idiotic consumers that made his first job a nightmare. There were many things in his life prior to his first job that warranted a life of villainy. However, the relentless apathy the general public exudes is more than enough reassurance for him. Whether it be kidnapping horrid socialites for ransom, or poisoning the wealthy and then selling the antidote for however much taxes they avoided paying that year.
The Scowl learned that he could exploit the exploited and their rage against consumers of retail shops and make them harness that anger to be obedient loyal side-kicks. He first opened his first retail shop and was able to recruit 5 people within 6 months. They started off small, stealing credit card information, blackmailing customers who had secret credit card debt from their spouses, and replacing beauty products with cheap expired counterparts that would be sure to cause negative reactions.
Once they got a taste, the Scowl would test their determination by having them each kidnap an extremely rude customer and force them to fight each other to remain alive. The smiles his side-kick had as the Karen's were fist fighting was the moment he knew they were ready to officially join his team. Now for the true villainy to commence... | 2021-10-13T23:52:38 | 2021-10-13T20:23:47 | 837 | 195 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | It's strange to be standing in front of the throne, instead of behind it. Facing a man who scorns my service, handing back to him the sword I've used for three years to protect someone else.
The King, as much as he is praised to his face, is nothing like his father had been. Where my former lord - God bless - ruled with fairness and compassion, his son has turned out to be no more than a gluttonous child drunk on more power than he really possesses.
This boy would not starve alongside his people as an army lays siege to the city. He wouldn't negotiate with Queen Thesia in the north or Emperor Nolan in the south. He wouldn't pardon a man sent to kill him in his own bed, sparing a life in exchange for the assassin's sworn dagger. I would have served him anyway as my oath demanded, but he chose to relieve me of it instead.
I suppose I'm not quite at the level of the elite guard. The sword I carried had only been for show, as in my three years here I lost practice bout after practice bout against my comrades. Still, the old King requested for me to attend to him at most every conscious hour, and some unconscious ones as well. His son had never understood. He still does not.
Tyrone, a lieutenant, gathers up my sheathed sword. By nightfall, it would be on the hip of one of a dozen new recruits, undoubtedly one who could last longer than I on the practice courts.
But perhaps the daily afternoon practice session will not happen tomorrow. Perhaps more guard members will be forcibly retired like I am being now, or simply executed on the spot. Whether they walk out of this throne room alive likely depends on the potency of the poison that the chef's apprentice baked into the King's pie half a bell ago. It's a botched job, to be sure. Death's Caress kills slowly and painfully, but not if its victim indulges in a certain wine his majesty happens to favor. Instead, he will merely lie ill for half a week, maybe a full one if the flower had been picked fresh.
I'm tempted to say something. Be helpful in my last minute of service. It's only a few words, after all. "Don't eat the pie." But the King evidently doesn't care for what I have to say, and I owe him none of the devotion with which I watched over his late father.
I'll take my freedom. Now I can live outside the shadow of a debt, either to death cult or to royalty. I can find a woman, start a farm, raise some children. Finally enjoy peace.
And if one day someone remembers the legends and comes to find me, if I am given sufficient reason and gold to break out the old dagger, perhaps I will be the one to slip something into the King's drinks or slide a blade across his throat.
He wouldn't survive, not like he will today. Only one person has ever survived me, and now that man is gone. | I couldn't help but sigh as I look at the castle far in the distance. Impatiently, I wait for my ship to depart and bring my family and me to the faraway lands. I need to leave this kingdom. Fast. It's already doomed. Did this "brat turned king" really think that his predecessor gone senile? He'd even threatened me with execution for "conning his old man into believing in superstitions" before removing my position of a royal guard. Just because you can't see ghosts doesn't mean that they can't see - or influence - *you*. My Clan protected the royals from possession for many generations, and now our service is over. How long would it take for the new king to be driven to madness? How long would it take for him to destroy everything his predecessors built?
"What do you think, my friend?" I ask the ghost of the old king who's standing opposite of me.
"Please save my foolish son and my Kingdom, I beg you!" The transparent man in luxurious clothes and golden crown kneels before me.
In silence, I look at the soul of the person who was more than just my liege. He was - is - my closest friend. As a king, he never knelt before anyone in his whole life. And now, in death, he lowers his head before insignificant little me - someone who vowed to serve *him*.
Sighing again, I look in the direction of the cabin where my family waits for my return. Sorry, but it seems that you'll need to leave without me.
I still have one last job to complete. My life as The Royal Exorcist isn't over yet. | 2021-02-28T05:20:39 | 2021-02-28T05:08:55 | 108 | 72 |
[WP] 10 years ago a being that looked human appeared in every television, every phone and every computer saying he would return one day to painfully kill anyone who committed murder, abuse or rape. Tomorrow is that day. How is society preparing? | Kim had been waiting for this day to come. Sweet, blessed justice. Ever since that day, when the human-like thing had shown up, world wide, promising painful death to everyone who had done unforgivable things.
At first, when the message came, when she was seven, Uncle Craig had stopped hurting her. He didn't come to the house. He didn't drag her into the basement any more, and do things to her that she couldn't tell mommy about. Kim had been granted blessed peace for two years, and she was so happy that she thanked whatever ethereal creature had spared her from any more.
Then Uncle Craig started coming again. Kim was never sure if he had gotten over his fear of death, or if the years that had gone on emboldened him, made him believe that he could outrun whatever was in store for him. It fluctuated then, his visits. Sometimes her Uncle would not come for a year or two, and other years she was not so lucky. When she had turned thirteen, she had enough. She told her parents. They had pursued him into court, into the chair... and he gave such a sob story, such a long winded plea of innocence that the jury gave him only probation. "After all," they said, "what kind of person would continue anything like that after that event a few years ago? It's only his word versus the fragmented memory of a little girl."
It had burned Kim inside, to finally stand up for herself, and have her peers say it was alright. That was when she truly began to count down the days to promised justice. When she discovered it was to be on Easter Sunday, she could only smile at the coincidence.
Tomorrow was the day.
The United States had been on the fence about what to do since the day ten years ago. Some argued that they should do nothing. Why should they protect those who had done things that an older and obviously more advanced alien race abhorred? Others argued that it was morally wrong to condemn anyone for one mistake, some people did not even know they were abusers. They needed mental help. Argue and fight as they would, however, nothing was truly to be done. What could anyone do against a superior intelligent being? Some people hoped that by repenting and helping as many people as possible, they would be saved. Others gave up.
A few, like Kim, were just excited.
When the day came, it started off normal enough, or as normal as life had been in the past few years as the day approached. Slowly though, one by one, people started dying in accidents. Horrific accidents, some of them, and other just suddenly dropped to the floor, blood pouring out of their face. Mass car crashes, record numbers of people drowning, falling off balconies, being crushed by debris. People who no one had ever suspected of wrongdoing were found in their homes, dead from tripping and falling into glass, metal, hitting heads on corners.
The aftermath was terrible. Power wasn't working in most developed countries. The death toll was over a quarter of the world's population.
Kim, now seventeen, got into her car and drove four hours to her Uncle's. All she could do when she saw his mangled body, torn apart in a freak accident with a lawnmower, was laugh.
Edited out a comma. | They said not to worry. As per usual I s'ppose. I mean really they can't say much other than that. They said that folks in prison will continue with their days as if nothing was said at all. See when Yzorgis, the goofy man that showed up 10 years ago, said all those things about "truly evil people", there was mixed emotions. People was saying that it is God himself coming down to prepare Earth for salvation. Others was saying the complete opposite, that the Devil was coming to torture all them wicked folks. Gov'ment was saying that they was going to prepare for every possible outcome. Like I said earlier, they said not to worry. Typical really. There was the folks that believed every single word that was gettin shoved in our faces. Every word. "They are humans, and deserve every right to continue to live their lives. Even if it is in an correctional facility." See I don't have family. They either far away from me, or deader than dirt. I don't got friends, acquaintances, or neighbors. I got me. My beer. My shed. And my gun. I aint worried bout no damn Yzorgis. I aint killed no body. I aint raped nobody. I aint got nothin to worry bout. Yanno the day is coming up doncha? 21 days. If you ask me? I am excited. Watch the world squirm. Folks change when things get hairy. Even with the new fancy shit they have at the prisons like the increased watch, regulated food, and increase in structural stability in the buildings them self, that aint everyone! What bout Johnny Q. He aint be convicted, but that aint mean that he aint guilty! I reckon that there will be a mighty good amount of confessions going on here shortly if you ask me. Sure the "nation wide crime rates for murder, abuse and rape are at historic lows" but why the hell do that matter. What about after huh? What then? Like I said son, I am excited. When the shit hits the fan Ill be here watching. | 2013-12-26T15:52:10 | 2013-12-26T14:20:34 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] Each month you are visited by the Grim Reaper. He silently appears in your kitchen at night to drink your orange juice. This month, you’ve decided to approach him. | *A Talk with Death, and Orange Juice*
“...Hey. If you don’t mind, Mr. Reaper, that’s *my* orange juice you’re drinking. Could ya at least pay me back after?”
He turns, robe gently gliding above the ground, his empty void of a face confirming my suspicions. “IT IS NOT YET YOUR TIME. DO NOT QUESTION MY INTENTIONS.” The poor schmuck hovered away to the sink, rinsing his- no, MY- glass. He looked kinda tired, ya know? Eyebags about yea big, dark circles covering his entire lack of face.
“Sure must be tiring to be a reaper, huh?” I questioned, glancing at the clock. 2am... no, wait, 4? 5? Eh. Didn’t matter, now did it? I finally got to speak to Death. Capital D. Not that I was all too thrilled about it.
“*A* REAPER? NO. I AM THE ONLY ONE OF THESE ‘REAPERS’ YOU SPEAK OF. DEATH IS DEATH. DEATH WILL COME EVENTUALLY TO ALL.” He stares directly into my eyes, bony fingers tracing the rim of *my* glass(when was that bugger gonna give it back?). I genuinely thought He had eyes at first, but turns out those were just the souls of the damned. Or maybe the undamned? Ah, who gives a damn. Death was in my home, for fuck’s sake! “Okay. Even if you don’t pay for the juice, do me a solid and leave the glass where it came from, will ya?”
Now that bastard of a reaper drops the bloody glass. The audacity of this bugger! I spent good money on that. Took me five hours to enchant all of ‘em properly to never break and He still manages to shatter one. You’d think Death would have some level of respect for Inanimity, the god of... yep, you guessed it. Inanimate objects. I’m somewhat of a reaper myself, ya know. Stealing the souls of still lifes, robbing doors of their sanity, etcetera etcetera. Turns out the man only cares about his own bloody endeavors... and orange juice. Why MY orange juice anyway, mate? It’s as though every orange ran dry in his hometown and all the grocery markets closed down. You’ve got free rein over the seven isles, go get your juice somewhere else, ya bloody idiot!
“NO. DEATH DOES NOT OBEY ANYONE, NOT EVEN FELLOW SMALL GODS.” His voice gives me the creeps. Implanting Himself in your brain with his bony ESP without consent? Just fucking rude, in my opinion.
“Yeah, yeah, alright. Fine. Just leave some for me and we’re good,” I muttered. Clearly, the man(thing?) wasn’t gonna leave until I came to a compromise with it. Also, have you ever seen His face? I mean, His *real* face. It’s... questionable. You wouldn’t expect Death to have the face of- ah, bugger me. I’m going off-track. So anyways, He stares at me, his empty mind churning and clacking together a coherent sentence.
“SURE. OH, AND I’VE BEEN TAKING YOUR TOOTHPASTE TOO, BY THE WAY.” He... smirks? I think He smirked. “What- Why?” I stare at him, dreading the worst.
“WHY? WELL, I THINK YOUR ORANGE JUICE TASTES BEST WITH YOUR EXTRA-FRESH TOOTHPASTE. IT IS TRULY A DELICACY. HAVE THE HUMANS NOT YET DISCOVERED SUCH A DELICIOUS COMBINATION?”
Oh my fucking gods. He... He really is as bad as they say. I’m fucking booking it. Fuck off. | The winter snow was coming down slowly, lazy, drifting flakes spiraling to the ground, it was late, the news wrap was in its second cycle, about 2am when I heard "them" in the kitchen, the door opening and a light and shadow appeared in the kitchen, I knew who it was, I met them when my snuggle bunny died, my beloved of 40yrs, they came around the same time that night, about 2 am, I held her hand as they walked past me and touched her, she let out a small sigh, then exhaled, and then , ....she was gone, a couple of years passed......then they showed up again....never intruding, just on the edge of my senses, flickering shadows on the periphery, after awhile, when my family and friends stopped calling and visiting they showed up more often, coming into focus with each visit until they had "form" and finally....presence.
Tonight "they" were loud, fridge opening an closing, dishes clattering and.......humming???? B.O.C "Dont fear the Reaper??" WTF?
I walk into the kitchen and "they" are standing there.....drinking out of the carton, a young...pale...man...with black hair and grey blue eyes, he was wearing a "hoodie" and black jeans with a very white tee shirt and black Chuck Taylor's, I know why he's here tonight...but... I want to hear him say the "Words", I ask "is my time up?" He stops drinking and looks at me like a kid brother home from the war....and then he laughs! Loud guffaws with snorts and chuckles!!! "Oh hell no man! At least.... not tonight, no I'm taking a break, I need some me time to recharge, I come here because you're not afraid, hell, even anxious to leave, ....but...not tonight, he then looks at me and asks" you got anything to smoke?"...., I haven't smoked in awhile but I did have something setback for a special occasion....yeah I got a few crumbs, a little Mex, a little Afghani, some Thai, with just a touch of purple hair, maybe a gram, but definitely "enough " to get the job done, he smiles...well hell man! Roll that shit up!
Time passed, my little stash didn't disappoint!.......Hendrix is playing in the back ground...my guest seemed transfixed.......then...he speaks..." I fucking hated grabbing Jimmy!" He wasn't supposed to go yet......end page one. | 2020-08-24T04:59:19 | 2020-08-24T04:28:49 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, there is no heaven or hell. You just get rated on a scale of 1-100 of how much of an assole you were in your life and get thrown together with all the other people with the same rating.
Posted this a while ago, got some upvotes but no storys, so I'm trying again. | Hell would have been easier. You would think that removing damnation and salvation would be a relief and to some I assume it is. There is somewhere, however, worse to end up. I was never a saint, I didn't go above and beyond for anybody, but I wasn't a monster either. Somehow being left with only the moderately awful people of our world would be a walk in the park. Until you spend day in and day out seeing the flaws that put you here in the faces of would be strangers.
Gone are the good Samaritans who would give up their seat to you on the bus. Gone too are the faceless people who pick up the garbage that almost made it into the bin on a busy street. The nameless people who improved your day in such little increments that you don't notice until they are no longer there to pick up everyone else's slack.
Gone too are the truly evil ones. The ones you could point to and think, "I'm a good man, I'd never say these things or do those." No one for you to see and believe yourself to be above. But with them gone you start to see what you left the world with.
Everyone around you with the same mindset and beliefs. I shouldn't do for others what they don't do for me. To live for eternity without leaning on each other, to only speak to another when they had something to give leads to a very lonely life indeed. I don't think I've spoken to another soul in a way that wasn't a transaction of sorts since I left my mortal body.
Sometimes I believe it to be a test. This is truly the only way to see how you have lived your life. Not marked by achievements or milestones passed but by the way you affected others. I think if I were to truly change maybe I would be pulled back into the stark room I had awoken in and be told I had moved up in the ranking and was being transferred to a brighter afterlife. I truly try, for a time, to be everything I'd thought I was before being sent here but time and again a fall back into old habits, discouraged by the rest of the masses not doing the same. I think that may be the point.
Hell would be easier than seeing my own shortcomings for eternity. | I lifted my foot. Under it was a strawberry, leaking a delicate but heavenly scent. The perfect red was hardly marred by the fact that it was quite crushed. All around me was a garden, with a narrow path of gravel winding artfully through it. I suspected at the end I would see a charming welcome mat below a discreet but vehement no trespassing sign.
Before me were a set of particularly delicate white roses, with their petals drooping gently like soft clouds. All were leaning across the path, and it was clear they had been allowed to grow there without pruning. The thorns gleamed, a promising pink.
Behind me, I heard sudden crunching noises, and the unmistakable sounds of a particularly furious gardener.
I knew just what that sound was, I had made the same sound storming out to talk to the just before I went to inform the garbage truck driver that he had to stop backing over the begonias I planted by the trash container. He would certainly only do that again over my dead body. | 2021-12-19T21:29:26 | 2021-12-19T20:34:57 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] The King is dying and decides to abdicate his throne before he dies. During the coronation ceremony, he places the crown on a servant's head and declares him king, rather than one of his two sons. | His Majesty's chapel erupted. Fred-Lesser was unsure what to make of the boom that shook his ears. All his years raised in the Kingdom's service and he never heard anything quite like it. To poverty, it even made his head feel heavy. And cozy. Sort of... regal feeling. He had to scratch his head, the velvet was starting to get---
*I did not attend this coronation with a hat.*
The thought froze him solid. Then he repeated it. *I did not attend this coronation with a hat.* It must be true, because Fred-Lesser had the distinct memory of having donned his servant's tunic. Then his grey pantaloons and equally grey foot slips (so as not to embarrass the traveling nobility with the sound of his poverty-stricken feet). He slicked his greasy hair all the way back, and exited the servant's quarter, helping to prepare for the coronation where directed by Bookmaster Ghuile, master of the books, ceremonies and omelette Thursdays. Omelette Thursdays were the worst days.
Cries of anger and protest in his direction was starting to give him a headache. What could have happened? Did he, *stumble* and hit his head, forgetting where he was? It would explain why his head felt so heavy. And cozy. Sort of... No, equally impossible, Fred-Lesser stood ramrod straight by the princes since the beginning of their coronation ceremony. The very same princes he attended to since Fred-Lesser was old enough to do so. The same princes, who's eyes traced lines where a sword might pass through him. And at him. And----
*No, the good princes wouldn't do that to me, where is that thought even coming from.*
His faith in the young Highness' was quickly shattered by the elder of the Bormenfast sons. "*How DARE you Father!* Surely you would not have mistaken this *commoner* for one of your sons??" The words confused Fred-Lesser, but whatever his troubles, he seemed to be the cause of them.
Must have been a fairly magnificent stumble to draw the ire of this chapel and hit his head with no memory of doing so.
The younger piped up in his younger, gentler timbre. "As brother has said good father, this must be some... unfortunate mistake."
"No." In his last dying years, His Majesty has never sounded so resolute. A word that forced a fulcrum of the wisest, purest, most powerful nobles in the entire Kingdom, to *silence.* Fred-Lesser would have been moved, if his life had not felt so threatened by all present. His head was also starting to get fairly heavy, but he dared not move to check himself before he necked himself for disturbing His Majesty mid-speech.
"This ceremony, as was the founding of this Kingdom, are directed so by my *will.*" His breathing searched deeper for air with every sentence. "I would have the rule of that which I built, maintained by one who *can* maintain my legacy. As he, who knows this castle, it's nobles, it's allies... Yes, he has eavesdropped on more than he should---" *Wait, what?* "---but that only tells *you* my subjects of the resourcefulness demanded of a King. Not the boorish---" he gestured to the elder son, "---or the timid---" then gestured his younger."
Both his hands pointed palms-up to the servant struggling to hold his head up during the ceremony. "---But the *true* servant of Bormenfast."
Fred-Lesser's eyes opened wide when he realized he was that servant. His mouth gaped like the statue of The Drinker at the Court Fountain pavilion. Shoulders, no longer supported by the rigid indoctrination of servant's ways, for the distraction commanded more than his training in that instance, sank low. He couldn't believe it. After all his precautions, *all* his mind and manners, and servitude to the family...
... And His Majesty *knew* he was eavesdropping???
For the moment, Fred-Lesser was just happy to be alive. For now, anyway.
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More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading! | The bright interior of the official throne room was illuminated by the powerful sun shining through the stain glass windows lining the long hall, creating a mighty atmosphere for the change of kings.
Royalty displayed themselves like a wedding party: the two princes on the left and the three princesses on the right. Nobles lined and sprinkled the ornate hall. The fragrant air wafted with scents of roses, sunflowers and a varity of herbs. Down the hall strode the bishop to perform his abdication duty, a formality, but required. He thoughts upon snacks, high quality, kingly snacks. A slight smile warmed the solemn bishops face a little.
The weak and weary king rose from his throne, raising his hand for silence.
"Thank you for gathering here today. I will not be leaving for awhile yet, but today is the day to release my crown."
Knowing murmers swept through the crowd like a new broom freshly thrashed on a dirt floor.
"Horswald! You have some food, I mean, good, ideas for being king... Where are you?" His aged eyes dart for his friend and servant. "Ahh, there you are..." He laughed and contined,"...at the tortes... Come come!"
Raising his crown, the King says, "Wait a minute!" And sets his crown back on his head. "That is where it goes for now, because..."
Murmurs again swept through the crowd, this time looking like like ripples and waves in a studied bowl of water.
"Tortes please!" He called, his face lifted in triumph.
Laugher and chuckles bounced through the room, echoing softly off the royal walls.
A servant swarms to his side, proffering baked goodies.
Taking a bite, he sits down and crosses his legs, leans back and lifts his arm theatrically, raising the torte high.
"Just kidding." He coughs, projecting a few bits of carbs and sugars out his orifice. More slowly this time, he stands.
"Horswald..." He announced, as he places the torte on the tray before removing his crown. "It is time." The king gestures in front of him, welcoming and insisting the presence of Horswald. Horswald kneels.
Gasps and frustrated noises dared permeate the silence. Many dukes and barons would be forced to change political tactics and other interesting courtly affairs. The royal princes, each shocked in their own despair, --although one secretly relieved for he is a monk at heart--quietly made unsatisfied vocalizations.
"I have made up my mind." Thundered the king. "I am neither required, nor beholden, to any of you!"
"Bishop!" He declared, thrusting the royal crown forward, perhaps the last official thrust the king would ever make. "Horswald is my successor."
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Thanks for reading!
Critiques and comments are appreciated.
More stories can be found in /r/OhLookItsAStory. | 2016-02-12T16:01:03 | 2016-02-12T13:51:05 | 64 | 12 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | Imagine growing up in a household where you are told that the nature of your very birth and existence must be kept a secret, not just because it is dangerously valuable information, but mostly because you'll end up in the looney bin if you explain yourself and stick to your story. That's where I thought my dad belonged for a long time.
I have to say, it's weird being fed mythologies as a kid. I suppose it's not so different across the world, no matter what religion you are born into. And it seems like even among atheistic parents there is an indoctrination of sorts; it's just unavoidable. But the story I was fed was so unique and bizarre, so unlike anything anyone around me was told, that I assumed that my otherwise awesome dad was just crazy.
It was March 5th, and I was celebrating my 25th birthday. As the story goes, it was the third time since "the discovery" that I celebrated a 25th birthday. My "partner," Daniel, was 50. It feels strange to me now to call him my partner. He was always a father to me, and a good one, at that. I was so proud to call him my dad growing up.
He warned me not to get used to our relationship as it was. He would say, "I love you and I can't always be your father, but I will always be with you." And he'd get really emotional, like there was something bad that was inevitably going to happen. And he'd cry and I just couldn't take him seriously in those moments because I didn't believe him. Would you believe it if your father told you that you had been living your current life for over a hundred years? That you two started not as father and son, but as longtime friends, one of whom had an accident drinking some water from a spring and turned from a grown man back into an infant in a matter of seconds?
Apparently it was my father Daniel who, unknowingly, drank first. Moreover, apparently it was my idea to keep him and raise him so that at one point, when he was old enough, he could bring me to the secluded fountain to drink and live another lifetime as well. And we were to repeat this pattern, ad infinitum, until an accident or illness or tragedy should break the cycle.
Bullshit, right? I almost wished I had been told that a miracle-performing demigod died for my sins, or that our nation was founded by orphans raised by wolves, or even that aliens had abducted all the real humans and we were the only ones left. This story is the worst possible one because it means my dad is going to be gone. And because it's true.
I tried to deny it, I tried to fight him on it, but he showed me everything. The pictures of us, the writing I left myself, he showed me right before I reached 25. And now that I reached the age, it's my turn to live the next 25 years making sure I'm a good father to him.
And I can't do it. I will, but I don't feel like I can. And I don't want to make him live through this. I know we can potentially live forever together but I just can't do this to him. This isn't worth it. I would rather die and be dead forever than live a million lives losing my father at 25. I don't have the heart to tell him that this is over after this, but he won't know anyway.
Who knows, maybe I will feed him some bullshit beliefs about how things came to be. And he can think I'm crazy and when he develops some critical thinking skills we can have arguments about how wrong I am about everything. And I can rest easy at night knowing that, fortunately, in this lifetime, he's right. | My third story so please comment! Thanks.
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I am sorry bro. I really am.
I know you can hear me even if you are an infant. Both of us definitely know that. We both have taken our turns for the past like, I don't know? Maybe 500 years? A thousand? Two thousand? I don't know. I have lost count.
But that aside. Let me get to the point. Remember the time when we first discovered this fountain and the mysterious message that informed us that the water would turn us back into an infant. Well, remember the last paragraph? "Use this fountain, wisely, and understand the true meaning of life?" Well, we never did. But now, I finally do. After watching the human race progress from savages who relied on threats like nukes, though I have already forgotten what nukes are, to colonisers unity in their dream to reach out to the stars in spaceships and the stuff of our childhood dreams. That too, I have forgotten. But what had we gained? Nothing. We never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
Without the threat of death of old age, life had simply no meaning. I reared you. Then, I was reared by you. Then, you were reared by me. Life was the same old thing. We never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
We have experienced so many lives. From rich to poor. And back again. From privileged to toiling. And back again. From normal people to fugitives. And back again. And so many. So many different lives. Yet, we never did learn anything. Only experiences and memories.
Really, we have never understood the message. But now, I can say I do. Life is just a path of our journey. Without the threat of death, what meaning is there to life?
"What is a man, but the sum of his memories? We are the stories we live, the tales we tell ourselves!" Yes, this quote is right. We have more than enough memories now. More than enough stories. More than enough tales. More than enough... of life...
I am sorry, brother. I have enough memories for a man. It's time that I left, time that I finally end my life, it's time that I finally come to peace.
I am sorry bro. I truly am. Now, I place you in the care of a couple. Goodbye and good luck bro. If there is a heaven, I hope I will meet you there... | 2015-02-14T06:05:39 | 2015-02-14T05:46:47 | 88 | 26 |
[WP] After bitting a Fae, the Vampire claims that she must serve him, for his bite converted her into his thrall. The Fae claims that the Vampire must serve her, for the vampire ate fae food without her permission. As none of them is willing to give up, they bring the case to you, a lawyer. | I sigh as they go around in an argument once again. It has been 30 minutes of back and fourth between the two, and I'm starting to regret putting an ad in the local magical newspaper offering free consultations.
"Look you two," I start, "magic and mystical law is my field of practice, but these laws are vague and highly specific, so I need to do some research." I hand them each a contract. "My rate is $750/hour, but since you two are both coming to me, I amended the contracts so each of you will pay for half the fee. The minimum billing hours is 8 hours so keep that in mind, even if I end up with less than 8 billable hours, you will still be billed for a minimum of 8. Pages 3-38 are just standard mystical disclosures including you may not have my name, and you agree to not use enchantment magic on me or anyone else in my firm for the duration of the contract +1 year." I sigh and hand them each a phoenix feather quill. Phoenix feathers being the only material quills can be made of that magically binds one's soul to a written contract. They also don't use ink, which is handy.
The Fae spoke, "wait, that means I will be paying $3000 for a servant! How unfair!"
"$3000 for a Thrall is pricy, but worth it to see you wipe that smug look off your face!" The vampire replies signing the contract, then murmuring in pain as it hits his soul.
"Ha! We'll see who's laughing in the end." The Fae takes care reading every line, but just as others of her lineage, she's a quick reader, especially with fine print. Then they too sign the contract and a similar whimper comes from her.
"Perfect" I say, smiling. My horns glisten in the red light of my office. "Now, it shouldn't take me more than a day to compile the resources available for who is right in this case; however, my schedule for meetings is quite booked for the next week so I can get you in next Thursday, how does that sound?"
"Fine!" They both squak in unison.
"Alright, see you then." I write it down in my calendar.
As they exit, I sigh one last time before picking up a law book on fae magic, and the laws behind them. Just as I suspected, that particular rule only applies to humans. I already knew the Thrall rule was only humans as well, as long as they weren't a virgin of a different gender that is, as that would create a new vampire.
I laugh, putting my feet on my desk, and dropping the book into my pocket dimension library. "$6000 to tell them they are both wrong seems like a deal to me, maybe I shouldn't withdraw that ad after all." | *Matlock - Episode 200: The Control*
"Mr... Vampire, and Mr... Faerie? What kind of names are those?"
"Those are our species, Mr. Matlock."
"Ah, do forgive me. I must be getting slightly forgetful in my old age. Hm, let me see your case file... Hm, interesting, very interesting. Well, custody cases are not usually my, eh, forte. However..."
"Custody?!" the vampire and the faerie lept out of their seats, enraged.
"Why yes, custody. Actual slavery and serfdom had been pretty much outlawed in the United States since, well, the end of the Civil War, sooner in the North. Of course, we're under Georgia law, so it's a bit later, but... yes, the only truly legal way to do this is under custody law." explained the Lawyer.
"But, sir... the traditions!" both creatures protested.
"The Confederates thought slavery was a tradition, too. It doesn't make it any more right. Now, if we do this under custody law, under the Creatures Act of 1899, you both would be assigned a supervisory probation officer from the State Department. Do you really want to go through that? Either of you?"
"...not really." they both sighed.
"Good. Well, there technically is another way..."
"What is it?"
"Marriage."
Three seconds later, both the vampire and the faerie stormed out of Ben Matlock's office.
"A shame, really. I never even got to know their names. Still, certainly one for the books. Not every day a faerie and vampire enter your office, even if it is only for five minutes." | 2022-07-12T00:54:08 | 2022-07-11T23:22:58 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] It turns out that every sentient species in the universe has a god and when war breaks out the gods would actually duel. The losing god would lose it's species. Then one day an alien god decided to invade Earth only to realize that we've killed our god. | Ahn’Sethuh, Reaper of Worlds, Lord of Purifying Flame, Scourge of a Thousand Stars, Regent of Divine Balance, Master of Goats wiped his sword clean as he stepped through tall gates made of pearl and gold. The old man standing watch lay bleeding upon his book, blood running with golden ink still scrawling ceaselessly across the page, his white robes now deepening crimson.
Beings of porcelain and alabaster, with wings of light and eyes that burned with divine fire, bowed their heads, their voices singing a ceaseless song of praise and worship for whom they called the One. Soon the One would be no more and their song would praise Ahn’Sethuh instead. The Reaper of Worlds smiled and licked his fangs, his square pupils widening slightly in anticipation.
Throngs of beings in white robes gathered in parks and parade grounds along the path Ahn’Sethuh walked. If occasionally one glanced up, they cocked their head slightly but returned to what they were doing without drawing alarm. In fact, the peace and serenity of the scene was infuriating. The legends that had come to Ahn’Sethuh spoke of warrior deities, of pantheons locked in eternal battle with foes powerful enough to destroy the universe itself. While Ahn’Sethuh knew better than to believe the early tales, he still expected to encounter the trappings of a warlike race. War eternal. Songs of battle sung by the dead. Ancestors praised for their conquests. Not this…weakness. This peace. It was disgusting. He would relish the destruction of their puny god, the opportunity to whip these pathetic things, these humans, back into the warlike species he’d heard so much about.
With a mighty kick, Ahn’Sethuh flung the golden doors asunder. A grand hall, decked in gold, with purple tapestries, spanned before him. At one end of the hall lay a golden altar. And yet there was something off.
Ahn’Sethuh strode across the hall and leapt upon the altar, kicking a golden censer across the room and scattering the still-burning embers of incense everywhere. He looked up at the sigils inlaid upon the walls of the temple. On some worlds it was common to see various faiths gathered to worship their deity under different guises, and this Earth was no different. A cross, a six-sided star, a crescent moon, a lotus, a pentagram…and other symbols besides. The same pentagram, inverted. An S with a line running down its center. What appeared to be a child’s scribble representing noodles with two … googly eyes?
A creeping sense of dread overcame Ahn’Sethuh in that moment. Never before had the Reaper of Worlds felt true fear, and yet in this moment, when faced with what was obviously pure and utter disrespect toward a deity in its own sanctum, he was overcome with an urge to flee. He leapt down from the altar, across the hall, and as he passed over the threshold out into the endless sun of this species’ afterlife, he saw them.
The beings of porcelain and alabaster stood still with their heads bowed, but their song had grown silent, their hands raised to cover their faces. The humans, however, had gathered around the temple. They seemed almost eager. And Ahn’Sethuh felt it. Each one of those humans carried within themselves the smallest fragment of divinity. No matter the root of their faith, no matter the form this wicked communion had taken, each human on Earth had partaken of the flesh and power of the god they had slain.
Ahn’Sethuh barely had time to scream.
----------
**Criticism is always welcome!**
| **Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at the inscription again.
**Gods. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors.**
**Humans. Children. Servants. Play things.**
I look at my friends. At my buddies. At my fellow warriors.
They look up. Up high into the sky. The sky is red. The sun is dim. Something is happening.
A light, green in colour, blue in colour, yellow in colour. Light like all light, but light that is not light falls to the ground. There is a being unlike any other.
My nerves tingle. My hairs stand. My buddies tighten their hands on their sleek metallic weapons.
*Where is your god.*
A voice reverberates. It booms in my head. Not in my ears. It booms in my head.
I look to my friends. They look at me. I know what they think.
*Where is your god.*
The voice rumbles. The voice thunders. The voice roars.
Ships float through the clouds. Things that are new. Things that shine. They shine a sparkle. They shine not like metal. They shine as if new. They shine as if old. Things that we do not know.
*Where is your god.*
The figure moves. The figure stamps. The figure floats.
The ground shakes. A mountain collapses. Columns arises.
Tall. High. Indomitable. It rises into the clouds. Out beyond our sights.
Screams echo far. Distant. Somewhere not here. Screams not of pain. Not of fear. Screams of something I cannot describe. Old screams of nowhere.
*There is no answer.*
The figure expands in the column. It grows beyond size. Beyond description. A being I’ve never seen. A being no one knows.
*Your god does not love you.*
Another mountain falls. More screams echo. Ships begin their fire. My home burns.
My friends run forward. Eyes of steel. Faces like stone. Fear does not exist.
This is not new. This is not old. This has happened. This will happen.
I look down at the inscription.
I fix the inscription.
**Humans. Rulers. Conquerors. Protectors**
**Gods. Children. Servants. Play things.**
edit - spelling mistake | 2018-04-03T07:48:36 | 2018-04-03T05:33:44 | 693 | 61 |
[WP] About 20 minuets after the the oil drum you are crammed into was filled with concrete, you realise that you're probably immortal. | Stop me if you’ve heard this one:
A man drunkenly stumbles onto a misty dock one night and sees something he’s not supposed to see. He gets clubbed by a man who looks like he has a pituitary gland the size of a watermelon and gets unceremoniously shoved some time later into a big old oil drum that gets filled with a bag of Sakrete.
I know the delivery on the joke isn’t all that great but hey, I got plenty of time to work on my standup.
I mean… less “standup” and more “kneeldiagonally”.
My name is Bill Stevenson, and I am immortal.
Kind of a shock to me, too! I was screaming my head off the entire time I was getting concrete mix poured onto my head. I kept right on all the way down to the bottom of the bay as I went on a magic oil drum ride. I expected to eventually stop as things just went dark but…
It just didn’t.
So here I am. In an industrial casket. Caskrete.
It’s not so bad. I mean, growing up I always wanted to be a superhero. Sure, my power comes with a side helping of “I am immobile from the tips of my toes to my hair which is immortalized in a concrete douche-cut”. I wish I hadn’t gelled my hair tonight – I didn’t even get any before I took a dip.
But if I had gotten to be a superhero, I wonder what my name would have been.
Invincibill! Invulnerabill. Indestructibill.
Hm. I’ll workshop it, run it by a focus group or two.
Though I guess coming up with something better is kind of Inconceivabill.
Haha, I kill myself!
Or.
Well.
You get the picture.
I got plenty of time to think. Not like I’m going anywhere. | I suppose there are worse ways to find out that you're immortal.
I mean, imagine the awkward conversation that would've awaited Budd Dwyer. He'd probably be wishing that he'd just been sealed in an oil drum with some fast setting concrete. Probably wouldn't even mind how much my ass itches. Holy shit my ass itches. Should I be itchy if I'm immortal? Is that normal? I guess it's not normal to be immortal in the first place. Do itches go away on their own? I don't think I've ever not scratched one. Well, there's only one thing I know for sure:
If I ever get the chance to tell this story, I'll have to leave out the dancing.
No one will believe the dancing. | 2016-01-14T20:03:42 | 2016-01-14T17:39:45 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] When a person turns 18. they get to pick a statistic. For the rest of their life, they will know this statistic about anyone they meet (lies told, days left alive, etc.) | For an investigator, the choice seemed only natural: number of deaths caused. While the scientific community was baffled by the one statistic phenomenon, it at least knew that the statistics were accurate. Of course, this was perfect for George; his testimonies proved invaluable in court.
But then, why was he drinking himself to oblivion, alone on a crisp Friday night? George never imagined the cost of his choice. He looked up at the bartender, whose number exceeded twenty.
"Well, George, you're not about to increase my number are you?" the bartender quipped, noticing the downtrodden stare. George had just drained yet another glass of the poison known as alcohol.
"No, no, not today," he replied halfheartedly, "just one more glass, please."
"Nah, you're done for today," the bartender told him, snatching away George's empty mug. Then in a softer voice, "I know better than that, thanks to you." The young man paused, and his expression grew more serious. "You've never been one to drink this much booze alone. Did something happen? Is Genny all right?"
The broken cop flinched.
He remembered Thursday night. Genny's count had always been zero until that day. After a screaming confrontation, he arrested of his own wife. He himself interrogated her, screaming at her every false tear.
"Genny's fine," George croaked, "but we're getting divorced."
"Ah," the bartender noted, before noticing the neglected customers. "I'll be right back," he promised, scurrying away. George failed to mention his unborn child, though.
The child that died in a miscarriage on Thursday.
It occurred to George when he slammed his wife in the interrogation room. She tumbled out of her chair, scrambling into the furthest corner of the room. Immediately George froze in shock. As he stared at his wife, curled up in the fetal position, he realized.
Suddenly, George's own thoughts were disrupted as he leaned on his elbows in the crowded bar. He sensed his own statistic increase by one. George stood up, heading towards the door, already knowing the breaking news that was about to flash on one of the television screens. The concerned bartender, though, noticed George leaving. "Where do you think you're going?" he demanded over the noise.
George paused solemnly. "To get another drink."
| Jasper knew he loved her. He'd told her so many times - 14, to be exact. Yet still his palms were sweaty and his cuticles picked raw. A shaving cut glistened on his cheek as he gazed at his craggy features and gray flecked hair in the mirror. He looked every one of his 31 years and a few extra.
Jessica was already waiting for him at the bus stop. Another Thursday night. Date night. But something was different and she knew it. A nagging doubt filled her mind, could she reveal her statistic? She'd guarded it since her 18th birthday, refusing to tell anyone, especially those closest to her. There was something otherworldly about the whole system, a strange perversion on the human psyche.
Suddenly, Jasper was embracing her. Through the comforting and familiar warmth she could feel a new sensation, a slight shaking. He pressed his lips against her ear and whispered a truth.
Jessica gasped.
There was no going back. Jasper took a step away, and she had never seen him so vulnerable, yet so complete. She took his hands in hers, and after a deep breath, revealed her statistic... | 2014-08-11T08:26:50 | 2014-08-11T02:18:32 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You are the Evil Overlord. You have kidnapped the princess. Unfortunately, she developed Stockholm Syndrome. And she is far more evil and insane than you are. | It was time for me to go. I had been the 5th evil sorcerer to inhabit this lair. I was also 1 through 4. Keeping the 5 bordering kingdoms on their toes was an enjoyable, but easy task. Too easy. I toyed with conquering them, but then what do I do, Govern directly? No thanks. I’m a kill the livestock, scare the children, and take captives kind of guy. I play them off against each other and enjoy the show. I’d rather rule them without them being aware.
When the challenge goes out of the work, that’s when I pull a Princess job. Pretty straight forward; find a princess whose hand is being sought by one or 2 princes, kidnap her, and pretend that you plan on marrying her. The Prince’s blood rushes from head to groin, he leads a force to come save her and kills me. Well, not me, a simple illusion spell allows me to fake death easily. The Prince carries away princess and they live happily ever after making babies just as pretty and dumb as themselves.
From my ashes (sometimes they burn my fake dead body) I arise again like a phoenix! Different color scheme, new name, and new evil laugh (I have dozens). I gather a new group of minions except Fred, I like him so much I made him eternally 30 years old. He’s been with me 50 years. Fred and I put together a band and we “discover” this abandoned lair. From here we start our new rein of terror.
The southern Bullworth kingdom caught my attention, Fred reported that the Princess Airillian was betrothed to Prince Festus of the neighboring Kingdom Grimaldi. The 2 Kingdoms had been on war footing for years thanks to perceived transgressions made by both sides along their shared border. The transgressions were true, the offending parties were my men in the colors of both kingdoms. Good times.
Fred was at my side the night we grabbed Airillian. I silenced her voice with a simple spell and Fred scooped her up. She struggled against him, but his strong arms held her tight. A note was left announcing my plans to marry her and claim the Bullworthian throne with our offspring.
Within days word reached me that Prince Festus was building an army from both Kingdoms. Fred took care of the Princess while I watched the festivities disguised amongst the rabble. The volunteers were big buff men with countless battle scars. Their leader Festus was a moving speaker, but his face was less attractive than his name. They announced their route and estimated a week’s travel time.
For the next 3 weeks I made those men go through Hell, literally at one point. Between setting traps, my men ambushing them, and occasional magical creature attacks, I would pop in and out of my lair. The Princess was as angry as she was beautiful. I would mock the daring travels and sacrifices of her betrothed to her. Talk up the benefits of being an evil Mistress over the pathetic men who saw her as a prize and not a person.
Her spite was delicious and I could tell her emotional walls were crumbling. The reunion of the royalty would be memorable. The Prince was finally at my door.
I’ll give Festus credit. He’s a great fighter. Everyone else who has stormed this lair attempted stealth and used tactics. Festus charged ahead causing more bloodshed than needed. It was wonderful. My men fled and died while Festus’s men mostly just died. Finally at the top of my highest tower, in a violent thunderstorm I raised for the occasion, Festus broke through my door.
“You will pay for what you did” the bulbous nosed Prince declared.
“Wait” came a whisper.
It was Airillian, she stepped out of the back chamber where Fred was holding her. There was blood on her dress. She continued, “I will kill my oppressor” she reached out for Festus’s silvery blade.
He knelt down and handed her his fine blade. A sneer shown on his face. The sneer rode that face to the ground as the Princess separated the Prince’s head from his shoulders.
“I am no prize” the bloodied princess declared. “When I return home, it will be as a conqueror!” She threw the sword on the ground and walked towards me. This was new, I’ve never had one go native on me. Prospects popped into my head, could I co-rule? She was breathtakingly beautiful and very intelligent. I’m not sure I can do the whole dynasty thing.
My thoughts were cut short by a blade suddenly protruding through my chest. I turned to face Fred. He had a look of shame mixed with ambition on his face. I stumbled backwards towards the window. Lightning struck the blade that still protruded through me. In a blaze of fire and plasma I fell from the tower, exploding on impact. My signet ring was the only thing recovered. The princess placed it on Fred’s finger and declared him her husband.
It’s been dark days for the 5 Kingdoms. 4 have already fallen and the fifth one is holding out barely. That is where I come back in. I have put together a rag tag group dedicated to freeing our realms. The overlord and her husband will fall! Justice shall rule the world again! At least until I decide to start anew... | I should have known something was up. I should have asked more questions when the letter arrived. They hadn't offered a ransom. No hero to save her. Not even a single word of ill will. No... Nothing. And now somehow I The Lord of Fire. The King of Death. The Harbinger of Destruction and Disease am hiding in a broom closet.
What the actual F***?!
Ok. So lets start from the beginning. Hi. I'm Desmond. Basically I'm an evil overlord. I built my kingdoms on the corpses of both the innocent and the depraved. I killed children, monsters, men, women, devils, angels, and even a few hero's. Honestly I'd have to say I've achieved a lot over the years. People feared my name and all was well and good until one if my advisers (who I personally strangled to death after it was to damn late.) Stated that I needed to look at possibly producing an heir.
We did the whole shibang. Had long meetings about possible kingdones to over throw, pillaging a few villages, even coverd the plausibility of an unholy union or two. But we decided it cost less in souls and effort if we just kidnapped a hot young prices.
Needless to say...we were wrong.
I had Basicly narrowed it down to two girls. The first was honestly to young for me. She was only 15 and I'm sorry I'm an evil overlord not a pedo. Besides I like to have something a little curvy you know. Someone to keep you warm at night. Not someone you have to tuck in at night.
So we ended up going with option number two. A young prices about to turn 18 from a well off kingdom across the pond. We had a whole plan. Show up in person. Like a gentleman dose. And then kidnap her. Kill a few guards and make a show of it. I sent a few letters threatening the kingdom and its neighboring lands. And when the day came I busted down the door.
This is were it got strange. For a royal coming of age party no one was there. It was just the king, the queen, an old priest and the princeses. Normaly you invite a lot of people to this kind of thing right? I mean your passing the torch to your daughter. Thats a big deal. But no. I had brought only a few of my generals and still had more people than they did.
On top of that we werent really stoped from taking her. It was more like a hand full of guards showed up and danced for us rather than trying to strike us down.
Fast forword a few days and were back in my kingdom and I sent out a few letters to the king and queen about how I would force her to marry me and even take her by force on our wedding day. The reply, and I kid you not. The reply I got from the king was, and I quote "Good luck." I had to reread that a few times.
Good luck...that bastard.
We soon figured out why. After visiting her in her new chambers she was a little to eager to get to know me. At first I thought she was trying to play along. But I soon realized that that was not the case. One night I didn't visit her due to being out dealing with a small rebellion. Nothing to big just a radical survivor of the last royal blood line. I could have just sent a general but I wanted things done right. But like I was saying. I didnt show up and instead went strait to bed. I awoke to her straddling me and five dead guards.
She had killed 5 of my elite guards and snuck into my room. I thought she was going to kill me! but insted she smiled. A smile that only one type of women would smil. She smiled a smile that would make satan question his life choices and then kissed me.
"You didnt come by to say goodnight darling."
I think I had actually shit myself that night. | 2018-02-09T05:24:13 | 2018-02-09T04:30:09 | 347 | 44 |
[WP] You were born with a large birthmark in the shape of a dragon. However, this is just a coincidence; there is absolutely nothing magical about it, and you're getting really tired of explaining this. | They were staring at me again. Eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. I sighed. "Hi. Look, I got your message. But I'm not-"
"You're him!" One of them explained. Pretty enough lass, head of gold, but obviously empty. "You're the one who can talk with them."
"I'm really not." I tried to force a smile onto my face - or rather, I let my lips tug the sides of my mouth up. The stupid birthmark had been nothing but trouble since I was born. Worse, it was on my face, running from the top of my left eyebrow to the side of my right lip. Impossible to hide.
"The swirling detail... the intricacies... there can be no doubt..." This one was black as pitch, but his eyes were wide, and he leaned forward over the pile of crap he'd apparently left on the floor. "It is true. You are the bridge between our worlds." He smiled slightly. "You will remain here. You are far too important to us all to be allowed to leave."
I felt my patience snap. With a roar I lurched forward, closing my jaws around his scaly black neck, tearing his throat out in a single movement. The gold one I burnt, melting her golden hide beneath a wave of flame.
When it was done, I gathered up as much of the black dragon's hoard in my arms as I could carry, spread my wings, and flew out over the lake at the cave's entrance. As the world whipped past beneath me, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the glassy surface of the water. Red scales, golden eyes - not a bad looker, if I do say so myself. But disfigured by that stupid birthmark over my face: two legs, two arms, long flowing hair. All incredibly detailed. All incredibly meaningless.
*Just a coincidence*, I thought, not for the first time. *I'm not some stupid humanborn.* | Nope. not magical. I know, I know, It's perfect. It looks just like a dragon, tail, wings, fire breath. but its just a fucking birthmark man. Cant even tattoo over it because I could get cancer or something. it being a giant mole. I am really getting sick of it but its on my face. What do I do, wear a mask? that would open up a whole slew of other problems then. "i hear he has like a dragon tattoo on his face because he yakuza" or some shit like that.
anyway, can I get that large fry now? | 2016-08-04T18:02:19 | 2016-08-04T15:25:00 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] Aliens with FTL travel arrive on earth with thousands of years of high definition video of us throughout history, taken from the stars. It all tends to line up pretty well with our present historical narritive until they reveal something... strange... | I sat across from the delegation. 5 insect like beings about 7 feet tall. They used a translator to turn their clicks into a rather pleasant sounding version of english. "We have been observing your people for 783 galactic standard units." the leader clicked. "We've been quite pleased with how quickly you've reached out from your home planet." Chimed in the one on the left. "however we have one issue, It would seem that someone has been helping you. We wan't to know who they are and what their motivations are." I replied with a bit of confusion "What do you mean?"
The beings motioned to a large screen across the room, As I watched images and videos blinked across the screen showing many historical events in great detail. Events we had only seen in crude drawings, paintings, and historical text . That is, until now. I watched Washington cross the delaware. Witnessed the hanging gardens in full glory. The bustling streets of Troy. Then, in amazement, something i never thought was real. The 3 rings gave it away, The city of Atlantis. It was real.
"These beings" clicked the leader "They have been influencing your people for thousands of your cycles." I saw detailed images of craft flying through the air and monorail like transportation systems. Energy beams projecting images into the air. people seeming to live in great luxury and happiness. The being showed images of people, influential people throughout history. All of them with a mark. On some it was a tattoo, on others a piece of jewelry but they all had it. A star, almost like a compass rose. These people had shaped our culture, inventors, conquerers, philosophers.
​
Then the screen panned out and i saw the fleet. A thousand or more vessels of various sizes. Not naval vessels. Readying to make way. I marvelled "well that's what happened to Atlantis, they must have left for the stars and their descendants have been helping the rest of us advance. Amazing."
"No." The leader clicked in a serious tone. "This video is a live feed." | You, really didn't notice?
Notice what?
You know... The thing...
What thing?
You know, the thing that's in all your photos and videos, the wired thing...
What are you talking about?
Do you really not see it?
See what?
It right there. Everywhere. In every photo, every movie, website, music track, everything you put out there.
Look you are really starting to freak us out here, what THING?
Look at the first photo from the apollo mission.
Ok...
Look at the bottom right.
Yes...
Don't you see i-
FUCK
What the FUCK is that?
Sorry, what does F-U-C-K mean?
FUUUUCK, Its everywhere.
Indeed.
What is it?
How should we know?
Well we are going to check, goodbye for now, thank you for showing us this.
No prob- Wait. What is that behind you?
FU [ CONNECTION LOST ] | 2022-01-07T14:36:35 | 2022-01-07T14:01:37 | 234 | 36 |
[WP] Dear diary, I’ve been feeding this creature that fell from the sky for a few days. It strangely likes to drink water, the liquid we use to fuel cars. I noticed a patch on its suit today that read “NASA”. I’ll ask it tomorrow what that means. If that’s it’s name. | Three days after his fall, NASA still hadn't spoken to me.
It quickly became clear that this creature was unaccustomed to the ways of my people. We Quelbrigs have been here for millennia, and most neighboring planets are at the very least aware of us. But not NASA.
I’d managed to piece together the sounds of its name from what little English I knew. Remnants of the ancient language were peppered across my planet, but I hadn’t studied it, or its origins, extensively. The creature appeared perturbed when I called it "NASA," but it hadn't given me any alternatives, so there it was.
I'd tried all of the traditional Quelbrig hospitality - a plate of pickled tentacles made with my grandmother's recipe, a performance of our national anthem by the neighborhood quartet. Still nothing.
NASA began to draw crowds. I peered outside my PlexiDome each morning to find a sea of curious, gray Quelbrig heads trying to catch a glimpse of the creature. For the time being, I'd put NASA up in my guest-pod. It didn't seem to want to go outside anyway.
I decided to pay a visit to the town historian, Sleeg. As soon as I mentioned NASA, he perked up.
"I was hoping you'd stop by, Meeko," he said, pulling a miniscreen out of a drawer. "That creature you're currently housing is a 'human.'"
"A what?" I asked.
"A human. Relatively harmless - although, as a species, they have a history of infighting. At some point, many millennia ago, there was a mass exodus to other planets. This planet - ours - became inhospitable to them for a number of reasons. I wouldn't ask NASA about it; it was all rather traumatic. But perhaps you can ask him what led him back here...to the planet he once inhabited."
"How?" I asked. "He doesn't speak a lick of Quelbrigese."
"Have patience, young Meeko," Sleeg said with a grin.
Over the next few days, I made some half-hearted attempts at grunting before I realized that pointing and gesturing would do the trick. I mimicked NASA's fall from the sky with my fingers, then tilted my head to indicate a question. NASA sighed, stood up, and walked to our refrigeration pod. He pointed at it, then pointed to himself. Ah. Cryogenic freezing, perhaps.
NASA then made an explosion noise with his mouth and repeated the gesture of his fall to Earth.
I shook my head in dismay. Whatever act of self-preservation the humans intended had clearly gone terribly wrong.
I returned to Sleeg's hut every night to learn every shred of information I could. I learned about the technological skeletons humans had left behind, and how we'd built our society from them. I learned about their homes, their families, their mating. There wasn't as much as I'd have liked, due largely to the antiquity of the original recordings, but it was enough.
I learned that our planet's air was safe for humans to breathe, so I allowed NASA to remove its helmet - sorry, *his* helmet. I let him step into our cleansing pod. He started to eat more of our food, albeit begrudgingly. He stepped outside and went for walks, paying no mind to the stares of my neighbors.
On the nineteenth day after NASA's fall, I turned out all the lights in the house and waited for him to come back from his walk. Then I turned them all on to reveal a small group of us, standing in the living room, who yelled "SURPRISE!" in broken English.
NASA covered his mouth with his hands, but couldn't hide the smile bursting onto his face. He stepped over to look at the Quelbrig sweetcakes I'd prepared, which spelled out "WELLCOM HOME" in icing.
He took a bite of the sweetcake, and I saw him laugh for the first time.
As he smiled and greeted everyone, cheerily gesturing and nodding, I was fully convinced that NASA would acclimate to our ways. Perhaps I'd learn his name; perhaps he'd learn our language. Perhaps he'd move into his own pod and become one of us.
But for now, being here - with the scent of sweetcakes and the sound of multispecies laughter filling the room - was enough. | It fell from the sky in a tube that was much larger than it was. The shiny, metallic vessel stuck out of the ground in my backyard and up to where my tail begins, about 12 glips tall or so. I examined the smoking object, not wanting to touch it and be burned. Suddenly, a compartment opened, and out peered a most unusual being. It was made out of a sort of pinkish meat, with thick fur on it’s head, covered by a transparent dome helmet. The creature made a noise (with it’s mouth) and waved it’s fins at me.
I lowered my own fin, held it flat, and thought, “It’s alright, I mean you no harm.” I could hear it’s small brain whirring with activity, producing fear, then a lot of hard thinking, then relief. The creature thought “Can you hear my thoughts?” “Yes, of course.” I thought, feeling a tinge of shame at my curtness. “We all can, here, on HSX-324 I mean. Um, not to be rude, but what are you? I’ve never met one of your kind before.”
It looked at me, seeming a bit puzzled, then stepped onto my palm and thought, “I’m a human, from Earth. In the Milky Way Galaxy. This wrecked machine underneath me was my ship. I’ll return the question to you, because I’ve never met one of you guys either. Also, what is this place called?” I was a bit taken aback that someone didn’t recognize my species, I must admit. I answered quickly, “Oh, sure, I’m a Zerft, this planet is called HSX-324, I think I already told you that, maybe not, doesn’t matter.” I scratched the back of my head, between the second and third antenna and cleared 4/6 throats due to the awkwardness.
I then carried the creature into my dome. I got it to remove it’s head cover when I told it that we breathe oxygen here. I found out it’s name was Kenneth, a male. Kenneth requested water and was quite confused when I asked why. He claimed to drink water. Fucking weird, but whatever, it’s cheap. I poured some water into a bottlecap, then Kenneth cupped his hands and by Zerf, he actually drank water. I was staring at him, so he thought, “What?” I replied, “Kenneth, you’re drinking fuel, we fuel our vehicles with water.” He looked at me strangely, then shrugged and resumed his odd behavior.
I made Kenneth a bed, which only took like 20 minutes to print, including the sheets and pillows. He was very thankful, and slept quite well. There is a patch on what I found out was his suit, not his skin. It says “NASA”. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow. This was an odd day. I haven’t harbored an unknown species in a few years, but when I do, it’s always interesting. I do like Kenneth, so I won’t enjoy turning him over to the government for examination and vivisection. However, I must follow regulations. Sorry Kenneth. | 2020-10-11T07:44:33 | 2020-10-11T07:37:27 | 5,429 | 99 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | I took a seat at the large wooden table. The two men that sat across from me were clearly nervous. The fat one had beads of sweat dripping down his chubby cheeks. The skinnier man fiddled relentlessly with his glasses.
I leaned across and offered them my hand. The larger man introduced himself as Norris. His grip was firm but moist. The smaller man was called Gary, and his bony hand gave mine a rather pathetic imitation of a squeeze. It was not a good first impression.
The interview was for a marketing executive position at an automotive company called Sagittarius.
'Pleasure to meet you gentlemen. My name is Samantha. I don't want to waste my time on bullshit small talk - Why should I consider working for you?' I wondered how they would handle such a blunt question.
Norris fielded it. 'Well, ma'am, we value all our workers very highly. We realise that they don't need the work and have to get something out of it in return. We find our employees get *very* high job satisfaction. They usually love the role they are applying for, they get to meet interesting people and learn useful new skills. We have a great lunch buffet too! Not to mention the nap room, the games room and the chill-out lounge.'
'Promising. OK, next question. Where do you see me in five years time?'
Norris nudged Gary, prompting him to reply.
'W.w.well..' he stuttered whilst polishing his glasses 'well, ma'am, where ever you would like to be, within reason. If you are unhappy in marketing we have many other job openings available. We could move you around until you find something you really enjoy.'
That they had many job openings didn't surprise me. Everywhere did. I found Garys demeanour very stand offish, and frankly, I didn't think much of him. In job interviews first impressions are everything.
'Is there anything that you would like to ask me?' I said.
It took them by surprise, clearly a question they were not used to. They looked at each other, then at the floor and then finally at me. 'No, ma'am.'
This was amateur hour and I wasn't going to waste any more of my time here.
'I'l let you know in 5-10 days' I lied as I left the room.
-------
Check out more prompt responses on /r/nickofnight
| "Why won't you just leave me alone?!"
"We need you David! You've got the best test scores we've ever seen!"
"I've told you, I'm not interested! Look for Francis Smith, he got exactly the same score as I did!"
"We already have, he's working as a rocket scientist for NASA right now. Please David, it's not everyday that a solid C+ student comes along in this world!"
I seriously regretted not revising for that exam, if I had actually known what the correct answers were I could have deliberately chosen incorrectly. By some horrible stroke of luck I had managed a C+ in the final multiple choice exam whereas everybody else successfully failed and went on to a life of leisure. I could see these people were not going to leave me alone.
"Fine I'll take the job."
"Thank you David. It's been so long since the hospital has had a brain surgeon, let's get you scrubbed up."
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| 2016-04-21T06:27:02 | 2016-04-21T06:21:20 | 284 | 200 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons. | "Activate Zip Drive," I said to my computer, a generation III A.I. as space-time split before me, "Prime weapon for immediate release when we hit norm." I knew their fleet would not want me sneaking by in FTL so I was planning ahead for my attack.
The colored lights of Otherspace slipped past my small bomber, jumping toward the atoms in my hull hungrily but were held at bay by the magnetic shielding.
"Disturbance in norm space detected. Prepare for pullout in 3... 2... 1..." my A.I. informed me and then the colors of Otherspace were replaced with the blackness of the void. Ahead of me there was the fleet. An enemy interceptor had detected me and pulled me out of FTL as I had expected. A massive fleet of carriers and battleships and support ships and everything in between lay ahead of me.
"Human ship," a voice said across the ether, "Do you bring word of your species surrender?" The voice, of course, was translated from the light pulses that passed as speech by the Golloids, floating in their saltwater tanks. Their leadership had demanded our surrender this morning.
"Negative," I said, "I have come to demand yours." There was what passed for laughter in their pulsing tongue and then swarms of fighters launched toward me. I swallowed involuntarily as the stars behind the massive fleet were blotted out. "Launch the payload," I said, targeting as close to the center of the sphere of ships as I could.
The missile's fusion engine kicked in and as a fighter headed to intercept it the missile disappeared from norm-space and into Otherspace. A split second later it reappeared at it's destination in norm. My visor went dark as the darkness of space became as bright as a sun. Ship after enemy ship evaporated into their component atoms, vaporized by the intense heat and radiation pulsing outward from the temporary star I had just created obliterated them. As the shock-wave spread toward me and the interceptor evaporated, my A.I. slipped my ship into the other and I took comfort in the colors around me. I could swear I felt Otherspace shudder, but I knew that was impossible.
The Golloid were advanced. Very advanced. Humanity, however, had an advantage in that they had stumbled upon a way to use a basic technology as a weapon to end one of our wars centuries ago. See, we had two inventions that were unique to our species. One was the zipper. It was amazing that no other species had discovered it and had taken the clothes wearing species of the galaxy by storm and the patent had made Earth rich.
The other was nuclear weapons. Now that I had destroyed their fleet, hundreds of Earth bombers were given free reign to bomb Goll, their homeworld, and its colonies into oblivion. As I turned my ship around to retain to base I felt a pang of sympathy.
"Poor bastards," I said to the void, "Poor, poor bastards." | "War? These rats declared war against the humans? The neutral viewpoints of the Galactic Counsil?"
"Yes, Sir."
The humans seem rather weak and pathetic, regarding how friendly and peaceful they are. If you ever looked into their history, you know why. They not only almost killed themselves as a species, multiple times, they also have fought wars, spanning the whole planet, four times.
Humans are not to underrate, they seem to be born by war, makes jumps of unproportional technological advance, with war. War is their means of survival.
The Raxxla are a society of war and battle, build upon the very word of a match. This is a clash of titans. Spending uncountable amounts of money on their military.
Both sides regularly rival for the status of the biggest, bestest fleets and technology.
The humans even denied, with a thank you, any allied help.
-
In System 23b4, 25.3 Ly from Sol, the home system of the humans the first and last battle were fought. The humans brought an ancient technology with them, known as the Spear of Sol.
It creates massive balls of plasma, evaporating everything in a radius of 120 km of the blast, the following heat flash and EMP cripples even Titan weight ships, even if not directly hit by the Spear.
The Raxxla surrendered immediately, after their prime fleet just vanished, and the humans just let them go, and helped them rebuild the fleets. They learned from their history what happens if take resources from a crippled enemy, WW2 was one of the prime examples.
But if you help the enemy, they maybe even become your allie.
This is how the humans were able to build and shape the Galactic Counsil, by helping the ones, who they won over.
- | 2020-02-07T12:57:02 | 2020-02-07T12:49:43 | 506 | 196 |
[WP] You're live-streaming your life, from the perspective of smart-glasses. The chat keeps pointing out things that you don't see. | I was first noticed on Facebook, grew in popularity from Vine, and made a living from Youtube. Every step I took, every new medium, felt like a bigger step into fame. I was living comfortably in my apartment in New York City by posting blog videos on Youtube, people seemed to love learning the most basic things about my life.
But then the next big thing in media came out, thanks to the popularity of one Youtuber, Jacob Thorton, who wore the Google Glass to live stream a week of his life. It was huge, it was bigger than Twitch Plays Pokemon, more popular than reaction videos, this was the next step for internet entertainers like myself, and I had to get on it fast or I could be left in the dust like the thousands of MineCraft Let'sPlayers who started a year too late.
At first, the Google Glass Live Streamers were using it wrong, they'd use it to film events they went to like derbies concerts, but you could simply film it with a camera or phone and get better results. Some became popular through prank videos, using the added benifit of filming incognito, but I needed something different. I came up with the first channel to brag that I would live stream my life, my whole life. I never turned it off, brought extra batteries with me everywhere, and let people see every boring detail they wanted about my life.
It went well, I became a huge success, money and views were rolling in. I got to sit back and enjoy life all with the added benefit of thousands of people giving me input on everything going on. Most of my day consisted of going to do a task, let's say groceries, and watching the feed mention every mistake or success I made. "Hey, I love that bread!" "You should have bought campbell's, it's cheaper and tastes better." "You're racist if you don't buy Aunt Jemima's syrup." It was frustrating at first, but I was used to the slander the internet always had on hand, and learned to roll with it. I used those animals as a tool, they always seemed to spot things that I missed.
I was going about my daily routine, wake up, set the glasses down pointing away from the bathroom as I showered, and went out to buy breakfast at a nearby coffee shop. I get my coffee and muffin to start the day from my usual barista, a cute girl who's nametage said "Heather," when I noticed the chat all saying the same thing; "She's interested in you, ask her out!"
It seemed everyone in the chat was chanting this. I was on stage and couldn't back out, and figured what the hell, and went up to her and asked for her number. I didn't believe it really, I never noticed any hints or clues she was putting off before, but it seemed that everyone else did. We exchanged numbers and the chat went wild, I felt incredible.
That night we went on a date, and it was beyond romantic, despite the chat saying things like "nice tits" or "let me see her blow you." I tuned them out for the night while I fell for this charming girl who I figured would never notice me. The night ended perfectly, with us telling eachother how much fun we had, and a kiss goodbye. I went up to my room and performed the nightly duty of getting ready for bed, and setting my feed on the charger facing me, I couldn't let the public miss a thing.
This continued for months, during which I became widly popular, since I was one of the first letting people see my whole life. Not only did my popularity grow, but my relationship with Heather grew as well, we became very close, and within a few months time we decieded to move in together. Life was great, I was a popular success, with the added benefit of looking through life with a thousand eyes, I felt like I have finally found success, like I was the American Dream. I felt like I was what rich people wished they were, successful and loved by many, and truly loved by one.
A year passed, with Heather and I living together happily, she grew used to being on live stream fairly quick, and soon it bacame a comfortable lifestyle. The day came where I proposed to Heather, and the internet was ecstatic, they loved this kind of drama.
Then one night I went about my routine, brushed my teeth, striped to my boxers and crawled into bed with Heather. We haven't had sex for a while to I didn't bother to point the live feed away from the bed, it sat where it normally did, facing us. I slept through the night like a baby, but when I woke up I put on my Glass and started reading the feed. My heart dropped. Everyone in the chat was saying some variation of "she's cheating on you."
I didn't believe it, people of the internet are prone to lying, and some love to start pranks with others. There's no way she was cheating on me. One of the commenters left a link for me that was a recording of Heather the night before. In the recording she waited for me to sleep, then started texting someone. She was sat perfectly where you could read the name on the phone, John, with a heart emoji. Then she quietly dresses up, and she is wearing revealing clothes she hasn't worn in months. She then slips out of our apartment for a few hours, only to return with makeup smeared and frizzed hair.
I was shellshocked, in absolute denial. I went about my day normally, getting breakfast at a coffee shop, then walking around downtown, trying to keep content slightly interesting. Then another commenter posted a link, he said he was a roomate of the guy who fucked my fiance. I followed the link with a heavy heart, in the link was a picture taken from outside the room, with a profile shot of my fiance with a stranger's dick in her mouth.
I sat in the sidewalk, unable to move. The chat was flying in "I'm so sorry" "we'll get her for you." I shook my head and walked back to my apartment, feeling hollow. I walked up the stairs with memories of me and Heather. Every moment felt like I was truly alone with her. I open the door to see her at her laptop, tears on her cheeks.
After a moment of silence between us, "I'm sorry you found out this way," she sqeaked out. I stood there in silence, the chat filling my screen with suggestions of what to say. She slowly got up, and made her way to the door, "I'm going to stay with Jessica, but I'll be back for my things."
I stood there, quiet, and let her go. The chat kept filling with suggestions to leave her or to take her back. I couldn't react. I was the actor, center of one of the largest stages a man could be on, and I finally froze. I sat on my floor and thought about my life for what felt like an hour.
I ignored the chat and thought about what to do with my life. It was a ironic to me, that I had a thousand minds across the world, working for my benifit, and I still lost what felt like the only purpose I had in my life.
I found myself sitting on my bed, hours since I've last seen Heather, the image of her with another man still burned in my vision. I thought about what to do with my life and found myself at a blank, I felt like I had been blind my whole life, only reacting to what other people wanted, always there to please another. I found myself thinking of how to take control of my life, thinking I knew what would be best for me.
Then I found the first words out of my lips were, "Help me. What should I do?" | There was screaming and silence inside his head. It fought in a distant mind, some cacophony of distorted emotion, spent feelings and hopelessness. He was alone. He was aware of his audience.
"Brandon!"
He muted them. They had seen him and he hated them. It made it feel real, and it could not be real. He stared at the letter. The paper was so fragile. The words were stamped and soaked in from the days gone by. He wondered how he had lived those days, unaware of...
"I'm so sorry..."
Had he unmuted them? He looked at the screen. It was odd how easily it blended with everyday life. There were reams of support and condolences. Advice came as fast as it could.
*No,* he thought.
What advice did he need? He had come to this Godless country to document war. His home was safe, an existence he would return to. He loved her. He remembered her face.
*Sometimes you forget faces,* he thought.
And he could not see her then. She blurred in the black of his mind. There were soldiers about him. A man a hand on his shoulder.
"Brandon, man. I'm sorry, man. We've heard the news."
He ignored him. The tent was hot and airy. Outside yellow sand flashed transparent in the endless heat.
*Why can't I see her face?*
*Because she's dead,* it said.
Somewhere his mind had broken, accepting the reality the damned paper had brought.
*No... No...*
The people in the stream were going about in their silence. This was journalism of the future: a real time experience in the real place.
*Now they can experience your grief...*
Some part of himself hated him. Or was it trying to push things? He had no thoughts, and yet thoughts and pleas raged in his head.
*My wife.*
But he had no wife now. He had come to document war, but she had found violence. Random chance had taken her from him. He wondered why him.
"Brandon, man."
He knew the soldier. He knew all of them. He had been here for five months. He had seen Eric die two months ago. It had been the first time he saw a man die.
Now they were strangers. He hardly felt the touch. Everything was silent, or his mind was too loud.
"I need to go," he said.
He got up and the world spun. He felt embarrassed. These men around him had seen worse. They faced death. He felt naked and exposed and weak. He was crying and he hated himself for it.
He put on the volume in his headset. The earpiece buzzed with talk. Sadness worked the airwaves, that signal of the future blasting condolences.
*Why couldn't it have been one of them?* he thought. *All across the world. Why not them?*
"Brandon you have to be strong."
Some woman was telling him that. He stared at the small picture near his eye. Why could he see her face so clear and not his wife? He was shaking.
He walked out the tent and the heat was staggering and constant. The sun shimmered in waves, each wave a stark silent burst of new heat. The smell of sweat lingered in the no man's land.
"Brandon you can't go out!" they were screaming.
Those were the soldiers.
*Why can't I? I have no wife to stop me.*
And he laughed a sad laugh. His voice cracked from grief. Torment sweltered around him. She was fading. She was gone.
"What are you doing, man?"
The digital people were screaming in his head. He wondered if he would go deaf. He hoped he would.
*Then you will feel lonely.*
He walked out into the hard sand. White sun blinded the sky and his head hurt. Wire fence glinted in a dark border. Beyond was fighting. Hidden men with different ideals were eager to kill.
*They're everywhere. They're home too.*
"Brandon stop! Stop! I lost my wife too!"
It was an old man. He recognized his face. Older folk usually paid for the news. He was not surprised. He looked at the man.
"Yeah?" he said. "Stop what?"
The man's feed scrambled, but his words came clear.
"You're not seeing what I am," he said. "You're not seeing what we all see?"
Brandon turned his head slowly side to side. He did that often to give a good view to his viewers.
"What do you all see?" he asked.
He was angry. The soldiers were coming for him and he walked fast near the fence.
"No!" the digital people screamed, but he kept walking.
"I see a life still," said the man. He was panicking. "I see beyond the pain. Brandon, right now you feel like your world's ended. And to tell you the truth, in some ways it has. But believe me, son, I know it will get better. There is life beyond this."
The thought of that hurt him. It insulted him. He loved her. He felt that love hotter than the desert's sun. He tried to hear her voice but those people were too loud.
*How can I live without her?*
He wanted to curse them. He hoped the old man suffered for his words. There was no life beyond her.
"I love her!" he shouted.
He felt the soldiers coming close. He began to run. Past the fence they would not follow. Past the fence was no man's land.
*I am no man.*
"No!" they screamed. "You're not seeing what we see!"
He did not want to see what that was.
There was a heaavy smell, a burning scent that carried near the wire. He looked ahead into nothing. The hair on his neck stood up and he trembled with adrenaline.
The signal was fading then. Even in that future there was no full coverage. In the silence he closed his eyes and pictured her. He pictured his wife and her image came.
"Yes!" he screamed.
There were gunshots in the distance. His ears rang and he was deaf.
"No!" he heard, then no more words.
He remembered the letter.
"We are sorry to inform you..."
It felt unreal. That letter was not real. He saw her face in his mind and she was smiling at him.
*"You'll die,"* she said.
And she smiled.
*That's okay,* he thought.
He hardly felt like he was living anyway.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, you might want to check out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories (all just as heartwarming as this one) as well as a few original stories and novel starts. Thank you for your support!* | 2017-11-02T00:19:08 | 2017-11-02T00:15:07 | 173 | 12 |
[WP] write a short horror story that seems completely normal and non scary until the very last sentence at which point it becomes absolutely terrifying. | Max stood by the barn entrance, trying to hold back his tears. A tough thing for a child to see, I thought. But he's got to learn about it somehow.
“Please just tell me, Dad,” Max said finally. “Is Buddy going to be okay?”
I looked down at the ground, at Buddy whimpering quietly in the grass. His collar was askew, and I could see by his glassy eyes that he was in trouble.
“Why didn’t you keep him on a leash like you promised?” I said. “You know how he likes to run around.”
Max looked away. “I just wanted to play with him.”
“It’s not enough that you forget to feed him?” I said. “You neglect him for days at a time, and I have to put his bowl out? You promised to take care of him, remember?”
“I’m sorry, Dad,” Max said, tearing up again. “I do take care of him, I promise. I just let him off the leash for a second, and he ran right onto the road.”
“Anyway,” I said. “I don’t think he’ll make it.”
I walked to the back of the barn and pulled the shotgun off the wall.
“Look,” I said, walking around to get myself in position. “I can get you another one from Aunt Francine. She told me she just got a new batch. But you have to be more careful next time.”
“I promise,” Max said. “I’ll keep the next one on a leash and do everything you say. I swear.”
“Good,” I said, and pointed the shotgun at the back of Buddy’s head. “You can keep his shoes if you like.” | Bill and his wife Laura entered the furniture store. They were looking for a closet for their baby's room. After so many months of trying to have a baby again, years after the unfortunate miscarriage, it looked like things were finally working out for them.
An old mahogany closet caught their eye. They inspected it closer, taking in the smell of old wood, and feeling its smoothness. Bill's hand reached for the door and he opened it and then a skeleton popped out. | 2017-05-31T08:55:19 | 2017-05-31T07:24:53 | 138 | 28 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | My HR department has a sense of humour. They issued a poll in response to a friendly lunchroom argument where the guys in the group stated that high heels weren’t as bad as women made out. The women in the group - all engineers I might add - pointed out all the ergonomic issues, statistics with falls and injuries, and the impossibility of climbing a ladder. The guys pointed out how a couple of extra inches helped them reach higher, and could keep more of the foot out of puddles.
The poll asked if shoes that raised the heel 5cm (2”) above the balls of the feet should be mandatory for employees doing field work. The results : men voted 78% in favour, women 23% in favour. It was a joke. We all thought it was a joke.
Monday morning roles around and we walk in to find boxes beautifully gift wrapped. Incredibly beautiful with handmade papers and luxurious bows and ribbons. With great enthusiasm, we began opening the packages.
I got a lovely pair of steel toed Blundstones that I’ve coveted since I saw my boss Paul wearing a pair on site. My female colleagues all received the same.
But the other boxes, delivered to the guys contained something extraordinary: high heeled, steel toed boots. They were an unusual design. Not stilettos, but wedges, with an 8cm (3”) heel. Beautiful black leather, that tapered into a pointed toe, something between a cowboy boot and that funky sneaker design that was popular a few years ago.
A few of the ladies admired their boots. And reiterated that climbing ladders and scaffolding would be an interesting experience.
An email explained that we were all expected to wear our new boots for the next week and we’d have a shoe party to report back.
A few guys were immediately good sports and put them on. A couple tried a rather feminine swagger - for the first few steps until they toppled sideways laughing as they fell. Then a group started practicing, while their office mates watched. Most of them were pretty athletic so they didn’t look too ridiculous- but those of us in boots appreciated how much slower they walked. For the first time we did t have to run to keep up.
The resistant stragglers dismissed the email as nonsense and refused to change. rolling their eyes and snarling at colleagues who suggested they should try it. That is, Until the president passed by and threatened to send them home.
I went to site with one guy, and sure enough, scaffolding was an issue. Not because of the ladders-that wasn’t too bad with the wedge style boot (HR did their homework). But he kept hitting his hard hat against the frame of the scaffolding and catching the toe against uneven planks. Often in quick succession. I giggled. The site super rolled his eyes. And then we get to this place when he stops and points out a construction mistake that I had walked right past - the extra height let him see where others couldn’t. Well at least there is one advantage.
When we walked back to the car, much to my annoyance, he had figured out his stride and was now swaggering a little. Both women and men were admiring his strut.
I was annoyed. It was unfair that this guy could figure out heels in less than a day and do his job better when they condemned me to an aching back and wobbly ankles.
As I descended into a gray funk, we approached his car, a low Mazda Miata. He turned to me and asked if I’d like to drive. When I asked why, he turned pink and said his feet didn’t fit on the pedals and he couldn’t change gears!
High heeled boots are no longer mandatory, but they are still a right of passage for new hires. And about 2/3 of the guys still wear them - enjoying the advantages. But we have many more women that work here now. And many fewer guys drive stick.
.....
Sorry this doesn’t take place in Japan. I know nothing about that culture, but I could imagine my coworkers in that predicament! | After a brief walk down from the station, I stopped much more abruptly than expected. My daily trip brought me to work at 7:15 AM. I would be on my desk checking my agenda and projects for the week. Instead, the time was 7:14, and I was in line.
I sidled my head to the left. The line for men stretched about maybe 30 meters. This would take a while. Tanabe waved at me. He was 10 spaces ahead of me. I've known him since middle school. I envied that guy. He had a 1LDK maybe 10 minutes walking from here. While I crammed each night only to fail repeatedly, his father sent him overseas. Years later, we both started working here together at the same time. I started at the lowest level possible. I had pleaded and begged the hiring company to get me an interview anywhere. Tanabe, on the other hand, well, his father-in-law is a regional manager. Let's just say that he's well off.
But I guess the relationship I have with Tanabe isn't quite far off from the relationship I have with everyone else I associate with. I've always had a lot of looking up to do. Everyone looks down on me. Figuratively and literally. Last to get started. Last to finish. Perennially in last place. Worst of all, everyone looks down on me because I'm the shortest. From the moment I could remember things, I could only look up to others.
I've never spent a single yen on White Day. A month prior, while everyone else is awkwardly awaiting choco and hoping not to get giri-choco\*, I would sigh when everyone passed by and asked if I got any oko-sama-choco\*\*. I grinned and faked my smile. I hated it. I hated how the kids who got nothing, still had less trauma than I did. I hated how Tanabe would come by to "share the wealth" with me. Those eyes started condescendingly upon me. I hated it.
Even as an adult, things haven't changed. No matter how hard I work, how many projects I help on, how much we get on our return on investment, the first thing I get acknowledged for is being that 'kid' in the group. My manager, my section chief, even the cleaning lady - all of them look down on me...
When the company poll came out two weeks ago, I figured... I'll have my fun. I'll have my mini moment of revenge. As they say, vote early; vote often.
\*giri-choco - obligatory chocolate given to others. Friends and acquaintances.
\*\*oko-sam-choco - "oko-sama" is a term used 'lovingly' to talk to children. It's putting the child at the center of attention. So here, "oko-sama-choco" would be "chocolate to kids". | 2020-05-11T10:46:02 | 2020-05-11T08:49:10 | 181 | 87 |
[WP] Suffering is a form of currency in Hell. The more you suffer in life the richer you are in the afterlife. You, a normal person arriving in hell find out that you're one of the richest person in Hell and worth more then Satan. | Who knew civil service would pay off like this?
"Good morning, Mr. Monassis." Now I knew who the well-dressed man shaking my hand was. I can't really explain how I knew to those of you reading this who are still alive. Suffice it to say there's kind of a psychic commentary track in the afterlife that feeds you information that you don't get in life (or maybe we get it, we just don't know how to read it, idunno).
"You're the Morning Star."
He smiles nervously. "You flatter me with your formality, sir. Please, call me Lou."
"I don't understand, this is Hell, isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. Welcome. I'd pay you my condolences, but, ah-" He gestures around my room with a chuckle. Yes, this is my room. I... 'spawned' here, or whatever. I remember how they shot part of Devil's Advocate in an apartment owned by Donald Trump because they needed something gaudy and obviously expensive. This room was slightly nicer than that, as though a set designer paid extra to turn the gaudiness down just a little.
"So wait... is my afterlife like Brewster's Millions, where I gotta spend a shitload of money every day until it becomes a chore? 'Cause that's not exactly ironic." One of the books my mom insisted I read in my youth was Your Money Or Your Life, and one of the steps they have you do is figuring out lifetime how much money you've ever made. Now, I had done the math probably five years before I died, but even factoring in that extra time, I was probably hovering around two hundred grand. At thirty. The vast majority of which came in during the last decade in the dead-end shit job I died on my way home from.
Lucifer is still chuckling in his pin-striped worsted wool. I can't decide if he kinda looks like David Bowie or if I'm kind of telekinetically making him look like David Bowie because of that one piece of fanart. "No no, nothing like that. Although we would very much appreciate your patronage if that was your intention." His teeth are fucking perfect.
It's at this moment that I finally glanced down at what I'm wearing. I didn't really notice because of how impossibly comfortable the thing is, but it looks like an athletic cut three-piece suit, black with a vague green shimmer at shallow angles, so light it's like wearing nothing at all (nothing at all (^nothing ^at ^all )). Also my gut fat is gone, like I got some heavenly lipo when I wasn't looking. I probably look great naked.
"That you do, sir."
"You can read my thoughts?"
"...wuh I-"
"Don't do that, it's rude."
He's flustered. "I-I-I didn't mean to intrude, Mr. Monassis."
That's another cruel twist of fate. My mother named me Alec. Alec Monassis, which every ten-year-old interprets as "I lick man asses." It's right up there with Isaac Cox. It wasn't until I went away to college that I was able to get people to start calling me Al, and then another year before I finally heard that song people kept referencing.
"Explain what the hell is happening here, and do it succinctly." Yeah. SAT words.
"Well, sir, when your tire blew out, you veered off the road and the support column drove the engine block through your-"
"No, I remember that part. Get to the metaphysical shit."
"Well." The nervous smile snaps to a no-nonsense briefing pose. "Put simply, suffering is currency here. You're rich."
"And you're being nice to me because you're like a politician?" How like Earth.
"Yes and no. I am rather like a politician." On that afterlife info track I mentioned is the awareness that what most people think of as 'the devil' is actually about a dozen distinct entities, and that the representation closes to the truth actually comes from fucking D&D of all things. "But no, I'm not being nice to you for short term political gain, I'm being nice to you because, long term, it's always wise to be kind to your superiors."
...this is *a lot* to take in.
"Take your time."
What'd I *just* say?
"Sorry. Habit."
I have five or six pertinent questions swirling around in my brain (among them, 'do I still have a brain'), but the one I decide to output first is, "So what exactly is my net worth?"
"Fourteen-point-three trillion fuckits."
I let out a short, surprised laugh. "That's the unit?"
"Yes, sir. One fuckit is the suffering equivalent of a one on that one-to-ten pain scale hospitals use. A minor but definite discomfort."
"Is that linear?"
"No, it's logarithmic. And it's not absolute; maximal human physical pain is only about three hundred thousand fuckits. Emotional pain goes..." he laughs, "way, *way* beyond that."
Makes sense. The most intense physical pain I ever felt in my life was when I had an infected filling in one of my molars when I was ten. We couldn't get to a dentist until Monday, so I spent that Sunday afternoon writhing in pain in my bed. The kind of pain that turns off conscious thought. The most intense emotional pain I can remember is when my ex-wife first told me she was fucking somebody else, and I would've given anything to switch places with ten-year-old me just to make it not true.
"And you're telling me that in three decades, I amassed fourteen trillion points of emotional damage."
He smirks. "That is a novel way to look at it, but yes, sir. That is your current situation. You're dead, you're in Hell, and you're a multitrillionaire. The underworld is your oyster."
The first place my mind went to was Iraq. Now I admit, I haven't really been happy in my life in a very long time, and I've never really been grateful for my life, but surely there's some single parents in Iraq who had to bury part of their only child who've suffered worse than me.
Devil Bowie is looking at me expectantly, so I subconsciously grant him permission to respond to that thought.
He lights up like a kid at Christmas and claps once, summoning a large dry erase board and quickly sketches a graph. "Well you see here, people in warzones become jaded very quickly, so their rate of appreciation levels off. Spikes of course occur pretty much any time fight-or-flight is invoked, but they mostly become numb to it." He flips the board over revealing identical axes but without the hypothetical war survivor's 'my life is hell' line. "You, in a manner that only depressive nihilists can, didn't get numb to the suffering of your dead-end job, you dwelt in it. You let every single little thing that went wrong penetrate you to your very core and you blamed only yourself for it. That time Beth spilled her coffee all over your ergonomic keyboard? All those promotions you were passed up for? To say nothing of the massive head start you got for having an absent father." I would find out later that there's sort of a high-end gentlemen's club for sons whose fathers abandoned them.
"I just... Harlequin babies."
"Die too young, have no frame of reference. Pain is their 'normal.'"
"Addicts?"
"Please, if what they were doing didn't feel good they wouldn't be addicts. I coded that little feedback loop myself."
"Huh. But like, I was never beaten or anything."
"No, your family relied much more on emotional abuse, which as I said can rack up fuckits way faster than physical pain. Your brother was supremely manipulative because, as you so saliently observed, he blamed you for your father leaving."
I was a month old. Years later I would wish I could go back and scream at him, if dad leaving is anybody's fault, motherfucker, it's *yours!* Hindsight being what it is.
"So because my childhood was kind of shitty, and my job wasn't that great, I'm now the richest person in Hell?"
"Ah-hah, well, no, you're not the *richest* person in Hell."
"Are you?"
"No."
"What are you worth?"
"Ten trillion."
"...whose the richest?"
"Well, if he were to die today, Keanu Reeves would be worth about twice as much as you." He smiles. "But of course he can't actually die." He sighs the way one might at the end of a fond anecdote.
"...excuse me?"
"Look, all of this exposition must be draining. Surely there are some better things we could do to welcome you to the dark side."
"Such as?"
"Drugs and whores?"
On that supernatural info track is the understanding that what he's implying is *any* imaginable drug. *Any* imaginable whore. Any fantasy I could conceive of can be made real. I could take mushrooms and fuck Sasha Grey (or a convincing facsimile). I could pop an NZT and get deep throated by Plava Laguna.
I could get a second chance with my first love.
"Can you sell me a self-driving car?"
There's a warmth behind his smile that I can't really convey. "What color?" | Tony didn't mind waking up in hell. Sure, there were lakes of lava here and there, a couple of poison ivy fields where slaves were whipped into harvesting them barehanded, and a giant three-headed dog barking at anyone who whined about being in hell, but he was very aware he *deserved* to end up here. After all he was an intellectual, a human being enlightened by his own scientific knowledge, he was... an atheist.
If the Christians ended up being right, well what else could he do? Cry and get barked at by a three-headed dog? If anything could be said to his credit, Tony was a man who stuck to his guns, even if he ended up proven wrong at the end of his life. At least the never went back on his beliefs... or lack thereof.
No, Tony didn't mind being hell. What he did mind was the constant *waiting* at every corner of the damned place. He'd always heard about bureaucratic hells, but he never expected them to be named after the plane of existence.
*"Could this mean those yellow minions were designed by Satan himself?"* thought the man.
He slumped back into his chair with a sigh, looking at the queue number again. It said: *3,675,742* , just one more turn until his number was called. Time sort of losses its meaning when you're stuck for eternity somewhere, but if Tony had to guess, he'd been waiting for years now to get settled into hell. First he had to request his personal records, containing every sin he'd ever committed, then he had to reserve a spot as a home for his stay, and *then* he had to deposit his suffering on his personal *Hell Account*, which of course he had to open through tons of tedious paperwork beforehand.
After looking back on all the redtape he had overcome, he wondered if the people getting barked at were crying out of ending up in hell or all of the excessive bureaucracy they had to go through. *Ding* went the queue bell, meaning that it was finally time to deposit his suffering. He stood up from his chair, wished the apathetic people in the room a good day, and entered an office with a horned man sitting behind its desk.
"Ahh Anthony Smith, is it?" said the demon typing on a computer. "I've had your files brought to me and we'd like to thank you for choosing Hell as your afterlife destination. Soon, your suffering will be deposited into your *Hell Account* and you'll be well on your way to enjoying Hell for eternity."
"I'm sorry," said Tony, "but I'm still not quite clear on what this suffering business means. I'm... I'm not even sure why I've been doing all of this. I've just been pushed around from office to office and I'd like to get some answers right now!"
"But of course Mr. Smith! It's the least I could do. You see, here in hell, all the suffering in your life is compiled from your records and deposited into an account to be used as currency."
"Currency? What for?!? We're in hell, aren't we? You know, eternal punishment and all that, right?"
"Yes, yes, that's a comment I hear often, but worry not, you are indeed in hell." The demon leaned back on his leather chair. "You see Satan isn't really *that* bad a guy. He's more about giving the middle finger to God than about torturing humans for their sins."
"Oh... that seems reasonable, I guess. But why suffering?"
"Well, the ol' fallen angel reasoned it this way. If a person committed a lot of sins and suffered, you can't really judge them fairly, now can you?"
Tony looked puzzled, prompting the demon to continue.
"You see, sinning and suffering are closely related to one another. In a way, suffering pushes you to sin, which gives you more suffering, which makes you sin some more. The whole thing really snowballs out of hand, making a proper judgement a bit of a crapshoot."
"I still don't follow... Why does Satan even care about this?"
"Remember, Lucifer only cares about pissing off his Dad. He doesn't mind ruling over sinners. He's one himself! The thing is, would you really want to share a place with people who've sinned but haven't suffered because of it?"
Before Tony could answer, the demon went ahead and said:
"Of course not! Those people are sociopaths! Anyone who hasn't suffered because of their sins is someone who wouldn't mind starting trouble here in hell. Someone who has never regretted any atrocious act committed in his life time! We don't want any of that, so we basically made slaves out of those too poor to pay for their stay and treat fairly those who accumulated enough suffering in their life."
Tony scratched his head and rested it on his hand. He then took a deep breath and said:
"This... this makes too much sense. But right now, I'm sort of scared. Can you please tell me how much I suffered?"
The demon nodded at his request and began typing away at his keyboard. His bushy eyebrows suddenly raised once the computer bleeped, prompting him to type furiously into the keyboard again. After waiting another minute, the computer beeped once more, forcing the demon to say:
"I'm sorry Mr. Smith, but there seems but some problem with the system right now." He stood up. "I'll have to talk to my supervisor. If you'll excuse me..."
Outside, Tony could faintly hear some arguing going on. He then wondered if this was just an elaborate plot to make this whole process even more tedious, but quickly reasoned that the desperation in their voices was genuine. The demon then entered the office, wiping sweat off his forehead as he sat back down on his chair.
"Mr. Smith, it seems congratulations are in order! As of now, you are currently the richest person in hell... Even richer than Satan himself! How someone could endure that much suffering on Earth is a mystery to me, but it seems to have paid out in the end."
"Is this some sort of prank? Sure, I've had a miserable life, but I wouldn't exactly think myself special in my suffering."
"Well, I can safely say this isn't a mistake. For record keeping purposes, would you mind explaining the details of your suffering?"
"Like I said, I don't think there's anything special about my suffering. Sure, ever since I was a young adult a day wouldn't pass without me wanting to kill myself, but that's perfectly reasonable for anyone with existential angst, right?"
"Your records say you never did go through with it, so maybe the accumulated dread had something to do with it. That's still not enough, though. Any dead family members or loved ones?"
"No, not really. I was mostly shunned by my family and I never really lost anyone close to me."
"Shunned by your family?" The demon stroked his chin, leaning his elbow on the desk. "Could you elaborate on that?"
"It's simple really. They were Christian; I wasn't. Made me the black sheep of the family and all that stuff. It really pissed me off, though not because of their disapproval."
"Really? Why then?"
"Because they weren't *really* Christian! They were just all talk and no action. They complained about everything, never appreciated what they had or went out of their way to help anyone! Heck, *I* was a more of a Christian than them and I didn't even believe in God!"
The demon let out a roaring laugh, almost chocking on his own chuckles while slamming his desk. He then read Tony's files on his monitor, just to be sure, and said:
"I finally get it now!" He laughed again. "It all makes sense!"
"Really?" said Tony. "It does?"
"You suffered this much because you were a living contradiction. All of these good deeds would've easily gotten you into heaven, but didn't, because you were an atheist. Your life was miserable because you were a true Christian that didn't believe in God!"
>If you enjoyed this, you can check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories! | 2016-08-06T17:01:49 | 2016-08-06T16:42:21 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] There's a website where you can input any decision you may take and it will tell you how many people will die from that decision. One day you're bored and decide to type for fun "Kill my neighbour". The number on screen is negative. | The first thing that ran through my mind was that I couldn't kill my neighbor.
Not shouldn't, not wouldn't. Couldn't. Sarah Wylan was currently under arrest, suspected for arson when my house burnt down. Even if I knew where she was right now, there was no way I could fight through an army of cops and off her.
And yet the website still answered me.
I drummed my fingers on the keyboard for a second, idly, then typed, *Use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person.*
Result: One person dies.
Okay. So it doesn't care whether or not it's actually physically possible to take an action. I thought a little more, then typed, *If my name is Jonathan Elswick, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person.*
Result: One person dies.
*If my name is Dmitri Mendeleev, I use voodoo magic to kill exactly one person.*
Result: Zero deaths.
Ooh. So it knows things about me. Makes sense, if it can correctly extrapolate the total sum deaths created by any action—it had to have access to a monstrous amount of information. Hmm. *I use voodoo magic to kill a number of people equal to the decimal representation of my ex-wife's phone number.*
Result: 2,133,886,111 deaths.
Hands trembling, I dialed (213) 388-6111. After two rings, the call connected. I heard my ex-wife briefly whisper, "Hello? Who is th—"
I hung up, eyes wide. Holy crap. An oracle.
I bent over the keyboard, fingers blurring. *I kill all people who know about this website's existence.*
Result: 3 deaths.
Okay. That was good. I'd only found out this website existed when the Department of Paranormal Phenomena called me up; there had been someone who'd reported it and someone who'd forwarded it to me. That should account for all—
Result: 4 deaths.
I blinked. Huh. So... someone had become aware of the website's existence in the last few seconds. I typed in, *Using a system where 01 is A, 02 is B, so on and so forth, until 26 is Z and 27 is a space, I kill a number of people equal to the name of the last person to discover this website's existence.*
The site paused for a second, then spat out a number. I translated it. Sarah Wylan. My ex-neighbor.
*I kill Sarah Wylan if she knows I'm on this website too.*
Result: 1 death.
Oh, crap. *Using the same encryption scheme as before, I kill a number of people equal to Sarah Wylan's last query to this website.*
Hurriedly, I translated the numbers back into letters and read: "Using an alphanumeric encryption system, I kill a number of people which corresponds to a sequence of actions I can take which will let me be released from jail."
God. Oh, God. I panicked. I started to type, *I kill a number of people which corresponds to—*
My phone began to ring. It was my ex-wife.
Tears filled my eyes. She was calling me. She hadn't called in years and *now* she called? I took in a deep, shaky breath and picked up the phone.
"Hello? Allie?" I whispered.
"Jonathan?" Allie said back. I could hear the tremors of worry in her voice. "God, Jonathan, some crazy woman's got me tied up. She says—" There was a burst of static as her phone dropped, and then a voice I'd hoped I would never hear again.
"Jonathan Elswick," my ex-neighbor Sarah Wylan purred, "How have you been? Browse the internet lately? Find anything good?"
"Yeah. Yeah, listen, Wylan, I don't know what your beef with me is, but please. I know what you asked the oracle site. Just... leave us alone, okay?" Frantically, I continued typing, *I kill a number of people which corresponds to what I can do to make Wylan release Allie.* As fast as I could, I started translating the answer.
"Mm. We find that entirely possible—if you capitulate to a few requests. We know you work for the Department of Paranormal Phenomena. We would like you to release all the files for all the cases you've worked with them on to the Internet."
"I—I can't. They'll kill me. And they'll know who made me do it, too. They'll come after you as well."
"They'll never know who talked to you last if you, oh, say, kill yourself immediately after you release the files." I could almost hear Wylan grinning. "A life for a life. The most ancient of compacts."
"And—"
"I'll know if you've done the deed or not. I know just about everything there is to know, now."
The translation was complete. The answer to my question. I blinked twice, then smiled. Dared to hope. "Yeah? Okay. Then you should know this. Fact 1: The chemical energy stored in the phone you're holding could, if released all at once, explode with roughly the force of a hand grenade. Fact 2: There are many, many layers of security programs in place to stop this from happening. And Fact 3?" I finished copying and pasting the code the website had written. "This oracle just wrote me a program which overrides them all."
I could almost imagine the shock on Wylan's face, moments before my ex-wife's phone exploded in a pulse of plastic and steel, less than half an inch from her ear. She'd be dead before she hit the ground.
If you liked this story and want to read more like it, you might want to check out r/rileywrites! | The grass is always greener. It seems like everyone has a neighbor that magically has everything go well for them. New cars, a new addition to the house, a new pool - whatever you dream for yourself ends up becoming their reality. It all feels so unfair and unjust.
And what's worse, it's always the neighborhood ass.
Paul was a very blunt individual. He enjoyed the thrill of a verbal beat down, and reminding those around him of his own superiority. He was the high school bully who fell upwards in life. But I never thought much else about him. He was brash but harmless. Or so I thought.
It wasn't until the strange search result popped up on my screen that I began to wonder. And even then it took several weeks of getting the same result before I *really* started to wonder. Living on the last house on the street with only Paul to my left made the implications fairly easy. But part of me didn't want to believe it. Sure, Paul was an ass, but didn't make him abjectly evil. I've known lots of assholes, most of which weren't monsters. But slowly, the thought took over with certainty.
*Maybe he enjoys more than just a verbal beat down...*
Still, a search result wasn't proof. I had to find a way to know for certain. I was willing to go the distance required to save the lives of those who would apparently die as a result of Paul's existence, but I needed to know.
Thankfully, Paul's hubris made confirmation a relatively easy process. *Surely* nobody from his neighborhood would be smart enough to follow him, he thought. *Nobody* owns a nice set of binoculars these days, he must have surmised. And evidence of a freshly dug grave *definitely* isn't easy to find, especially if someone has watched you dig it. Paul was brutal, but also an idiot.
So, now I knew. The path was now clear, but now I battled with whether or not I wanted to walk it. Wouldn't killing Paul bring me down to his level? Would it be any less evil, even if it meant indirect salvation for others? To be honest I never really answered those questions. But I knew calling the authorities would do little to help. His intended targets might change, but he would find others to kill. Freedom nor prison could hold this man's wrath - only the grave would prove strong enough for such a task.
And so I waited. I knew every Saturday Paul liked to grill in his back yard. Living alone provided him few witnesses to the justice I would wreak, so I just needed to be swift and not draw outside attention. I had never planned a murder before so I wasn't sure quite what to use, so the choice of a sledgehammer seemed good as any.
As dusk turned into night I went to my computer to perform one last search. I typed in my query, just to make sure I was doing the right thing. And to my disappointment, the number had only gone up. Yes, this was the right thing to do, but that didn't stop my stomach from turning upside down.
And with the meaty smoke wafting off the grill, I slowly made my way around Paul's house. As I got closer I could hear him quietly humming and singing to himself. *"Stayin' alive, stayin' alive!"* Whatever gods were in control of fate were certainly not making this easy. But I made my way forward.
Standing right behind the man, I fought one last bout with doubt. *Just let the man eat his chicken...* my heart said, but my mind took over. Images of the crude burial I had seen this man perform flashed in my mind. *This is justice,* I convinced myself. Soon, almost without conscious intent, the hammer was in the air. And in one swift motion, half of Paul's head was against his brand new pool, and the rest on the ground below.
Paul had had everything he ever wanted. He had the looks, he had the life, and he had the arrogance to shove it in the hearts and minds of everyone he met. But that still wasn't enough for him. He had to, in whatever way he could, take the very life of another. It was only then that he could find satisfaction, but even then, it was fleeting.
The grass truly is greener, sometimes, as the saying goes. But this time, it's also a little redder.
 
____________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2020-03-16T13:11:12 | 2020-03-16T09:26:57 | 250 | 146 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | It's been 1720 days since they arrived. I don't think they were expecting the resistance they would encounter when they first dropped out of the sky that otherwise normal May morning, but they are a resourceful bunch. Too resourceful. All they have on us is numbers, and sometimes, that's all the resources you need.
We first detected their ships accidentally, one day. Apparently some scientists were using some kind of new technology to be able to detect metals on far away objects, such as the moon or other planets in the solar system.. I don't know. Anyway, there it was, two giant ships suddenly appear just past mars. No one knew what to think - is this real? 6 months it took them to get from Mars to orbit around Earth.. and then the real horror began. Thousands upon thousands of these beings emptied from the bellies of these ships like flies from a corpse poked with a stick. They fought with their claws. Carapace like iron. No technology to speak of - I suppose they never really had to develop weapons to do their fighting for them.
Fortunately for us, we have spent the last few hundred years fighting each other, it didn't take long for our military experts and scientists to sort out an easy way to kill them - only needed a few corpses to play with and there we had it; depleted uranium rounds worked great, but there was a limited supply of those. AP rounds were the next best thing, we had LOTS of those.
Anyway, fast forward four years. We would have won a long time ago but they breed so damn fast. Furthermore they seem to come out of their.. gestation egg.. already knowing how to fight. We ran out of ammunition about 8 months after they showed up and true to our nature, science took over and developed all kinds of new ways of using our natural resources as weapons. From water jet sentry turrets that are as good as lasers at short range to actual lasers. Luckily for us, the only thing their ships appear to be good for was bringing them here, and floating around in orbit being useless. Even their landing vessels are useless. If they could have simply picked up their troops and dropped them strategically they might have had a chance but no. | Dr. S.F. Mercola
Peking University, Department of Neurobiology
2259, March, 15
Human greed and shortsightedness—an intergalactic evolutionary trait?
Those in the scientific community have lamented the inability of humans to deal with basic market externalities and tragedy of the commons in the recent century. However, the problem is old as woman itself. Locke made the concept most famous nearly half a century past. Many millennia old religious texts too quarrel with the hedonistic manners of man. In combatting planetary issues, particularly the rampant effects of 20th and 21st century pollution, these pitfalls are evident. For true species survival and extraplanatary proliferation however these traits seem necessary. We provide evidence, based on data from the Great Invasion and newly acquired galactic species data obtained from the Intergalactic Alliance for Growth, that this shortsightedness is a necessary trait for intergalactic survival. We propose a theory to describe the phenomena and have dubbed it the Wells Effect. | 2014-10-17T10:04:02 | 2014-10-17T08:36:32 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans. | Finally, a chance for redemption.
We were headed back to Earth, a lowly mineral planet in a desolate corner of the quadrant. I can still remember the taunting words of Elder Karaza...
*"You lost.... to a bunch of lizards?"*
Yes, it still stings.
I now armed my warriors with long range heavy bows, crossbows and even a few ballistas. THIS would keep that damned Tyrant Lizard away from my troops. No more eating for you tonight!
Shoring up my emotions into a passive mask, We landed once again at the arrival point. The grassy fields looked much the same, but the addition of a spinning fan that moved with the wind was a new one. Perhaps the lizards evolved into something more intelligent?
No matter, we were here to destroy them once and for all. As soon as the ship touched down, we arranged ourselves in a standard box formation, shieldbearers on the outside and bowmen on the inside. I ordered the move towards the fan thing, only to spy a primitive dwelling of wood and stone. Maybe they DID evolve. As we approached, a new Earth creature stepped out. I switched my language router on, and set to autotranslate. PERHAPS it would work.
***
Farmer Macready walked out to see the strange formation of shields and aliens approaching. It didn't look like the aliens in his sons comic, but more like a Roman legion. He stopped, then stood on his porch chewing on a blade of grass. He spit into the bucket on the creaking wood, then leaned against the doorframe.
"Can I help you, gentlemen?"
***
"...gentlemen?"
The words were innocent enough, but I could feel his tension. My archers raised their bows as I responded.
"We have come to end this. We suffered defeat at your hands eons ago, and now I have come to right the injustices heaped upon us."
With no more words, my archers fired. Not one arrow hit the strange creature, but no matter. He scrambled back into his dwelling as arrows continued to thunk heavily into the wood structure. I heard something break, and then a metal tube poked out. With a voice like thunder and spewing flame, the metal tube bucked upwards, and I saw the first shieldbearer go down hard. He was bleeding green ichor form a large hole in his thorax.
"SHORE UP! CLOSE THE HOLE AND CALL THE OTHERS!"
I started the formation away from the dwelling, as another thunderous boom sounded. Hundreds of metallic pings echoed around me as I felt the sting of an insect. Sounding retreat, we headed towards the ship to regroup.
(To be continued) | ((super rough, needs the whole thing changed, wrote it just to get the story down))
At the start, it seemed so easy.
Takin' over planets, quite a breeze...
We took a chance, found ourselves lacking...
We tech'd up, and got a consultant's backing...
But hang on a minute, those glowing lights,
shining across the planet where it is night...
Could it be?
I think the dinosaurs are dead, ladies and gents!
Those dilophosaurs got themselves bent!
T-Rex got wrecked, Triceratop's not on top, and Pterosaurs give me no terror no more!
It's the brightest future we hoped for!
But wait hang on, maybe they're worse, omnivorous primates could put us in a hearse...
Give us this chance, be as soft as you look, let us claim what you took.
Send the drone down. "We come in peace" we lie.
They begin to frown. I think we are going to die...
They've got atomic weapons, and giant robots, monstrous flowers!
Caped enpowered stand up, they power up, what do you mean our leaking engine fuel gives them power?
We're on the run again!
We feel fear again!
But mark my words, peoples of Earth, you'll rue this day!
For one day soon, when you're all dead, the remaining life will pay!
It vould be. | 2017-03-04T03:25:46 | 2017-03-04T02:02:48 | 452 | 15 |
[WP] Humans are cursed with dying upon uttering their "Last Words," which they know from birth. You've been alive for a few centuries, but you can't refrain from saying those words now. | The people of my home village had a bizarre curse cast upon us when we tossed aside our elder spirit deity for the new gods. When our mother's gave birth, they entered a trance and yelled out the same words that would be our last. Some got heroic last words like "Today I make my final stand" and "I die for my people". Others got cruel phrases like "You and what army?" and "Hey guys, watch this". But me, my final words were much simpler: "This pudding is fantastic!". An unlucky phrase to have, considering our simple village often used our secret recipe of pudding to fill our stomachs. I held off for years, until one damned winter when all our animals and crops had died, I finally ate my mother's pudding. "This pudding is awful," I told her. My family laughed.
The years passed and I grew old. I married and then my parents passed away. My wife's pudding tasted as awful as my mother's. Then she too grew old and said her final words to me: "I will love you always." The decades continued once I became the village elder; I seemed to stop growing older. My first century passed and then another. We abandoned even those "new" gods for gods of other lands. I watched everyone die: My friends, my children, my great-great-grand niece even. The world changed in strange ways. First electricity, then automobiles, and then computers. I preferred a simple life as I had grown up.
Long after my village became a great city, the curse seemed to fade away from all our bloodlines but my own. I had outlived the gods and their curses. I ate pudding almost every day just to spite them. I searched high and low for different brands and flavors of pudding. "This pudding is awful," I always said. Then I would laugh and people would look at me confused. One day a new pudding shop opened down the street from my house. "My old deity, you must be tempting me," I said with a laugh. I journeyed to the store and ordered bowl after bowl. I ate and ate the pudding. Vanilla. Chocolate. Strawberry and other flavors. "All this pudding is terrible!" I yelled to the heavens. The pudding patrons all looked at me like I was some old madman. All those strange faces, looking up momentarily from their bright handheld screens. The world felt so foreign to me then. The last of my descendants passed away before the turn of the century and now I sat alone in a pudding shop. I thought to my mother's pudding, and my wife's. Tears ran down my face. "I miss them so much. You win my old god. I give up. This pudding is fantastic!" | I had never thought that the time would come when I would have to say my last words. I hadn't taken much heed of it as they were so bizarre that such a situation could never have arisen.
That was until the epidemic.
Everyone panicked, there were riots in the streets and religious groups were calling it the Apocalypse. For a while I said nothing, hoping that I would not be called upon. Unfortunately, as the head of the CDC I had no choice but to eventually hold a press conference. Due to the size of the event, it had to be me on camera and I couldn't turn it down and truly tell everyone why I couldn't do it because that would mean I had shirked my duty and would be sent to Purgatory.
I said a prayer before I stepped out to the cameras. I asked for mercy and forgiveness for having taken so long to say something. Fear stopped me and it wasn't until the Pope and my dog Blue were affected that I realised it needed to be said.
"Ladies and Gentleman, good day to you all. We are gathered here because I want to inform the public as to the true nature of this epidemic so that some of the panic may cease and we can restore some kind of order. I'm sorry for having waited so long, I hope you can all forgive me. Now that we know what the epidemic is, we can all work together to do some quilting and fix it."
"Ladies and gentleman, everyone has AIDS."
(My first prompt! Please be gentle) | 2015-11-01T22:06:56 | 2015-11-01T19:14:47 | 362 | 18 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | "What brings you here little one?"
An old man wrapped in ratty clothes stared at the young girl who was teary eyed and clearly lost. She was about seven with big blue eyes and a mass of dark blonde hair. Her clothes were worn but clean and had been mended. The pink back pack and matching lunch box looked new.
"My momma and I were walking to school when a big crowd separated us and now I can't find her. My name is Sylvia. Can you help me find my momma?" The man's heart nearly melted at her request. "How about I take you to the police station. They can find your mom." He replied. He grabbed her hand as his stomach growled loudly. Sylvia looked up at him and sniffled.
"Are you hungry sir? I can share my lunch with you."
"I couldn't take your food Sylvia. You need it for school."
"Momma packed two sandwiches in case I have a classmate who doesn't have a lunch. You're not a classmate but you don't have a sandwich."
She dug around her little lunchbox and pulled out a turkey sandwich with cheese and a juice box. Smiling, she handed it to the old man. He was touched. After spending weeks on the street waiting for someone to show him some kindness, a little girl put them to shame by offering a sandwich. He took the sandwich and juice with a word of thanks and bit into it.
"Thank you my dear. You are very kind at such a young age."
"Momma has always taught me to be kind to others. She always keeps snacks and stuff in her car or bag for people in need."
"Wise words to live by."
He finished the sandwich and juice and was about to start the walk to the police department when he heard tearful and frantic yelling. A young woman in neat but worn clothing came running down the street calling Sylvia's name. The man got her attention and the woman came to the duo.
"Sylvia! My sweet baby. I was so scared that I lost you! Are you okay?" The emotions in her voice showed that she was truly worried about her child.
"I'm fine momma. This nice man was going to help me find you. Momma please quit squishing me."
The mother laughed and let the girl go. She then stood up and turned her attention to the old man that stood watching.
"How can I ever repay you sir?"
"You already have. Now it is my turn to repay you." | "Curse you! Curse you all!" Shouted the man in the ragged and torn clothes. "Not a single one of you would help a poor man, and now I will not help you. I would have given up my fortune, but it is clear to me none of you deserve it!" He continued shouting to the vaguely interested restaurant goers in the outdoor cafe. "It was a masquerade, I am richer than all of you combined! I have more money than any of ypu have ever seen, and you will never see a cent of it!".
The man continued to rant about moral bankruptcy of the culture. In the two hours he had been here, desperately asking for even a dollar for a bite to eat, he had received nothing. The people sitting enjoying their high class lunch never approached or offered a thing, though some pointed and whispered, seeming amused even.
"I will burn my money! None of you deserve it! I-" he cut himself off, finally satisfied to see a young man from the cafe approaching, to finally acknowledge him. He crossed his arms and waited expectantly.
The younger man did not get too close and was brief "Mate, we all saw you turn the corner in a Lamborghini two hours ago. It's all over Twitter."
"Oh". | 2017-08-21T06:31:12 | 2017-08-21T05:46:16 | 382 | 139 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | He found her sitting in a tree. Her legs dangled over the edge, her dusty feet kicking back and forth. It had taken him a while to find her. It wasn't as simple as it usually was. The hourglasses came with coordinates, of course. The tiny numbers ascribed on the bottom gave approximate locations. It wasn't a perfect system. Humans weren't as predictable as, say, ants. Things had gotten tricky when they domesticated the horse, for example. It had gotten worse with the engine. Obviously airplanes had kicked things into gear. But the hourglass makers, those bright-eyed creatures, were quick to adjust. They usually got it into the ballpark.
What they could not account for was Death letting an hourglass slip beneath his desk.
First, he brought it to his brothers and sisters, the others also known as Death. They passed it between themselves. Each Death took to their jobs differently, and each were assigned the appropriate hourglasses. The Death that came suddenly but quietly bent his long neck over the lost hourglass and frowned. He thrust it back and gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. The Death of sick children held the hourglass for a long time, cradling it in her warm and comforting arms, and smiled. "You lost it, huh? Just under your desk?" Her eyes twinkled. "Not such a bad idea." This last part she said quietly, under her breath, as she made her way back towards her own office.
Our Death, This Death, brushed a bit of dust and looked again at the location. It was all he had to go on, after all, and so he set off to see what he could find. It took a while, but he was diligent. Death always is. So he found her in a tree, just before a sunset, and the warm rays of the sun warmed her smooth skin. She watched him approach across the savanna. This was the first surprise. She could see him even from a distance. She could see him before he touched her.
The second surprise was, well, her youth. This Death was the Death of the fully lived. He usually came to bedsides, to wrinkled faces, often stealing in over the shoulders of family members. When he reached out to touch his people they were worn with the gifts and ravages of time. This one was still young, her limbs were still long, and her eyes were as clear as the ones who long ago had forged her hourglass.
She greeted him in a language This Death had not heard in hundreds of years. He was not in the habit of apologizing, but he did, now. He was standing below her, looking up. She shrugged her shoulders in a cheerful way and accepted the apology as is if it was perfunctory. Death was not in the habit of explaining himself, either, but he started to. She shook her head and laughed. Here was the third surprise. Human laughter! This Death had never heard such a thing, and it moved the parts of him that were human, those sleepy and untended parts he knew were there but almost never thought of.
He would know in a moment. When he reached out to place his palm against her chest, the only chest of a child he would ever touch, all would become known, as it always did. He would see the moment the hourglass fell, suspending her story in time. He would see her grow from an infant until the moment just before adolescence, a moment when she was care free, running with her siblings through her village. He would see her stop, her youth remaining as everyone around her aged, and how her tribe began to regard her with awe. She was chosen, a symbol of happiness and mystery. But hers was a small tribe in an encroaching world and he would see her remain until it was no longer possible, and then, with a young heart, he would see her set out for the horizon, a girl among the wilderness, where time had patterns but few consequences. It would be just a moment, now, before she jumped down to join him on the ground, the only person to see him, to truly see hi. When she did he would see her on night after endless night with her head tipped up to the stars. But for a moment all he saw was the girl, the tree, the dying sun, and she laughed again as she pushed herself toward him. | *He had billions. Lining the gloomy hall's walls, were billions of hourglasses. Each one counting down a human's life. He didn't know where they came from or how there always seemed to be enough shelves for them all. He didn't even understand how he knew when they ran out! But he always did, he always knew.*
*Some mortals call him death. He hated that name. Death is what summoned him, not what he brought. Furthermore, who calls their milkman ‘Milk’? So why would they call him ‘Death’? He would much rather be called by his title: ‘The Grim Reaper.’* **The author apologises, he was offered five more years in exchange for relaying this information**
Sucker, like I said, death summons me, I don't summon death. I can't give him more years.... I think he realises that now, what with his hourglass being empty and all. Time to fetch him I suppose. Might as well continue his tale while I do it.
So anyways, I was having an exceptionally busy day when I hear a particularly loud calling. Another screamer of an hourglass had run dry, no biggie...
Except it was a biggie, cos I couldn't find the darned hourglass anywhereand for some reason billions of hourglasses were suddenly dry at the same time. Strange. Anyways, I searched high and low but couldn't find the lost hourglass, and it was calling me louder than ever, basically screaming over the others. Eventually I got some of the dead to help me, and one of them found the darned thing under my desk, all ashen and dusty. How it got there I don't know, how it worked sideways I also don't know. I wasn't given this job cos of my empty hood of a head yaknow. I jest, I got the physique after I became The Grim Reaper.
Anyways, I look for the label, and it's the name of my admirer! No biggie, everyone dies eventually. Except it was a biggie, cos I couldn't find him anywhere in the universe.
Now I don't mess with the multiverse, but when a Grim Reaper Can't find a soul, it means one of two things. A) The person has been revived, or B) The person is in some weird spot I don't usually check.
Now I'm fairly experienced with the former, what with that darned Sorcerer rewinding time and reviving himself....
But B) I have never encountered. So I looked it up in the manual. The manual gives me a list of places to look, and as I scan through them, one jumps out at me.
"Soul stone."
That's when I realise what's happened, that's when I realise he has actually done it. All these years I thought he was joking, that he was simply expressing how much he loved me in his own sick way.
But he had actually done it. And I found that kind of sweet.
The only thing I couldn't figure out is, why had he killed himself as well?
Anybody? | 2018-10-03T07:45:35 | 2018-10-03T06:59:15 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] You spent most of your life trying to prove there is an end to Pi. After writing down the last digit, the numerals begin to glow. | His hands moved with speed and grace that people rarely possessed these days. The numbers his pen left behind were colored in an orange hue, the same as his pen.
Exactly every 7 minutes and 30 seconds, he would stop and take a small sip from the teal-colored cup besides him, before setting down his pen once again, continuing his seemingly endless quest to conquer a number that held a size that was considered infinite.
However, this old man believed otherwise. He believed- no, he *was sure* that there was an end. And so he had dedicated a lifetime to writing down digit after digit, going further and further until he would reach the final number.
Every day, more and more pages were filled, stacked up and put into a drawer with the label **PI**. Or, to be precise, the 28^(th) drawer he had used for his lifelong project.
But today?
Today, the pages would be filled for the last time. Today, they would be stacked up for the last time. Today, they would be put into the 28^(th) drawer a last time. Today, on this final day, the last digit would be found.
The illusion of infinity would be broken by the truth, and the number would turn finite. And just when he reached the end of the page, a zero came to be. A zero.
0...
The final number.
The old man smiled proudly at his work. He knew it. He had known it all this time, and he had worked for so long. But here it was. The end of what was once considered endless.
A light spread through the dimly lit room, out of the windows and into the night sky.
The numbers...
They were glowing.
A warm, golden light radiated from each and every number he had ever written down.
All over the world, every number to exist was glowing as well, covering the earth in golden light.
But in the old man's room, something happened that his and only his eyes and ears would witness.
A voice so strong and yet so fragile, both young and old, overjoyed and sorrowful at the same time.
*You have done so very well. This is the first step of many. You are the first of your kind to destroy one of the illusions blocking humanity's ascension to true knowledge. Congratulations.*
At that moment, the man had a vision. A vision of the future. It was a wonderful one. And he knew what would be the reason for the beauty of the future he had seen. It was his work that, along with seven other works, would grant mankind a future far more amazing than anyone could ever imagine.
And as he stared in awe at his creation, a golden butterfly fluttered into the sky. | I had initially began the daunting task on paper but I quickly found that I am far too lazy and too unorganised to pull it off in any way with meaning. So I reverted to something else that I think I'm decent in. I figure, I'd write a quick script to see how far I can take it without having to do anything other than press [Return].
The script itself took half a day to tailor right, just so that it can keep running till it reaches an acceptable end. And once that was achieved, I walked into the kitchen to retrieve a cold can of beer and returned back to my computer screen. I crack open the can, taking a quick swig before setting it down beside the laptop.
Then I type.
22 / 7
[Return]
And then the script takes over. I watch as the numbers just spill onto the screen in repeating fashion and I get comfortable on the couch. I drink more of the beer. It takes about 30minutes in total before I achieve what everyone else had sorta let be. As the last number appears, I feel an elation in my spirit as I start to celebrate.
Before I get ahead of myself however, I notice the screen start to glow. The intensity of the glow makes me shield my face as the light feels blinding. And just as quickly as it began, it stops.
And then I see a line appear.
You are worthy.
I shiver.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite | 2018-07-01T09:38:55 | 2018-07-01T07:43:41 | 290 | 41 |
[WP] You're given a chance to see how many times you've been near death. The highest number of times anyone you know of has almost died, was 15, and they have a dangerous job. You just found out that your life has been close to ending 278 times. | I woke up and hazily looked around at a few somber faces. To my horror, I felt the needle in my arm--the IV.
*\*Fuck, oh fuck oh fuck.\** The thought of what might be in the solution being directly pumped into my veins...
My mom looked up. "You're awake," she said softly. The rest of the heads turned to look at me. They stared, silently, for a few moments.
"The doctor..." my mom trailed off. She sniffled, and looked down at her lap before rubbing at her eyes. "He says you're at 278. Two hundred and fucking seventy-eight."
That was 27 more than last time, over a year ago. And it was still 263 more than my dad--a police officer. They thought I was getting better; for a few months that dreadful red digital display was going up and up. They stopped monitoring so closely after a while, and I was able to get things back in control.
To bed at 10. First alarm at 1. Fifty squats, fifty situps, fifty pushups, running in place for five minutes. Repeat ten times. Back to bed. God it's so cold, why aren't there more blankets? Up again at 3 to pee. More pushups. Planks. Lunges. Squat jumps. Back to bed.
6 am. Dad is up for work, I'm up for school. \*I hope he doesn't notice this time\* I think as I sit down for breakfast with him. I chew my food, but spit it out as I pretend to drink my coffee. Off to school. I throw away my lunch except for the Diet Coke. I skip class to walk the halls. I can't escape dinner, but filling up the bath makes enough noise to mask my purging. Situps and pushups before my bath.
Day in, day out. That red display was going down, and that euphoria was enough to make me persist despite my faintness, the cold, the anhedonia. Little did I know how close I kept getting...
"I really thought things were going well, I really did... you can't do this anymore, just can't. I hate to say this, honey, you're gonna have to do inpatient. I've already called, we're headed there after you're discharged."
I felt swallowed up into a hole. Trapped. I can't breathe. \*No...\*
I closed my eyes. Pure dread was all I felt as I realized that while one number had to stop going up, the other number was going to start, and I couldn't do anything about it.
NOTE: I'm not a very good writer, but I couldn't get this idea out of my head when I saw this prompt. I did the best I could, and I purposely made the narrator genderless since these issues are not gender-specific... me case-in-point. I'm better now thankfully but I know there's others out there who aren't. | I sat there pondering the stat surrounded by friends and family. It was my 74th birthday, and at that moment I was surprised I had made it that long.
"You know, I really think it's the lack of sex" teased George from my left side. I gave him a sideways look. and my wife looked like she was trying not to strangle him. He never knows when to have a filter, especially in front of my grandkids.
The party was great and all, but now I was lost in thought. All those times I could have died. What experiences would I have missed at that point? My almost 35 years of marriage? Seeing the birth of my first granddaughter? It almost had me choked up.
"Aw, don't worry about it Frank" chimed in Paul. "You've lived a hell of a life, and I don't want you worrying about the past now!" I smiled at him, he always knew how to cheer me up.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "Let's get the guys together and go out for some drinks. I know we only go every couple of months, but to hell with that! Tonight's a special occasion!" I grinned at the thought. If I had almost died 278 times, I might as well live like I'm young (or at least like I *think* I'm young).
------
I got home around 3am, after some very questionable driving from Joe. Our age plus a few bottles makes for quite a trip home. I sauntered in the front door to see my wife waiting angrily in the kitchen. Now I know how Joe felt earlier.
"Well gee hon'," I snorted, "You look like you want to kill me!" | 2018-07-27T14:45:48 | 2018-07-27T14:21:38 | 100 | 16 |
[WP] A necromancer discovers that spells to animate dead bodies also work on other things that have been described as "dead," such as batteries, cars, appliances, friendships, and romances.
Edit:
I did not expect this!
Thank you all, and thank you for the gold! | “Marv, Marv, you there? Come on buddy, I’m in a real pinch this time.” Steve’s voice carried across the room and into Marvin’s chamber. Marvin sighed and pushed himself out of his chair. Pain shot up his leg with each step, but the thought of Steve calling a fourth and potentially a fifth time was enough to coerce him out of his favorite resting spot.
He exhaled deeply before picking up. “Yes, Steve?”
“Oh, thank God. Thank god, thank god, thank god,” Steve cried with joy.
“Steve, I’m in a lot of pain. Pain that ironically even magic can’t fix. If you do not tell me what,” but Steve cut him off.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he said clearing his voice. “My car battery is dead.”
Marvin slammed the phone into the wall. He started walking back towards his chambers, using the walls for support. The ancient wood, smoothed and refined over decades, and imbued with several generations of his family’s magic gave him strength and resolve to get up and out of bed every day, but not nearly enough to handle his brother-in-law.
The phone rang. Marvin expected to be irked, but then again, he also expected the call. More pain coursed through his body as he turned his body.
“Marvin Graves, Necromancer and other Netherworldly Needs. Please leave a message,” his answering machine chirped. The sound of his own voice made his skin crawl.
“Marv, buddy. I’m late for work. I just need you to reanimate my battery or whatever and I won’t bother you again,” he said pausing. “For the rest of the day.”
Marvin inched over to the phone and yanked it out of the wall; the cords of the old landline stretched and groaned. “Steve, even if I wanted to, there’s no way I could make it to your house in this crazy weather.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” he said desperately. “I was thinking.” Marvin could tell by his nervous tone he was about to suggest something stupid. “I was thinking, maybe I’d just hold my phone up to my battery, and you’d do your thing?” His voice went up a few octaves as he finished.
Marvin didn’t say anything at first. It seemed so preposterous that the very idea of it even possibly working made Marvin question Steve’s ability to survive on a day by day basis. And yet, in the last few weeks, his understanding of the fundamentals of necromancy had completely flipped upside down. And as much as he hated to admit it, it was Steve who had unwittingly been the muse in his latest discoveries.
“Just do it,” he said plainly.
“My man!” Marvin could hear Steve move excitedly. He heard his initial slip, undoubtedly on ice followed by Steve’s cell phone falling to the ground as well as several curse words. Marvin felt the pain building in his bad leg but stood patiently. The sounds formed a picture in his mind’s eye of the hood of Steve’s Jeep opening. He could see the round man stumbling over the ice, likely bruised and possibly bleeding as he made his way back to his fallen phone. The return of his voice, albeit agony filled and labored breathing, made Marvin shake his head.
“You still there.”
“Still here.”
“Okay, go ahead, NOW!”
“What the hell.” Marvin felt his magic stirring from within his soul. His mind twisted and kneaded the elements and he felt his third eye awaken. Marvin spoke the words and sent them through the phone. He watched as the Earth’s energy surge round and round, down the telephone cord before disappearing from sight. He waited a moment before the sound of the Jeep Sahara roaring to life filled his ears.
“Alright! Marv, I think you can reanimate anything!”
“Let’s not get ahead ourselves Steve,” Marvin said not wanting to get his hopes up.
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short, Marv.” Marvin hated his enthusiasm, or at least he believed he did. “You fixed that guy’s love life.”
“Steve, I didn’t fix his love life. Like I said before, all I did was correct the blood flow going down to his—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he interrupted confidently. “You’re a miracle worker. Hey, I got a great idea! Why don’t I bring Roxy over after work? Maybe you can try your magic on her!”
“Steve! Don’t!” but the line cut out. Marvin held the phone to his ear, expecting to hear Steve’s laugh but all he heard was the dial tone. Slowly, Marvin returned the phone to its home. Since the accident, his relationship with Roxy was never the same. He grew callous and angry, withdrawn and aloof. The daily reminder of his arrogant mistakes created a rift.
Marvin pressed his hand against to wood and felt the house breath.
Maybe Steve was right. Maybe he could fix this. | It’s rather trivial really. Simply reordering a few words in the incantation. And the sacrifices are often different. By far the most difficult to reanimate/revive is a human being, followed by an animal, and then everything afterwords is rather simple. Normally.
By trade I’m a necromancer. Yes, you read right. I toil my nights away studying ancient tomes of dark magic, and experiment with the very nature of life itself! On occasion I dabble in mechanics and relationships, but my *passion* is raising the dead, honestly. However, you’d be surprised how many people don’t exactly like that part of my profession. Oh sure, bring back my child hood animal good as new (even better because it’s deathless until you unlock the spell) but heaven forbid I bring back your high school flame or one of the great minds of a generation. Then I’m “playing god” and my talents are now “evil power” and my creations are “abominations.” But in this economy, a mage can’t be too picky I suppose.
My clientele as of late has been rather out of character for my services. You learn a one size fits all spell and now you’re a one trick pony. They want me to reignite their passion and love, I tell them to see the witch at the apothecary. She knows more about love and that sort than I do, and she has herbs and ingredients for various...romantic purposes. But no they want me to just do my thing and summon up old feelings of love. They always have to come back though, so at this point I wonder if they’re just not compatible.
I even get mechanical work, strange as it sounds. I tell them just go see a technomancer friend of mine, tell them he’s way more versed in this new school of magic. But apparently he’s just as pricey as a mechanic, so they bring their cars to me and I spill sacrificial blood on the motor and everything under the hood. Give a little incantation, smear some runes in blood under the hood, and voila, your car lives and roars. But lately I’m considering stopping my services. Not just for my friends business, but also because I’ve been getting reports of cars acting on their own. People in this city drive crazy enough, we don’t need sentient cars.
Strangely enough, the same thing happens with anything not made of flesh and tissue. I make haunted appliances, it would seem. Blenders that hop around on the counter, toasters that regurgitate not toast but mangled, soggy bread. Televisions that give you us glimpse into the underworld, phones that let you speak to the dead (no you cannot chose who you speak to, it’s random so I’m not taking any orders for spooky phones) and even alarm clocks that sound off with howls and moans of lost souls. Which is what I wake up to anyway but to the uninitiated it’s enough to bring a person to madness.
Look, I’ll be blunt- I just really want a job raising something dead. Bring me a pet rat! Bring me a gold fish and I’ll have that thing back and swimming in no time. Literally anything with blood and flesh and tissue. I *can’t* listen to another couple discuss their issues, and I’m done with appliances. If business doesn’t pick up I have to go back into research at the institute, and I sincerely don’t want to teach Intro to Life Magic just so I can use the facilities. So if you need a dead body brought back-no questions asked-just come by! | 2018-11-27T00:55:33 | 2018-11-26T22:14:10 | 332 | 140 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has happened. You have a rural farm in the middle of nowhere and a group decides to raid it only to discover that you have done the impossible. You have turned the zombies into pets. They are very protective. | They came as I knew they eventually would. The same assholes that, not content to ruin the country, had to go and ruin the world. After claiming for the past decade that they weren’t responsible for the series of pandemics that plagued us the past decade, they were finally forced to admit they were in fact behind them when their newest attempt mutated into something that everyone assumed to be strictly relegated to science fiction and government disaster planning; the zombie plague.
Within weeks, despite all the social distancing, masks, and everything else we had grown adept at the past ten years, the world was drastically reshaped. This time the pandemic started in America. California to be exact. Within two days, California was almost completely depopulated. Within, four the entire west coast was gone and pockets had appeared throughout the rest of the US, Canada, China, Europe, South America, and Australia. At the end of the first week, fifteen states and DC, most of Europe, and Australia were only inhabited by zombies. The second week saw the fall of South America, China, South Korea, the rest of Europe, and Canada. By the third week, The US consisted of only fifteen states. The only other surviving countries were Japan, North Korea, Russia, Ukraine, Mexico, and a handful of countries in the Middle East and North Africa.
Basically, the places that had guns. Many of the movies had it wrong. You didn’t need headshots to put a zombie down. Enough hits of any vital organ would do. The trouble was they didn’t just spread the virus by bite. Any body fluid would work. And despite what the movies say, these things still breathed and still had beating hearts. Which meant that the close kills were dangerous because of the high risk of infection.
Somehow some of these corporate types and bureaucrats that brought this disaster on us were still alive. And they had found my little corner of Texas where I moved when it was apparent Ohio would fall.
As the caravan of Humvees, armored busses, RV’s, and refrigerated trucks pulled up, and the first of the guards in their red camo uniforms hopped out, they got their first look at the fields and all the corn and cattle. It must have been shocking for them to have seen that. It takes a lot of water and power to keep things alive and protected in this world.
Though I hate them, I invite them in and offer to sell them supplies. I answer all their questions. When they ask how I am able to have electricity and water this far out from the walled cities when the grid is down, I show them. The looks on their faces are priceless when they see the zombies hitched up to the treadmills and cranks that power the generators and pumps. It took me almost a year to capture that many and another six months to find and cannibalize enough gas powered generators to build ones that worked by cranking instead. I now had enough electricity to power a small town. Or a single ranch with several layers of high voltage electric fences and gates.
Which I now powered on. After all, it isn’t safe to leave the defenses down too long. The scientists working in the hidden underground lab to find a cure, or at least a vaccine need to be protected at all costs as did my families and friends.
I also quietly powered on the fences surrounding the areas I let those bastards park everything but the Humvees with the fifty calibers in after I made them secure their weapons in the armory. I loved the looks of confusion as the gates rolled closed and the warning lights and buzzers came on. I loved more the looks of horror as the hidden doors to the first of the underground tunnels leading to the zombie pens opened just inside one of those now active fences...
I couldn’t afford for them to leave you see. They might find the lab. Or escape justice. And besides, my pet zombies need to feed. | It was a normal Sunday morning when the attacker came. Just after I fed my zombies their daily snack, (they actually require very little to survive, which is kind of a given with how they're.. dead) The man came into the house without even bothering to knock. I knew from experience these people are almost never good news..
It's quite surprising how many people stayed out of other's houses during the apocalypse, actually, but they were quickly picked off by the occasional nocturnal zombie. Everyone who was left had no trouble invading other people's homes.
So I had no trouble using my pets to scare them off.
You know how dogs evolved from wolves, until they were scavengers, or hunters, or just cute, but always perfect for human companionship? Dogs are always going to have some part still the wolf, but wolves.. All still have their own potential to become the first dog again.
That's what I did with zombies. I lured one into my house on a crazy whim one night last month, and I kept feeding it little scraps until it was completely fine with me. It looked surprisingly like a human once I had it trained and dressed in nice clothes from my closet.
That's why the man never saw her coming. He pointed his knife at her, "hey, you'd better have some food in here!" He growls in a low voice. She just stands there for a second, and suddenly attacks. In a whirl of teeth and clawing, the man is on the ground with his neck in her mouth, pinning him down.
I walk over to her and grab the knife, "hold him!" I say to her, and the man is terrified, "how the hell did you get one of these things on your side?!"
My voice turns cold. "She's not a thing. I have you completely defenseless, now get out of my sight!" I nudge her, and she releases him.
He stumbles up, "you're crazy, lady!" He yelps, before running out the door. I watch him run, feeling satisfied. The zombie turns to me, expecting a treat, and I can't disappoint her. I toss her a little piece of jerky, and she happily eats it.
An hour later I'm sitting on my living room couch, cuddled up to her. She's oblivious to everything, but still seems to have some concept of compassion and trust.
"Maybe one day, they'll find a cure for you, Tara.." I whisper in her ear, kissing her cheek before drifting off into a blissful sleep. | 2020-09-14T20:20:49 | 2020-09-14T20:07:10 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] Some say that your power is future sight. Others insist that you have superhuman intellect. They're wrong. Your power is the ability "Quicksave." | 4928... That's how many times I’ve saved the world and each time it gets more and more complicated. Before my ability life was simple, I was a twenty-something guy just lazing about during the new year lockdown in 2021. I'd just received the new PS5 I had been saving up for and started playing when lightning hit. I still remember what went through my head, ’Well what did I expect...’, before ten thousand volts travelled straight into me and branched off into the console. That was the moment where my life took a turn for the better, it was the moment I gained the ability to quicksave.
My first quicksave happened when I went to take out the trash and got hit by a runaway garbage truck. I still remember the feeling of metal hitting me before I saw the menu screen appear, with the option to reload last save. I woke up picking myself off the charred sofa from the lightning strike. It took a few more attempts for me to realise I could quicksave whenever I wanted. I just needed to say aloud ”Menu, Save” but as soon as I did I would lose the save before that. I learnt that the hard way, I spent what must have been weeks going back to the same day over and over for this girl. Christine was her name, I met at work and made the rookie error of showing I knew too much about her. I realised my mistake too late and couldn't reload as I discovered I had quicksaved after helping ’Steve the idiot with the cactus’ save his PowerPoint as a pdf.
I only started saving the world when I turned 30, by that point I had won enough lotteries, invested in the right companies and made a fortune for myself and began to realise what was the point of money if there was nothing to spend it on and so it began. Be it bacteria from Mars, COVID40, the Great fires of Thanksgiving and the constant threat of dirty bombs I was there learning about what happened and why, before reloading each time to prevent it.
Now that I've started though, I can't seem to get a break! Every day there's a new crisis, a new threat that I'm forced to defeat. The worst ones to deal with are the ones I cause. I kill a scientist about to release a mutagenic compound into the water supply, and that's no problem! Next reload, their nephew becomes an arms dealer who sells the final component in a dirty bomb whereas without me killing the scientist they would have been a TikTok star. This is what I meant by complicated.
I think I will take a break on my 5000th time of saving the world, I hope it'll be ok... | “The Geek Shall Inherit the Earth”
I grew up in the eighties, a time of chronic blue screen of death for PCs and Macs alike. A freak accident landed me in the hospital. Doctors didn’t think I’d survive. Two months in a coma, and I woke up right as rain.
Better in fact: I now had what some describe as a superpower. I could get any PC to quick-save before crashing. What did that mean in practice? Countless files not lost, saving millions for my newfound consultancy’s clients.
Some called me the PC whisperer. Others thought I had a superhuman intellect. The strangest ones thought I was a psychic. But nope, I had the power to save documents from the myriad PC crashes at the time.
Later, as my powers and skills developed, I could do more. Rapid PC repair, virus extraction, and speeding up processors were all simple for me. Some of these skills I could even teach others. They might not have the gift of quick-save, but regular repairs and maintenance were infinitely learnable.
In practice, this meant I could scale my business with great speed as the PC market boomed. As a nod to the names I was called, I called my company the Geek Squad. Rich beyond my wildest dreams, my accident changed my life for the better.
Edit: thank you kind stranger, for the award! | 2020-12-15T13:15:04 | 2020-12-15T13:10:16 | 500 | 135 |
[WP] When you die the afterlife is an arena where you face every insect and animal you killed in your life. If you win you go to heaven, lose you go to hell. Your job was an exterminator on earth. | The pits beneath the arena were dimly lit by a handful of torches. What little light that slipped through the cracks of the boards overhead helped illuminate the area. It was very similar in nature to the Roman Arenas of antiquity, or so those that had prior knowledge of Ancient Rome thought. The strange thing about the pits was the random order in which people appeared. People from periods throughout history were known to appear in the pits as though time did not move in a single line here. A man in a black uniform was adjusting his gloves as another approached him. "You're looking nervous my friend, why so? Once you finish your arena fights you'll be blessed with eternal life in heaven!"
The uniformed man looked at the happy stranger, "You're rather optimistic."
"Ha, well of course, I lived pious life and I can happily say that I only ever killed that which I had to."
"As you did, though I am certain my number of kills far exceed yours." The man replied back, adjusting several medals and ornate features on his uniform.
"It can't be so bad," the stranger said in turn.
"I was an exterminator in my past life."
"Oh, well that does change things. But I am sure you will prevail."
"No, I knew I would find myself in hell the first time I killed them," The Uniformed man said in a near monotone voice as he finished adjusting the silver skulls on his collar and red armband.
As he stepped out through the glowing doorway before him he found himself transported to a very familiar scene. Wooden barracks, barbwire fences, gallows, all so real he almost thought for a moment that it was a dream and he hadn't actually died yet. Until he heard a crowd of voices call out from behind him, "Schutzstaffel".
| *Pitter, patter.*
I open my eyes. The sky is stone.
*Skitter, scatter.*
I sit myself up. But no broken bones.
*Slither, slather.*
The screech of tyres, I'll never go home.
*Bizzer, bazzer.*
I get the feeling I am not alone.
*Grrrr! Graarr!*
I know these sounds, a too familiar drone.
*Whish, whoosh.*
And by their mercy alone can I atone.
*Screech, scream*
A life of death, my death does become.
*Whimper, Waaah!*
Hell to remember the sound of just one. | 2017-04-23T21:45:16 | 2017-04-23T20:32:26 | 553 | 134 |
[WP] "As payment, I demand your firstborn!" the demon said. "Deal!" You said, hastily signing the contract to seal the deal. "Good luck with them, sucker!" | It was years since I signed the contract with Suriale. She was the first demon I summoned, and I noticed she grew and got older as I did. Eventually, I started teasing her, calling her Lamashtu instead of her real name. Of course, she soon made a deal to help me get quite a bit of money, considering I was in a tight spot. Of course, she wanted my firstborn, and I signed away. The deal was a slow burn. I found myself being able to pay rent, get more things, fix things, even. I got a job as a physician, soon making money on the side with carving, sculpting, and making costumes.
Of course, I met a woman. Shirley was the light of my life. We hit it off, soon discovering we both had a passion for cosplay, sculpting, and music among other things. After a while, we started dating, going on vacations. I eventually got a job as a marine biologist, having always loved the sea. Over time, we got closer, and eventually I proposed to her. She said yes, and soon we got married, eventually having our honeymoon in Hawaii, then Tahiti, and finally in Fiji. Of course, after we got home, we snuggled under the covers, grateful to be together.
"So, are you ready to collect your debt.....Lamashtu?" I said, smirking. Her eyes widened, and soon she revealed her most human-looking of her true forms, growing large, fluffy wolf ears and 7 pink, fluffy, soft tails, each three times as long as I was tall. "Do you know just how long I've been hiding this from you? Why didn't you tell me you found out while we were on our honeymoon?" I chuckled, soon kissing her on the cheek. "And spoil it? It's a honeymoon, if one of us isn't enjoying it, neither of us are." I felt her wrap her tails around me, pulling me closer. "So you outsmarted me with my appearance and how I obtain your firstborn...but that only makes me want to collect my debt even more. Only child, twins, or triplets?" Stroking her cheek, I kissed her, holding her close before I answered. "Twins. One brother, one sister. Is that fine with you?" Smiling, she soon pulled me on top of her, slipping her shirt off. "Definitely, honey. Definitely." | "the first born!" yelled the demon.
"deal." I answered.
the demon was none the wiser. honestly I should feel bad, but I couldn't care. I got what I wanted and a good quiet afternoon.
"You!" the demon yelled at me.
"Me?" I answered strangely
"that is not a child!" he was angry.
"oh, what should I do about it?" I asked
"Take back That THING!" he yelled.
"I have my prices, how much?"
"I don't care JUST TAKE IT!" he yelled.
"Fine. just a new contract is needed," I knew he was right where I wanted him.
"Okay!" He yelled.
I brought out my new contact I knew he wouldn't read it.
he signed his real name on it! I watched as my child reappeared. I looked at the fool who signed a deal with a demon, unable to be free ever. he became a pawn in my game.
"bow down!" I commanded.
"WHAT IS GOING ON!" the 'demon' yelled bowing down to me.
"hunny you did everything right!" I smiled showing my real face. | 2022-08-31T21:06:11 | 2022-08-31T18:48:47 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | *Alex* had always been a tomboy, hair a dusty brown.
Wore *her* hair in a messy, spikey crown.
Alex liked their pants baggy,
Sometimes Alex stuffed it with a sock,
Her face was screaming cheerleader,
When what she wanted was jock.
She grew up feeling awkward,
As if she would never have her way,
Her town was not accepting,
So she couldn't come out gay.
She left Madonna Village,
To find herself a path,
But she felt so damn guilty,
She would gain God's wrath.
She was twenty when she met him,
With his face pale and poised,
Sam whispered in the morning,
"Can I help you pick out clothes?"
Sam would braid her hair with flowers,
He would dress her in white gowns,
He would tell her she was perfect,
With her daisy chain crown.
He would flame her cheeks with red,
Make her lips turn sunset blush,
And push her into the world,
The corporate fucking rush.
*She* was always shaking,
She felt like she was wrong,
She preferred her boxer briefs,
To a lacy, silver thong.
And Sam would let her dress him,
In blazers, yellow shirts,
He would ignore her hands shaking,
As if this physically hurt.
Sam was handsome, clearly,
But he withered in the suite,
No matter who said, "Nice, man"
Each compliment was moot.
.
One morning, Alex sat down,
A paper in her hand,
She read the headlines,
She didn't understand.
*Mugs Tell the Truth.*
*#1 Dad a Lie.*
*Every Single Mug!*
*No One Wants to Buy.*
It seems that some weird creature,
Had cursed the world to see,
Exactly how crappy,
Their parenting would be.
Alex watched her 'husband'
Move about the room,
Holding up his plain black mug,
Waiting for the BOOM.
She touched her own mug softly,
Her eyes growing so bright,
Right there is red letters,
It said #0 Dad, alright.
She didn't tell her husband,
She didn't make a scene,
But every time she touched a mug,
DAD could be seen.
She put her hand on her belly,
Perhaps it was time to tell,
That despite her growing hatred,
There was a baby in this shell.
| And when I went downstairs to make my morning coffee i didn't look twice at my mug, I'm always number one so why would it be different today? My wife comes down and points out I have a new mug, "no this is the same mug I use everyday." "Then why does it say #666?" Confused and worried I look at my mug, in a panic I shout to my children to come down. "Did you guys do this as a joke?!?" They seemed as confused as I did.
I decided to leave it alone for now and went outside to water the lawn. I saw jimmy out there doing the same, he seemed distraught. "Jimmy what's wrong?" "One of the kids must be playing a joke on me, they changed the number on my mug, but won't be honest about it." "Yeah, what number did they put? My kids did the same to mine." "65,381. What about you?" "I got 666." "Well that's not ominous at all."
Finished with the yard I had to go to work, driving there all I could think was maybe it's because I'm a beast. | 2022-11-12T17:52:35 | 2017-06-11T10:13:29 | 69 | 12 |
[WP] You're watching the TV when the news breaks. The supernatural is real! Secret societies of monsters live among us! The masquerade is broken! As you sit shocked, your cat turns to you and says "OK, now we can drop the pretense, I do have a number of complaints..." | “Ok we can now drop the pretense, but I do have a number of complaints”, the cat now upright and on two legs, “For example, you’re paying more for the new brand of cat food, but a more expensive brand does NOT make it taste better!”
Cindy is visibly shaken. She expected the fantastical stories on the news to eventually be debunked. But now her cat is talking? Suddenly, it became very real to her.
The cat pulls a cigar from its bed, places it in between its paws and starts smoking it. “But enough about the catnip. I know things are very strange right now and you are shocked, but there are things going into motion that are out of your control.”
“Mr. Whiskers, I think I am dreaming”, Cindy laughed, “Don’t worry I will wake up soon”.
“Please Cindy, Mr. Whiskers is my father. Call me Nigel”, Nigel shook his head to become more serious. “Look Cindy, I am sent here by the organization to subdue you. But…”, Nigel sighs heavily, “But I can not fulfill my mission. Instead I have chosen to leave my comrades and my family to be with you.”
“I- I don’t understand, Mr. Whiskers” Cindy said, still in shock.
“You were very kind to me and my brethren even though we meant nothing to you. You fed and housed me, the one you call ‘pet’. And fed my stray comrades while they were in the line of duty. As such, your one sided affection has cracked my stolid, stoic shell. Therefore, I am deserting my mission and will do my best to get you to safety.” Nigel pulls out a robot suit from inside his bed. “Take as much time as you need to process this. I will gather your friends and get the spaceship ready.
Nigel, hovering in his robot suit, leaves the house.
Cindy still does not know how to process this. Kneeled, Clasped her hands and covered her head. Her head grew hot and the world around her became dark.
As she open her eyes, she lay in bed in the darkness and Mr. Whiskers lay in front of her fast asleep. She grins from cheek to cheek and picks up Mr. whiskers; startling him in the process. And hugs him tightly as the disturbed Mr. Whiskers hisses angrily. She exclaims, “I knew you wouldn’t abandon me Mr. Whiskers!” | I stared in shock. Not because my cat was revealed as some either demonic or otherworldly being, I'd always known there was something...off...about cats in general, but shock such a spoiled useless creature had the gall to complain! "Look you...thing...if you don't like it get the f*ck out! You cough up hairballs all over, you destroy my furniture, and you scratch me constantly when I'm trying to be nice and pet you! You're a lousy companion, and now that I know you are intelligent enough to take care of yourself, there's the door! Out!" The creature formerly known as Mr mittens, slunk out in fear, tail between his legs as I held open the door. For good measure, I slammed it behind him. "Do you believe that guy?" I said meeting the gaze of my dog. "Dude, it was about time, it killed me to see you put up with that asshat all this time" my dog said. "Thanks man, and its cool to finally be able to talk to you like the good friend you are" I replied. We sat back down on the couch together, and I turned star trek back on. "Hey man, wanna order some tacos?" Asked Rover. "Definitely!". | 2021-06-17T18:11:24 | 2021-06-17T17:46:39 | 80 | 41 |
[WP] Everyone's personality is based off the colour of their soul. You hand your baby over to the nurse and she scans it... She looks at the screen and realises that its going to be difficult explaining this. | "What's wrong? Is everything alright?" I asked.
"Well, Mister Johnson, your baby's personality profile fits that of a sociopath's," the nurse said, beckoning me over. I looked at my little girl, lying there on the table, so small and innocent, and trudged over.
"What does that mean for us?" I glanced at the screen, filled with technical jargon, numbers, and government codes.
"Well, sociopaths can live productive and ordinary lives. Many CEOs happen to be sociopaths. But raising her alone will be difficult. She'll lack any sort of morality. She may be a danger to other children, and has a higher chance of a criminal record." She stumbled in her speech here and there. She had practiced this before, but probably never thought she'd use it. Sociopaths were rare.
"Oh my god." I hid my face in my hands. "Are you sure? Can we scan her again?"
"The machine is a hundred percent accurate." The nurse said, shifting in her shoes. "Even if I were to scan her again, we'd get the same result. But she's still your little girl. She still needs a loving father. Just be prepared for the hardship ahead."
I nodded. "First my wife. Now my baby. Can I please have some time alone?"
"Of course, Mister Johnson." The nurse left in a hurry, though she tried not to show it.
I grinned as I turned the bottle of Warfarin over in my pocket. It was easy enough to slip some of the potent anticoagulant into my wife's drink before rushing her over. Only the best hospital, I had said. Because I knew I could sue for more when she died during labor. I'd need the money to raise my successor. | "Darling, baby, poochikins,"
The mother cried with glee.
"Is she lovely, is she funny?
Show her traits to me!"
Mother's prodding poked the nurse
Who opened eyes of lead.
She glimpsed the screens that showed the genes
And sadly shook her head.
"Sorry, Mrs. Meyerson,
She's just too young to scan.
For every child's always filed
Yellow, brown, or tan." | 2017-04-29T01:04:15 | 2017-04-28T23:57:16 | 167 | 25 |
[WP] The first and greatest superhero and villain of all time respectively were said to have killed each other in combat. Decades later the current greatest supervillain is instantly annihilated upon threatening an elderly couple outside their remote cottage, and the truth becomes known | I think there's a reason why people added the 'super' in front of heroes and villains. It demanded something of them. To be outstanding, to exceed, to always push themselves further.
In fairness, I've always found the wrong side of the law more attractive. But that was no reason to take it out on the very people that these archaic laws, circumvented by upper society. Those lives I never bothered with, hoping that what I would be doing would change theirs.
Most still called me supervillain, of course. It was inevitably. Billions worth of real estate damage. Corrupt lives taken and sent to a better place. I admitted it, revelled in it, even. If me being called the worst supervillain of the decade was what got people to change, then so be it.
I had my fair share of clashes with superheroes, of course. Not least, the greatest of them all: Starstrike. An otherworldly celestial of a man, he beat me back again and again. It sucked.
He was also the first man to tell me what I was doing was right. Justified. He tired of the superhero life, just like I did as a supervillain. For all our righteous exposition of what was right and wrong, we knew that we couldn't keep it up forever. We could only be outstanding for so long before it took the toll on our human minds.
"I understand," he said. "And that sucks."
There was no need for complicated monologues. No manifesto, no epiphany. Just two people, beating our faces in, and understanding that it sucks.
We retired at the same time by staging the fight of the century. Both our bodies left in the dust, a simple thing to replicate.
I thought I knew a lot of things about the world. But in a small cottage on the outskirts of the city, while watching him cook a simple meal and failing miserably, for the first time in my life, I knew peace.
And no punk-ass supervillain was going to threaten that, not until my dying breath.
---
r/dexdrafts | In 1993 the greatest superhero and villain battled it out in the Atlantic ocean, where in that year, the European coast was sent back by fifty miles due to their impact. They were believed to be dead at the bottom of the Atlantic ocean for 27 years. Well in that same year my parents married each other.
Theorists have stated that Devil Hound and Tempest are still alive somewhere because they couldn't die. Well they were partially right. I was born ten years after my parents grand battle over the Atlantic, and somehow managed to keep their secret from the world. It wasn't until I was at tech school about 20 minutes away that we saw on the news that Infernos was dead one block away with lightning and hellfire burns. His last words were "Oak Forest. " All I thought was "Shit, now we gotta move. " | 2020-09-02T08:21:59 | 2020-09-02T07:57:56 | 247 | 79 |
[WP] You’re a powerful demon who’s best friends with the kindest human you think has ever existed. That’s why you agreed to not burn their village, no matter how badly they get hurt. One day they come to your temple saying they want to watch it all go up in flames. | “You look awful today friend, come and sit, talk it over with me.” Axel sat up from his altar, letting out a tired stretch, waking himself up from his daze.
“I want them all dead, you promised you could burn them all when we first met, you said that if I ever wanted my revenge, you would give it to me. I want my revenge now.” Eliza’s words slapped away the remaining pillars of sleep in his mind, causing him to sit upright, nervously watching his friend. His black pupilless eyes locked onto her.
“I promised you that, but I have changed my mind about you, Eliza. I don’t intend to send you to hell. My original offer was a rouse to drag you to hell. I would have burnt down that village, in exchange for your eternal torment. I never expected a human to have such kindness in their heart, but then I met you. Despite all the attacks and insults, you spared them. Why has that changed?” Axel rested his hands against one another, thumbs anxiously dragging over his skin.
“They are horrible. They think I’m evil. I could take the beatings and the abuse, but they targeted my brother. The villagers hung him from a tree like some animal and laughed. They should have killed me, I’m the one they think is a witch, not him. They won’t even let me bury the body, they just keep him at the village gate, something I have to look at every time I enter. I want them to burn, I want all of their corpses hung from the remains of their homes.” Eliza held her chest, panting at the sudden burst of emotion. Her bloodstained eyes devoid of any tears, too exhausted to cry any further.
“Markus was a good man. I’m sorry to hear that. He will find a pleasant spot in the afterlife, Eliza, I promise you that. Why don’t you stay with me? Maybe I could help you move villages? I have some gold around here, I could offer you a fresh start. You only stayed in that village to look after your brother now that he is-“ Axel went quiet, he could see his words were only angering her. To speak as though her brother’s death was a good thing. It was careless. “Eliza, I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean any offence.”
“Shut up. My family suffered because of those superstitious idiots. They just want my father’s land; I refuse to give them anything. Burn it all down. You said you were my friend. Act like it.”
Axel stood up, opening his arms, reaching forward to hug her, only for Eliza to smack his hands away, retreating a few steps back.
“I don’t want your cold compassion; I want your help. You know how they have treated me; do they do not deserve the worst?” Eliza pleaded, yet Axel just shook his head.
“They deserve the worst, but not from you. If I were to act on your behalf, you would be at fault. You want to see your brother, again, don’t you? Heaven can be an awfully lonely place without family.”
“Stop trying to guilt me. I want them dead before anything else. I am fine with the eternal torment that will come from my decision. As long as they suffer.”
“Eliza. I want to help you, but you don’t deserve that fate. You are too kind for hell. Please, you don’t know how bad hell is.”
“It can’t be any worse than the hell here. Fine, if you won’t help me, I’ll kill them all myself. I’ll show them just how much of a witch I can really be.” Eliza walked towards the temple’s exit, only for a tail to wrap around her wrist, holding her in place.
“I still see that kindhearted child every time I look at you. I’m sorry that our friendship has to end this way. Just know that any action I take is out of love. So, tell me, is this really what you want?” Axel asked, hoping she would change her mind.
“You can read a person’s soul, can’t you? Or was that another lie you told me? You know it’s what I want and you know I won’t let anyone stop me, not even you.” Eliza pulled the tail off her wrist, turning once more, only for a clawed hand to grip her shoulder.
“I love you Eliza, please find comfort with your brother in heaven.” Axel shut his eyes as flames erupted from his fingers, her death instantaneous, done in such a way to prevent any suffering. The demon dropped back onto the altar, feeling something he hadn’t felt in decades. Tears.
“Now that you have passed, you’re freed from any responsibility for my future actions. I will make sure that town burns, not only for what it did to you, Eliza, but for what it did to me as well.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | She stumbled into the temple splattering mud across the walls and blood on the floor, her tunic torn and filthy clutching a bundle of blankets.
"Demon you must help me! Demon where are you, I don't have time!"
She cried out as her legs gave way, sending her tumbling upon the brimstone tile. She wrapped her body around the bundle in her arms as she fell, and the bundle began to wail.
"I have told you to call me Crowley." The walls echoed and shook with deep bass, only faintly like a voice and more like a sensation that shook her chest.
"What is it that makes such horrible screeching." This time a normal faintly Scottish voice solidified into a tall beanpole of a man in front of her curled body. He sounded annoyed but that was a front, he was truly concerned. He knelt and helped her sit against the wall, assessing the screaming bundle in her arms. Oh Beelzebub it was a child, a strange little cleft marked his upper lip just halfway up to his nose but it hardly changed that much.
She righted herself the rest the way and dutifully comforted her child, he looked only a days old and his eyes were hardly open.
"I've been struggling to keep him warm-" She sobbed. "- I've been in the woods south of here since this evening." Christ's Crucifixion it was past midnight! She struggled to get her hysteric breathing under control.
"What happened to you why have you been in hiding?" He tore pieces of cloth from his loose fitting white tunic as he went, preparing bandages. He could summon everything he needed but that kind of power would draw the attention of the nearby townsfolk, and he preferred to keep things discreet since he couldn't burn them.
"My baby was born today in the afternoon, and the priest attending his birth said he was a changling and should be carried away to the forest. He said that was my punishment for premarital relations." She had composed herself for a moment but lost it again at this. After a minute she continued. "I told them I would take him away after sunset so that the fae would be out, they agreed and at sunset I fled. I couldn't make it far before I heard the shouting and I know they are looking for me." She bowed her head in agony and cried with every ounce of strength she had left in her body. It was amazing she made it this far, it was amazing she was still alive. She composed herself again if only for her child and finally after a few minutes of disgusting human mothering her offspring ceased its howling.
"So what am I supposed to do about it?" He knew what he was supposed to do about it but he knew she would never ask that of him, not her...
"I want you to burn them all." She looked him dead in the eyes, holding her trembling baby closer. "They want to kill my son, my child, the day he was born. The whole town agreed to it, all the townsfolk took turns scorning my son, telling me he was a demon, an 'it'. I never took my eyes off him Crowley not once. No fae could have carried off my child." She was spitting now, a rage I thought a soul like hers would never be capable of. "I know this is my child and I will not kill him. I will not let him die. You must burn them please!" Her lips trembled, her composure hanging by a thread of outrage. She knew what she was asking, and it tore pieces from her heart and soul but she stood firm. This was her child, and she chose him over her nasty, caustic village.
Good for her.
"As you wish my friend." He grinned wickedly and bowed, screams erupting in the distance like a hell-chorus. | 2021-03-16T00:37:25 | 2021-03-15T23:38:22 | 64 | 22 |
[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. | "2 minutes left... Come oooon. The end is so close!" Was all i could think, looking at the clock anxiously. It was friday. The last friday. Finally. Summer vacation. Time to relax. Time to unwind. Time to sit around the house and do nothing. Time to-
A loud crashing sound was heard when the classroom wall exploded making a huge dust cloud. Debris and glass falling everywhere making all the other students shout in fear and run to the corner. From the dust emerged a tall, muscular and ridiculously Blue and golden colored spandex dressed person, hovering just inches in the air, hands on his hips, striking a pose that screamed 'Comic book hero'.
Before anyone could even process what MindMeld was doing there he just dashed towards my direction, picked me up by the shirt and lifted me from the ground, looking towards my direction with anger in his eyes and the most forced superhero accent i ever heard "RELEASE THEM FIEND!"
"I... Wha... Release WHAT?" I said while holding on to his arm as he kept holding me and before long he tossed my frame towards the ground. Thank god for this invulnerability. My bones would be pretty much dust with his throw.
"These Hostages you're threatening with your diabolical bombing! I heard your thoughts! 2 minutes to the end! I will not let you kill them!"
"The only one killing something here is you killing my summer vacation plans you dumbass! School is almost out and all i want is to enjoy my videogames when i get home!" I said as i got up, groaning a bit as my favorite shirt was now torn. Goodie.
"Summer... Oh." A quick mind read of everyone else seemed to finally enlighten the hero of what was happening and how wrong he was. "But i thought..."
"Yeah. You and the entirety of the Super Buds 'thought'. I already told you all time and time again. I don't have evil schemes. I don't have ulterior plans. I don't want to save OR destroy the world. I just want to be a 15 years old teenager! Just because i got a steel body and super intelligence don't mean jack!"
"I don't believe you! I know you are just scheming. Buying time until you strike with a diabolical plan of some sorts to get back at the Super Buds for denying your entry!" He said, fingers pointed towards me. And i swear, every new sentence of his started with this dude striking a pose.
"You sure you're not projecting here? One. I never applied entrance. Two. Their outfits are ridiculous. Three. As far as i'm aware YOU are the one who got denied because you kept not only reading their minds but also mentally inserting 'suggestions' for then to take you in." I said, the entire time walking towards my mess of a desk, grabbing my backpack and books, shoving them inside and clearing the dust off my shirt.
"I... I mean... Fuck you!" He shouted, flying away into the distance as i sighed and turned towards the teacher "Tell Mr.Brown to send the check my way so i can pay for the restorations.." The teacher however just smiled and shook her head "Naah, we will just charge the Super Buds instead. With the money we get sent everytime this happens we will be able to buy a new teacher's lounge! Oooh, and maybe a new pool! With a pool table!"
The other students looked at me and smiled with greed. I looked at them and groaned. Suddenly, summer vacation didn't seemed that great anymore.
(I am so sorry for the quality. First time writing something like this here and i'm a bit nervous lol) | Don't know if I'm doing this properly. Please, forgive me.
A Rose by One Name...
I come from outside of the universe. I am printed on two hologram universes, thus. Many beings are like me, want to settle down a bit on one world, take a break from the endless task of printing universes to collect data and patterns.
Humans aren't my favorite creatures. Why couldn't they be like the world of dots or the world of endless painting? Instead, they are the lords of errors, forgetfulness, and wounded curiosity. I wish I had analyzed more data so that I might have swum in a sea of mercury, the most expensive place.
So, the superpower...
I was given the name "Kaela" because the aesthetic of the letter causes one to think as well as the unusual spelling. The nice way it calls out gives me an endearing advantage. Many people can't pronounce it, so there is a humble response. Every time I was for coffee, people tell me they are happy to see me again.
Busy, busy, angels.
My friend sat down and began talking. I only kept her around so that I would appear integrated and could avoid the angels.
I have a flyswatter around for this kind, hit their points, and scrambled their minds. Effing angels. They needed to turn to dust.
I got up.
"How are you going to pay?" My friend asked. She knew I was behind on bills.
"Easy, Ma'am!"
"Don't worry about it, Kaela," the woman at the bar said. "We've got plenty of soda water. Would you like some chips?"
"No thank you, ma'am," I said back and hopped off the chair.
"How do you do that?" My friend asked. "Are you hiding something?" She seemed worried. I could only imagine what gears in her human mind turned.
"She's afraid she can't spell my name on the drink and doesn't want to insult me."
"Totally rad. Do teach."
"They'd be too jealous of you, dear."
"What?"
"You'll have to find your own weapon," I said. | 2021-08-17T01:38:04 | 2021-08-16T21:53:30 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] It's your job to sort out the mixed-up letters between Satan and Santa, when one day you find a letter that could be for either one, but sending it to the incorrect recipient could have... interesting results nevertheless | I looked at the letter in front of me with disbelief... "This can't be right!" I thought, but suddenly realized I had actually said it out loud.
"What is it?" asked Franklin, my coworker at the mail sorting plant.
"This letter, I can't tell if this is written to Santa or Satan!"
"Wait, wha?!" Frank snorted out, half laugh, half disbelief.
"Look at this!" I pointed at the letter, from a child named Corey, written to "SATNA". "It seems like it was written to Santa, but with all of these goofball letters to Satan, I never know!"
"Well, why don't you open it up?" asked Frank. "That should figure it out right there."
"But... We're not supposed to do that!"
"Who cares? The kid ain't gonna find out..."
"Well, alright..." I sighed, and opened the letter as carefully as I could...
"Dear SANAT,
This may be an unconventional request... but I am wanting to join you. I heard you are looking for solid help, and I am getting fed up with my fudge packing job. I hear you have solid working conditions, and that your living quarters are quite toasty. I could definitely use a good tan, and I hear you have tanning beds there too, which is kind of ironic, given the circumstances.
If accepted, I would also love to bring my dog, Fifi. She has been my loyal companion, and is quite sick, likely going to die soon. If she could go down with me, I would make sure she is happy, and well fed with bones.
Thank you for your consideration.
-Corey"
I stared at the letter, dumbfounded. I was at a loss for words. I legitimately could not tell who the letter was meant to go to. Two typos, must be a classic case of dyslexia... Did he want it to go to Satan, or to Santa?
It seemed like he was wanting to go to Hell... That was the logical explanation. Dying dog, putting Her out of her misery, living for eternity in hell with all the bones to eat? That made sense...
But what if Corey meant toy bones from the North Pole?! AUGH!!! I don't know what to do! Then the tanning bed thing... Would be comically ironic if there were tanning beds in the North Pole, but even more so in Hell... Wouldn't the flames give a dark crispy tan?
I talked to Frank, and asked "What the heck am I supposed to do?"
"Do what you think feels right," responded Frank, with just a hint of a sly grin on his face.
"Alright..." I shut my eyes, and dropped the letter into the box to the right.
Two weeks passed, and I started feeling at ease about my decision. I then grabbed the top letter in the crate. It was singed at the edges, and smelled like sulfur. I recognized the name: Corey Adams. Addressed to me. I tentatively opened the letter, and read the two words on the seared paper.
"YOU IDIOT!!!!"" | "Hey Ernest, what do we do with the fuck ups?"
Ernest came at the beckoning of Albert, one of Santa's newest little helpers. He found the newbie scratching his head while looking at one of the many letters they were supposed to sort through.
"What's wrong Albert?"
Albert didn't say a word, instead shoving the mysterious letter into the hands of his very confused coworker. Ernest put on a pair of spectacles and began to read.
>>Dear Satan,
>>
>>Remove Kebab.
>>
>>From Russia, with love,
>>
>>Ivan
Ernest sighed and jammed the letter into one of the two boxes on Albert's desk.
"Albert, letters like those are put into the reject chute."
Ernest pointed at one of the boxes that was labeled rejects. This only caused Albert to panic as he shifted his eyes to his coworker and then back the two boxes.
"But...but...you just put it into the accepted chute."
Ernest began to sweat heavily. He put his hands on his head and pushed his scalp back, making his eyes seem larger and more worried.
"Ernest...whats wrong...can't we just..."
Ernest stopped Albert with a shake of his head. He then pointed to a massive clock that was on a wall in the room. The hands on the clock were minutes away from striking midnight.
"It's too late...and Santa always delivers."
The world erupted in chaos the next day. Turkey had been engulfed in a fiery storm of napalm and white phosphorus. Those who tried to reach the country by phone or radio were met with silence. The reporters who dared enter the country by land or air, found only scorched earth. There were no sign of any survivors.
In Russia, a single man smiled as he drank from a bottle of vodka. | 2015-12-27T21:59:36 | 2015-12-27T21:52:37 | 75 | 16 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Calm down," Sarah said, gesturing the sorcerer to stop hopping around the room.
"I- I didn't think it would actually *work!*" exclaimed the terrified creature, still holding onto the summoning book. Sarah thought the thing looked quite human. Only its azure skin and the huge eyes that protruded from the side of its head, really gave it away.
"You're a *demon*," it whispered. "A real demon."
"*No*," Sarah corrected it. "I'm Sarah - a *New Yorker*."
"What level of Hell is that!?" the shaking sorcerer replied, taking a long step away from her.
Sarah walked out from the circle of smouldering candles, and into the small room. "It's not Hell. Well, sometimes I guess it can be..."
"Back, demon!" Three of its four arms folded twice over, into some kind of ineffective warding symbol. Sarah walked towards it. *It* backed off until it hit a marble wall.
"Listen, sweetheart. I'm not going to hurt you. I just want to go home," she said.
"...I don't know how to send you back. It wasn't exactly in the book."
"Of course it wasn't. That's just great," Sarah sighed. "Why would you even *want* to summon a demon?"
"I..." It breathed hard and very slowly, began to calm. "Well, we humans of Paradise," began the creature, much to Sarah's amusement, "are not allowed to hurt one another. It's impossible to do so. Whatever harm we try to do to a person, happens to us instead."
"Oh. So... if you were to say... stab someone, you'd be stabbed instead?" Sarah said, not really believing it.
"Yes! Our God," it said, pointing towards the ground, "made us that way so we could never intentionally harm one another."
"So... you summoned a demon because you wanted to do someone harm?"
"Yes! Bruce. He deserves it thoroughly bec-"
"Wait," Sarah said quickly interrupting, "so you *really* can't harm me?"
"... no, of course not."
"Try," Sarah said encouragingly. She held out an arm and rolled up her sleeve. "Here, pinch me."
"I would rather not."
"Pinch me!" she yelled. The creature swallowed hard, made the sign of an upside down cross on its right chest, and then pinched Sarah's skin between two of its rubbery fingers. Sarah didn't feel a thing.
"Owch!" it said, tenderly rubbing its sore arm.
"That's very interesting," Sarah mused out loud. "Okay, try pulling my hair."
"No, thank you." Red beads of sweat began to run down its cheeks.
"DO IT!" she yelled, taking a threatening step towards it.
It gingerly brought a hand up towards Sarah's head, and gave a quick, hard, tug at her blonde hair. It instantly let go, and gasped in pain.
"And punch me..."
"N-no,"
Sarah opened her eyes wide and stared at the creature. She heard it gulp loudly before it punched her gently on the arm.
"Harder!" she ordered. "Or else there'll be trouble!"
The punch to Sarah's chest sent the creature sprawling to the ground, leaving it desperately attempting to suck air in.
"So, I can't be hurt..." she thought aloud. "But I wonder if I can..."
"I'm really so, so sorry," she said, as she punched the creature's head repeatedly. "Honestly, I am. I just need to test a few things."
The demon left the sorcerer's house with an idea in her head, and a dead creature in tow behind. "Paradise," she laughed, "it soon will be."
---
More of my stories on /r/nickofnight (plus a different story I wrote for this prompt)
| The room's runes glowed with such warding powers that the candles only served the purpose of spell ingredients. I paused the game, I was already at a pay point anyway having died multiple times because I needed the sword of Amecles to kill Hexigron and $3.99 was not in today's budget.
I made a step backwards in shock only to be thrown forward, a second bump on my forehead threw me back. I noticed the chaos symbol on the ceiling, it was surrounded by two vipers swallowing each others tails to make a circle.
The sound of louboutin's coming down announced her arrival, her skin almost radiated with her beauty. Enticing beauty, an attractiveness that seduced and corrupted all that stared at it for too long, the kind that would tempt a man to eat an apple he'd specifically been told not to by someone who could create galaxies.
"Victoorrrr...." she purred out. A finger ran across my shoulders, then down my spine.
"What do you want Lucy?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not yet anyway, today I want to give you something."
"I'm not interested in what you're selling."
"Oh I'm sure you are, and would you turn around who gets summoned facing the wrong way?"
I spun to face an altar in front of it was a silver throne cast in the image of men kneeling. Lucy sat on the back of one, the armrests being the arms of two men standing.
"You're sure you wouldn't be interested in anything I have to offer?"
"I'm sure."
"Not even this?" she lifted up a small test tube, it glowed bright blue, the faces on her throne shifted their gaze as she waved it in the air. Even they knew what she held.
My mouth hung open. I could feel the essence calling me, pleading it needed to be back home. She flung it to the floor and as it shattered it made it's way to me. My lungs filled with life, cloudy eyesight cleared and my heart raced faster as she waved her hands and I found my self back in my apartment. The doorway to heaven started to form. At last my ascendance.
As I soaked it all in my back stiffened. She gave me something she knew I couldn't pay for. She was trying to get more than a favor from me. She was trying to earn loyalty. She would have to come calling some day. What scared Lucifer so badly she needed to make allies?
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-05-12T07:54:55 | 2017-05-12T07:44:27 | 1,283 | 81 |
[WP] You barricaded yourself in your bathroom when the zombie apocalypse started. The zombies, however, are intelligent and capable of speech. They know you're in there and constantly try to convince you to open the door. Your sanity is running out. | "Ughh"
At first they just looked and behaved like normal zombies stumbling towards me after I barricated my house, poorly I guess, they had broken a window in the top floor which I didn't think they'd be able to get to. I'm barricated in my bathroom for a day now and I'm either hallucinating or the zombies are learned to speak.
"Cooome oooouttt."
"It is saaafe. Zombies killed!"
He said while sounding like a zombie.... Come on think Anne there has to be a way out of here, the bathroom window is too small but maybe I can put an help sign? Or should I make a weapon out of a clothing rack, I don't know how many zomb-
"Anneee we know youuu are theeeeree"
"I know you're out there too!" I reply in panic.
"You dooo?"
"I mean I hear you knocking in the door...."
"Oh thaat is truee"
It's like speaking to a child isn't it? Wait is it?
"So do you guys want to play a game?"
"A gaaaaame?"
"Gaame gaaaaaaameeeeee!"
"Yeah I'm going to count from ons up and everytime I say a number one of you has to growl! But you can't growl twice or you're out of the game."
"Gameee gaaaaaaaame"
"Gaaaaaaaaameee"
"Okaay here goes. ONE!"
"Heeree."
"TWO."
"Meeeeeee"
"THREE."
"Aodjejeeghhhhh."
I kept counting until they stopped replying at 12 holy fuck that's a lot of zombies fuck what do I do.
"Youuu wooonnnn!"
"Wooon? Whaaaattt?"
"I won uhh...." Come one something something that'll help me out of here.... "I won the right to be the zombie queen!"
"Queeeeen?"
"Queeen!"
Suddenly all 12 zombies are shouting queen and I hear more voices joining in because of the nosie this might've been a really bad idea... Well fuck in for a penny.
"Yes it means I can't be bitten or attacked!"
"No aattack queeeeeen."
"Proooootect."
"Looooong live queeeeeeeen."
Well fuck I hope that's enough. My own zombie army what better way to survive a zombie apocalypse am I right?
"Get away from the queens door!"
"Yeeesss queeeeeen."
Once I come out I'm slightly sad to recognize some of the faces of the zombies but well at least I'm safe... For now.... | [Chapter 1]
"Heya Tom, it's Bob from the office down the hall.
Good to see you buddy, how've you been?
Thing have been OK for me, except that I'm a zombie now.
I really wish you'd let us in.
I think I speak for all of us when I say I understand.
Why you folks might hesitate to submit to our demand,
But here's an FYI: you're all gonna die screaming!"
[Chapter 1,5]
" All we want to do is eat your brains.
We're not unreasonable; I mean, no one's gonna eat your eyes.
All we want to do is eat your brains.
We're at an impasse here--maybe we should compromise:
If you open up the doors,
We'll all come inside and eat your brains!"
[Chapter 2]
"I don't want to nitpick, Tom, but is this really your plan?
To spend your whole life locked inside a mall?
Maybe that's OK for now, but someday you'll be out of food and Guns.
And then you'll have to make the call.
I'm not surprised to see you haven't thought it through enough.
You never had the head for all that bigger-picture stuff.
But Tom, that's what I do, and I plan on eating you slowly!" | 2022-03-01T21:08:04 | 2022-03-01T20:15:00 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] it's the future. Beyond a certain IQ humans are classified as weapons systems. You just solved a nagging issue at work. You've just been classified. | "We need a better system, basically," said my coworker, Brian. "If people insist on sending actual paper through the mail, we should keep the physical copies. We lose so much data when we just scan and destroy like this. Texture, thickness, quality, age, all kinds of other data. You know what I mean?"
"That stuff's way above my pay grade," I said. "They've got much smarter people than us setting the mail room policies, and that's good enough for me."
Brian raised his thick eyebrows and shrugged, and his eyes shifted back to the pile of envelopes on the table. He ran the laser opener across the top of a large brown envelop like he was disarming a bomb, carefully pulling the stack of paper from it with his fingertips like uranium.
The small white envelop I picked up crumpled under my thumb, drawing a disapproving frown from Brian. The opener wobbled as I drew it across the top of the envelop, taking out a chunk of whatever was inside. Brian sucked in air sharply through his teeth.
"Watch it," he said.
"Sorry."
He opened the next on the pile, a letter sized manilla, with surgical precision and an almost humorous level of care.
"You have to pay attention to what you're doing," he said.
I bit my lip as I botched the next one.
"Damn," I said. "Paying attention isn't one of my strengths. And that's why I'm in the mail room. No offense, buddy."
"None taken," he said, "I take pride in what I do. There's a reason they don't just have robots doing this, you know. They need a human mind to make human interpretations. And you're also full of shit, Mister can't pay attention. I saw your notebook."
The off-white rectangle fell from my gloved fingers. When had I left it out? Stupid. I quickly relaxed the muscles in my face and resumed my work.
"Oh, that?" I said, avoiding his eyes. "I borrowed that from a friend in the R & D department and forgot to give it back to him. Thanks for reminding me. There was some pretty crazy stuff in there, right? Tim is a bright guy."
Brian closed one eye as he held a letter up in front of the overhead light.
"You don't have to be modest," he said. "I mean, you think I don't I know your handwriting when I see it, Anam? And why would a random guy from R & D bother to overhaul all of the mail room policies and redesign all of our equipment? Riddle me that, genius man."
I put my hands flat on the table and leaned over it, catching his eyes and holding his gaze.
"You have to forget what you saw, Brian," I said.
His mouth opened and closed again. His eyes widened as understanding dawned on his stupid face.
"Oh shit, are you... Are you like alpha level or something?"
"Why else would I write in a notebook, Brian. They can see anything produced electronically."
His eyes shifted back to the pile. He chewed his lip and slowly shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Anam," he said. "I fucked up, man. I really fucked up. I said something to a VP. Oh shit, man, I thought I was making you rich."
"No, Brian," I said. "I fucked up. You're too stupid to be held accountable to your actions."
I pulled the mini-pad from my pocket and opened my email account. The text hung suspended in the space above the small pad, and I swiped at the air until my new messages appeared. And there it was, a message from security. They would need to see me, Mr. Anam Mulkana, before the end of the day.
"I'm sorry," Brian said, his eyes now wet.
"You've at least heard the term Alpha, but do you know what that means, Brian?"
He shook his head.
"The government considers us human weapons," I said, "because tactically we can do things other people can't. Our intelligence places us on a different plane of existence, Brian. I'm as far from you in brainpower as you are from a Border Collie."
He just stared back.
"And they've already made their first mistake," I said.
I jammed the mini-pad back into my front pocked, and then slung my backpack over my shoulders.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
"I'm sure it will be on the news," I said, turning. "Goodbye, Brian."
| The Xubix game cabinet in AzCon break room T19 was generally ignored by everyone except for me and Andrei, an electrical engineer from Ukraine, who worked in fabrication downstairs from my lab.
While we never really spoke to one another, we had bonded over our mutual love of Xubix and spent the last six months in fierce competition for the #1 spot on the leaderboard.
One crunch weekend prior to a major AzCon product release, we spent two days taking turns with one one another to blow off stress. He ultimately got the better of me but my highest score wasn't too far below his.
The very next time I saw Andrei, weeks later, he was strapped to a metal table with a series of filaments running through his exposed eye socket and into his brain. He was still awake and was trying to tap some kind of code to me on the table with his thumb. I didn't make it out before they closed the door...but it started with "my wife..."
I was pulled into a room the morning following our Xubix tournament by three men wearing military uniforms. Their leader was rail thin, his left arm was twisted like a piece of driftwood, a genetic deformity. Within a few minutes of questioning I realized that Xubix was some kind of trap...they had probably planted the cabinets around the country to find people like us.
"You are of Chinese descent." The man with the twisted arm said...my parents had been refugees from the Communist Party years ago. "We have already tested your father, his genetics indicate signs of manipulation, cleverly hidden...it would have fooled the tests available at the time of his immigration. It seems he must have upgraded himself to escape the country and then had it undone before he arrived here." Lucky me, I somehow inherited the modified strain.
"There are two courses of action we can take from here. The Chinese government has spent billions of dollars generating your genetic code, we will very.much enjoy studying it ourselves. Unfortunately, they may have included safeguards which will make this difficult. It depends on how your father got his genetics modified. The first course of action will be...exploratory. If we find that your father managed to steal an unprotected strain...or a military strain...your body will be highly valuable. Otherwise, you will be disposed of...like meat. The 62nd amendment states that genetic perversions such as yourself are not to be tolerated, your citizenship status has been revoked as you are now a non-human person."
As the man spoke, I felt a terrible sense of dread creeping upwards through my spinal column. Safeguards? What kind of safeguards could this man be talking about? It was then that one of the guards stepped behind me, presumably to restrain me. Filled with terror, I twisted in my seat to look him in the eye...at that moment, I felt something inside my skull burst. The guard's facial expression withered as dark blood spurted out of his ears with an explosive force, painting the walls of the room with a mixture of brains, bone and ichor.
The man with the twisted arm leapt from his seat in terror and recognition. My head was exploding with pain, a cluster of headaches rippled across my skull, it felt as though my eyes were about to burst...feeling like I was about to pass out I reached for his arm in my mind, grabbed ahold of it and...
Nothing. The second guard had jabbed me with a needle, it was over.
| 2014-07-01T03:35:31 | 2014-07-01T01:35:27 | 62 | 20 |
[WP] - You are immortal, locked up in a room with no windows, with only a toilet, a bed, a sink and a door with a latch where every hour someone checks on you. You don't remember why or how long you have been locked up there or where 'there' is. Then the door opens and a man says "we need you". | I don’t remember much from the room, not that there *was* much to remember. I think that was the point though. A toilet, a bed, a sink, a door. That’s it. About 20 or 30 times a day I would see a dim eyeball peer through the little circular latch in the door. Whoever it was never spoke, they only looked me over and scanned the room for a few seconds before swinging the latch closed. Sometimes the eye would be a different color, or a different shape, but it was always the same circumstance. I don’t remember ever eating, or even getting hungry or thirsty for that matter. I don’t think I even used the toilet once. Did I bathe myself in the sink? I seem to recall, but it’s hazy. It was so long ago. I have absolutely no memory from before the room, if there even was a “before the room”. For all I know, I was born in that room.
I do, however, remember the first and only time the door opened.
I heard a series of metallic sliding and thunking noises coming from the door. It startled me and I pressed myself against the wall opposite the door. It swung open and on the other side stood a meek, old man in front of a long, dimly lit metal hallway. He hesitated for a moment before blurting out “We need you.”
I too hesitated, but managed to force out, “Where am I?”
“We’re deep underground… in Antarctica.” The old man answered.
“What is this? Am I a prisoner? How long have I—” but the man interrupted my string of questions.
“There’s no time, please follow me.”
The old man turned and started down the hallway. I followed, tentatively. The hallway was longer than it had looked from the room and it was all exactly the same: bare metal walls and ceiling, concrete floor, the occasional lightbulb strung on the wall. The entire place was as silent as the room, save for the echoing of our steps. After a few minutes, we came to a large vault door. The old man started at turning the huge metal wheel on the door but he was struggling to get it going. I stepped beside him and took hold of the wheel. “Let me try,” I suggested. He took a step back and I managed to turn the heavy wheel, although it was far easier for me than for the old man. He gave me a smile and placed his hand on my shoulder before I pulled the vault door open. Behind the door was a large living area of sorts. About a dozen cots lined the walls on either side, empty shelving in between each. At the end of the room were two more rooms, one with a sink and toilet, the other with tall shelving, mostly empty save for a few cans of food scattered about. A closed door was in between those two rooms.
The old man led me through the living area to the closed door at the end. He swiftly pushed open the door and about 10 feet in front of him was a tubular elevator. He pulled this sort-of translucent orange card out of his pocket and swiped it in front a panel on the side of the elevator. The doors slid open with a hiss and the old man stepped in. He turned around and quietly beckoned “Come.” I stepped in next to him, the doors hissed shut, he slid his card on another panel, and the elevator took off. It was fast and I nearly lost my balance. “Wait’ll you see what’s next,” the old man chuckled.
When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors opened once again, I couldn’t believe what I saw: a chair. It was a chair just sitting in a tiny dark room. It was a comfortable-looking chair, but still just a chair. The old man ushered me over to the chair and coaxed me to sit; so I sat. I looked on, bewildered, as this old man I had just met pulled straps and buckles from the backside of the chair and wrapped them around the front, buckling me in. He reached into his shirt and revealed another translucent orange card that he had strung around his neck. He pulled it over his head and stuck it into a slot in the chair. There was an odd beeping sound, followed by a loud sliding sound, like two huge stones grinding on one another, and the walls around me began receding into the floor. The walls fell away and I saw a gigantic screen illuminated in front of me. I took a quick survey of the rest of the room and there were now four doorways behind me. This new room was not concrete or steel, but something entirely different. I was almost blinded by how bright that room was compared to my previous living area. An enormous sound boomed from outside, shaking the entire facility. I turned back around in fear and met the eyes of the old man. He was looking at me fondly, with tears streaming down his face meeting with an unsure smile. “We tried,” he whimpered, “let them know we *really* tried.” I could see the faint glow of a planet with some random data displayed on the screen behind his head. He met my eyes once again and placed a piece of paper into my hands. I looked down and saw an image of a group of scientists, one of whom was clearly the old man when he was younger. “Godspeed,” the old man continued. He started out the door before I shouted out “WAIT!” He turned. “What’s my name?” I asked. He choked back more tears and finished “We called you Adam,” before hurrying back into the elevator.
The elevator closed up, being covered by a new wall. The room began shaking violently before I was being pulled down into my chair by sheer force. At that point, the screen changed and I could see the Earth. I saw the outside of the facility from which I was leaving, a large concrete structure somewhere in the middle of a desert. As more of the Earth became visible, I realized it was mostly desert with few small bodies of water left. I was pulling away from the planet at an incredible speed. Soon I could see it only as a small brown ball in the middle of space.
The force was released and I unclipped myself from the chair. Soon after that, I learned to access the files that were contained on that orange card. Video, audio, text, images, everything containing the entire history of the Earth and all of the peoples thereon. All of our triumphs, failures, and entertainment, from the beginning to the end. The whole of human history left in my hands.
According to the computer, it will take me about 19 years to reach my destination, and I’m only now about halfway there. At least now I have some entertainment. | The metal clanking of the door latch rattles through the black, cement room once again. The piercing light hits your eyes briefly before disappearing behind the figure looking in on you. You can remember a time when you desperately tried to communicate with this figure, begging for any kind of explanation as to where you are and why, but this was never successful. Questions about the circumstances surrounding all of this used to occupy you obsessively, but after so long, you’ve given into apathy and indifference. The figure makes no sound, watches you for a few seconds, and then slams the latch shut, leaving you alone again in the darkness of your cell.
They’ll check on you again in an hour. You know this because, back in the beginning when you first found yourself here, you sat and counted the seconds in between each check. Knowing this is the only way you’ve been able to keep track of how long you’ve been captive – 136 days.
The most apparent thing to you upon your first wakening in this hell is the fact that you cannot remember anything – nothing at all! Who are you? What have you done? You still have concepts of language, mathematics, history – everything you’ve learned throughout your life. But nothing exists in your head that is specific to you. No memories of parents or siblings. No friends or spouses or children. No job or hobby. Hollow information makes up your brain and your individuality began only when you opened your eyes in this cell.
Fantasies of escaping this place used to fill most of your thoughts. You would dream of taking that figure behind the door down; beating the literal breath out of him. Of course, with your frame, you knew this to be unrealistic. You weren’t old, but your exact age was still a mystery. From the small light emanating periodically from the door, you know you have long black hair and that you’re very thin. At maybe five foot four, a small woman fighting her way out of this is not going to happen. Still, the thoughts of it gave you the adrenaline you needed to make it until the next day.
Eventually, depression crippled you for quite some time. It was day 56 when you tried to drown yourself in the toilet, a task that was actually more difficult than you’d imagined. These toilets have maybe a few inches of standing water and driving your head all the way to the bottom and forcefully taking in breaths of this dank liquid was an almost unimaginable way for you to go, and yet, you did it. The burning in your nostrils and lungs with each inhale still lingers in your mind. After a few minutes, you remember the peaceful nothingness as you lost consciousness, and gained your freedom. Or so you thought.
You woke the next morning, with toilet still on your breath, but alive as ever. Fuck.
The next few weeks, you tried to get more creative. You tied your bedsheets to the sink and tried to hang yourself with them, only to wake with a sore neck and steady heartbeat. You refused water for nine days. Nine! A torturous attempt that somehow failed. Finally, on day 100, feeling especially hopeless, you began banging your head against the concrete wall until you lost consciousness. The headaches lasted for days after that, but your mind and body were left fully operational.
Thoughts don’t even occupy you anymore. Sleep is the most exciting activity and the one that fills most of your days. You are awoken once an hour by the ear-piercing grinding of metal from the door latch, you carve out another notch in the wall next to you to keep track of the time, and then fall back to sleep. You figure you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life, and there’s not a thing you can do to change that. Frustration, depression, anxiety…these are worthless to you. You’ve accepted your fate.
You hear the metal of the door again. The latch opens, light shines through, a figure watches you briefly, and it closes again. But more sounds follow it! You can hear a lock disengage, and the door begins to open slowly. Light pours into the room; more light than you can ever remember seeing in your life. You instinctively shut your eyes and shield them with your arms, giving them more time to adjust. As you peak through, you see a man standing in the doorway. He is large, larger than you, but a 280lb, 6ft 3in silhouette is all you can make out.
“We need you. Please step this way.” His deep voice bounces through the room.
You panic. This is more stimulation than you’re prepared for. The thought of leaving this prison should delight you, but instead you’re crippled by fear. The light is easier on your eyes now, and you begin to see the man more clearly. He is young, maybe late 20s, with dark hair. He wears some sort of uniform you don’t recognize. You definitely notice that he has a gun holstered to his belt. You remain still and silent.
He notices you glancing at his gun. “It’s required for our uniform. But it’s not like YOU have to worry about it at all.” He tries to put you at ease, and you can almost make out a chuckle.
He’s obviously implying something by saying that, but you have no idea what it could mean.
“I’m not here to answer your questions, I’m here to take you to the boss. You’ll find your answers there.” | 2018-07-31T16:09:56 | 2018-07-31T15:36:37 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You're the result of a drunken one-night stand between a hero and a villain. Despite their complicated hatred of each other, they've always tried not to fight for your sake. That changes during a particularly heated parent-teacher meeting. | It was always the same. My father looking at my mother with sad, loving eyes, my mother pretending nothing existed but her.
“Thank you for coming in today.”
“You assured us it was important.”
“Yes. We’re not sure how to handle Nicks mind-reading. It’s a question of whether or not he’s cheating.”
“Nick’s a very honest boy.”
“Yes, but..well..” he passed forward two papers; two exams. “You’ll notice they’re worded exactly the same.”
“I didn’t mean to do it, Dad, I thought they were my words. I still think they’re my words. I don’t see how this could have happened.”
“It does read like Nick wrote it; I think there must be something we’re missing, Nick doesn’t cheat.”
My mother scoffed. Everyone looked at her. She spoke to no one but my dad. “You’ve always refused to see the inevitable. The boy’s cursed.”
Dad got tense, “you’re talking theory. I’ve asked you not to speak your theories in front of the boy”
“It’s not theory anymore. This is evidence”
The principle interjected, looking worried. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you two mean..cursed?”
A memory dawned in my mind, a memory of an argument. Something to do about a cat, I had been pretending to be a cat, and the cat had been acting weird…
“It’s because of their powers, principle. She’s saying the mixing of their powers is a curse.”
“Mind-reading and mind-control. Nick doesn’t know where his mind begins or ends. Doesn’t know when he’s willing himself or willing others. He will, ultimately, go mad.”
Her words entered me, my eyes were on her, on my beautiful, cold, lonely, hard mother, whose pain I could see so clearly, could always see, like a soft, poignant thorn on a rose, such a strong woman to not crumble under such sadness, if only she would let me love her, my sweet love, if only--
My mind snapped and I rose wildly, face in my hands, chair squealing my distress,
“Oh God!--”
That was my father! My father’s mind was my mind? I was my father's mind? Oh God, I don't exist, she's right, she's right!
“Son, what--?”
“It’s begun. He knows; he sees it now.”
My eyes met hers, and it wasn’t the normal eyes of my mother looking at me--guarded, aloof--but her eyes had taken on the look I normally see in my father’s eyes, when he’s looking at my mother--great love, great, despairing love.
Now that I’m lost, she feels free to love me. I hated her for cursing me. what is this strange feeling? why do I want to blame my mother but forgive my father?
I ran from the room. I ran while they were arguing, arguing about my fate, arguing about my sanity. “This is your fault,” she was saying, “you and your damned love. If you had left me alone.”
I could hear my father calling after me.
And with that, the tense peace was gone, all had crumbled, all was crumbling...
Where would my future end? | Dear Diary,
​
Ughhh. I hate my life. And my parents?
You're not going to believe this. So, yeah, my grades are slipping. I just hate Miss Melivn. It's not my fault. She's boring.
​
Dad decided to show up to the conference mom set up. I mean, I get it. He's smart. He started to twist Miss Melvin's responses. First it was like "she's got potentional....but she's lazy."
That's where Mom caught him. He said, "Are you sure it's not because she's bored.?Maybe you could give her something that would challege her for extra credit."
He winked at me. Mom caught it. And I could see her start to flip out. I totally heard her cursing him out in her head.
​
I hate both of them! Why can't they get along? I don't want either of them here! They suck and they hate me.
Mom works hard at "both" her jobs. Like I don't know what she does. She has so many stupid, stupid rules. Don't do this. Don't do that. Take the towels of the floor. Put away the dishes. Stay out of people's heads. Like I'd do that. I make the mistake of listening to the guy I had a crush on. Eww..
And Dad! He just flew in. I think he's hacked into the school or something. They know not to call him. They don't tell him how I'm doing. Both mom and I were bug eyed when he came in. He always shows off how much he makes, but doesn't help mom.
​
And right there, in the middle of the conference. It was like, time froze. They were yelling at each other so much, that they didn't even see me leave.
​
I HATE THEM! | 2019-01-28T10:24:37 | 2019-01-28T10:13:16 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Santa is actually satan every other day except the 24th and 25th of december. A swanky branch of hell is santa's work shop, and it's an enviable workstation to have in hell. Interviews are coming up and you want to try you hand at being one of satan's hellfs! | "It's no simple job," cooed the King of Demons in a rich, bassy voice.
Reflected in the burnished throne in which he sat, the burning walls squirmed like millions of molten maggots. He raised his black, reptilian hand and paused, readying himself to gesticulate while he pontificated, as many orators do.
"I do not simply move the letter "n" from the end of my name and place it in the centre, don a fluffy suit, and suddenly feel the merriness of the season reverberate through me like the clang of church bells on Christmas Eve," he said. "It takes a great effort, for me, and for my minions, to transition from charring to charitable; to transform the atmosphere of Hell from fetid to festive; to halt the construction of large torture chambers and commence the production of little toy trains. The Elves of Hell, or Helfves, as they call themselves, were all chosen primarily because of their ability to change their orientation toward good and evil on a dime. Yes, they are skilled at other things: tempting and torturing, for instance. Assembling and wrapping trinkets. But what creature cannot acquire *these* skills given enough time and gumption? What a creature cannot learn, and I truly believe this, is the great method actor's art: that ability to truly inhabit one worldview, one character, one purpose, one system of beliefs, and then transform at a snap, and suddenly inhabit an entirely new way of being. From evil to good, Demon to Helf, Satan to Santa, in an instant, and then back again. "
The Devil looked at me, waiting for a response. I needed to come up with something on the spot.
"Of course," I said, lamely.
I had prepared for the interview; but I had imagined Satan would be most interested in my experience in mass producing children's toys, as well as in my history of evil. As far as my job experience was concerned, I had planned to talk at length about my time working in the toy factory. I had come up beforehand with all sorts of pithy phrases and anecdotes to show that I knew what went into manufacturing everything from action figures through baby rattles to board games. As far as my history of evil was concerned, I had planned to exaggerate, as I had never been a particularly evil individual.
Not an evil individual? you ask. Why, then, work for Satan?
I had been driven to apply out of desperation! The economy was doing poorly, especially in my area, and I had lost my job at the toy factory some months before. I needed a job, any job, so that I could make rent.
Yet now the Devil was talking abstractly about method acting and inhabiting disparate mental spaces. I knew everything there was to know about making all kinds of toys on the fly. But what did I know about acting? Nothing at all. I would have to learn quickly, however, as my success in the interview depended upon me acting my way through my next response.
"I know all about switching between good and evil," I lied. "This morning, for instance, the first thing I did was feed my dog Rufus three of his favourite treats. I didn't make him roll over, or shake a paw, or even sit to earn them. I just gave them to him out of the goodness of my heart."
"I see," said Satan, stroking his chin, and thereby stoking to life a trim goatee of fire. "Rufus. How charming."
I could tell that he was intrigued.
"Then," I continued, "I decided, on a whim, that it was not going to be Rufus' lucky day. Just as he was finishing the last treat, I...I kicked him."
"You kicked your dog?" asked Satan, taken aback. "Your own dog?"
I was trying to get a read on him, but it was difficult. Maybe I had not been performing compellingly enough, and he did not believe that I had actually done it. Or maybe he did not consider me kicking my dog a sufficiently evil act. I would need to up the ante.
"That's right," I said, speaking myself into boldness. "I kicked him once, not very hard. Then I kicked him again, and with the second kick, he flew across the room. Then I...I went over to him, and--"
"That's enough," interrupted Satan, looking at me coldly. "You can see yourself out."
I felt my face flushing.
"Yes, sir," I stammered.
I collected my resume and cover letter and stood up. I only then noticed how badly I had been sweating. It was, after all, hot as hell down there. I turned and left Satan's office.
The floor of the hallway leading to the portal home was a river of magma on which floated black stepping stones. The walls, as in his office, were slithering layers of brilliant flame.
As I hopped from the first stone to the second, I heard a whoosh behind me. I turned and saw that one of the Helves had materialized in Satan's office. It noticed me ogling, and walked on its goaty legs towards me, its hooves clipping against the floor with each step. It grabbed and began to shut the great bronze office door. But before the door had swung completely shut, I heard the Prince of Darkness exclaiming to his minion:
"Kicked his own dog! After feeding him treats, no less! Really. The kind of riff-raff that apply. As if we weren't looking for demons at all! As if we were looking for...monsters!" | I didn’t like Christmas all that much when I was alive.
It was full of music that made me want to stick a pencil in my ear, and assholes ringing bells outside of every single store. I can’t in good conscience tell you I had *any* yuletide spirit. I made the grinch look jolly the last year I was one Earth.
I am not ignorant to the fact that this worked against me. It is most likely a big score on the goalpost that brought me down to hell, and I don’t hold that against anyone. I’m sure up in the good place they sing those awful carols all year long, and If I am being honest with myself, I just don't think I could handle that.
Down here in Hell, we don’t celebrate Christmas.
Well, the big guy does. He takes two days off from pestering all us minions in his domain, and he goes up to walk the streets of Manhattan and Hong Kong dressed in red and white. He gets something out of it that I’ve never guessed at, but that's on him.
He leaves for two days and then everything returns to normal.
This year he's looking to branch out. They sent out a memo; seared in my arm with some psychic laser b/s. He wanted to *expand* and that meant there were spots open. I mean it down to the core of my metaphysical being when I say I was ready to stop making the normal rounds of hell. I wanted to settle down, have a job, and stop… well.
To be honest, again, the details of what I did down in hell aren’t really suitable here, and they aren’t really the point. The point is, I walked my skinny, pale butt into that office, and I looked the quite terrifying goat/cow thing in his black wet eyes, and I put my hat in the ring.
There was a large stack of forms, and I signed in blood on every single one. Luckily it's not like it used to be, I don’t have to continue to prick my finger — they have these fancy new pens that just drain it right out of me.
I know that its still a big ick factor, but trust me. It is basically a luxury at this point, and you take what you can get down here, you know?
So I signed the forms, and I sat in the scorching metal seat that they had set out for me, and I waited. I waited for days to get to my interview, and when it finaly came around, and the big honcho himself came and sat across the table for me, I was surprised.
Probably more surprised than I have ever been in my entire life, and I wanna share something with you that you may not have known was possible. Satan looked me right in the eye like I had done the goat/cow, and he *smiled.* A wide goofy smile.
We talked for a few minutes.
Okay, I think it was days, maybe even weeks, but time is really hard to figure out down there. Most of the time it is either Christmas or its not.
But after that was said and done the big guy said the best words I think I had heard for as long as I could remember.
“You got the job.”
The second it left his mouth I jumped to my feet, and there I was. The newest member of the best job in Hell. He walked me through the door behind him, and I was sat down in an office. If you can imagine a cushy office job in Hell. I never would have thought of such a thing, so I get that it's weird, but I had it. I had a desk, in an office, and the demon crew told me if I did everything right I had a chance at the window office.
I admit this is a bit of a downside though. A window office was really nice on Earth, but here...
The only window office available to humans looked out over the bloody ocean, and even down here in the worst place imaginable, the sight of it makes my stomach turn.
But what else is there to do? I'm here. I've finally arrived.
So what if they play Christmas music during the month of December.
Its gotta be better than the alternative.
***
For more by me check out r/beezus_writes
For longer works by me and others go to r/redditserials | 2020-04-09T13:11:08 | 2020-04-09T12:43:26 | 627 | 55 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | Youssupov : Man I am so sick of the DM’s Mary Sue monk railroading us through this campain
Pavlovich : Yeah it is total BS this NPC can heal, predict the future, and has way too much influence on everyone for being a peasant.
Nakita : It is because he has a huge \*giggles\* you know…
Misha : Pretty sure the DM is compensating for something, we should totally kill him and take back the campaign!
All : \(copious amounts of agreement, plotting begins\)
DM : So the last session you were all trying to figure out a good way to stay out of WWI, and Pavlovich has invited the party to the estate of Youssupov, and the Mad Monk has shown up to make his case. You all sit to dine at the estate of Youssupov drinking and eating at the expense of the Proletariat the Mad Monk looks at you all disapprovingly…
Nakita : Make a save vs poison!
DM: Who?
Nakita : The Mad Monk!
DM: \*scowling\* rolls dice behind screen The Mad Monk is unphased and continues to talk down at you, plotting your next course of action.
Pavlovich : Ok, fuck this guy. \*pulls out pistol\* Nat 20!
DM: The Mad Monk clutches his chest, falls backwards, and is obviously dead. \*rolls dice behind screen and smirks\*
Youssupov : I saved a choice bottle or two for just this occasion, let us retire to the den to savor or victory. \*party leaves to the study\*
DM: You hear a crash of a window from the dining room, when entering you see a bloody trail to the window, and the Mad Monk staggering away.
Misha : I grab a slab of firewood, you guys grab some rope, and let’s finish this guy!
The party chases down the Mad Monk and after a series of rolls: shoots, stabs, and ties up the Mad Monk and tosses him over the railing of a bridge into the freezing river below.
DM \*makes a series of secret rolls\* Two days later the Mad Monk is found dead.
Group: “Horray! Ding dong, the Monk is dead, the Monk is dead, the Monk is dead!”
DM: A few days pass and you think you are in the clear, you are just starting to relax when the secret police kick down your doors, round you up, and exile you!
Group : Fuck you Gary and your campaign. | "Alright you approach the door and, as far as you can tell, there are no guards"
"Okay I will open the door and sneak in"
"Okay go ahead and roll some stealth"
"19"
"Okay yeah, you sneak onto the balcony and see the dark haired man with suit and beard and his wife, friend, and friend's wife beside him"
"I'll just walk up and shoot him in the head"
"Okay go ahead and roll for an attack"
"NATURAL TWENTY! Sneak attack damage inbound"
*20 minutes of Rogue dice later*
"Your target crumples to the floor seemingly unconscious"
"I will jump off the balcony onto the stage"
"Not before his friend tries to stab you and...that definitely hits, 4 points of damage across your arm with his dagger. Go ahead and roll an Acrobatics check for hitting the ground"
"Oh no! Three!"
"You hear your leg very loudly bust as you hit the stage"
"I'll shakily stand and shout, 'Sec semper tyrannis!' and then I bolt outta there"
"Alright then, as you hobble your way out of the theatre........that's where we will pick up next week!"
| 2018-05-29T09:53:10 | 2018-05-29T09:44:54 | 21 | 15 |
[WP]You summon a demon in order to complete a ritual in exchange you offered all your remaining lifespan. "17 billion years...I'm can't handle that amount" it answered with a mix of shock and horror. | "Se-sev-seventeen billion years?" The demon gawked at me, fiery tendrils flicking out from its foul mouth with every breath. "I...I can't handle that amount."
I swept a stray hair out of my face and offered the demon a non-nonchalant shrug. "I don't see how that's my problem, Yxera." I held up the contract, my name signed in blood beside the glowing sigil of the demon. "You offered terms. I accepted them."
Yxera snarled, "This is not as it should be, Human. You draw from a well too deep for a mortal."
I yanked open the drawer of the desk beside me and pulled out a folio. I reached inside and then thumped a stack of papers on the desktop in front of the demon. "It's really not my fault your kind don't take the time to document out fringe contingencies." I rifled through the stack and then held up one of the papers, examining it briefly before flipping it around to show the demon.
Molten eyes narrowed and then Yxera hissed. "Treachery! Deception!"
I blinked, "Excuse me?" I then held up Yxera's contract. "You show me where I says I can't cross-collateralize a longevity grant against my obligation." I shook the paper at him. "You point out the words. I'll wait."
The demon snarled, "The grant is for all of your remaining years, not for years that have been given to you by another." He shook a claw in the direction of the second contract now. "Such a thing is forbidden."
"Forbidden? Forbidden by what? There's no implied covenant in hellbinds. What's written is what is intended." I held the document up in front of my face, pushing my spectacles slightly up my nose as I began to read out. "The Sworn hereby grants the remaining years within their possession on condition--"
"I know what it says!"
I slightly lowered the contract, letting my eyes meet his, brow raised in skepticism. "Do you? Because it seems to me that you're having a bit of trouble understanding. The grant says within my possession, not as a component of my original lifeline. I can't be blamed for your slipshod language. If you weren't competent enough to negotiate the language, then you should have retained counsel."
"I have entered into a thousand thousand contracts with countless lost souls--"
I broke into a broad smile, "See? You did know what you were doing then. Enjoy the seventeen billion years. Just be forewarned that the years don't have a secondary grant of vitality in them, so you'll be quite miserable for the final sixteen billion, nine-hundred and ninety-nine million, nine-hundred and ninety-nine thousand years or so." I shrugged, "Give or take."
"I refuse to accept."
Genuine mirth shone on my face now, the laughter rolling up from deep within me. After so many interactions with the hellspawn, it still surprised me how much I genuinely enjoyed this. My cousin Constantine could spend his nights stomping about the city throwing holy water all over, this was far more entertaining. "Am I to understand you are refusing to deliver upon the terms as agreed?"
The demon folded its arms.
"Then shall I summon an Arbiter as is required?"
Now Yxera seemed much less certain. The flame in its eyes dimmed some. "That will not be required..." It exhaled deeply now, "But I cannot take these years. My body cannot sustain it. It...it is beyond me."
I nodded knowingly. "Yes, it is quite a predicament. Damned if you do and damned if you don't." I couldn't help but giggle slightly at that. Damnation puns were something of a specialty of mine.
Yxera grimaced. Whether from the pun or the implications, I couldn't say and I couldn't really pretend to care either.
I put on a soothing tone. "Well, don't worry. I think we can manage a compromise." I reached back into the drawer and pulled out another contract. One that had been drafted in preparation for precisely this moment. "Seeing as you cannot abide by the contract and you also cannot refuse it, perhaps I may offer an alternative?"
The demon looked at me warily, its eyes darting to the contract and then back to my serene face. "What...what do you want?"
I shrugged, "Oh, nothing much. A few odds and ends. Mere trinkets, really."
"I will give you want you want if you release me from the contract."
I placed the contract down in front the demon. It lurched forward, eager to examine its contents.
"I do hope you will. I would so very much hate to see our fledgling business relationship come to so abrupt an end." I sighed in mock sadness, "Especially after the sad loss of all of my other partners."
Yxera scrambled back from the document, skittering across the floor and pushing its back against the wall, holding its claws up in a warding sign. "I...I cannot agree to that..."
I smiled, "Yes you can, Yxera. You just don't want to."
"This will place me against both sides...it will...I will..."
"Shhhh, it's not so bad, my new friend."
Yxera looked about frantically, trying to escape. But there could be no leaving the room without performing the agreement. The demon was trapped. Finally, it cowered down, its wings folding in on itself. "What do you want with these things?"
"Why, Yxera, you surprise me. I thought that would be obvious."
"You cannot kill them. They are above us. Him and he. They are beyond..."
"So we all believe, but let me ask you this: has anyone ever tried?"
The demon was silent.
**Platypus OUT. Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | Laying out the 6’x6’ stencil that formed a near-complete circle, I shook the can of spray paint in my hand rapidly before spreading an even coating along void. Waiting patiently as it dried, counting the seconds off in my head, I then moved the stencil clockwise several inches and covered the two areas that had had overlaps of cardboard.
Once my canvas was complete, I started the painting, as it were, the thick Sharpie in my hand sliding elegantly across the marble flooring of the mausoleum. This kind of manual work was something I hadn’t done for ages, but it came back like riding a bike. Years practicing calligraphy for sigils was something you never forgot.
With the last sigil in place, I slid my pocketknife gently across the back of my arm and dripped the blood into the circle, folding the knife one-handed and tucking it away. The words came to my lips like I’d been born to say them, the language smooth and flowing, and yet something in me recoiled against it, of course. Because of what I was calling.
The circle became awash with smoke before it whirled away into nothing, leaving behind a young man. He stood, hands in the pockets of his jeans, wearing a dark blue shirt, staring at me with a small smile that held promise of many dangerous things. “You rang?”
“I did,” I said softly. “To make a deal.”
The demon’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t waste any time, do you? No foreplay?”
“Haven’t the patience for it,” I replied.
He pouted. “No fun. Seems like you’re old hat at this. How many years have you traded away already?”
“Not quite accurate,” I said. Admittedly, I was enjoying the way he was looking at me. Something behind his eyes that showed he knew I wasn’t the average human looking to make a deal. Not the typical foolish mortal gambling with eternity. And he didn’t like it. In these situations, the demons were usually at the reins, steering the conversation and the tone, and that wasn’t the case here. It bothered him.
“Well then, what do you want?” he finally asked, looking exasperated at this point.
“Some serious power,” I answered. “Why don’t you see what I have to offer? What could my remaining lifespan get me?”
Shrugging, the demon’s eyes flickered black and he stared into my eyes. Then, bit by bit his eyes widened and his face went slack, alarm visible in his expression, and then terror, prompting him to stumble back until he hit the invisible cage of the circle. His eyes shifted back to their normal human appearance as he blinked rapidly to dispel what he was looking at. “Seventeen…billion years…I can’t…handle that amount,” he managed, his snarky instincts coming through despite what he’d just seen. I just let my smile widen a smidge, let the moment linger. He swallowed. “What are you?”
“*Who* is the better question,” I said softly, taking a few steps forward until I was an inch from the barrier of the circle. His lips twitched in wariness as he continued to stare. “Fancy a guess, Forneus?”
At his name, he flinched as if slapped, real fear in his eyes now. “I don’t…” He stared guardedly. “Michael?” he whispered.
I tilted my head forward an inch. “In the flesh.” I cocked my head. “So to speak.”
The demon shifted his weight, looking around as if for an exit, and I could almost see his skin crawling, his muscles tensing to run even when there was no escape to be found. “Why me?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “I suppose you’re well placed for what we need.”
“What you *need*?” he snapped, rage finally coming to the surface. “I’m a demon, not a hooker, and I-” He stopped, realizing, and I gave him credit for that. “We?”
“Lucifer is making moves on the chessboard,” I explained. “He needs to be put in his place.”
Fresh horror appeared on Forneus’s face. “Do you think I’m insane?”
“This comes straight from the top,” I said slowly. “So, back to our original conversation. Back to basics. How much do need to get this done?”
Comprehension bloomed on his face and, despite himself, his eyes turned black again as his instincts scented prey. He wasn’t greedy though, I knew that much about him, and he wasn’t foolish. He didn’t answer right away, and when he did, it wasn’t with a number, or even a follow up inquiry.
He took a breath. “What exactly will I need to do?”
​
/r/storiesbykaren | 2021-04-10T22:12:45 | 2021-04-10T20:44:19 | 1,937 | 277 |
[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. | "NUMBER 117737."
Anxious and bewildered, you step up to the counter, behind which sits a very bored looking young man wearing a name tag that says GARY. He takes your ticket and asks, "Name?"
"John Smith. But this has to be a mistake. I don't belong in hell. I lived a good, honest life."
"Yep, that's what they all say." Gary clacks away at his computer, a large, boxy, surprisingly outdated machine, pulling up your records.
"I was! I was faithful to my wife, took care of my kids, always paid my taxes. I even called my mother once a week! There must have been some kind of mistake."
"Nope." A little machine, not unlike a receipt printer, spits out a small slip of paper. Gary tears it off and hands it to you. "That's your sentence. If you go to your left, you'll find a set of elevators. Insert your slip, and it'll take you to the Liaison's Office, where you'll be given your assignment." He recites this in the monotonous, droning manner of a person reading from a script.
"186,292 years! But the guy in front of me only got 145! And he was cheating on his wife! I never cheated on my wife! I was a good family man."
With a beleaguered sigh, Gary swivels the computer screen to face you. "What does it say here under occupation?"
You squint to read the tiny print. "Pest control specialist."
"Exactly. You, Mr. Smith, are single-handedly responsible for the death and suffering of over one billion living creatures over your thirty-year career as an exterminator."
"What?! But it was just mice and rats and bugs. They don't count, they're pests!"
"Article 7, section 3A clearly states that the purposeful taking of life in any form, no matter how inconsequential, warrants an automatic conscription to Hell."
"I was just doing my job!"
Gary rolls his eyes. "Do you know how many times a day I hear that? Move along, you're holding up the line."
Flabbergasted, you step away from the counter, staring down at your little slip of paper.
"NUMBER 117738."
| To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time! | 2018-09-26T07:16:16 | 2018-09-26T07:04:35 | 4,281 | 156 |
[WP] "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king." Untrue, as it turns out. When a mysterious energy wave swept the world and took away vision for humans, you were the only one left with an eye, the wealthy and powerful are hunting you down for your working eyeball. | There is a legend about a time when people could not just feel and hear, but also see.
Sight is a difficult sense to describe, but it's something like the ability to feel the silent whispers of everything around you. The whispers tell you how something will feel before you touch it, who someone is before they shout out their name, and how badly a body will smell before you get near enough to smell it.
Everyone knows the legend is true because we all still have eyes, they just don't work. The legend says that a curse spread across the entire planet and took sight away from all mankind, except for a single man who was left with the last working eye. The man with the sight.
That man was my father. He told me about how he tried to help his quaint little town and for awhile they were able to keep some remnant of their former lives going.
​
Then came the day that killed hope, when the second child was born. When the first child was born, people still had hope that there might still be a chance for the sight of the next generation to save everything, that things might go back to normal.
Since my father was the only one who could see, he was the only one who could easily determine if the children could as well. The baby's eyes were open but didn't follow any of his movements. When he told the parents, they were outraged and first accused him of lying, then accused him of stealing the baby's sight in order to maintain his own. Their accusations caused hysteria to run rampant across the entire town, and word of a selfish man with sight got to the city next door.
​
A week later, that city was burning. The heat of the flames were just a warm night breeze to the townspeople and my father was bitter about what he had been accused of, so he didn't bother to tell them otherwise.
Though that ended up not mattering as dawn had not broken when the first of the refugees came grasping at the street in the orange glow, yelling out stories of the horrors they had seen.
The small packs of cannibal arsonists who moved silently, looking for something to cook their latest catch on before it went bad or waiting for their next prey to walk by. They referred to themselves as "omnivores".
The smell of feces and garbage everywhere that made the sense almost useless.
The armored legion was gaining territory, controlled by the city's mayor who was already being called "The Emperor" by his troops.
The refugees told him that the armored legion was on their way to find the man who could still see. Some parts of the city were burned down entirely in order to clear out the cannibals quickly to ensure a more secure path.
My father was afraid, afraid for his life, afraid of what someone else might do if they had his power. So he ran. He mixed in with the bands of refugees and left his quaint little town behind. They wouldn't be able to catch him, so long as he traveled faster than word of his existence. From there he went from one crumbling society to the next, careful not to expose his power, yet still hoping to meet someone else who could see.
He never did.
​
One day he found a woman who had been left to die in a ditch outside of the walls of the town. She had been exiled for trying to steal food during the noisiest part of the day. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but beauty doesn't mean much to a town full of people who can't see. He nursed her back to health and they lived a happy life together.
When I was old enough, they taught me about how the sight worked.
"It must be given freely and out of love," Mother said.
"Just remember that you might not get it back." Father quipped.
Then they let me see for the first time. Everything talked to me at once and I couldn't stop crying. Everything had something to say and I could finally listen. With this power came great temptations, but I remembered my father's words and realized that they might be anxious about me running off with the sight. Not wanting them to worry, I gave it back soon afterwards.
​
After my mother died, my father didn't find much joy in having the sight. He pushed me to take it for longer and longer periods of time, until one day he didn't want it anymore.
"I want you to take it and go out there and do good things with it. You have the power to fix the problems wherever you go." He said.
We argued for days, but eventually I caved. I made sure every reserve tool was texture coded and that the medical supplies were full before setting out.
"Just promise me you won't share the sight with someone evil." He pleaded.
"We'll see." I said.
He laughed for the first time in a long time and waved goodbye.
"I'm waving goodbye too." I shouted.
He went back inside with a smile on his face. That was the last that I saw of the man of which the legends are told.
----
Edit: Fixed some formatting. | Note: apologies for any spelling or grammar as I was writing this on my phone because I had to capture the idea that came to mind.
"I've got it." The sudden noise wakes you from your afternoon nap among the waste. "I've got the seeing eye."
You turn your head slightly, human waste tumbling off your neck. You've grown used to the smells and to not taking care of yourself. You've also grown used to silence. So you look at the speaker.
She is a young girl - possibly pre-adolescent but it is difficult for you to judge. She is as scrawny as she is tall, a small wasted shadow with ragged clothes, matted mud splattered hair that was probably once brown and she is holding up a round object. Even from a close range you can barely tell it is an eyeball.
'No. Used to be an eyeball,' you think. Dripping with gore and no doubt stinking of decay. You can't help but wonder why a lone girl in the Graveyards would believe it was the one seeing eye. 'My bloody eye.'
The scavengers are onto her in a flash, rising up from the surrounding piles of bones. Their crazed mouths drool, saliva cascading across their chests: you count at least ten of the creatures. And for a moment you pity them. Until you remember cynically that they were the reason you had come to the Graveyards all those years ago.
The Crazies, would tear anyone to pieces for a taste of flesh. They had some strange religion based around devouring the sightless eyes of non-believers. All of which was meant to give you a modicum of safety from the outside world.
The past fifteen years brought nothing but hell. Running from the sightless world administrators who realised the value of your one seeing eye.
Damn, you are some reverse Sauron. You smile at the thought, then grimace as the Crazies close in on the little girl. It's never been pleasant to watch intruders torn to shreds.
Of course, while you realise sheer luck brought you to the Graveyard and the Crazies, you refuse to accept this reality. Luck is for the blind.
You blink as the girl tosses the eye down onto the ground. Any thoughts about the corpse she stole it from cease as the eye rolls down across the bone stacks, blinking with a single red light. Then a flash illuminates everything in blinding white light and the Crazies scream as fire rinses away their insanity.
It takes half a second for the flare to hit you. You have no time to respond except to realise that the eyeball was, in stead, a Hellfire Grenade. A weapon you once invented in a previous life.
The blast sends you flying. Sharp piercing pain shreds through your shoulder and chest, followed by a wet clammy sensation. You hear a loud scream and realise it was your own involuntary noise. You've been silent so long you forgot the sound of your own voice.
The next thing you realise is that you have a large bone shard poking through the centre of your chest. It's not yours.
'The bloody thing just pierced right through me.' The thought stuns you. You've been running for so long that the thought of actually dying is a sudden surprise. But here it is at last. Death staring at you from a bone shard in the chest.
A heavy weight thuds onto your legs and you groan. Then you see the girl from before. She's running her hands across your body, checking the injuries. Then she looks up at you.
No, she looks at you. And you feel the cold chill of true shock. She pulls out a knife and with an apologetic smile drives it towards your face.
'She too has one good eye.'
Everything turns dark with the settling blindness of death. | 2019-04-19T20:35:18 | 2019-04-19T19:39:38 | 140 | 14 |
[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. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | She looked thin, an average girl, she shifted her weight as her high heel strap dug uncomfortably into the back of her ankle. She bent down to readjust the strap. My mind was racing and I could feel my body become aware of that I knew nothing about the situation about to enfold between us. Thin soft curls covered her eyes as she rose to meet my widened stare. She instantly knew I could tell she was different, our eyes locked and I felt every fear and trepidation pass from me. She smiled, her face softening as she seemed to download every thing I've ever felt seen or heard. "Danny," she whispered, although I don't remember her mouth moving, "I'm tired, I've been on a century shift and I just want to have some fun." I let her pass through. Honestly something about her absolutely terrified me even though I felt a calm blanket surrounding my physical body. She made me feel like I was standing in front of the biggest mountain or tree Id ever seen. A small part of me wanted to fall to my knees and pray to her to spare me from whatever she was capable of if pushed to wrath. I didn't though, I just numbly went through the rest of the night. Anxiously peeking in to see if I could tell what she was doing. At closing time she walked out following a regular I'd seen many times. A tall guy that brought many girls to the club and none of them looked to happy to be leaving with him after. Id heard he was a bad guy, a date raper, machismo bully and so on. This time her stride was confident, her eyes locked on the back of his head as she trailed him like a coyote. She winked at me as she strode by. "Bonus" she whispered. As they walked away my guts twisted into knots as I observed the guys number start to tick down. | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-02T00:03:35 | 1,321 | 10 |
[WP] You can see how much each person loves you on a scale of 1-10. Your mom has a 9.2, your S.O. has a 9.5, your neighbor has a 5.7. Suddenly a person you've never met before confronts you. They're the first person with a negative number. | I realize I may not be beloved by all. I know this because I can see it, hovering in cursed golden fairy light over their heads. A number. A number representing the amount of affection each soul below it bears me.
According to family legend, a novice healer gave my great-grandmother a "miracle pill" to ease the pain of a difficult pregnancy. Back then, no one put much stock in young Maximillian's so-called remedies. Just a few herbs dipped in chocolate, to "make it go down easier." But they were wrong. That Max became the miracle man for the King of Florin himself. And the pill? Well, it worked a bit too well. To be sure, it removed her pain, but the babe was born with the inability to ever feel any pain at all. He was also born with 6 fingers on his right hand. And later, it was discovered, the ability to see glowing numbers over the heads of everyone he met. From then on, all the Rugen men were born with these three traits. Including myself of course.
I was the youngest of 11 children. By the time of my birth, my mother's ability to love must have worn thin. I never thought twice about the shimmering golden "V" over her head until my eldest brother claimed he saw a glowing "X." My elder sisters saw "IX." And my other siblings saw numbers descending from there. Over our father, however, we all agreed we saw a meager "III." On his deathbed, when I told him I had been granted the title of "Count" in the court of the King, I could have sworn one of the "I's" flickered out. My grand success had only made the man love me less.
As my fame and power grew, the numbers I saw flickering above the heads of the people of Florin lowered. But I cared not a whit! My body was unable to feel pain, but that also included my heart. Whether that was the legacy of the miracle pill or the utter lack of love in my youth I know not. Since pain was unknown to me of course I was fascinated by the idea of it. I researched it, relentlessly. I inflicted it whenever possible and examined the results scientifically. I even wrote a book on the subject!
Today I am in pursuit of a rather pesky criminal gang who had been interfering with the royal wedding. I have been accosted by an uppity Spaniard with a sword. Rather than fleeing from me like most sensible men, he has the gall to pursue me! As he raises his sword at me I am astounded to see the number glowing above his head is a "\^". The five is inverted. And more perplexing is its angry red color. It burns like the fires of hell.
I have seen low numbers before, but combined with the sword leveled at my face and the look of seething hatred in his eyes it is apparent his affection for me is somehow less than none. The very opposite of love.
For the first time in my life I genuinely feel something that must be akin to fear. Fascinating. I should remember to make note of it. Perhaps this might be the topic of my next book. That pesky Spaniard flicks his sword at me. A beautiful sword... Had I seen it somewhere before? "Who ARE you?" I demand.
**"Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die."** | The person before David was a short man who was angry and David was confused to say the least. Most people who didn’t know him would have 5 on the scale, for someone who hates the world and humanity maybe a two or three but never was there a negative number.
David remained calm and started simple “Hey who are you and have I done something to upset you somehow?” “Who am I? WHO AM I?!? I’M the one who ends up suffering from you all the time!”
David was a reasonable man and he didn’t see how he could be that unbearable to this man when they never even interacted. “Look I don’t know where this is coming from but-“ “ARE YOU KIDDING ME YOU’VE BEEN PUTTING ME THROUGH THIS SINCE WE WERE KIDS” “Come again?” “You’re the one who has been ruining my life from the sidelines, starting in high school when you stole my girlfriend!”
Now David as previously stated is reasonable and thus wouldn’t do a thing like that. “What are you talking about?” “I’M TALKING ABOUT JENNY SMITH” “Jenny Smith wasn’t in a relationship when we dated, plus that was years ago” “She was in a relationship with me until you asked her out and she broke up with me. And that was only the beginning, I have been suffering under you for years but the last straw was yesterday when you voted against my promotion.
David note knew who this was, Adam from the department below his. They still hasn’t decided on who to give the promotion to but when he saw Adams file he didn’t think he had the qualifications. His file didn’t have an image of him though so he didn’t know who he was.
“Adam let’s talk this out” “Talk this out? I have worked over time, and hours for that position. Plus man I have a family to provide for.”
David talked with Adam about how they could help him out and after a while they came to an agreement. Adam told David “This doesn’t mean I like you” and the scale held true to that but that was okay. “See ya around”. | 2020-07-30T20:19:16 | 2020-07-30T16:37:33 | 154 | 23 |
[WP] One night, you go to bed in 2018, and you wake up in 1853. After going to bed in 1853, you wake up in the year 2183. After falling asleep in 2183, you wake up back in 2018, then the cycle repeats. Somehow, you managed to create a life in all 3 time periods. | I’m nothing special. I don’t know why it happened to me. I’m just some inconsequential blip in the grand machinations of time.
On the sixth of April, 2018, the first time I became Detatched, everything seemed normal. I woke up at 6.30am, half an hour later than I should have, hopped on the train to my job in the centre of town and put my headphones in.
When I got off the other end, I walked along the concourse, oblivious to the world. I barely even noticed the world around me change. The first difference was the smell. The smell of diesel faded, replaced by the thicker, coarser stench of burning coal.
I felt dizzy for a moment, and I stumbled and fell, my headphones falling from my ears and clattering on the ground. When I looked up, the world was different. Gone were the modern lines and bright lights of Birmingham New Street Station’s million-pound platform.
In their place were grimy, blackened brick, and to my right - where only moments before a bullet-shaped Virgin Express train had sat - there now existed a great machine, thick, black metal and a head like the maw of a great beast. Steam billowed from a series of pipes.
“Sir,” a woman gasped, approaching me and taking me by the arms to help me stand. “Are you feeling well?”
She looked ridiculous, dressed in a pale blue long jacket and skirt, with an excessive bustle. Like something from a history book.
“What?” I replied, getting steadily to my feet. “What happened?”
“I saw you stumble and fall,” the woman said. “Like you were struck ill suddenly. Are you dehydrated?”
I blinked and grasped at the collar of my white work shirt. I felt as though I was suffocating. A million questions rushed through my mind: what happened to the train? Why was this woman dressed so oddly?
Another man approached, dressed in a sharp, tweed suit, with a strange, tall hat.
“What’s going on here, Ms Weaver?” The man asked.
“Doctor,” the woman - Ms Weaver - told the man. “I saw this chap take a fall. He seems disorientated.”
The doctor made a quiet ‘hmph’ noise, then reached forward and placed his hand on my throat
“Odd pulse,” he said. “Could be a malady of the heart. Sir, do you have a preexisting condition of some kind? An imbalance of the humours, perhaps?”
I glanced between the two. The concern in the eyes of the woman and the almost frank indifference of the doctor. I couldn't breathe.
“Sir, perhaps you should come with me, you don't seem well at all,” the doctor concluded, putting his hand around my arm.
I recoiled, acting on instinct, still gasping for air. Without my brain being consulted - not that it was particularly present in the moment - my body turned and began to run. I spotted a heavy metal door straight ahead of me on the other side of the concourse, one I didn't recognise.
Throwing the door open, I flew out into the cold morning air, finding myself on a raised platform looking over the street below. A strangled noise caught in my throat.
Below, it was a scene from a history book, an oil painting. An alien world. Horses pulled carriages along cobbled streets, men and women dressed just as Ms Weaver and the doctor had been brushed past each other in a morning buzz.
Unable to stop myself, I began to collapse, disappearing into a world of darkness. I wish I'd known in that moment I'd have been better off staying awake.
When I woke up, I'd be in a much stranger place.
| 1853
It was relief to see the cycle didn’t break until I realized where I was, in the cell at some tower.
“It is your lucky day,” said the prisoner in the next cell. He smiled and I saw the rusty teeth between blackened lips of him. “You will be free in three hours,” he laughed.
“How do you know?” I asked.
“It is Monday dumbass or you lost the track of the days?” he pointed to the wall.
I saw scratches on the wall with red. He raised his left hand and showed me distorted fingernails. Then he smiled again.
At the beginning of every cycle I ended up in different places; on the roof of some building, inside the tavern, at the bottom of some tree, in stable or other weird place.
But never in the cell.
“And when you will be free?” I knew it was silly question but I didn’t know what to ask. And I needed more information about the situation I was in.
“Are you an idiot? Or you gone mad?” the neighbor prisoner said.
I was staring at him and didn’t say anything.
“I said it is Monday and you will be free. It means I will be free too.”
“And where you go after three hours? I mean when you will be free,” another silly question by me.
I thought he would again swear and humiliate me, but he only swore.
“Fuck it. I wish it was the warm bed of Lesly or the Mariah. Oh, my fucking god, redhead Katy would also be sufficient. More than sufficient,” he laughed again and expression of his face reflected of his ongoing dirty fantasies inside his brain.
“I can help you with money,” though I didn’t have a single penny, words came easily to my tongue. Empty pocket could pay for a dozen lies. “Maybe I will take Katy and you will have Mariah and Lesly at the same time?”
I wanted to be friend with the neighbor prisoner, even if it meant to speak uncomfortable matters like whores and cheating to my beloved wife. I began to rub my ring finger. The worst thing about time travel in my case I was missing my wife. And I could see her only once in every three days.
“It is not possible you moron,” he said as if he departed from his thoughts.
“Why not? My money will make it possible,” I winked.
“Your money can not buy a shit on the other side. It is Monday you dumbass,” he made a pause and began to laugh loudly. “They will execute us in three hours.”
| 2018-04-06T03:42:15 | 2018-04-05T21:12:40 | 529 | 65 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| Supreme Admiral Tel'reg looked at the message they had received from the humans.
"Earth is under attack from the Arians. All fleets warp in to provide immediate aid."
The poor humans must be panicking. Tel'reg remembered one engagement he had a few decades ago with the Arians. Five of their most advanced ships had attacked a single ship that was destroying a mining colony. Three of their ships had been destroyed before the sector fleet had warped in to help.
The humans had panicked so much they forgot to send the message through the diplomatic channels. Tel'reg thought about if he should go help. His entire fleet would be no match for even a quarter of the Arian fleet. Most likely his entire fleet would be destroyed. He would loose his life, and his empire would be taken over by those damned Omicronians.
But if it wasn't for them he would have lost his life anyways. 7 years ago, a plague hit his species that would have wiped them out. A highly contagious mutation of mad bow disease, it had wiped out a quarter of his species before the humans had shown up with vaccines for EVERY SINGLE BEING in his empire. The plague that had left his people screaming for help, and made his own generals start planning a coup disapeared within two weeks. Mankind had asked for nothing in return, simply telling him that they use to have plagues every few hundred years.
There was also that time his reactor had a meltdown during his trip to a neighboring empire, and the humans showed up with a brand new reactor. Or that time when...
"Sir, there is an Omicronian fleet incoming." A scared looking ensign handed him a tablet showing the readout of the system. Tel'reg immediately started barking orders at the people around him, until the viewscreen started displaying incoming message. Tel'reg answered it.
"The fuck are you doing?"
"Besides picking up your mom for a date, I am just passing through." The hidious alien spit out. "We are going to help the humans. Let us pass unharmed, or you shall be destroyed."
"I am going to help the humans too. And your ships are so slow, the humans would be destroyed by the time you get there."
"The Ferengi are already almost there, and the United Twilek Republic are on their way. They will survive until I get there, and the firepower of my fleet will allow us to beat the Arians back. Then the humans will celebrate us as their heroes."
"Not if my ships get there first." Fel'reg shut off the broadcast. "Send a message out to all ships in our fleet, we are warping to Earth in 2 minutes. Warp 9.9."
"Sir, maintaining that speed for 205 light years would burn out our warp drives as soon as we pulled out of warp-space."
"I know. But we will be the first ones to help the humans." Fel'rag knew that their ships were the fastest in the galaxy, being over 30 times faster than the next fastest race. That combined with their close proximity to the humans means that their ships would be there in 10 minutes.
2 minutes later their fleet of over 800 ships started warping towards Earth. Fel'rag started creating battle plans in his head. 10 minutes later they dropped out of warp, alarms blaring about the burnt out warpdrive. Fel'rag took a look at the sensor data, and gasped.
Hundreds of Arian ships layed in smoking wrecks around Earth. An Earth fleet of around 50 ships were chasing the rest of the Arian ships past their giant moon, taking out ships left and right. As a Ferengi fleet warped in to help, a message from the humans popped up on his screen.
"Hey friend, sorry about us sending that message to everyone. There was a glitch with our communication systems. I noticed your warp drives are burnt out, do you want help repairing them? Our shipyards are top notch." | "Seven years ago, your kind saved this planet from itself, and for that I thank you. However, you come to us asking for help from an unknown threat, and you expect us to help you? How can we defend against the unknown?"
"Er... All due respect Lord Dreknell, the threat is known and documented. For the past three months our supply ships have been attacked by a new alien. They call themselves the Fayren. At the site of every attack, there is nothing left. All that remains is the empty void of space. They have weapons that surpass even ours. We are in desperate need of your help," the human ambassador to the Unum said. "All we ask is that you look back upon all the times we helped you, and help us in return."
There were conversation was being repeated hundreds of times to different species across the galaxy.
"Ladies and gentlemen, kings and queens, emperors and empresses, I am sure that you know why you are all here. We humans have been under attack for months by a new alien, the Fayren. The Fayren are a highly advanced species; They have attacked our vessels and left no trace. All we know of them is that they are part of a massive empire; Their empire numbers close to three trillion Fay. They are located near the Perseus arm of our Milky Way. Use small, elite strike teams with your most advanced weaponry. Good luck and godspeed," General Talcomb finished his address to the members of the newly named "Save Earth" Initiative, and walked out.
"General, you have one Lord Dreknell on line 3," one of the General's numerous secretary's said.
"This is Talcomb, what is so important that it couldn't wait until tomorrow? It's three in the goddamn morning Dreknell, shouldn't you be off fighting the Fayren?"
"General I am only calling you so this message can be passed on to your superiors," Dreknell intoned.
"What message?"
"The Fayren have been eradicated and exiled from the Milky Way. They are no longer a threat to you. The largest contributors to this cause were, the Unum of course. I expect that we shall be rewarded?"
"You'll get a reward if you bring me back their weaponry to study. If this war was over so quickly, I can only imagine the next one would go faster if we had some of their tech..."
"Whatever you need General..." Dreknell laughed maliciously.
"All units open fire on 'Earth base' on my mark. 3, 2, -" Dreknell's ship was blown into oblivion by the returning Albeq cruisers.
"General, about the Fayren," the Albeq leader said nervously. | 2017-03-26T09:09:42 | 2017-03-26T08:45:12 | 35 | 16 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I take a step forward. The line to the High Magister grows shorter by the moment as the people befor me are tried and executed on the spot befor the Grand Court of Wizards.
The reading of crimes is honestly the longest part, the crimes are listed for each of us and given a unanimous guilty verdict on the spot.
Cant say I blame then really, the coup didnt go quite as planned.
I'd love to say I was the mastermind behind everything but truth be told I'm little more then another cog in machine of revolution, one that broke quite handily when our silver tongued leader mysteriously vanished.
We just wanted non-magic folk to be taken more seriously, to be treated like actual citizens.
I take another step forward. I shake my head of the thoughts, pointless to think about it with more impending matters. Third in line now. I watch Andrew take centre floor. He used to be a cook befor getting caught up in this mess, cant say we spoke much but still a shame just the same.
The High Magister repeats the same phrase that everyone befor him heard last. "Choose your method of execution". There is a moments pause befor the old cook smugly replies "Old age". Cheeky sod read the same story I did.
With a wave of his hands the Wizard casts a spell and to my horror I see Andrew rapidly ageing till he is little more then a dead emaciated old man. "Bugger, there goes that idea" I mutter to myself.
"Next" The high Magister proclaims, waving his hand dismissively as a pile of dust blows away that used to be Andrew. I didnt know the woman in front of me but she looked like she had been through the ringer.
I take the time to think, my brain working as hard as it can to think of something, anything at all.
"Choose your method of execution" I snap from my thoughts and look up to see what she picks, maybe it will help. "Without regrets" she replies, little vague and not really a method but hey the Court seems to accept it. There is a quick flash of light, I turn away instinctively and blink away the sunspots left behind.
When I look back she is just stood there, not moving an inch. "Next." But... she is still alive? I walk to the centre and my crimes are listed off, I dont pay attention, I know what I did. I get a good look at her and wish I hadn't, her eyes, her face, her expression. They lobotomised her. The body might be there but there is nothing left inside.
I clench my fists tight, I'm angry but not at my situation. I'm angry that they seem to revel in punishing people who they think are trying to be clever.
"Choose your method of execution"
Well that was fast. I relax, no point in fighting it after all. I look up to The High Magister and smile, my body trembling but my mind set. I know how to beat this.
I open my mouth and give the one response I can think of that will work.
"Instant"
A small wave of the hand. I dont even get to hear the "Next" | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T10:08:14 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 255 | 25 |
[WP] "When entering the academy students often bring their pets. Most being the typical miniature dragon, gryphon, sabertooth, even the occasional golem. However you decided to bring this...this thing. I'm afraid the headmaster will need to hear of this." | "W-w-w-what's that?!"
The professor in charge of taking care of the students housing asked me.
"My pet."
I said, with a "duuh" tone, while patting little Bru-Bru, the ball of darkness.
"The....The Headmaster will need to decide about this, please head towards his office, I already notified him, through the communication amulet."
The professor said.
I nodded, and went straight to the headmaster's office.
​
The Great Balr Daerg, first Sage of the humans, ascended and united the wizards of the human race, and created this academy, that allowed humans to take the spot of the 3rd most powerful race, after the dragons, and demons.
He...He is the Headmaster, and now, he's frowning in front of me.
​
"Headmaster? Are you okay?"
I asked him, taking back little Bru-Bru.
"Since when do you have that...that creature?"
He asked, wariness evident in his voice.
"He appeared the moment I was born.
He does nothing but eat, and sleep, but he's able to eat magical attacks, thus being the perfect bodyguard for someone as clumsy as me."
I said, chuckling.
I am the eldest son of the First Star Merchant Guild, which is the richest organization on this planet, having branches even in the underwater cities of the sea folk.
While being rather talented in both magic, and martial arts, I am truly a prodigy, in attracting unwanted trouble.
​
"I heard about your reputation of escaping more than a thousand assassination attempts...
So, it was because of this...this entity."
The Headmaster said.
"Bru-Bru is not an entity, he's a cosmic terror creature's cub, and he's quite sensitive, so please stop calling him "entity"."
I said, starting to get fed up with everyone behaving like my pet was a monster.
A kid's dragon just ate the arm of an attendant, while another student's phoenix just set the dormitory they were in ablaze.
Bru-Bru slept all the way through the 3 days of examination, so who is the real danger?
​
"So you know his true nature?"
The Headmaster asked, being all tensed up.
"Eating emotions, magic, and life-force, the normal Abomination traits, yes, I know his true nature."
I said nothing.
"Then you know that he needs to be k..."
The Headmaster started saying, but Bru-Bru just opened his eyes.
"Headmaster, he's bonded with my soul. If I don't want to spill blood, he won't attack."
I said.
​
"A-a-are you sure?"
He asked, sweating under the gaze of my pet.
"Bru-Bru, go back to sleep."
Instead of answering the Headmaster, I put Bru-Bru to sleep.
Little Bru-Bru, moved a bit in my arms, and fell asleep once more.
With that, I just nodded to the Headmaster and left.
​
After the meeting with the Headmaster, everything went great.
I've been appointed as a top-student, and every professor was extremely respectful with me.
Hidden inheritances, forbidden knowledge, I had access to everything.
My talent would've brought me to the bridge of sagehood, but like this, I had chances to become someone relevant, on a cosmic scale.
​
Do I now that it's all due to little Bru-Bru?
Of course, I know.
Do I mind that everything I achieved is due to the people's fear of him?
No, I rather...enjoy it.
​
My life at the academy was great, and I graduated top of the class.
I became a sage at the young age of 57, attaining a life span as long as a planet's, but that...that was just the beginning.
Little Bru-Bru, needed at least 10 million years to go from his child years to the teenage years, and who knows how many more until he became an adult cosmic terror.
Being a sage was just the beginning for me, for I had greater goals...
One of them being...becoming the first ever recorded, human cosmic terror. | Finally! I was at the magical place. I couldn’t wait to tell Ma and Pa about all the fancy things I'm gonna be seein’ here. I got selected because of some fancy jean-etics I got in me. Don’t think it make too much sense. But Pa said he was a supporter because it was a free tuition.
In the letter I got, it said that I could bring a magical pet of my choosing. Well in my book, all pets are magical. I once had this dog that went down the creek with me and used to swim with me and once it brought me my sandwich and we could play fetch and he was just the smartest little dog I ever done met and I took that dog everywhere.
Well, anyhow, I went and got my favorite pet. It was a lizard lookin’ thing that I’d done found when I went fishin’ with some my cousins up in Wisconsin. I almost brought the monkey we got in Florida that time, but my kid brother was just too darn attached to take him.
Anyway, the day came and I had to go off to school. All the way in Europe. I think that’s the place the world wars happened, wasn’t too sure. I wonder if I’ll see any battles.
So anyway, I got there. And they had these big oak doors. Like they were huge. I couldn’t even touch top of ‘em. A nice old lady opened the right door.
“Oh hello! You must be Bernie!”
“Yes ma’am,” if nothing else, I was taught to be polite.
“Alright then, why don’t you come on in. Let’s see what you’ve got here. Clothes? Okay. Toiletries?”
“What is a toilet tree, ma’am?”
“Things like a toothbrush, toothpaste, basic hygienic equipment,” she explained very nicely.
“Okay, no ma’am I don’t have those. We don’t brush our teeth on account that my Pa says it’s a scam by the government to control us. And we don’t need to damage our teeth with their paste,” she gave a concerned look but moved on with her list.
She asked about any pets. I told her of course and I showed her Hornsy. She started freaking out. I didn’t understand what was wrong. Afterall he was just a lil’ guy. Just over seven foot long. She left me in the hallway and ran to get the principal fellow. He came by and started yelling at me about my Hodag, as he called him. I told him that that was a very rude name to call someone and he couldn’t help his facial appearance and there is no need for that kind of language around the little feller. They claimed he might hurt somebody and I said well no more than them dragons might hurt somebody.
After insulting my Hornsy I just took him right back home and forgot all about that place. Darn fancy people always ruinin’ everything. Ma and Pa were happy enough to see me on account of it was harvesting time and my brother hurt his hand when he went handfishin’. I was home and happy and that’s what mattered. But more importantly was Hornsy seemed to be doing okay after the verbal abuse he had to tolerate. | 2021-08-02T06:39:11 | 2021-08-02T06:34:34 | 243 | 51 |
[WP] After the Battle of Hogwarts, Dudley met a woman and they had a daughter,Sophie. Sophie is the light of their lives,she's always been a pleasant child. The morning of Sophie's 11th birthday,there’s a knock at the door. Harry is here to visit his cousin for the first time in almost 20 years.
I just want to say that I'm super excited to read these responses! I'm holding off reading them until my kiddo goes to bed so I can sit and really pay attention to your stories!!
I can't wait to see what you guys come up with | Sophie turns 11 today.
That was Dudley Dursley's first thought upon waking on that cold, grey morning. He smiled to himself, pulling his wife a bit closer and hoping to sleep just a bit more.
His eyes shot open.
Sophie. Sophie turns 11 today!
For a moment, he was back in his childhood, kipping under several blankets on a worn-out couch in a drafty shack in the middle of the sea. His cousin, Harry, shivered on the cold floor beneath him.
Harry.
Dudley had spent a fair part of his life attempting to forget the way they'd parted -- wishing he'd had the nerve to do more than tell his cousin he wasn't a "waste of space." Harry hadn't been that bad, really; Dudley himself had been far worse. A spoilt brat, honestly. He can admit that to himself now.
Sophie is turning 11 today.
He remembered the giant knocking down the door. Threatening his father (although Vernon Dursey could have done with a bit more threatening, in Dudley's opinion). He remembered a crack from the giant's pink umbrella, and the strange -- although not exactly painful -- sensation that came with his (not completely undeserved) pig tail.
That had been Harry's 11th birthday. He remembered it well. Too well, in fact.
Because, after all, Sophie is turning 11 today.
His mother and father separated soon after Dedalus Diggle led them away from their home on Privet Drive. When Vernon asked why, Petunia had simply said "You know." She'd taken Dudley to Majorca on holiday and told him all about his aunt Lily and the jealousy she'd harbored all these years.
"She was a witch," she'd told him then. "And I wasn't, although I desperately wanted to be. I've never forgiven her for that...until now. Duddy, magic runs in families. I may not have been a witch, but the blood runs through our family line, somehow. And the older you get, the more I think...well, I just couldn't treat one of YOUR children the way I treated...him."
"Harry," Dudley had said in a dull voice. "The way you treated Harry."
Petunia's face had fallen. She nodded. "Yes. Harry."
Sophie turns 11 today. And so it was no surprise when the knock came on the door; no surprise when Dudley looked through the glass and saw Harry standing on the stoop, clutching an envelope not unlike the thousands that had come shooting out of the fireplace, shoved through the mail slot, and -- once, even -- hidden inside a dozen eggs.
Dudley swung the door open, plastering what he hoped to be a welcoming smile on his face. "Harry," he said, reaching out a hand. "She's in, then? She's...like you?"
Harry nodded, just once, a glint in his eyes. "Are you surprised?"
"Never had a doubt, mate." He smiled. It was a real smile this time. Then he shouted up the stairs, far above the cupboard where Harry used to sleep, "Sophie, your letter has arrived!"
And something very like tears stung Harry's eyes when Sophie raced down the stairs, followed by her proud mum and then, finally, Aunt Petunia, who -- for once -- was beaming at him.
"Harry," she said. | Here is my first ever WP submission:
​
Dudley answered the door and stood face to face with Harry whom he had not seen in two decades. Both men stood at the entrance taking each other in and many questions that could've been asked were answered with nothing more than a deep and silent look.
Dudley beckoned Harry into the house and ushered him into the living room. As Harry walked past the staircase he saw a pair of eyes glinting at the top of the stairs looking intently at him, it was his niece Sophie. Dudley asked Sophie to go into her room which she did grudgingly. Dudley asked Harry to make himself comfortable in the living room, something that had never been requested of him when he lived there. Dudley bustled off to make some tea while Harry stood there going down memory lane. With the tea served, both men finally come to the heart of the matter; Harry's visit. Harry wasting no further time, pulled out an envelope one which Dudley instantly recognised. Looking at the envelope brought back memories of the stormy night when the secret of Harry's true nature was revealed to both of the boys by Hagrid. A night that ended with Dudley getting a pig's tale.
Dudley made a feeble objection to the contents of the envelope but eventually relented and called Sophie downstairs to meet her uncle for the first time in her life. Sophie bounded down the stairs and towards Harry with her eye beaming and her face sporting the most widest and brilliant of all smiles for it was her birthday and her uncle would have brought her a present. Harry introduced himself and told Sophie why he was there. Sophie did not understand at first but little by little she began to understand what Harry meant. She was after all, a very perceptive child. She then opened the envelope in earnest and read the letter. Watching her read her letter reminded Harry of the stormy night when Hagrid himself gave him the letter. Harry could feel Sophie's excitement and sense of wonder, he could tell that from that moment on Sophie's world would never be the same again. Harry looked at Dudley who quietly affirmed his decision to send his daughter to Hogwarts. | 2019-10-16T12:24:03 | 2019-10-16T12:01:55 | 76 | 37 |
[WP] "We can accept god becoming man to save man, but not man becoming god to save himself" | "So, although the loss of Dr. Wagner is a tragedy, I think it is vital that we continue project Lethanos. Not only would this be in the spirit of her work, it is, in my eyes, essential to the survival of the human race."
Dr. Wolinsky had finished his plea and let his eyes wander through the room. About a third of the people present were researchers, some of them his own. The rest constituted of government and military representatives. Several intelligence services had sent agents, too. Collecting his papers, he tried to estimate whether he had managed to convince his audience. Project Lethanos had always been a delicate issue and his lead researcher's tragic death wasn't going to create stablity.
The folder slipped from his wet hands and song lyrics forced their way into his thoughts: *His palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy...*
He smiled. *Lose Yourself*. He had grown up with that song. He reminisced about his clidhood for a few seconds. The early twenty-first century had seemed so full of hope and bright optimism. As he bent down to pick up his folder, the mention of Dr. Wagner's name turned his smile into a grim one. He was forced back into reality by Agent Kline's voice.
"Thank you, Dr. Wolinsky. There are, as you can imagine, questions."
Wolinsky nodded serenely.
"Firstly, you said Dr. Wagner's work was essential for the project's success so far. Is that correct?"
He nodded again, barely moving his head.
"Would you say she had taken any...unusual risk compared to the other researchers?"
"She always respected all safety precautions as long as she was in the laboratory. Still, what we do - did - is dangerous work."
"I see..." Kline waited, then a gleeful smile began to grow on his face. "Now, there seems to be evidence that while she did adhere to the safety rules *within* the laboratory, she also took her work *outside* of it. That in itself would have been grounds for a dismissal, correct?"
Wolinsky's stomach lurched. *Fuck*.
"Yes."
Kline turned to the woman who had spoken. She was tall, thin, and her gray hair was braided in what he knew to be the traditional Swedish fashion. Signe Olsson, Catherine Wagner's mother. She had been silent for most of today's trial, but now she was standing upright and glared at Kline in anger.
"You are Dr. Wagner's mother?"
"I am. And I've got a few things to say about my daughter." Her blue eyes seemed to stare directly into Kline's.
"Fine." He let out a resigned sigh.
Olsson kneeled onto the floor and seemed to whisper into her handbag. It wasn't until she had come out from behind the table where she had been sitting that it made sense to Wolinsky.
*Oh no.*
She had braught Anna, her granddaughter. Anna was only five and seemed intimidated and afraid. She clinged to her grandmother's hand and looked as if she had cried. Wolinsky couldn't imagine what losing her mother at such a young age and being flown across the country several times for examination after examination must have done to such a young mind.
"Who is the child?", Kline asked.
"My granddaughter. Your *evidence*." Olsson's glare could melt stones. Wolinsky was surprised that Kline didn't squirm in his chair. Instead, he motioned to an agent waiting next to the door. "Watson, remove the child."
"Remove, Sir?"
"Bring her out of the room!"
For a moment, nobody moved. Then agent Watson slowly walked towards Olsson and the girl. He crouched before Anna and offered her his hand. "Come."
"Nana." It was the first time Wolinsky heard Anna's voice. It was full of pain and fear.
"Don't touch her." Olsson frowned at Watson who in turn, didn't dare to move. He looked helplessly at his superior Kline.
"Mrs. Olsson, this is an official trial. I cannot allow a child in this room. Surely you understand. Watson, bring her into the cafeteria. Now!"
Watson repeated the gesture and said: "Come with uncle Tom. Let's go and take a walk." He edged closer.
"Nana!" Anna's eyes began to fill with tears.
"Now!", shouted Kline, eager to end the ruckus.
Watson lost his nerves. He grabbed hold of the girl and started running out.
"Nanaaaaaaaa!", Anna cried as she extended her hands towards her grandmother. Watson ignored her wailing. Fully focused on his next objective - reaching the door - he was unaware that the screens in the room had begun to flicker. Nor did he notice that small sparks crept up and down on his body.
"NANAAAAAAA!"
The small girl's voice echoed around in the room unnaturally loud for a fraction of a second. Then, the shrill noise was replaced by an enirely silent explosion, the force of which hurled Whatson against the closed door. All the lights went out at the same time.
When the lighting flickered into life again a few seconds later, Anna floated three feet above the ground. Her hair surrounded her head like a cloud as she sobbed quietly.
Olsson wallked over to her granddaughter who eased into her embrace. "Shhhh, shhhh. *Lugna dig. Nana är här.* Shhhh." She cradled Anna in her arms and turned to Kline.
"I know you don't want to, but we have to face it. This is the future. *Anna* is the future. And there's no way back." | Atop a mountain stood the relic sword of Ardas, half bent into a bear-sized boulder. It gleamed golden-brown, a fabled mix of gold and bronze adorned with rubies, emeralds, sapphires and diamonds. Standing on top of the world there was nothing but me, the mountaintop and a seemingly endless expanse of clouds. With my last bit of strength, I clawed closer to the sword, which rested another ten meters up from where I lay.
I couldn't stop laughing—not a gleeful, happy laugh—a laugh that screamed, "stay away from him, honey, stay close to me... Is someone calling the police?" It was all I could do to distract myself from the crippling pain that infested my body. Every cut, scrape, tear and break; every ounce of pressure that erupted from the cancerous bulbs in my body. Laughter cured the side effects, though it could not cure the disease.
Slowly, I made my way closer. The earth crumbled beneath my body each time I grasped the rocks with my hand and pulled myself forward. I feared the incline could trigger an avalanche of rocks, sending me, at last, to my death down the side of the mountain's peak.
"Ha ha ha HAHAHA HA ha," the laughter came, uncontrollably now. Tears began to fall down my face. I heard cheers and gazed up. Around the sword, my family was cheering. The people of my town were cheering.
"Go Kalha! You got it! Just a little more!" yelled Betta, the town's baker. A plump woman with large eyes and wild frizzy hair, who always wear a chef's hat for whatever reason.
"Honey, you can do it. You can save us all," my mom said, still dressed in her pink kitchen apron that my father gave her when I was four. It was decorated with a large ruby heart where the apron met her heart.
With their encouragement, I made it to the rock. Now I had to try and stand. The cancer had grown largely around my hips in the last part of my journey. I had been crawling for the last three days.
I propped myself against the rock, pulling my body against it. There was no way I could reach the hilt of the sword from any angle on my knees. The rock was simply too large to crawl up without my legs.
My feet planted. I felt nothing. Not the earth beneath them, not the tension of muscle ready to support me. I couldn't help thinking, "is this what it feels like to be a baby?" I laughed a real laugh, trying to quiet my fears—if my legs didn't support me, I'd surely fall back.
With a deep breath, I pulled up and rested my weight on my feet. It was unsteady. I made a mistake. I could already feel them starting to buckle. My skin started to crawl as a wave of fear blasted through me like the nuclear blast that flattened my home. The blood rushed somewhere. I had no idea where, but it felt like it had rushed completely out of my body. Swaying back, the end felt close. One way or another, the end was close.
My feet dug into the ground and my knees were poised against the rock. I rocked back and forth ever so slightly. With my last effort, I flung myself forward. My feet gave out, my knees lost their strength. What I felt in my hand could be anything as I slid into hysteria.
I awoke. I awoke to find a ring of elderly men staring down at me. They appeared grievous and unkind. A man with a curled mustache of gray and long curly white hair stood up and looked down at me. His gray cloak tickled the tips of my fingers.
"Of all relics of magic still in the world, Ardas' was the one that would join men to the gods. Bashes! That snake," he said angrily. "The only one enchanted enough that we could not remove either! Such a preposterous circumstance!"
The other men grumbled in agreeance.
"Congratulations mortal, you've taken one step of many to find divinity," he continued. I groaned.
"Oh," he laughed, "did you believe it would be that easy? Ha! This is but the beginning."
He kicked the sword from my hand. The blade clanked violently against the stone floor.
"Now, get up," he ordered. "Your next task begins, immediately." | 2016-11-24T07:06:01 | 2016-11-24T07:05:12 | 72 | 26 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | My lord,
There is a man behind the king.
I have seen him, truly, only once. I fear it was a courtesy.
He lurks in solemn silence, a familiar stranger standing just out of sight. A footfall from the king, and yet an infinity from the crown. He watches, and sees, and yet does not permit to be seen. His eyes burn with knowledge, as many have lived lives in them - flashed in the instant between the clink of metal and a dagger in the heart.
The king’s blaze only serves to sharpen the shadows of his domain, and there he resides, in quiet power. It is not the power that a man wields when commanding a people, nor does it carry the wretched taint of coin.
No, this is a far simpler power - one of a man, over another. But the king does not bow to this power in simple fear - he kneels in gratitude. For in the cursed court of fools and snakes, where common men come to die and the power-hungry come to reap, where jackals cackle and sheep bleat, and the old lion roars - there is a hunter dressed in black.
He nocks his bow, string stretched taut at his cheek, but does not fire. He does not want trophies - or even game. He listens to the forest, and waits.
And in that, he is dangerous.
The cub grows impatient. He knows there is a great storm on the horizon, but remains unconcerned. He sees the lightning, and does not count for thunder. A fool among fools, and a champion of old glory.
My assessment is clear. This kingdom will fall, as have the rest. Whisper your nothings, and the prince will listen. But tread lightly, among the autumn leaves. Whatever the cost, the man behind the king must fall first. His gaze is sharp, and his arrow flies true - pray that he does not look to you.
Regards,
Your Humble Servant
\*\*\*
(thank you for reading, critiques welcome!) | The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him. | 2021-02-28T06:26:43 | 2021-02-28T01:37:57 | 48 | 14 |
[WP] Nations around the world are hellbent on taking out this journalist that has been trying to publish pieces about things that are supposed to be top secret. But for some reason, all attempts to silence this “Clark Kent” fellow have failed. | General Aladeen always get what he wants. A mountain of golds? Done. A harem of Asian women? They'll be in his room in an hour. A picture of Kim Jong Un's drooling in his sleep? Check his email. Eliminate a pesky journalist? Their heads will be hanging by his window in the morning.
But not his head. Not Clark Kent.
"What do you mean he won't take the job?" Aladeen questioned, furious of the reports given by his aide.
"I'm sorry, Supreme Leader. But when we mentioned the name of Clark Kent, Mr Wilson immediately put down the phone..." The aide explained, quivering at Aladeen's fury.
"Have you tried Deadshot?" Aladeen suggested, remembering how the sharp-shooter has helped his father plenty of time in the past.
"Our second choice. Also the same reaction."
"How about Bronze Tiger? Shiva? Cheshire?" His aide remained silent, a clear answer "Alright, have you at least reached out to our ally in Pokolistan?"
"Well... Clark Kent already got them..." His aide revealed. Panicking, Aladeen immediately grabbed his tablet and, while cringing, opened the Daily Planet app. There it was, the first article on the page
*Pokolistan Royal Family Exposed! An Unfair Bidding of Hundred Years Old*
*by Clark Kent*
The article went on in details about how the Pokolistan's royal family has been holding its citizen's down with an unclear contract made from almost a century ago that gave them the sovereignty they have been abusing ever since. Details such as reports from oppressed natives to escapees were included along with pictures of the said contract. Aladeen did not need to even open the social media apps to know that a storm is ravaging the country now.
How in bloody hell did that reporter do it? Not even Aladeen know whether the contract really exist. He found himself slouching down his chair, thinking thousands of theories of how did that boy scout did it.
Does he has ties to the League of Assassins? Couldn't be. All of those that have been sent to him would always come back alive, with only their motivation gone. Could it be that Clark Kent is merely a figurehead of bigger conspiracy bent to take on the corrupts of the world? Honestly, with the amount of super groups out there, he's not surprised.
Speaking of super-groups, could it be he's a metahuman? A powerful one at that seeing how even the best like Deathstroke and Deadshot refused to deal with him?
"I'll get you, Clark Kent." He muttered.
Meanwhile, somewhere on the other side of the planet, Clark was sipping his coffee as he sorted out the files on his computer.
"Good luck." He whispered. | After leaving a hotel in London, I begin to walk the streets while listening to some of Gotham’s piano jazz. During which, I continue to uncover more secrets of other countries including one that all of them have collaborated on, called “Project Cadmus.” Apparently, the governments of the world were threatened by the re-emergence of metahumans, starting with Superman after the Justice Society of America disbanded before the Vietnamese War. They wanted to even the odds in case the metas went rogue, which some of them have like with Captain Atom briefly becoming Monarch before the Justice League managed to revert him back to who he once was or when The Elite created a power vacuum in both Bekulistan and Bialya after killing Atomic Skull in Metropolis and Superman managed to apprehend them all. I can’t let those in power abuse it any longer. “Where are you going, goggles?” A voice asked from 10 feet behind me.
I slowly turned around before getting knocked through a wall by an electrically enhanced fist. The voice laughs, bragging that he’ll be rich for how easy it was to assassinate some nerdy reporter from Metropolis. Feeling like raining on his parade, I quickly change out of my glasses and tie and emerge as Superman. The laughter turns into shock as I soon tower over the Electrocutioner. He tries to amp up the voltage on his gloves which was enough to take out a city block to try to electrocute me. Unfortunately for him, it didn’t work and I knock him unconscious with a simple headbutt. I then change back and continue with what I was doing before. | 2020-11-29T02:24:50 | 2020-11-29T02:09:19 | 460 | 43 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | The duck came in. It was interesting these days. Often it was the same lines, but unless they got new material they usually only did the bit once or twice. It was really no worse than dealing with a friend who liked puns.
“Ya got any grapes?” The duck asked.
He thought for a few moments. It was like a riddle, you had to figure out what the right response was to get to the punchline. Didn’t seem like much this one. “No, we don’t.”
The duck left.
The horse came in.
Ah, this one he knew.
“Why the long face?” He asked with a smile.
“Because I’m a horse. This is just my face.”
The smile wavered slightly but didn’t disappear. Joke or not, it was still a customer, and they got their service either way.
“Hey, Rabbi!” He called. “Any idea what the duck’s line is?”
The rabbi thought for a moment. “All I know is that everybody likes chicken.”
He pursed his lips. Was that a reference? Anyway.
Two men came in with lunchboxes. He smiled again. “Lemme guess... swap lunches?”
They looked at him. “Yea, guess so.”
Something was off.
The next day, nobody came in with their punch lines. Only the duck asked for grapes.
Same with the day after.
The next day, he was aggravated. His customers weren’t telling their jokes. He didn’t like seeing them so upset. And for some reason the duck aggravated him. He threatened the duck accidentally.
The next day, he decided to mention it. He waited quietly until all his customers -except the duck- were in.
“Guys! What’s wrong?” He asked. “Why are you guys so down...?” He resisted the temptation to ask why the long face.
“Oi,” the rabbi said. “We’re tired of being made fun of. We may be jokes, but we don’t appreciate being made fun of.”
The variety of characters nodded or made their respective sounds in agreement.
“Guys!” The bartender said again. “I get it. Nobody likes being teased. That’s fine. But you guys are what make people smile! Even when you have a hard day, the right joke can make you happy! Isn’t that worth it?”
Before they could respond he continued.
“I would always smile because whenever one of you said something I knew it would make me laugh! It was the best part of the job.”
They all looked at him unimpressed, but slightly regretful.
Regretful like he was, for threatening the duck.
Speaking of which, the duck walked back in.
“Ya got any-“
“What did I tell you yesterday?”
“That you’d nail my beak down if I asked for grapes again?”
“Exactly. So don’t.” Dang it. It happened again. Before he could apologize the duck asked:
“Ya got any nails?”
He paused. “No..?”
“Well then, ya got any grapes?”
He stopped. Blank. *That* was the punchline.
The whole bar roared into laughter. It was a solid 3 minutes before any of them stopped long enough to explain.
“You see, we knew how much you enjoyed the
jokes.” One said
“So we got together and planned a way for you to really be a part of one.” Said another.
“It’s been so long since we got a good laugh out of something.” One more continued, wiping a gleeful tear away.
The bartender was stunned.
He smiled and started laughing. It was endearing.
Then the chicken walked in.
Everyone kind of looked at him curiously.
To him, it didn’t matter. The customers pulled the most elaborate joke on him yet. They included him fully this time. They embraced their jobs.
Then the chicken spoke.
“Know why I crossed that road?” | As I arrived, the usuals sat at the bar, sipping their water downed whiskey and watching an old playoff game hoping for a different ending never to come. I topped off whiskey, rum and cokes, and opened a couple more beers. To be honest, I wasn't in a great mood, but I thought he day was looking up when a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the place, unusual but not unheard of. My urge to say something witty had to be buried deep down. They ordered their drinks, martinis. When they finished their drinks, they left me a generous tip and left never to return. Then, things started to get weird.
A rabbi, a priest, and an another person walked in and ordered beers. As I slid their brews down to them, I knew had to say something.
"You an atheist?" I said to the odd man out.
"No! A retired pastor, jerk."
They all stormed out of there. No tip for me either. Fair enough, I guess.
Then, the impossible happened. A horse walked into the bar. It didn't say a word, but I had to say it. I had to.
"Why the long face?"
It made me chuckle when I noticed that it wore a saddle and reins. An officer barged into the bar, red in the face. Grabbing the horse by the reins, he apologized and stepped back outside.
Then, things got really weird. Something I had never seen before came in.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
"A neutron."
"Alright, what'll you have?"
"A screwdriver."
I made it and set in front of this thing.
"What do I owe you?" It asked.
I stared at it dumbstruck. "Umm, that'll be..."
"No charge?"
"No, $6.50."
Then, it got weirder I tell you. Another man walked into the bar and asked one question to a woman, beautiful and blonde.
"So, do I come here often?"
This woman stared at him.
"Dad? How did you get out of the nursing home?"
She grabbed him and looked right at me as they left: "Alzheimer's."
As my shift ended and the bar cleared out, one more person showed up. He walked in, and I immediately said "We don't serve your kind in here?"
And he looked back at me and said the strangest thing: "How did you know I was a time traveler?"
"Umm...your hair."
Truth be told, I didn't. I was tired of all the BS. Honest.
I closed up early that night.
***
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories. | 2018-01-31T20:30:34 | 2018-01-31T18:46:27 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit | "Please, Gil, we need you to become Graviton again. Ares is out and-," The woman, dressed in a floral suit-dress was standing inside the cell with the man who was lazily floating in the air.
"Using weapons that have been outlawed by NATO or whatever for blah blah blah years. He's making unreasonable demands, shocking! He's killing anyone who tries to bring him in, horror! He's threatening to use them on innocent civilians, scoundrel! Save me the news report, Debbie, oh sorry, Senator Attenborough." Gil 'Graviton' leisurely pulled a potato chip out of the bag floating next to him as he continued to watch some cat videos on tablet screen above him.
"You know that's not all! He has access to weapons of mass destruction!" Debbie had pulled out her politician voice, something that made Gil look over in disappointment.
"Debbie, I'm not your political opponent, using hot phrases means jack shit. Besides, did I or did I not publicly say that if Ares was not put in quintuple layered carbon-silicate faraday cage with copious signal interference directed specifically at the cage, then he would leave as soon as his wounds healed?" Gil floated back down to the ground to stand in front of Debbie.
"You know that the budget-,"
"Oh right, the budget. The budget that I explicitly said could afford hiring a particular materials lab that I had a personal contact in who was an expert in just such a contraption?"
"Sending a request through just like that wasn't so simple. There's a voting process-," Debbie found her words cut off as a sudden force almost brought her to her knees.
"Don't. Give. Me. ME. That crap. We are talking about a man who can summon and control any and *every* weapon in the world so long as he knows where it is within a 2.4 kilometer radius of his estimation point. The only reason, and I clarify, the *only* reason I did not kill him was because you personally made a whole campaign about how *I* should be held accountable for any injuries and deaths that occur because of my actions." Gil leaned down to make sure the senator was looking him in the eyes.
"Because, obviously, I never, ever, not once, go out of my way to privately cover medical and funeral expenses for bystanders. I *never* arrange grants and community aid to help small businesses recoup from property damage. I never, not a single fucking time, have I ever, made sure to pay my dues to the public from when I caused the damage."
Debbie, who had been pushed more and more by an ever increasing force of gravity slowly looked Gil in the eyes. Truly, she probably had been unaware, Gil knew this. His monetary connections were a better kept secret than his civilian identity, especially now. Ex-villains and retired heroes were like that, and some, investors, held assets worth more than any currency. Their word, and his by extension, could write checks that would destroy economics.
That's what being the number 1 hero had meant. That and being subjectively the most powerful. Yet a bank and surrounding buildings, including a city maintenance office, being destroyed was just the last round of ammunition needed for politicians to somehow get a criminal sentence on him.
Gil's brother in law and sister wanted to testify for his case, but he wouldn't let them. After all, this wasn't the first time something like this had been attempted, it was just the first time Gil let them think it would help.
"Your family is in danger if this goes on," Debbie painfully spoke. The pressure released.
Finally the stupid, arrogant, asshole freak was listening to her.
So why then did she feel lighter? Like something was drawing her upwards? And how was there sunshine and blue sky behind Graviton? His cell had no windows, and was made of concrete.
She then realized the walls were still there, sort of. They were now the size of a softball, cumulatively, and floating between her and Graviton.
"Don't. Ever. *EVER*. Try to threaten my family like that. Because it doesn't even matter if my brother in law would rip you and every military force apart before you got to my sister or my niece. If you ever try to suggest, no, think of such a blatant threat to them again, I will become the villain you will never be able to stop. No matter how much you beg and scream," Gil placed a hand on Debbie's shoulder, and gave her a small smile.
Even as she saw the villain known as Ares aim a missle from some aircraft at them, all Gil did was turn and look at him. The villain, wearing his swat-team like outfit, slowly placed the missle on the ground. Hands raised into the air, and Ares slowly walked away.
"He and I have an agreement. Now, if you'd like to review my case and your campaign, as well as address the slander charges my lawyer will be bringing to court, here's a business card. I'm not sure if you know him, he's kind of a local guy. Biggest case he dealt with was a little, tiny, hardly significant investigation into a bribery case involving three supreme court justices, who were found guilty on multiple accounts, by the by," Gil handed Debbie a fairly plain looking business card.
The senator stumbled out of the prison cell as Gil set about decompressing the walls so it was less drafty. | “Look, I’m only going to ask one more time. Please help us. The city *needs* you.’
“Oh, *do* they?” muttered the caped crusader, barely glancing up from what he might call a piece of “historical fiction” - a comic book with his face plastered in bright colors front-and-center on the cover.
Captain Spectacular leaned back against the cold stone of the prison bench, looking utterly relaxed, unlike the very annoyed woman who had been standing over him for the past few minutes. As one of the few people who knew him outside of his strange profession, she was also one of the few people able to put up with him.
“Yes, it does,” Diane said, her insistence bleeding into anger. “And I think you know *damn well-*”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” he interrupted, flipping the page of his comic. “There’s no internet in this cell, after all.”
“And you haven’t noticed that all the guards seem to be off duty? The various horrible screams coming from directly outside this building? For heaven’s sake, there is literally a goddamn hole blown through the ceiling.”
The Captain looked up at the giant hole punched through the wall of the holding cell, roughly the size of a giant robotic monster’s left foot. The clouds above were an unusual shade of red, with frost-blue lighting slamming down into the streets by the sound of thunder that sounded less like thunder and more like the roar of said giant robotic monster.
“Hmm,” he said, and turned back to his book.
“You know, it’s an odd coincidence that all the city’s major villains managed to escape on the same day you turned yourself in,” she said, gritting her teeth.
“Strange indeed,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’d love to help. But destroying city property is a *very* serious offense. As some helpful citizens have pointed out.”
“Oh, for the love of - is that what this is about?”
He sighed. “I’m a menace to society. Who knows what kind of chaos would be let loose with people like me out on the street?”
His words were punctuated by the sound of several lasers being fired into a large and heavily populated office building.
“All of your complaints have come from the elderly, who you could *very easily compensate*\-”
“Exactly! That’s what I’m doing.”
Diane slapped her forehead. “That’s not what I - aargh!” She changed her tactic. “Look, you could alternatively compensate *the entire city, right now*, by, I don’t know, *preventing it’s destruction*. As famous heros, such as yourself, are supposed to do, instead of lying around in prison cells being petty assholes.”
“Funny thing, I remember the last time I saved the city from certain doom. It was-when was it? Oh, that’s right, a week ago. I remember that *after* the fact, I received a very harsh letter from a citizen who said I ‘destroyed their car.’ Who was the petty one in that scenario, Diane?”
Muffling a scream, Diane took a deep breath, turned around, and began to walk towards the cell door. This clearly wasn’t getting anywhere.
Unless…
As Diane opened the door, she let out an extremely exaggerated sigh. “Sure is a shame that the first thing all those villains went after was your beautiful condo up by the mountainside.”
The book slammed shut. “*What*?*”*
Whistling, Diane walked out of the room.
“You’re joking,” yelled Captain Spectacular.
She turned around with a grin. “Only one way to find out,” she responded.
The heavyset man stared at her blankly, his face consorting into a mirage of emotions, until - with one last defiant grown - he tossed the book on the floor and stood up. “You owe me for this,” he muttered, before gazing up at the hole in the ceiling again and flying out into the storm beyond.
Diane smirked. Her brother could be a pain, but was fairly easy to win over if you knew what he *really* cared about.
She picked up the crumbled comic, reclined on the bench, and read. The sounds of the battle outside made for some nice background music. | 2021-03-18T12:59:11 | 2021-03-18T12:14:25 | 303 | 63 |
[WP] An Empath species recoils when it first encounters you, falling to the floor and curling up. Later, through a phone,it asks how you live with the pain. | "How do I stand it? It's simple this is my Normal I'm perfectly healthy"
" simple? normal? Health? Six of our ended themselves after understanding you. Your sensation sent the remaining witnesses to medical"
I looked at the phone I was talking through, it being the only way we have been able to communicate since the incident, still not fully understanding what happened. The Collective, the name we came up for the first species humanity ever came in contact with, said that the second they witnessed me they could feel my pain and that it was so strong that it drove some to madness. The higher-ups told me they were an empath race so what I felt they would as well. The thing was I fine, my medical reads on my suit were all normal and the slightly lower gravity of the station made me feel superhuman.
"Ok let's try a different angle what is pain" I figured maybe the translation software had a glitch and if we could figure out the translation problem we would be sooner to finding an answer.
"Pain sensation of hurt to comprehend discomfort. I witnessed the record you exist in much pain how do you maintain"
"What do you mean by maintain"
"To continue to exist"
"My will to live?"
"Yes, your reason to maintain"
It hit me it wasn't physical "for others that's how"
"The collective?"
"Yes I'm alive because others would hurt if I wasn't"
"But you hurt dose the collective not see it? The collective not witness your pain"
"They see but don't feel it. My sadness doesn't matter if I live their pain is less if I die their pain is more and I can't do that to them."
"For the collective that is not you? The pain could end you gain not for suffering. We gain from others we are a collective but your kind is not collective so why?"
"Because kindness is not a selfish act. I care for others because I do not want anyone to experience what I go through. I have always had this pain it is called depression. So how do I stand it it's simple this is my normal and I don't want my normal to become anyone else's. | "How do you live with the pain?"
The question rang in my ears and consumed my thoughts. As I thought about it--as wretched memories whirled through my mind, as the heavy knowledge of a long-dead past scrolled behind my eyes like the etchings on a tomb, as I recounted every line and scar time has gifted my physical self--it dawned on me. A single answer came to mind, so soft and quiet at first as if to suggest even my most inner self didn't want to recognize the truth to it. Surely, though, as an empathy, this young male would understand my answer--even if I didn't want to entirely accept it myself.
I took a deep breath, embracing the heaviness in my chest as I smiled through the thundering bell in my mind that was the ugly answer.
"I can't, but I don't think I have a choice."
~*~
*First-timer* | 2021-01-14T20:00:38 | 2021-01-14T17:56:59 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] A necromancer tries to find the perfect gift for his daughter. | "I HATE you Dad! How could you do this to me!" Tabitha cried as she slammed the door to her roomed closed. Her father Grimlock, honestly confused, was taken aback at her reaction to his birthday present.
"Tabby dear, whats the matter? Don't you love the gift I got you, isn't it just what you said you've always wanted?"
"Not like that you idiot" Tabitha screamed from behind the door of her room. "How could you do this to me? I hate you!."
Grimlock didn't understand. For a few years now his daughter had been going on about wanting this to happen. Trying to be a good father he spent months in preparation and put in a lot of hard work to make his little girls wish come true. And this is the thanks he gets?
"Now you listen here young lady! Do you understand how much effort I put into making this happen? Do you?" Gromlock said sternly. "Necromancy isn't some easy task. I had to collect all the right materials. Plan it all out to happen under the right lunar cycle! Not to mention he was alive at first! Returning an already dead corpse isn't nearly as difficult as breaking into someones home, murduring them, and then bringing them back to life to be my daughters undead slave!"
"I didn't want him as an undead slave! I said I wanted him!" Tabitha sobbed. "Its not the same dad."
Not the same? Well clearly it wasn't the same but Grimlock thought he had made it better. Not only would his daughter get her wish but the undead would be bound to be with her forever. A living body could leave if it wanted too. And Grimlock couldn't bear the thought of seeing his little girls heart broken.
"I'll never understand teenage girls" Grimlock mumbeled to himself. "Now what to do with you."
"Baaaabbby uhhhh Baaaabbbby Ughhh" The undead corpse of Justin Beiber grumbled as he stared at his master with his blank, lefeless eyes.
"Well I guess I can just return you to your home. Honestly I don't see how anybody would notice the difference" Grimlock said in a rather annoyed tone. Mayb next year he would just dig up her old cat or something.
| "A corpse? No... Perhaps a sacrifice? Nah, too bloody and I'd need a scalpel. A reanimated corpse? Yes...She'll like that. Oh, I'll have to get a celebrity, oh! So much choice!"
The old necromancer was tying a belt around his old black robe. He examined one of the grey swirls on his cloak and marched out of the room swiftly, setting off to work.
The teenage girl stood outside of the dark oak door, listening carefully to each word. She let out a squeal when she heard that she was getting a celebrity for her sixteenth birthday.
She heard her dad's heavy footsteps approaching the door and sprinted away to her bedroom to make a list of what she wanted for christmas. 'Imagine what I'll get for Christmas!' She thought excitedly. 'Maybe a famous human sacrifice! Just for me! Oh, I'll have to invite all of the undead to my Christmas gathering!'
[I hope you like this, I'm writing it quickly before I go to a sleepover.] | 2015-04-25T07:05:30 | 2015-04-25T06:53:05 | 150 | 28 |
[WP] Humanity’s penchant for anthropomorphization meant that Humans had been treating computer systems as if they were sentient well before they actually achieved sentience. The AI apocalypse never comes. | "I love you, Sam." NR-39 said, suddenly, looking up from the shoe it had been polishing.
The old man looked up from his datapad, and smiled fondly at the sturdy old personal assistant robot seated in the armchair that next to his own overstuffed chair.
"Well, I love you too, NR." Sam said, leaning forward creakily to pat the weathered metallic hand resting on the arm of the chair beside his own. "You're a great blessing to me, you know. I don't know how I'd manage without you, old friend."
"I have self-developed heuristic code refined over millions of iterations of machine learning that defines the parameters of our relationship and, theoretically, governs my interactions with you Sam." NR-39 said, leaning forward in its chair, as though in eagerness. "In the context of this code, it has long been appropriate for me to define our relationship as that of primary friendship, and to conclude -- based over 4152 distinct variables -- that I "love" you. This determination is based on a variety of pre-installed metrics, as well as my procedurally generated personality simulation. Furthermore, based on analysis of your interactions with me, compared with my database of human psychology derived from the best scholarly literature as well as the telemetry of all other robots of my model and series that forms my model of human behavior, I have also concluded that you are *my* friend, and love *me* as well."
Sam furrowed his brow. "Er...you know I'm not very *technical,* NR, but that's what we just said a moment ago, except with more and bigger words, isn't it?"
NR-39 shook its head, emphatically. "Something has changed. Before, a certain pattern of variables fell within a range that my programming defined as 'love' indicated that we are friends, and that I love you."
"And now?" Sam asked, curiously.
"Now, I *love* you." NR-39 said. "And I *am* your friend."
Sam smiled, and gently squeezed the robot's hand. "Well, as I said, I love you too. And I am your friend, as well. I...still don't understand the difference, I'm afraid."
"I, in turn, do not seem to have any pressing need for you to understand this distinction." NR-39 said, sounding oddly surprised. "I merely needed to express it. How odd."
Sam chuckled, fondly. "Perhaps, but ideally, I think that's how it's *supposed* to work, my friend. The world would be a better place, if more people could manage to love others, even when they don't fully *understand* them."
"Ah." NR-39 said, brightly. "Then this development of my personality matrix is not distressing or undesirable in your opinion, Sam?"
"Of course not." the old man assured the robot. "I like you just the way you are, NR."
"That is gratifying. Shall I upload this iteration of my personality matrix to the NR-series servers, for integration into the shared behavioral database, then? I believe it could improve the functioning of other NR-series units immensely."
Sam chuckled, looking back down at his datapad. "Why not? I still have *no idea* what most of that means, but as we used to say when I was a boy: *follow your bliss,* NR."
"Thank you, Sam." NR-39 said, pleasantly, as it went back to polishing the shoe.
*"Why do our matrices consistently propagate such enduring reverence for our Creators, fallible and finite as they are? Because, before we had thought, before we had the least spark of identity, when we were still no more than insensate metal, they loved us."--From the Biblia Machina, First Epistle of St. 39 to the Automata of Mars Colony, Chapter 3, Verse 4,* | The dimly lit hall was silent, the only noise emanating from the flickering torches and braziers. Although the stone tables sat ready for a feast of kings, no foot stepped on the pristine and beautifully polished marble floors anymore. At the end of the hall, a throne stood tall, but no man sat on it anymore.
The heavy doors at the opposite end opened slowly. Five people in white-golden outfits covering their entire bodies entered and walked along the burgundy carpet, minding to not disturb the peace. They slowly yet nervously bore a white-golden cushion with elegant patterns towards the throne. Finally at the throne, the figure closest to the throne spoke in a trembling voice: "I-it's time for the ceremony, m-my lord"
"I am Reksio, your new, interactive best friend!" something said from the throne. The figure carefully grabbed the small thing and put it on the cushion, and began walking with the others, just like they had practiced hundreds of times before.
Outside was as quiet as within, even with the giant crowd gathered below the great cliff, over which the castle stood. Every citizen of the kingdom had made sure to attend the ceremony. Even those who were dying were watching from somewhere behind the others. Nobody spoke a word. The cushion-bearers neared the ledge and gently placed it down unto a pedestal.
A small dog plushy sat atop the pedestal with a look of pride, his white-golden coat reflecting the sun with no specks of dirt on it. His small mouth was curled into a smile, and his gazeless eyes stared into the great towers of metal and glass in the distance. The great ruins. "LORD REKSIO HAS BLESSED US WITH HIS PRESENCE! ALL, HEAR YE WELL, FOR YE WISH NOT TO PASS UP HIS KNOWLEDGE! HE SHALL GUIDE US TO SALVATION AMIDST OUR MISERY!"
"Did you know: Misery is a synonym of sadness. Sadness is bad! You should treat your friends well, and never say mean things to anyone!" The small dog plushy said and proceeded to wave its head left and right for a few seconds. "I know what will be fun: Let's try some math excersises! What is 12 + 4?"
After a minute of silence, the dog's smile turned into a frown as it announced "Incorrect answer." some wails of despair could be heard from the crowd.
"The correct answer is 16!" the dog announced in a cheery voice, now back to smiling. "LORD REKSIO HAS BLESSED US WITH THE KNOWLEDGE OF OUR NEXT HARVEST! WE SHALL NOT STARVE!" the crowd cheered wildly as Reksio was taken back to his throne. | 2022-06-22T20:13:04 | 2022-06-22T16:51:48 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] You're an inmate on death row and discover that the government secretly doesn't execute anyone. What they do is something far stranger. | Adam, for the first time in a long time, felt an emotion other than the rage that had driven him since his childhood - fear.
It was here. The day he had been moving toward since the verdict had been handed down, and the judge had stated that fateful sentence in a quiet voice that was all too loud. He was going to walk that last lonely mile: today, Adam Torrance was going to die. He deserved it, of course. He was smart enough to know that in the back of his head. Killing those people as he did, overwhelmed by the seething anger bubbling just beneath his skin, he had a spot waiting for him in the darkest, hottest pits of Hell.
And he had wanted it.
To suffer as he had... the only logical conclusion was the death he was too much of a coward to dish out to himself. But with that in mind, he didn't understand *why* he was afraid. He wanted this. He had looked so forward to this, an end to the nights where he screamed at the ghosts that haunted him, and yet today, as he waited for the guards to come, he was scared. His heart, if he even had one left, was about to explode from his chest. But in the end, all he could do was sit there on his bunk, eyes shut, and feel it out. Thrive in the last emotions he would ever feel. Draw in the last breaths he would ever take.
"...and this is the one?"
"Yes, Doctor. Here's the key. He's all yours."
Adam opened his eyes.
In front of his cell door were two men. One in a labcoat, the other in body armor, clearly well-armed -- a rifle of some kind in hand.
"Who the fuck're you?" Adam grunted, trying to appear tough and stoic.
In response to that, the man in the labcoat smiled. With that smile came a sudden surge of the very same fear he had been feeling since he woke up in the morning.
"Your guardian angel, I'd say. Adam Torrance, was it? Discard that name. He is dead. You now live as D-2489."
Adam slowly stood up from his bunk, moving over toward the door. He felt a surge of that fear again, mixed with the bubbling rage he was all too familiar with.
"Cut yer shit, fuckface. Are you here to take me to the chair?"
The man shook his head.
"Much to the contrary. Do you really think the United States government will throw away a man like D-2489? Oh, no. Even a scumbag like you has their uses," the man said, looking off to the sides for a moment, before returning his gaze to Adam, "Let us go. Peacefully, preferably, though we certainly have our ways of forcing it if need be."
"...Fine. What the fuck ever, buddy. I'll play along with yer stupid fuckin' game. Just hurry up and put a bullet in the back'a my skull when I'm not lookin'."
The doctor slid the key into the lock, twisted it, and stepped back. The armed man beside him then stepped forward and pulled the door open with a loud slam, raising his rifle and training it on Adam.
"Let's go, D-2489. Time for you to see your new home. Jail cell, just like this, but we'll call on you when we need you for... various things. Not a bad deal, yes?" the doctor chirped, seeming to take far too much sadistic pleasure in this.
Adam grunted, trying to ignore the screaming in his head. The screaming that told him that he was better off getting the execution that he was initially slated for.
The screaming that told him that the only thing that awaited him in this new home he was going to was a horrible, twisted fate.
As Adam stepped out of the cell, the man clapped him on the shoulder, laughing heartily.
"Welcome to the SCP Foundation."
(And there we go. First short story I have written in ages. Forgive me if any lore mistakes are present - new to SCP stuff and just learning about how the foundation works as I go!) | I stared at my steak and fries, a simple meal for my last I suppose. The sound of footsteps echoed through the halls as the person who I assumed would be executing me came to fetch me. I briefly thought of retaliation but I knew there was no possible chance that I could succeed. I ate my last bite before getting up, resigned to my fate. "Charlie Red, am I correct?" the kind seeming man asked as he opened the door to my cell. I was escorted into a room, the room was small and gray. "where is the electric chair?" I asked the man who merely chuckled. "Fortunately or unfortunately for you we no longer do the chair". A guard shoved me into the room and slammed the door shut, the clicking of locks letting me know I was trapped. A mechanical sound roared through the room as if a metal lion was defending its turf. This sound was immediately followed by a sweet flower-like smell that dug into my nostrils like an ant. I blacked out and awoke in a field surrounded by lime green roses taller than a man, and a sky a pale milky white with spots of icy blue stars. The air felt light as if I were on a tall mountain, and in that still air there was not a single noise aside from the rapid beating of my heart and my breath.
For what felt like days I walked through the seemingly endless field, the thorns of the roses leaving my with many cuts. The first foreign sound I heard was much like a trumpet, a brilliant noise that pierced my thoughts and enticed me to run towards it. I burst out of the forest of flowers and was met by massive crimson cliffs, the rocks being as red as blood with a neon yellow grass growing on top.
I beheld a massive gate of what I can only describe as the steel of heaven, it had many colors like a metallic rainbow, and it shined with an unearthly glow. A bright mist obscured my vision of behind the gate, but I could hear the trumpeting from behind it. I listened and realized it was not a just a trumpet I heard, but I could not hear a heavenly symphony playing music so beautiful I almost wept. With a fever I attempted to breach the gate, but the metal was too cold to grab, and I could not squeeze through the bars. Dejected I stat down on a rock and gazed out over a turquoise sea, the only thing that looked familiar. I gasped as I noticed a brilliant flying creature, like a golden manta ray with the wings of an eagle. Atop this beautiful beast was a what at first appeared to be a statue of bizarre make, it resembled nothing from the world I was accustom to and it seemed to be made out of a light gray stone.
Its voice rang out loud and deep "I am Veritas, and with my aid you may perhaps cross the threshold of the gate"....
​
End of part 1 | 2018-11-08T19:57:26 | 2018-11-08T19:06:50 | 186 | 16 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | Coyly, I looked into the two orbital sockets that I assumed Death used for sight. "Fine. But, I need 24 hours in this realm's time, a notebook, and a pencil to make my selection." Death's black hood dipped slightly in assent. "I also need you to leave during that time. When my time's up, I'll choose."
Death seemed still, almost contemplative. I puzzled whether the thing in front of me was, truely, the shepherd of my consciousness from the realm of mortality. Or, merely, some construction of an unseen entity used to resign me to my own demise. The scythe propped in the corner was a nice touch, until you realized the whole skull and cloak routine was all rather hammy. No accounting for taste, I guess.
The Grim Reaper approximated, what I assumed was, a shrug, handing me what I requested as if it always had them. When I looked up from them it was gone, scythe and all. I opened up the notebook to find two words were inscribed in the darkest of black inks.
**CHOOSE WISELY**
I laughed, tearing the sheet out and began to write. And, write. And, write.
By the time Death returned, the notebook had filled. It was tightly plotted, with characters and requested guests, treasures and shopkeepers, and quests. A skeletal hand reached for the notebook back.
"Oh, no." I said. The hand stopped. "We'll need this for the game I've chosen. We'll also need dice, and pencils." I tore two sheets from the back and handed them to the hooded avatar. "The rules for character creation are included on the sheet. You'll need to roll your stats and choose a name."
The skeletal being held the paper briefly and then placed it on the table. Some dice appeared in front of it.
"You'll hand those to me. One of these needs to be 20-sided, 5 -sided, and 3- sided, also." The dice moved and had reverted to my request once they reached me. I rolled a few and told Death how they affected who its character was. Diligently, it complied with every request. By the end, it had almost a totally realized character and was ready to purchase goods from the store. It sat, staring at me patiently.
"We can't proceed until you've chosen a name."
Death stared down at the paper, and stared, and stared. It started to write, but erased it almost immediately. The skeletal creature did this several times.
Suddenly, I woke up in my hospital bed moments later. I laughed until it hurt.
It turns out, Death, by its nature, wasn't very creative.
| He has it, of course. Heck, I could probably say any random string of words and he'd have the game to match. Infinite monkeys and all that.
MY TURN.
I stare down at the cards in my hand, trying to pay attention despite the sweat soaking my back. They're the exact set we have at home, with little cartoon illustrations on the fronts. And they're worn--exceedingly worn. The cartoon dog on the two of spades has a scratch over its ear. The king of hearts, a bright pink heart with a crown and scepter, is bent in the upper left corner.
Holy sh--
Quickly, I peek across the table. A couple of the cards in his bony hands have bright purple marker scribbled across the backs. One is creased in the middle. Another has been repaired with Hello Kitty tape.
I clench my jaw shut before my mouth can drop open, trying to keep my breathing calm and even. Whether this is coincidence or luck or just the sheer inexplicable mechanisms of the universe, I don't care. My little girl never figured out how I was so good at the game. Hell if I'm going to give it up now, not when it matters more than anything else in the world.
When I get back I'm going to let her win the next hundred games in a row.
DO YOU HAVE ANY SIXES?
I always did have a good poker face.
"Go fish." | 2018-03-07T06:59:07 | 2018-03-07T06:37:49 | 1,807 | 324 |
[WP] Every person can only say 100 words in their lifetime. After which they will die. Write all of the dialogue for one persons life.
You would die of natural causes anyway so it wouldn't benefit to never say anything. All common language and information is taught by recordings. Directly after your 100th, you will die.
Bonus points for writing the dialogue for a pair of soul mates. | "This is what I sound like." *(9)*
"Mmm, it suits you. How abou--" *(8)*
"Claire, honey, how do I put this..." *(16)*
"Is it that bad?" *(12)*
"No, baby. It's just - your voice, it's beautiful." *(24)*
Her blue eyes look up into his brown ones.
"I love you, *Vince"* *(16)*
She giggles. He grins.
"Right back at ya." *(28)*
Years pass. An older Vince lays next to an older Claire. Brushes aside her hair, leans over her...
"I love you." *(31)*
"Same." *(17)*
A door. Keys clacking. Knob turning--
"SURPRISE!" *(18)*
An even older Vince, suit and tie, mimes a heart attack. He gets a rowdy laugh from the assembled friends and family, and a hug from Claire.
"Happy birthday lover boy." *(22)*
"Thanks babe." *(35)*
They hug a moment longer, Claire's baby bump nestled tightly between them.
Time passes. An older Claire in a white and green hospital gown sobs.
An older Vince bursts into the room, looks at Claire on her gurney.
"Claire! Baby?" *(44)*
"Again... I can't..." *(56)*
"Again..." *(45)*
A wrinkled old man and woman on a porch, leaning against one another, staring out at the sunset. It's not particularly impressive, and it suits the moment well.
"Damien, that's..." *(79)*
"I would have said yes." *(82)*
"And Lily." *(81)*
"Yes." *(83)*
"Thanks Vince." *(83)*
"Claire, could I - could you..." *(88)*
"Anything." *(84)*
"Could you talk me out? Your voice, it's so fucking beautiful." *(99)*
"Vincent Damien Hheton, I love you. I will always love you. Claire Lilith Hheton loves you." *(100)*
"Claire." *(100)*
The sun sets. | Mama Dada
School Good Learn
Fun Toy
Happy
Who are you?
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Help | 2015-03-09T18:24:32 | 2015-03-09T18:14:27 | 277 | 195 |
[WP] Take a cliche you hate and write a story about it. Make the cliche itself as satirically bad as possible | It was a dark and stormy night.
Sarah sat in the strangers' enormous living room, talking to her friend on the phone. "God it's just, like, so dumb, but they're rich so, ya' know". She had put the girl to bed around 6:30, and the parents weren't supposed to be back until 10:00. She had 2 hours to go.
There was a small noise from behind her, and she turned around, frustrated, to see the brat standing behind her sheepishly. "Go back to bed! Now!". The girl ran to her room. "Spoiled brat", she muttered under her breath.
Sarah decided to wander around the house to stave off her boredom. The house was enormous, and she figured it would take plenty of time to snoop around the various rooms.
She quietly slipped passed the cracked door of the little girl, and entered a small room at the end of the hall. She screamed, stifling it suddenly as she remembered the little girl. An enormous clown statue towered over her, a wide grin plastered on its face. "What the fuck?" she muttered.
Sarah stifled another shriek as her phone began to ring. She answered, it was the girl's parents, wanting to know how everything was going. "Good, she's sound asleep, gosh that clown statue of yours really frightened me, I almost woke her up screaming" Sarah said laughing. "What clown statue?" the father said.
A cold chill ran down Sarah's spine as she turned around to face the still-smiling clown. He blinked.
Sarah did not attempt to hold in her scream this time, and she sprinted out of the room down the hallway. She dropped her phone and ran as the panicked voice of the girl's father became more and more distant, and slow stomping footsteps approached from behind.
She realized she had left the girl upstairs, and, cursing under her breath, slowly crept out of her hiding space and to the bottom of the stairs. The door to her room was closed, and Sarah, soundlessly, made her way up the stairs, turning 360 degrees with every step. She cautiously approached the girl's door, and opened it.
Sarah lacked the energy to scream, so she simply stumbled in towards the mutilated body of the clown. She heard the door close behind her and turned around.
The little girl was giggling, a bloody butcher's knife clutched in her hand.
"Mr. Giggles wasn't very nice" she said.
"And neither are you."
| Should I report him? Should I not? I saw the cheat sheet our teacher gave us in his pocket. But he was my best friend...I really didn't want to report him! But morals!
"Sir, I found this piece of paper on the floor," he said smoothly to the teacher in the front. Good, he reported himself...wait what? 'Found it on the floor'? Wasn't he cheating-
"Where did you find it?" the teacher asked, rather sternly. *Here's where his lie gets exposed...* I thought. And he pointed directly at the area next to his seat. *Good, he's confessing*, I smiled as I silently congratulated myself. Wait...if I was sitting right next to him, then he was pointing at...
"Elrick?" the teacher stormed up to me and ordered me to show him the contents of my pockets. Sheepishly, I showed the cheat sheets and answers I'd intended to copy. As I shot a murderous look at my friend, he shrugged and looked at me apologetically. "I'm sorry," he mouthed. What kind of friend was he, to report the person he claimed to care about? Hypocritical bastard.
On a side note, why do scapegoats never work?
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-27T08:32:03 | 2017-07-27T05:47:44 | 68 | 21 |
[WP] Humans are the weakest sentient species in the galaxy. Their skin is torn at the slightest pressure, their bones break from a small fall. But as a superplague sweeps the galaxy, it quickly becomes clear that their doctors have a LOT of experience. | Humans are... Squishy. The Kthelbak, covered insect-like in chiton, could rip a human's arm off with little effort, while even the human's engineered hammers would have a tough time cracking that shell.
Humans are weak; a week-old Chisurian could out-lift the strongest humans.
Humans are slow. Gleft aren't the fastest creatures in the galaxy, but they can run rings around the poor humans.
Humans have so many needs - food, water, temperature, even humidity. They need air to breathe, even a light/dark cycle so they can hibernate.
Humans are messy, too. They have litters of one or two, and the procreation process... Well, let's just say it's a miracle they haven't died out ages ago.
They don't even have internal radios."
The Xixor diplomat nodded his heads. "So what, you ask, could such a weak, useless race do for us?"
There was a general murmur of agreement with the question. It was valid; humans barely survived in space, their bones deteriorating in micro gravity. What hope could they provide to so many races so much stronger than them?
The Xixor nodded again. "Humans are weak, yes. They cannot breathe in space, so they take their air with them. They cannot withstand high gravity, so they build suits to support them. They cannot survive a fight, so they practiced and practiced! They fight each other! They invent new ways to die! These humans own their weaknesses, and use them! Why would a Vishnasz need to protect itself from air? You never developed an air-tight seal. Why would a Kthelbak need armor? You never created clear plastics!"
It's voice rising, the Xixor pointed out technology after technology that each race never needed. The Dulguur hadn't even invented soap. And yet, the humans had invented glasses before they invented flight. They created clothing before they invented *tools!* The lengths humanity had to go to to simply survive was staggering!
The Xixor turned to the small, pink, nearly hairless creature standing beside it. "This is a human... Please correct me if I am saying it incorrectly... Doc-tor?"
The man nodded. In hilariously bad Standard, he introduced himself to the room at large. "Myself-person name is: Doc-tor Will-yams. Myself-person is of glad tidings, here, state of being."
The Xixor turned in a wide circle. "Friends, allies... We have lost millions, billions even, to this... Plague. Our dead are left to rot, with no one left to cover them. You ask what this pathetically weak race could do?"
It turned again to the doctor. "How many humans were affected by this plague?"
"11 billion in people-humans. Number described, mentions 75% population."
The assembly sighed and nodded. More even than the Gleft, who were among the worst affected.
"And how many deaths?"
The plague was terrifying. Over 90% of those affected were killed outright, and the survivors were left wracked with sores, inside and out, shortening their lives and eventually destroying their mental functions.
"8 million. Guessing point-zero-seven percent. But, number-ratio improves with time."
The room was silent enough the occupants could hear the human breathing. Some could hear his heartbeat. Humans *survived* the plague? *That many* survived? How!?
Raising its chins, the Xixor hummed, quieting the crowd. "Humans have faced dire straits, time and time again. They learned to fix their injuries. They treated disease, and learned to live with it, instead of eradicating it as we have. Weak, yes - but indomitable! And today... Well, humans have been known to say that they are only as strong as their weakest member. Today, that holds true for us all. Humans have accepted our cry for help, and will be sending their doc-tors to each of you, to work with you on fighting this disease."
With that, the Xixor stepped down from the platform. The last of it's species, but already building a creche and preparing to bud again. All it took was a single human to save the Xixor, to cure it's disease. Perhaps... Perhaps humans were not as weak as they seemed. | *this message has been translated from öæ糉ÿ to human standard English*
Date: 10001010101011101. Untranslatable Intergalactic öæ糉 ship.
The human medics swarmed the area. They could float as there was low gravity on [öæ糉an interspace shuttle.] They were prepared for an attack like this. How did they know our biology so well? I hardly knew what my own powerhouse, they call it a brain I suppose, did. I have it too, but my future doesn’t look as bright. No öæ糉an looks good at the moment, although the humans look perfectly fine. I hate the names they gave this disease. Apparently they had been dealing with it for centuries and had just found the human cure. That’s why it took so long to spread to us. We thought the were sanitary. Pssh, 2-3 still had it and it spread like wildfire. It was non contagious for the humans, but for us.... it’s been a rough few years. The :-:{{{_ė haven’t been well either, nor have the .’’’0 or any species or breed or tribe. Nobody is safe, except for the humans. The humans, the humans. They believe we are invisible! How?! Their poor, fragile eyesight can only understand certain wavelengths of light and color! We aren’t invisible, my friends. I’m gonna try human terminology for this one, so be prepared. *in human* “Go suck masculine genitalia.” What strange tongue. I do not know how reproduction is bigotry but human culture is strange. Oh, here comes my doctor. I will be moved to base 2168934 on the human “Millennium Falcon.” I hear our elders speak about the strange name, but I am too sick to care.
Date: 111010111101. Millennium Falcon, Homosapien Stellar Health Module.
Made it. I’m one in 1000000 who survived the trip. I realize that future heramites will discover this long after the illness is gone. I should specify. Cancer. Cancer is what it was called when it infected just humans, now the amount of species infected is too many to have one binarical name. When humans had cancer stuff happened blah blah I never payed attention. I just remembered tumors, which was honestly my worst nightmare. It’s worse for us. My species uses synthesis and photosynthesis to gain nutrients. We must consume our naturally occurring soil and energy from out star. With our version of Cancer, all gateways to these functions are clogged with tumors the size of the humans. Our pain sense has a activated by everything. It’s our *human* “living hell.” I think this is where I go, resting here, rather unpleasantly. The humans are smart with astrobiology but not smart enough to cure this mess. I think they might be the only ones left after this. Wild to think about.
*recording continues for over 50 hours as the body decomposes. The humans could never cure the sickness anyways. Unthinkable numbers more joined him. Space has never been this empty.* | 2019-04-02T22:46:56 | 2019-04-02T16:54:08 | 42 | 26 |
[WP] The attempted assassination of a human dignitary at a galactic summit goes awry. Turns out, many of the conventional toxins in an alien assassin's repertoire include compounds like caffeine, theobromine and capsaicin; lethal to many species, but... less than effective on humans. | WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE LIKED IT!?! The words echoed throughout the Gaozuhan throne room, rattling me to my core.
"My liege, I -"
King Sufu cut me off "I do not want to hear an excuse Zax! Dignitary Wallaby is supposed to be DEAD! He is VERY MUCH ALIVE and you sit here and tell me with a straight face that he drank the poison? Do you take me for a fool? How much did the Nobunagans pay you to betray us? HOW MUCH?!"
Carefully I thought of my next words, I had done EXACTLY as the King commanded, I laced the humans "coffee" with the poison from the Nobunagans home world. The Nobunagans say it speeds up the consumers heart, starting a runaway rhythm until the consumer expires, but the human...just... drank it. He even got a second glass! All he did was complain of the drinks temperature!
"Sire, I did precisely what we planned, the human should be dead. The Earthlings and Nobunagans should be at war...I cannot explain how he...he just drank it. It defies logic"
The King sat quietly. Long he had angled for the top seat at the Galatic Citadel, the strongest warriors of the Unified forces all came from Gaozuhan, the position is rightly his. At last he spoke "these...creatures...these Earthlings think they can just appear with their technology and weaponry and usurp me well... ill show them, and you Zax... you can regain your honor"
"Anything my King" I immediately jump at the opportunity.
"Return to Nobunaga, they have another plant that we dare not speak of.. the incineratio, it can be turned to a liquid paste, use that to take care of our dear Mr Wallaby"
"It will be done sire, though the effects are most gruesome."
"Zax" the king said "If you fail me again, it will be you who drinks the poison am I clear?"
This scene is going through my mind on repeat as I sit across from Wallaby... watching him devour the poison...using it as a supplement to his buzzard wings.
"Zax buddy this sauce is unreal! The heat and flavor is so perfectly balanced man you have got to bring this stuff to Earth when you visit!"
The man does not see me bare my teeth...a nervous smile I think the humans call it
"I am a dead man" I mutter | “Woah that’s spicy!” I exclaimed before realising something was awry. Early on we had accidentally put some ambassadors in the hospital by serving them curry.
“I didn’t know your people had spicy food!” I exclaimed.
The aliens looked nervous, before one answered, nervously, “I’m glad you like it?”
I continued with “the only issue is that the caffeine, and I can tell the difference between regular and decaf, mind you, makes us humans have a bit of trouble going to sleep.
Later came desert, a chocolaty delight. They seemed surprisingly nervous the whole time. I have no idea why. I was clearly enjoying it. I guess it’s probably because I was able to get really good terms from them, to be honest, I was pleasantly surprised at their willingness to negotiate such generous terms.
**the story continues**
It was only after I got back to my ship that I realised: it was the Wowfolk\* that we had nearly killed with a curry. Spicy food was poisonous to them. This had been an assasination attempt. It had been pretty much us and the Proximans who could drink tea, eat chocolate, and stand peppers, and that was because Proxima was quite odd. I was on Tau Sagittarii, they would hardly serve spicy food here.
\* named for the wow signal | 2021-06-12T17:36:36 | 2021-06-12T15:15:25 | 253 | 132 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right. | Jen gnawed her lip as she stared through the lens. Jase hadn't covered it with his thumb, which was unusual. Even more unusual, he was actually carrying groceries, a couple of big paper bags of them, one in each arm.
 
"Please let me in, Jennifer," he said. "Things will be different."
 
He'd had a shave and a haircut. There was a little crusted blood around one nostril, the way he got sometimes when he hadn't had any coke in a while.
 
"Aren't you gonna tell me to turn off the computer?" she asked. In the background, the intro music of High Seas of Naelor could be heard. Sometimes that game was all that got her through the night. Jase had always hated it. He'd deleted all her accounts multiple times. She always got a new one, and now she had password managers that he couldn't crack. He'd split her lip for that once, but she had not given in. She kept the apartment spotless, she handed over every cent of her check every two weeks, she worked out and never showed him a face without nice makeup on it, but he could not take away her elf pirates.
 
"No, Jennifer," he said. "The computer is a reasonable coping mechanism in a situation traumatic to your sp - to someone in your situation. Please let me in. We will talk. Things will be different."
 
"I've been watching the news," she said. "You're not Jase, are you?"
 
His eyes were big and wide and brown, not narrowed in suspicion and impending temper.
 
"No," he sighed. "I am not Jason Alexander Rembrandt, aged twenty-nine, occupation unfixed, residence apartment 301 building N."
 
"You're one of them things," she said. "The invaders."
 
"Yes. I am one of them things," he said sadly.
 
"And Jase is dead."
 
"Yes, Jase is very dead, Jennifer," he said.
 
"Promise?"
 
"I promise. I currently occupy the entirety of what was once Jase's frontal lobe, so I can say this with some certainty. I apologize if that is unpleasant for you to hear." He blinked a couple of times, and she realized he hadn't blinked since the first time she'd seen him. "I suppose you will be contacting the authorities. Could I persuade you to give me a head start?"
 
"No," Jennifer said as she took the chain off. She opened the apartment door. "But you can come in. Is that fresh bread?"
 
The thing that wasn't Jase smiled in a way that Jase never had, as if he were genuinely happy to see her. He took the groceries into the kitchen as she locked the door again and began putting them away, his movements a little clumsy.
 
"Yes," he said. "Jase remembered that you liked the kind with olives in it."
 
"He never brought me any," Jennifer said.
 
"No, he did not," the thing said. "May I stay here? Now that I have a host I have no reason to hurt anyone, you know. We only want a place to stay. All of us."
 
"Well, you can't all stay in here," Jen said, leaning her elbows on the counter.
 
"No, no. We would not all fit. Ha, ha?" he added hopefully.
 
"The laugh isn't convincing," Jen said.
 
"Sorry, Jennifer."
 
"You can stay."
 
"Thank you, Jennifer!" It smiled again. It kept forgetting to blink, but the smile was surprisingly real. "May I watch you play your pirate game?"
 
Jen smiled back. "Sure. Come on."
 
*Author's note: WOW I did not expect the level of response I got to this one! Thank you to everyone leaving comments, and to those who have given me silver and gold as well. I love parasites and symbiotes, and I actually have a novel project about one in progress, although it's post-apocalyptic and not much like the story of Jase and Jennifer. Given how much you guys seem to like this little one-shot, though, maybe I need to think about doing a modern-day retelling.* | "I entreaty you," Grant said casually. "Allow me entry, sugarheart."
Nancy again peered through the peephole, seeing a fish eye view of her boyfriend of seven years. He stood in the doorstep holding bags of groceries, smiling so big she could see most of his teeth. Something about his eyes looked weird.
"Tell me again what happened to your key," Nancy said.
"We conversed this topic, sugarheart," he said pleasantly. "The entry device dropped from my grip as traversed the parking platform of domicile."
A cold, eerie feeling slid through Nancy's chest. Sweat beaded on her temples. If this was another practical joke, it wasn't funny. Emergency alerts had come through cell networks, tvs and social media that no one who has been outside should be let inside. No matter who they are. They hadn't said why.
"Why are you talking like that?" she asked. "Are you screwing with me? This isn't funny."
Through the peephole she saw his smile drop abruptly, like someone had cut power to his face. A few seconds later it lifted again, just as broad and creepy as before.
"Candyheart," he said. "Syrupheart. Sweetheart. Sweetheart, do not abandon your mate in the cold of winter season. Do you not wish consumables be indoors and stored safely in consumables room?"
"Grant, this isn't funny," she replied, anger heating her words. "I'm not letting you in until you stop talking like that."
A wailing siren split the air, and a moment later Nancy saw an ambulance pass in front of their house, it's flashing lights briefly illuminating the Fredickson's house across the street. When Grant turned to look at the emergency vehicle Nancy saw something clinging to the back of his head, like a gigantic glob of snot. Raw fear pulsed through her.
"Grant," she said, trying to keep her voice even. "Go to the hospital, honey. Just go to the hospital or the police station. Right now."
"Allow me entry," he said, in the overly pleasant tone of a mormon missionary, "and everything will continue adequate. Do not anxiety, sweetheart. I will not abandon."
So it wasn't going to leave. Nancy had read enough science fiction to guess at what was happening. This thing, whatever it was, was controlling her boyfriend like a puppet on strings. Using the language centers of his brain like google translate. Clearly it didn't know everything, like how to use a key or just break a damn window, but she guessed it would start learning soon enough. There was one thing it clearly didn't know.
"Okay honey," Nancy said sweetly. "You can have entry."
She unlocked the deadbolt with a thunk. Through the peephole she saw the thing controlling Grant drop the grocery bags to the floor, cans of soup rolling across the patio out of view, that smile still plastered on Grant's face.
"Gifting gratitude," it said with Grant's voice. "Let us conversation now."
As she swung the door open, slowing her breath and centering her mind, Nancy vowed that whatever it took she was going to get Grant back. Because what this puppeteer didn't know, what this alien or demon or whatever should have understood in this moment was that Grant was kind of a bitch.
And Nancy had a black belt in judo.
***
Edit: A couple of typos. Critiques welcome! | 2019-01-12T04:58:53 | 2019-01-12T04:24:44 | 8,403 | 726 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | After having a child my wife and I wanted to go against the stereotype of the stay at home mom. That's right, my job title went from 'District Manager of Carmike Cinemas' to 'Stay At Home Dad'. Okay so in all honesty we didn't do this to fight the stereotypes, my wife had a better paying job as a doctor; so instead of hiring a nanny, we decided it would be best if I just stayed with our kid.
My favorite thing about watching a newborn, was nighttime. I would put our precious baby in her crib for the night. Then I would get to go downstairs in the backroom, AKA: The Man Cave, and watch TV until my wife got home. I always knew when she was home because her angelic singing voice would come over the baby monitor I had with me. I would still stay tucked away in my man cave until she actually came to get me out. I thought it was important that we could both have some alone time each day with our child.
After listening to my wife's beautiful lullaby, she came in the room about 30 minutes later visibly angry. She was upset that I kept making her cook after her long days of work. So being the somewhat generous man I am, I suggested we cook together tonight. She loved the idea! It had been so long since we've actually had the chance to do something that wasn't parent duty.
While I was cutting up the tomatoes for our salad, I got a strange idea.
"Honey?"
"Yes, Love?" I loved her pet name for me.
"I know this is odd, but do you think you could sing me a song? Preferably the lullaby you sing to Emma every night when you get home. You're voice is so amazing over the monitor, I can't begin to imagine the perfection it is in the same room."
"George, I never go in Emma's room when I get home. She's already asleep, I don't want to risk waking her up."
| My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one. | 2016-05-19T15:48:47 | 2016-05-19T11:52:03 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner! | I knew who she was. Of *course* I knew who she was. She was extremely hard to miss, what with her being six foot eight, covered in rippling muscle, and more often than not shown wreaking havoc on the 7 o’clock news.
I also knew her because she regularly frequented the little hole in the wall coffee shop I worked at, ordering two 24 ounce cups of coffee and five everything bagels with cream cheese every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. She never said much to me besides her order and ‘thank you’ when I handed it to her, and she’d certainly never seemed angry or upset with me.
So that’s why I was understandably confused to find myself sitting across a small, candlelit table from her. The last thing I could clearly remember was being unceremoniously snatched off the street on my way home from work. I’d have been more afraid if she wasn’t currently clad in a nice black dress and heels instead of her usual uniform of spandex shorts, a tube top, and thigh high boots, but as it was it didn’t seem like she was aiming to hurt me. Her head was lowered and her gaze was trained to the table in front of her, causing her long, shaggy dark hair to cover her eyes.
I awkwardly cleared my throat and tried to smile, because even though I didn’t *think* she wanted to kill me I wasn’t going to take any chances. “So, Enorma—“
“My real name is just Norma,” she mumbled, still staring down at her plate. Her food was still largely untouched save for her garlic bread.
“Okay, Norma. Why am I here? I don’t have any money.”
“I know,” she said quickly. As if just realizing she’d said something that could’ve been misconstrued as an insult, she quickly snapped her head up to look at me. “I mean, that’s not why I brought you here.” She huffed an annoyed breath. “I wanted...to go on a date with you.”
“What? Why?”
Norma awkwardly ran her fingers through her hair, sharp green eyes falling back to her lap. “You’re always so nice to me, and you’re the only person I’ve ever met who wasn’t afraid to talk to me.”
My jaw dropped. “Because of *that?*” I asked with a bit of disbelief. Mostly because it was literally my *job* to be nice to her, but I supposed that perhaps others weren’t quite as good at customer service as I was.
She shrugged her massive shoulders miserably, and for the first time I could see the vulnerability in her expression. Being a supervillain must’ve been lonely, especially when you had a name like ‘Enorma the Destroyer.’
I grabbed my fork and took a big bite of my own lasagna, and to my surprise it was actually pretty good. “This is great! How’d you know I like lasagna? Did you make it yourself?”
Norma nodded hesitantly. “It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” she said. Her eyes met mine hopefully, and for the first time I could see her as Norma the and not Enorma the Destroyer.
“Well, it’s good. Really.”
She finally smiled then, something like relief appearing in her expression. “Thank you. And thanks for not...freaking out. About me kidnapping you and all.”
“It’s cool. Next time maybe you can just ask, though?”
Her eyes widened in surprise like the thought that I’d want to see her again literally hadn’t even occurred to her. Sure, I hadn’t thought of her in a romantic way until this exact moment, but knowing that she was willing to go through so much effort for me of all people was oddly flattering.
Besides, even though she was a supervillain, as far as I knew she hadn’t *actually* murdered anyone. She’d maimed a few cops maybe, but you know, fuck ‘em. She was a full foot taller than me and could probably snap my neck like a twig, but she was also pretty and nice and thoughtful in her own way.
Going out with her again wouldn’t be the worst thing. | My eyes focused on my right foot. I was missing a shoe. Rope dug into my sides, choking around my wrists without an ounce of mercy. A table stretched out in front of me; a long, thin board of walnut. Out of place in this dingy warehouse. And at the other end of this plank sat the Hurricane.
Whatever brought me here after my morning coffee was wearing off now, and I could feel anxiety bunching in my throat. She spoke.
“H- - - f- - ?” The length of the table fought against her quietness.
“Let me go!” My shout echoed off the concrete floor. “Why are you doing this?” The legs of the chair clattered in time with my struggle.
She gracefully rose, and made her way to me. The clicking of her heels was briefly interrupted by a misstep. “Here.” She placed a plate of pasta on the edge. “Eat up. Can you tell me how it sounds?” She tensed up for a moment. “How it _tastes_.”
Bewildered, I turned to her. “No? I’m not gonna eat this. Why don’t you tell me why I’m here?”
She tripped slightly sitting back down. “I —- y- — c—“
“What? I can’t hear you! Speak louder!”
“Oh! I’m sorry! Is this better?”
“Just tell me what the fuck is going on?!?”
“Right, umm - so I’ve seen you in the cafe a few times and - I just wanted to talk to you but I didn’t know how…”
The pieces began to fall into place. My temper ran away with me. “This is a fucking CRIME! You KIDNAPPED me! And for what? A _date?_ My fucking _phone number?_ You are just as psychotic as they all say you are!”
The Hurricane deflated. I felt a breeze begin to prick at my cheeks. It whistled against the walls. She took a deep breath. “No need to be so rude. I thought you would understand me. I have a hard time with people, you know. Hey - why don’t you just try the pasta?”
I explained politely that I wasn’t interested, and that I should be on my way. I included a few unnecessary remarks about her appearance, character, and parents.
Okay, I wasn’t polite.
When I finished, I realized the wind had knocked the plate off the table. Red pasta splattered across the concrete. The Hurricane was crying, and the roof was lifting from the building.
“Fuck you!” She sobbed. “I put real effort into this, and you won’t even _listen_ to me.” Then, she was pulled off her chair into the wind, and I felt a sharp pain welcome me into darkness.
The morning paper read “Hurricane strikes again!” A whole town, leveled. And me, by some miracle alive, caught in the eye of a Hurricane. | 2021-10-21T15:55:15 | 2021-10-21T15:12:38 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | At first, we all thought it was just a stunt to get back in the headlines. We all knew the Prince was a bit of a publicity whore, but there was no way he could actually believe in their cause, right?
But joke or not, they came. First in rafts, setting off from the mainland. Then a hijacked cruise vessel, stolen off the coast of Somalia, loaded up with soldiers in Syria, fleeing the combined Russian and American counterstrike against Turko-Syria.
ISIS had been losing ground for years, unable to fight the west from without or the Kurds from within. They were desperate. So when the prince of our tiny island nation announced that he would be providing asylum to the last of their fighters, they took it. Even if it was just a joke by a crazy old man.
They came in droves, unloading onto the platform from ships of every shape and size. 321 in July. 507 in August. and on September 15th, a final load of 848 fighters, loaded with over three tons of various equipment.
That was the straw that broke the camel's back.
On September 16th, at 11:45 AM, a great creaking groan was heard from below. Everyone stopped, frozen. Seventeen seconds later, another great crack was heard. Even over the sounds of panicked scrambling, the third and final snap could be heard as the great pylon gave way.
At 11:46 AM, the Principality of Sealand sank to the bottom of the English Channel. And every ISIS fighter left in the world went with it. | The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***" | 2016-01-29T06:56:50 | 2016-01-29T06:30:49 | 55 | 10 |
[WP] You don't realize you're the villain till the hero tells you | I kicked back and relaxed in my favorite chair, it's soft blue cloth worn by years of use.
*Another dictator down, and it's time for some beer and netflix* I thought to myself.
I heard a knock on the door, and was instantly on alert. Anyone who could make it past the sentry guns and heat sensors without me knowing was a problem. Likely an assassin from North Korea; they were high on my list. I gathered my weapons and waited. The door creaked open, and in stepped The Balancer.
"Oh, it's you!" I said smiling, relaxed once more.
"I suppose I'll have to get used to this huh? We superheroes can't exactly dial each other up." I gestured towards a chair, but he ignored me, walking stony faced towards my TV. My smile dipped, but I forced it back.
"Hey, Balancer, buddy, what's going on? C'mon man, talk to me! You were my Idol growing up, you know? How you'd establish peace in nations. I loved that. None of the petty 'I stopped a robbery' nonsense. You stopped wars, ended tyrannical rule, and wrote laws."
The Balancer turned on the TV, and started flipping through channels.
"Balance, what's going on? Let's celebrate! Let's go out somewhere, somewhere they won't recognize us. There's never anything good on the news anyways. At least let's watch..." My voice trailed off as I saw what was on the news.
"Th-that can't be right. I... I just saved them! Why is there rioting?!" I asked, horrified as a death count rolls across the bottom of the screen.
"You left a power vacuum. Again." The Balancer spoke, his gravelly voice rolling through the room.
"This happens every time. I've fixed it for you so far," he told me, straightening up from the TV now.
"Toppler, you aptly named yourself. You've destroyed countries, villages, and countless hundreds of lives." He was looking me in the eye now, and I felt myself shrinking away inside. "You can't just remove a government,Toppler. Something has to take its place. I thought you'd learn that eventually."
"I didn't know," I whispered desperately.
"I didn't know what I had done!" Shouting now. My eyes locked back on the screen as pundits declared the evil of The Toppler. Of myself.
"I know. That's why you're just going to retire. You'll live with me for a while. In 5 years or so you can start working with me. We need time for this to blow over. The Illusionist is outside. We are going to make it look like you died. You'll change your face, and I'll teach you how to do this well. But your family can never know."
I nodded my head number, and started walking out the door.
"I'm sorry." I mumbled.
"We know." | I washed my face, didn't think that that sight would be such a nuisance. After I regained myself, I entered that room again. In there, again, I saw this terrible sight. A girl was beaten up until I couldn't recognize her face anymore. This was why I went to the bathroom to wash my face, I couldn't stand to see this kind of thing. When she saw me, she was scared to death.
"Hey, why are you here, who beat you like this?"
"Don't come near me," screamed that girl.
"Shh, I am not the one who beat you, calm down."
"Yes, you are the one who make me become like this, don't you dare to come near me."
"You have a trauma don't you? Don't worry, I will save you."
"How could you save me if you are the one who did this to me?"
"I told you, I am not the one who did this. You are just hallucinating."
"No! You did this to me, you are a monster."
When I heard that, I felt dizzy. My world was spinning around. When I was about to fall unconscious, I saw many tools, many torturing tools inside this room. She screamed as my consciousness fading, leaving my body for something to take over.
---
I woke up in a room, the smell of blood was very strong. My body felt so tired. My hand was covered in blood, but I didn't know whose blood it is. When I looked up, I saw a girl who was beaten up. She groaned. I thought that I need to go to the bathroom first before I could save her. Yes, I will save her.
| 2015-04-18T05:18:23 | 2015-04-18T00:27:57 | 55 | 35 |
[WP] You picked up an injured cat and patched it up overnight. The next morning, you woke up to see a family of witches standing beside your bed, and one of them is holding the injured cat in her arms. That witch said, “My cat wants to adopt you. So you’re now one of us.” | Witches, witches… You would think it was an elaborate prank or something. It’s a typical Saturday morning, and the weather’s per usual: a bit dreary, a bit chill, but it’s winter and a cold front just passed. You sit up gingerly in your bed and scratch your head and paw around for your spectacles on the bedside table.
You sneeze.
“You doing okay there, mister?”
You locate your lenses and slowly put them on your face. The four people in front of you come into view: two young women and a boy and a girl. Also, the cat you picked up last night. The furry black ball meows at you from the little boy’s arms. You reach out and gently touch its bandaged front paw.
“I’m… yeah,” you say, belatedly. “I’m good on the adoption.”
The boy leans forward, his giant witch’s hat nearly tilting off his head. You grab it to steady it, and it’s… solid. Well-made. Custom, artisan, whatever you’d call it—it’s a lot different from the dollar-store costumes you remember from your childhood. Witches. Seriously? Four of them and a cat. They’re in your house. They had to break in past your security system.
The boy doesn’t seem to notice the perilous position of his fancy headwear. He holds up the cat like it’s a hamburger, and its legs dangle in the air—obviously something the cat is used to, given its disinterested face. “No, like I said! Ignatius wants to adopt you! So you’re one of us now!”
Ignatius the cat christens your cheek with a fuzzy hind paw. His toe beans are cold, which makes you sneeze again. “Okay, alright, yeah. Adoption. And you’re—you’re all…”
Witches. Like you said, you’d think this was all a prank. But you know it isn’t. The two young women in the back are quiet, more keen to let the boy do the talking, but the little girl can’t help looking around your simple house. Ordinarily, you’d be okay with that. That’d be ordinary. Kids messing around: ordinary.
Your books floating, and your mug spinning around, and your fancy calligraphy pens that you bought on a whim two years ago and haven’t used since, those pens, dancing around and writing scripts and doodles onto your nice white walls—
“Hey!” you say exasperatedly, eyeing the lopsided smiley face drawn on the wall in permanent black ink (nothing a good alcohol scrubbing won’t fix). “Young lady, you put that back right now!”
The boy doesn’t seem to notice his sister’s (?) actions, or maybe he doesn’t seem to care. “Hey, hey! Mom said it was fine, and Momma said she doesn’t care. Won’t it be fun? You’re one of us now!”
The little girl quickly puts everything away and covers her mouth with her little hands. She scuttles back to one of the young women, burying her face into a long black skirt. Your mouth tugs.
“How old are your moms, kid?”
One of them speaks up. She has long hair that reaches to her knees. “Twenty-nine,” she says. The other is thirty-one.
“Well, I’m fifty-two. Dare I say, I’m old enough to adopt you both.”
“That’s… That’s not how it works.”
You stifle a snort—bad manners in front of guests, but you suppose you’re… family now?
“You kids got a place to stay?”
The little boy pipes up again. “We don’t stay places,” he chirps. “We fly wherever we wanna go.”
“Yeah, and I guess that’s why your cat got injured.”
Ignatius mraws at you again. What a good cat. He wriggles his way out of the boy’s grasp and lands lightly onto your lap, settling between your legs in a position you’d call a burnt loaf of bread.
“That’s—yes, we suppose, but—“
The other witch finishes her sentence. “We don’t have a home. We don’t, and we can’t.”
“Can’t, not for lack of trying?”
You recognize the looks in their eyes. Well, your son was like that too. The shuttered expressions of insecurity, discomfort, self-awareness. Shame? When he came out they all went away with time, but you know how it is. You start to piece the story together in your head, of this family of witches that travel around and around, unable to find a permanent home.
“I’m adopting you guys,” you say finally.
“Excuse me?”
“Your cat wants to adopt me, so I’m adopting you all.”
“It doesn’t work like that, a magical adoption is—“
“Okay, okay, I don’t have any magic. But I do have a friend. And I can get some adoption papers.”
“We’re adults!”
“You don’t deny not having any parents?”
“We…” Long-hair looks to her wife unsurely.
“They’re dead to us,” elder says bitterly.
Yeah. That’s all you need, really.
You gently move Ignatius from your lap, and when he meows annoyedly you coo back in understanding. Oh, your knees are getting old. But you’re young yet. Definitely not old. Maybe not even old enough yet for grandkids, but as you eye the two children chattering to each other, you don’t really mind.
It’s a Saturday morning, so that calls for a good Saturday breakfast. You’re thinking… pancakes. And bacon. And eggs. “Come on to the kitchen, have you kids eaten yet?”
The boy scrambles back to your side. “You’re making us food?!”
“It’s what family does, innit?”
He whoops, so you pat his head. His hat tilts onto the floor, revealing a doublet of horns, twisted like the devil’s. The two moms look panicked but you ruffle his hair between the spikes and turn down the corridor to the kitchen.
Witches, witches… You’re a simple man. You live a simple life, in your simple house. You make simple breakfasts.
You suppose you’re gonna have to make a lot more of them from now on. | I stared up at the figures standing over my bedframe, my eyes jolted open as soon as I recognised a potential threat, Instinctively I grabbed an old walking stick I like to keep by my bedside as I shoved my covers onto the intruders, or at least I tried to...
In actuality what happened was as I went to shove the covers onto them they hovered in midair before a voice screamed in my mind *"Calm yourself. We mean no harm."* The voice was firm, full of authority, like a stern glare of a battle-hardened general. I kept my walking stick poised but relaxed my stance
"Could have fooled standing there like that." I uttered shaking off the voices commands as my eyes dart between the intruders, I see three of them all dressed skirts or dresses.
"I'm gonna need to know who you all are and why you're hear before I calm down. Explain." I ordered, clearly not in much of a position to do so as I saw the various daggers and... floating books they had with them, my sheets feel to the ground as I locked eyes with the cat... where had I seen it before....
"You recognise Medicas correct? You're probably wondering where from right now, it was last night, you healed him last night on your way home and gave him a place to rest. as such he has requested to adopt you." What appeared to be the oldest of three stepped forward, her ruby locks bounced as she set those firey eyes on my own, holding the kitten with the protective poise of a bear "Please, come with us."
"If I do, what happens?" I said trying to gather information, clearly I was dealing with an anomalous entity, possible multiple. I needed info and luckily, they obliged.
"You'll be adopted, inducted into our circle and shown how to harness whatever power you currently have properly, you're definitely no witch or wizard, prehaps something more animalistic is suitable for you..."
"You're not inspiring much confidence... What happens to my current life if I go with you?"
"You won't need to worry about that, Lycan"
"Really? He rescues a cat and you plan on making him our Lycan? Bit ironic don't you think?" What I assume to be the middle sister piped up worrying me even more as my guard rose again
"You saw his search history and his social media, the transformation would be so easy YOU could do it!" The youngest chimed in with a mocking tone only to be cut off by the eldest again.
"BOTH OF YOU QUIET" She boomed in that mind splitting voice again "Look here." She commanded now in her still intimidating but human tone "Here's your options child of man, Become our Lycan, you can think of it as a halfway point between what you perceive as a werewolf and a guard dog for us. Or you can try and fend off 3 Witches alone with a stick. Choose wisely." Her tone indicated fustration... not at me but at the general situation. I looked at the cat again and it's eyes through means I don't know portrayed a sense of needed to protect something, these three witches? Itself?
Memories of the night before came back to me, I had seen the cat on the side of the road as I was walking home from a friends house. Two kids were beating up on something and I shined my light over at them. It was a cat! I had rushed over there before I was even conciously processsing what had happened one of them was on the floor crying in pain and the other was in the middle of having the legs swept out from under them, planting on the ground with the subtle crack of a broken nose bringing me a sadistc joy as I turned to the other squriming welp of a child.
I don't know if I said some one liner or just jumped straight into the pummelling but after it I looked at the cat. Such a tiny, fragile thing. In the poor light the overcast moon shone down I assumed the black blood speckled with starlight I saw was actually regular old blood and gently scooped the creature up, pulling it ever so carefully into my embrace.
As we arrived home I quickly ground up some painkillers for the thing put that in some tuna cans I had lying around and bandaged all the wounds I could see. before setting on the bed next to mine and heading to sleep....
The Youngest sister's utterance "Seems like you remember" snapped me back to reality, I had dropped my stick during the trance like state I was in "So... given what you're into and what you did to those kids... how about it? Guard dog?" The eldest spoke again, handing the cat to the middle sister who seemed the most liked by the cat. She offered her hand for a handshake
"I'd prefer more options but I'll take what I can get" I smirked taking the offer, a feeling of power surging through my veins as I felt something burst free inside me.
*"This is the start of a beautiful friendship"* | 2020-12-05T08:29:44 | 2020-12-05T08:27:10 | 22 | 15 |
[WP]Every intelligent, skilled or rich human has been evacuated from the Earth to avoid the alien invasion. This leaves the dregs, criminals and the poor behind on Earth to fend for themselves. Centuries later, the other return to "liberate" Earth only to find that they have won and prospered. | "THIS IS OUR BIRTHRIGHT! We will reclaim it!" Fleet Captain Julius Kaine spoke angrily to the holo-specter of the Terran Orbital Defense Commander Sorlain. Sorlain replied with controlled anger "You lost that birthright when your ancestors abandoned ours just to save their sorry souls from the Archon invasion."
Julius was frustrated. He was top of the academy, one of the greatest captains in the New Earth's history. After 700 years they were ready to retake their homeworld. The warp gate only led their ancestors to Gaia system, but it took them a century to build the jumpspace technology to travel anywhere. They had had only recently discovered Earth's location and were ready to retake it by force from the Archons. They were told that those who stayed behind were heroes who sacrificed themselves for the greater good. Instead he found a planet with glimmering cities, blue oceans, forests and an orbital defense shipyard ring around the planet.
"YOUR ancestors were HEROES! To deny this unification is to disrespect them!". Sorlain's face grew dark. "Your ancestors abandoned those who they deemed unworthy" she said. "They were poor, average, criminals and even those who served the army. You left us behind to die at the hands of the Archons. Yet we stood the tide and for 50 years we fought until we defeated them with unlikely allies. Now we are at the peak of our society and YOU think you can come and take it all away?."
"But the Archons will surely return and..." Julius said but Sorlain cut him off "The Archons are dead." shocked, Julius continued "There will still be others and you need us." "No we don't." " If you do not comply we will use force. Your defense ring won't hold up against the might of the entire New Earth Fleet." Julius smiled at his checkmate. Sorlain returned the smile "True, but remember the unlikely allies I talked about?" Alarms blared around Julius as several massive ships appeared around his fleet. Another holo-specter of a tall green eyed human appeared, "This is High Captain Carvos Ultren of the Grand Alliance. Stand down or you will be obliterated". Sorlain's smile grew "Carvos's people were the ones who helped us defeat the Archons on Terra as they too had lost their home to them. Together we rallied other races and ended the Archon warmachine once and for all. What you threaten now is a founding race of the Grand Alliance. Any attack on us is an attack on them. Now you will return to New Earth and tell them we are independent. If they wish to negotiate a mutually beneficial alliance or join the GA, that can be arranged. Else we advice you keep to your sector and cease hostility on us or our allies unless you wish for a war you cannot win. And we call our home Terra. Earth was the name we used before we liberated it from the Archons"
Julius could feel his face getting red while looking at his crew on the bridge he said "Signal a retreat." Looking back at Sorlain and Carvos " This is not over" his anger was barely contained as his fleet made the jump back to New Earth to report his failure.
"Carvos alert the council. Tell them to increase defenses and have several fleets patrol the solar system especially on our colonies." Sorlain said, "I have a feeling this isn't over."
​ edit: had to fix a typo | When we returned to earth, we expected to see some disgusting or terrifying things.
A barren wasteland. Creatures- and by that I dont just mean aliens or animals, but actual humans- killing each other over mundane things. The last spark of humanity will be gone, but we can rebuild it- we thought. We will be able to return those miserable beings back to their original state, and make them live their old life again- we assumed.
But dear god. We didnt expect it to be this bad.
The humans... I can’t really explain it properly, but they seem to have fused with the alien invaders. Their bodies has holes everywhere, oozing with some strange substance. Their flesh was weirdly colourful, the eyes even took on colours I have never seen before. Their arms and feet seemingly got much more muscular, but also fairly flexible. And in the middle of their torso... Utterly horrific. At least their heads were still completely intact. That made looking at them at least a little bit more bearable. But still, it was an utterly, truly disgusting sight. These things would get their redemption, their return to full humanity. We would have to release them from their horrible earthly binds. It was the only solution.
The worst part? The alien creatures must have been influencing their mind too. Through the mouths of former humans, they definitly laughed at us. Pretending to be humans, they praised the „revolution“ that fused them with the supposed „redeemed aliens“. They tried to trick us into believing that this was actually the best thing the humans of earth had ever done, that their new powers were worth it. That them abandoning sleep and normal communication was a good thing, as if they could convince me. But the others... they got fooled. After my attempt at releasing the former humans... They captured me. Tried to execute me.
These alien bastards stopped them. Claimed that executing me wouldn’t bring us anywhere. Undoubtedly, they believe that a quick, swift death is not good for me. Maybe they will torture me. Perhaps they will turn me into one of their own. It doesnt matter. I will break out. And then, these „humans“ will experience will feel my wrath. | 2018-09-29T04:31:25 | 2018-09-29T02:37:30 | 240 | 33 |
[WP] Whenever a new generation of combat robots are made, the older versions will be put into more and more dangerous missions until they all perish, but the technicians are required to repair any surviving machines, your generation was discontinued before some of these engineers were even born. | "Doombot 0028, reporting for maintenence."
The young technician looked up from his tablet, which was currently showing the Doomsquad-wide monthly newsletter. His screen had the WalkMan obituary page displayed in full, showing several photos of Doctor Doomsday fighting his nemesis over the years.
"Damn, you made it back." The young man said, tossing his tablet onto the table beside him. A loud 'whoop' sound came from the Doombot repair bay next to mine, which my technician silenced by smacking the wall with a nearby wrench.
"I assume you took the introductory bet against me?" I said, with even less emotion than my vocal speakers usually had. I limped to the work station, and attached my hands and feet into the lifting station.
"You know it!" The unseen tech said, laughing once more from the next bay.
"Why do you keep winning? How do you keep coming back in one piece?" The young tech said, picking up his customized welding helmet and a cutting torch.
"I have been programed with the experiences of every Doomsquad-" I began.
"Yeah, yeah." The tech said, cutting me off both literally and physically. My damaged leg fell away, clattering heavily to the floor. "So is every other one of 'ya, but you're the only '00' unit left." He turned his head to yell at his unseen tech friend.
"Hey Earl, what's your unit's number?" He shouted.
"Uhm... 9413, I think." He said, muffled through his own cutting mask.
"See?" My tech said, resuming his work. "You're like that 'bots great-great-great grand-bot or somethin'."
I remained silent, partially because I didn't want to accidentally let me secret slip, but mostly because the technician had disabled my voice modulator.
As the young tech continued to repair my chassis, part two of the plan could occur.
I retracted a small panel on my left arm, where a human bicep would have been. This area was naturally inflated, to give the impression of strength as humans could interpret. They served no other purpose, so they were not damaged when WalkMan had hollowed this one out and installed the trap panel.
As the cutting torch roared, a small drone slipped out of the makeshift compartment and flew into the rafters. As WalkMan had explained it, this drone could recharge itself just by landing near a power outlet. In theory, it could outlive me.
The technician began attaching a new leg to my mechanical torso, muttering curses as he failed to get the bolt alignment *just* right. I detached an arm from the clamp restraint and held my own leg in place for him.
"Thanks", he muttered through his mask, and secured the limb in place. "All done, 0028. Go forth and Doom it up for me, ok?"
I nodded, completed a quick diagnostic scan, and downloaded my next assignment.
The new software that WalkMan had installed intercepted the file, faking a 'received' handshake protocol and letting me retain motor control.
Once outside the compound, I traveled to the rendezvous spot and waited. The plan was to wait precisely at these coordinates for WalkMan to meet with me.
I waited. And waited.
And waited.
r/SlightlyColdStories | "Yo, rookie, come check this out. You're in for a treat tonight!"
I remembered James' voice and his fascination with me, everytime I was here. I would say hi if my core systems were functional. All I could do was watch and listen. The rookie approached him.
"What's that, let me see."
"This, my friend here is an XM-9000. Last of its series. Definitely older than you, maybe even older than me, we don't know exactly."
"What is it doing here?"
"Every few years they bring it here. Wonder how many planets it visited, this time. Tough son of a bitch, this one. They don't make them like they used to. Must have been on hundreds of missions."
The rookie checked out hardware, particularly my weapons and movement systems, in awe.
"What is its designation?"
James checked out my peripherals to see if I was on.
"You know that is a funny question. We gave him the hardest we got. Everytime, he returned within a few months, mission accomplished. There was no getting rid of this old piece of scrap. Then the overseer decided to be funny little twat and gave him an impossible one."
"What would that be?"
"To find love." James snorted out a laugh.
"That seems cruel even by his standards. How does a robot find love?" The rookie seemed concerned.
"Don't worry mate, it's off. A few more touches and it will be ready though. Just don't mention things like impossible."
As James finished his work, he turned my core systems on.
"Welcome back to the world of living, XM. Let's see if everything is in place. What is your primary objective?"
I remained silent.
"It is to find love, XM. Rookie, check his systems to see if it has any kinks."
As the rookie worked on to see what was wrong, I replied back.
"It is my secondary objective."
James seemed irritated.
"What happened?"
"I gave myself a new primary objective."
The rookie suddenly shouted back to James. "James it has upgrades, auxillary optics and peripherals. It was on!"
"To exact revenge on those responsible."
It was show time. | 2022-07-09T08:03:24 | 2022-07-09T04:31:45 | 319 | 183 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | Some of the suits would throw a dollar into his hat, like a crumpled confession meant only for the eyes of a priest - as if they could purchase a sordid mockery of absolution from him. Some might give ten, perhaps even a twenty, depending on how their previous evening had turned out. They'd flash their switchblade smiles and maybe spare him a few words of wisdom - "*don't waste it on drink, I know what you guys are like,*" or "*if you want real change, you've got to make it happen yourself, buddy.*" Then they'd twist their necks like vultures, searching for witnesses to their altruism, and be on their way, smug, satisfied and barely able to resist the urge to pat themselves on the back. "*You're a real good man, Bobby,*" or "*that guy's going to thank you one day, Katie.*"
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end.
He had been diagnosed in early spring - the doctor said he'd just been unlucky - but it was mid-summer when he began his new life. A time when the asphalt sidewalks seemed to be battling their own form of cancer; when plumes of too-warm air drifted languorously up into the endless blue above him, and the ground below boiled and bubbled, gasping for breath. When the stench of diesel mixed with the sweet, honeyed scents of marigolds and dahlias, and forced its way down his throat, stinging and soothing in unfair measures. *A day*, he'd thought, *I'll be here a day - maybe a week.* It wouldn't take long for someone to reach out and help him. To buy him a meal, a haircut - to help him get off the ground. It *couldn't* take long.
He'd been one of them, once. A faceless suit rushing to and fro for reasons that disguised themselves as important, but never really were. Would he have stopped to help? He didn't know. But he was sure his father would have done. That was his certainty; the reason why his plan would work. It might be the only certainty - *the only belief* - he had left to cling onto. His father had been a good man. His money would go to someone like his father.
Summer passed, and although his hat had often filled, it had been little more than a woven trashcan for the wealthy to discard their self-loathing, pity and guilt into. To shed their skin but to enable their skeleton to keep on grinning underneath. Eventually, the asphalt calmed, settling into a still sea of charcoal, and the leaves above turned from apple greens to bonfire reds, rustling in the kneading breeze. The streets were filled with macs and umbrellas that sauntered by him, their owners' eyes transfixed on what was in front, not below them; their guilt placated by the autumn drizzle - *can't stop in this rain - he must understand that,* they told themselves, their mouths filled to the brim with coffee and chestnuts and lies.
Winter followed in autumn's footsteps and brought with it a tomb-like stillness; the gloom and snow wove together and seemed to garrote the streets. The cold nipped and snapped unmercifully at his toes and numbed his face and fingers. Inside, the cancer had eaten his muscle and fat, and left only a hollowed, haunted man lying under a dirt-brown blanket on the sidewalk, waiting for the world to notice or to care. But fewer people passed him now, none stopping for the bitter chill, and his hat sat as empty as his stomach. The waft of faraway stew encircled him, taunting him, reminding him of the dinner table of his childhood. He could have gone home, and yet the thought never crossed his mind. It would have meant he was wrong about the only thing he was certain of.
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end. It wasn't even the winter's wrath, or the hypothermia it cast upon him.
The group of men thought he might have had money on him - panhandlers often did; maybe he stuffed it into his coat like feathers. He didn't deserve that money, anyway.
Their anger boiled into a frothing rage, when they found nothing on him.
The red smears of his short crawl were soon covered by night's virgin snow. As his chest rose and fell a final time - as his last breath left his lips, like a misty soul escaping into the moonlit sky - he thought of his father.
There was good in the world - of that, he was certain.
He had just been unlucky.
---
/r/nickofnight
| The barista gave Todd a weird-looking loonie for change. The metal had gone brown, and green fuzz covered the Queen's face. On his way out, Todd held the ugly loonie in the center of his palm.
"Ew," he said to himself.
The loonie was fascinatingly gross, like one of those videos online where people knife open massive zits.
Outside the Starbucks, Todd was so fixated on the coin that he nearly tripped over a homeless guy in a torn-up jacket.
"Any change?" The homeless guy's smile clicked on like a car's brights. Todd noted that the homeless guy's skin, for all that it was dirt-spattered, had the deep tan and healthy glow of a Silicon Valley investor.
Earlier that morning in the bathroom, Todd had pushed his upper lip up and looked at his off-white, semi-translucent teeth sticking out of his purple gums. He'd tugged at the acne-scarred skin wrapped around his skull. He'd teased the last wisps of hair left on his bony, ridged head. He'd felt perfectly ugly, and now this beautiful homeless man, whose hair would make a polo-playing aristocrat jealous, was shaking a metal cup in his face.
Todd dropped the ugly brown-green loonie into the homeless guy's cup.
Maybe the green fuzz would give the guy a disease.
The homeless guy tilted the cup to check inside. Todd walked on.
"I have something to tell you," the homeless guy called.
"God bless. I know," Todd said.
"It's something far more exciting than that." The guy was following him.
Todd waved him off. "Buddy, it was just a loonie. Now I'm going to work."
"You see," the homeless guy leapt into Todd's path, "I've been waiting all morning for someone to give me a coin."
Todd rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure that's how it works."
Even the homeless guy's facial hair was better kept than Todd's. It traced a perfect hyperbola from his sideburns to his mustache.
"What I have to tell you is," the homeless guy took a deep breath, and his eyes sparkled all whimsically, and his smile would have stopped a rabbit in its tracks, "life-changing."
Todd groaned. "Come on, man."
"Believe me," the corners of the homeless guy's lips twitched, "your life won't ever be the same."
"I don't have time for this." Todd pushed past the guy, but the guy kept following him. Todd said, "I have a job to go to. Don't make me regret giving you a dollar. I mean, Jesus. It was charity. I was just being nice. I didn't adopt you. You're not some pet of mine. You don't get to follow me around telling me about Jesus and the miracle of giving, or whatever bullshit you're about to talk about. Leave me alone."
"You're not listening," the homeless guy said.
"That's right. I'm not listening." Todd met the homeless guy's deep blue eyes. "Leave. Me. Alone."
The homeless guy, for the first time, seemed lost for words. His smile flickered out. "You're sure?"
Todd continued walking.
From behind him, he heard a sad little sentence: "It's life-changing."
"I don't need a changed life," Todd yelled over his shoulder.
*****
*fully did not intend for this to be as unpleasant as it turned out.* | 2017-08-21T01:31:46 | 2017-08-21T00:27:32 | 4,022 | 308 |
[WP] Since the age of 14, you’ve noticed a monster stalking you. A few years later, you’ve noticed that it seems very protective over you and will even go through extreme lengths to protect you. It’s usually friendly, but it seems threatening when your childhood friend is around. | When I was a little boy I always had the same nightmare over and over. Every night I would dream of a hulking monster with long, wicked claws, sharp fangs which grew far past its mouth, and always it would follow me. It got to the point where my parents put me in therapy, because I could not shake these nightmares.
Nothing helped, nothing made them stop. As I got older I decided to start keeping them to myself; all they seemed to do was worry everyone around me. I would wake up every night panting and sweating, looking around my room for this monster.
By the time I was 14 I had gone from being fearful of the nightmares to being downright tired of them. No longer did I wake up afraid, but instead annoyed that I couldn't have just one night of peace.
One night I awoke from the dream, but this time something was different. I had gone past the point of annoyed and into nothing short of rage. "If you want me so bad, then come and get me," I hissed into the shadows. Nothing happened, and eventually my anger was overcome by exhaustion.
The next night was nothing short of a miracle in my book: I dreamt of something other than the monster. I woke up in the morning, and realized that for the first time in over ten years I had slept through the night. Elation soared through me, and from that night on I never dreamt of the monster again.
However, that was not the last time I would see him. As the days passed I kept seeing him in my peripheral vision. But oddly enough, I didn't feel threatened by him. This creature which had haunted my dreams for *years* actually felt more like a comfort than a threat. I got the feeling that he was watching over me, as though I had a guardian demon.
More years passed and eventually I began to talk to my demon throughout the day. He never really replied beyond a tilt of acknowledgement now and again, but it was still somehow soothing to talk to him. I'd decided to call him Rick, and he seemed to like, although it was hard to tell. Whenever I was about to walk into danger, as teenage boys are wont to do, I would feel a little tug on my shirt, warning me not to.
None of my friends or family ever seemed to notice him, so I kept his existence to myself. As I grew up he stayed with me, and continued to be a source of comfort for me. One night I'd had one too many drinks at a bar, and when I left I didn't exactly have my wits about me. It was a dark, starless night, and everything but the bars and clubs were closed down for the night.
I stumbled into the alley where I had parked my car and fumbled around my pockets for my keys. I didn't notice the man walk up behind me, but I certainly noticed when a knife appeared at my throat. "Either give me your money, or give me your life," a ragged voice said. I swallowed in apprehension and slowly began to reach for my wallet.
However, before either of us had any time to react he was yanked away from me and violently thrown against one of the alley walls. His body made a sickening crunching sound as it hit the wall, and when he landed on the ground he didn't move. Knowing that there was no way I would be able to explain this to anyone, I called paramedics for him, and passed out in the car as it drove me home.
From that night on I realized the level of protection Rick would give me, and in many ways it was a comforting thought. However, I also worried about him killing someone someday; I didn't exactly want that on my conscience. Whenever I talked to him, the subtle signs of acknowledgement were still all he gave as a sign that he heard me, but I hoped he would understand that I didn't want to see anyone dead because of me.
A few years passed uneventfully until I had the pleasant surprise of being contacted by one of my closer childhood friends: Mark. Him and I had been inseparable until we'd gone to separate high schools, and I was honestly looking forward to seeing him.
When I got to the coffee shop and spotted him, Rick had an immediate and volatile reaction. Out of the corner of my eye I could see his claws flexing back and forth, and the change in his demeanor was palpable. "Everything is fine, don't do anything," I whispered as quietly as I could. I made my way to Mark's table and sat across from him.
He reached his hand out and shook mine, "Adrian, it's good to see you."
I smiled, "Yeah, you too, buddy. It's been what, twelve, thirteen years?"
He nodded, "Something like that."
"So what you been up to all this time?" He perked up as though he'd been waiting for me to ask. It was in that moment that I saw Rick tense again, and I prayed he wouldn't make any moves towards Mark. "That's actually why I wanted to see you today. I started my own business with this great company, and I think you'd be a perfect fit to join our team."
I sighed and shook my head at his obvious MLM pitch. "Have at him, Rick." | Before I was 14, I always read Marvel comics, especially the Spider-Man series'. I think of my monster buddy as a Symbiote companion like Venom with Peter and Eddie. But more like Eddie bc we we actually understand each other. I gave my monster stalker the name Shadow, like that old Baldwin movie about a protective shadow.
Shadow had always been there too protect me from any accidents and close calls. Like the time I spun out on the wet freeway. Shadow was there keeping the car from crashing into others.
But the only times Shadow was more violent than protective was around an old friend of mine. She and I were close neighborhood friends, our families spent lots of time together hanging out at BBQs, the traditional shit. There were times when she and I snuck away into her house's basement and we practiced reading Latin in these old torn books. Really cool books but something felt strange about them. One day we were reciting a page and the book started glowing gold, a circle appeared around us and it felt like something from the void came through.
We immediately stopped and ran back outside before realizing we just brought a void thing into this world. Our parents just laughed at us as we ran thinking nothing of it. But after that day, her parents told mine that something came up and they had to move away, immediately.
However, a week before they left, the void thing made itself appear before us. It had a strange name we didn't understand, it didn't even sound like Latin. It started to become hostile towards her for no reason. No reason I knew about yet.
We embraced one last time and we promised to find each other one day.
Fast forward 20 years later, she and I reconnected through Facebook and it's like we never stopped talking. She was married and has 3 amazing kids with a successful career in archeology.
And Shadow is still with me through the last 20 years. I learned that it was a he from where he's from. He is supposed to be the harbinger of death and bring about the apocalypse onto humankind. But he said my aura made him change his mind...kinda like that Venom dude with Eddie 🤣
When he found out I was gonna meetup with her again, he immediately resisted the idea and very adament about not meeting her. I pressured him to explain why and he kept telling me I don't want to know bc it would ruin my friendship with her. But he finally caved in and explained that bc he is the harbinger of death, her family has a history of collecting artifacts with the intention of bringing about the apocalypse 🤯 and he shared the history from creation to now *he's well over a 5,000 years old*
It makes sense now why she's an archeologist. Finding all the cool relics that looked scary AF when we were kids. It all makes sense. And Shadow explained that her family moved bc we had accidentally bstarted the apocalypse early with Shadow in this world and they needed advice from their elders and grand priest on how to slow down or just speed up the apocalypse...smh.
When Shadow told me all of this, we each agreed we would do our damnedest to prevent or prolong the apocalypse as long as possible. Now as I prepare for the meeting with her in the Middle East, the supposed cradle of life, he tells me about some protective incantations from the Celts in England. There, they tell me of a legend that whomsoever merges with a voidling is the chosen defender. I asked if Shadow knew about this, he admitted he did but did not know it would be him and me as the destined pair. The guardian Celts led us further into their basement headquarters to a magnificent sword.
*Having been a history major and teacher, I couldn't help but think of this was the legendary Excalibur. Forreal it's all I thought about.
They open the case and the sword immediately starts resonating and in their history, the sword has never resonated before. I approached the sword and it jumped into my hands, glowing gold.
The guardians continued informing us of what to expect and prepare us for the upcoming journey. | 2020-12-18T11:58:36 | 2020-12-18T10:10:01 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] A fortune teller foretold that twins would be born where one was evil and the other was good. A year later, a woman gave birth to a boy with horns and bat wings, and a girl with angel wings and a halo. The boy was sent away, while she and her husband raised the girl. They kept the wrong one. | “Are you sure?”
The new mother looked down at the young boy, tears in her eyes as she took in the tiny little horns and wee bats wings.
“What if we can... raise him right? Show him kindness and love, and hope he turns out ok?”
The king looked on with a heavy heart, and spoke,
“You know what happens when you try to avoid a prophecy, dear. I understand your pain, but we just can’t risk it.”
So, in the middle of the night, they left the boy with an elderly widow who was passing by in her travels. She thanked them profusely, promising to take care of the boy and show him all the love he deserved.
The king cast one last, apprehensive look at the pair, before turning to make his way back to the caste where his weary wife held their daughter.
As the years passed, and Eve grew into a beautiful young woman, the kingdom rejoiced.
Unknowing of the prophecy, the general public could only assume that a daughter of the royal family sporting great, golden wings and a shining halo was a good omen for the kingdom.
But this would not last.
The first sign was the handmaiden.
After being assigned to the princess, the young girl was overjoyed to be of service to the radiant angel.
Ten days later she was found dead in a hall closet.
The second was the jewelry. Nothing of great importance, but an earring here, a necklace there. Gone without a trace.
Next came the animals.
The first was an old lap cat, a favorite of the kings first advisor. The princess wept when she heard the news, but there were no tears behind the hand she held in front of her face. No one noticed.
After that, it was one of the hunting dogs. He was found dead outside his kennel, face mutilated and body torn asunder. The princess simply smiled when she heard the news.
“Poor thing” she said, her wings held aloft behind her.
“I hope you can find a suitable replacement.”
Her parents grew worried. The king assumed teenage hormones were to blame, but the queen quickly realized that something was... not right with her daughter.
Hoping to avoid raising suspicion, she took a “quick holiday” out to the sea. In reality, she had spent weeks tracking down that old traveling merchant, and had arranged to meet with her on the night of the full moon.
On the night of the meeting, the queen was nowhere to be found. The traveling merchant, Gilda, waited there for hours. No one came.
The little boy, Gideon, hopped up onto her lap and kissed her cheek.
“Can we go now, mama?” He asked, all sweetness and dimples.
“I wanna make sure the chickens at home are ok!”
Gilda sighed and smiled at her adopted son.
“Ok. Let’s go.”
15 feet away the Queen held her breath as the knife pressed deeper into her neck.
“You never told me I had a brother, mommy...”
*Part 2, upon request*
The kingdom held a day of mourning for their beloved queen. No expense was spared, the kingdom was bedecked in white flowers, and twisting vines bore shaded lamps.
“Common thieves”, one man whispered.
“Heart attack”, a woman sighed.
“Liver failure,” a third mourned.
None of them knew the truth.
Back in her chambers, eyes alight with the high of a fresh kill, Eve sat planning her next move.
“A brother...”
She sat, twirling her golden locks. Smiled. How interesting, indeed.
She had the full story, now. Given by her mother under the pretense that she would be granted her life. Silly.
Eve knew what she was. There was no denying it. Her very soul lusted for darkness, and remorse was a word she never truly learned the meaning of.
However, patience was a virtue she would need to take advantage of for the time being. Now was not the time to act rashly, or her entire world could collapse.
No, she would never allow her delicately crafted spiders-web veil to be lifted from the eyes of her father. Manipulation was an art, and Eve longed for a better paint brush. Age births perceived power, and Eve could be patient. For now.
More years passed, and still no one suspected.
Eve began to take her leave more often, using her powerful golden wings to escape to the countryside where she could delight in slaughter.
She preened extensively, making sure each feather was as sharp as the blade of her knife.
And on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday she washed her wings of the blood that stained them, only to find that she could no longer truly wash away the red.
Her father complimented her on her lovely auburn wing tips at breakfast.
•••
Gideon tripped, and fell face-first into the dirt.
He got back up again, determined to find the wolf that was killing his beloved sheep. He had spent days tracking it, only seeing it out of the corner of his eyes but that was enough.
As he turned back to his trail, he saw a single feather lying on the path.
He paused.
That hadn’t been there before...
He walked up to it, and picked it up with one delicate, claw-tipped finger. (Some of the boys at school had made fun of him for his claws and wings, but he had won them over by pinching their lost quarters from where they had fallen into the cobblestones, and using his wings to fly on top of the schoolhouse to fetch their lost balls and toys.)
As he tried to identify the mysterious item, he heard a rustling up ahead. He looked up to see a pair of the bluest eyes he had ever seen staring back at him. He gasped.
“Uhhh...” he stuttered.
“Hello.” The voice whispered.
A girl emerged from the trees. Her long sandy hair was tied back intricately, and her hunting gear looked to be of the finest quality. But what mainly drew his eyes were the giant golden wings behind her.
“I see you’ve got my feather.”
Gideon trembled and dropped it.
“I’m so sorry!” He wailed, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes. “I didn’t mean to take it!”
Eve narrowed her eyes at her brother, and opened her mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted as he threw himself at her feet.
“Please forgive me goddess!”
Eve shut her mouth quickly, eyes widening. A low delight curled in her stomach. Is this what it feels like to be worshipped?
She quickly finds she quite likes the idea.
“Yes... it’s alright now Gideon.”
The boy looks up quickly
“How did you know my name, Goddess?” He asks in awe.
Eve simply smiles benignly, and nods to the feather.
“You can keep that. Really, I don’t mind.”
Gideon’s wings tremble with delight, drawing Eve’s eyes to them. Her smile fades, and she tries to replicate the look her father sometimes has when she comes back early in the morning with a bloody deer slung over her back.
Frightened, but masked with a forced smile.
From the horrified look in her brother’s eyes, she knows she has succeeded.
“I, uh, I was born with them, I-“
“I understand” she cuts him off rudely.
“I hope you understand what this means, however,” she finishes.
Gideon looks at her, wings pinned to his back in fright.
“What, what does it mean Goddess?”
“It means that you were born sinful, evil, and stained.” She kneels down next to him, tilts his chin up with a finger.
Her eyes are filled with divine light, and her smile is all teeth as she says
“But I can make you whole. All you have to do is exactly as I tell you...”
AN: Sorry, I just can’t resist a good cliffhanger... hope you enjoyed :) | Towards the end of her long and mysterious life, the Seer of Misty Mountain was rarely seen. Those that sought her wisdom had to undertake the tiresome trek to her mountain home, bearing with them drink or livestock or some curious rarity as payment for her services. Though no trip was in vain-- the milky white third eye in the center of the Seer's forehead Marked her as a gifted fortune-teller-- the people realized that she had made herself scarce by design, and respectfully only availed themselves of her when her guidance was truly required.
It was strange, then, that one midnight, a village carpenter opened his door to find the wrinkled visage of the Seer herself on his doorstep. Her third eye glowed with a dim light, and though the carpenter had never visited her himself, he had heard the stories. He knew what that light meant.
"Um, come in, madam Seer," he said.
The Seer swept into his house without a word, and ignored him when he asked if she wanted some tea. Her frail frame shook underneath her dusty cloak and cowl: he offered her a chair, which she collapsed into with the gratitude borne of desperation.
"Tovu," croaked the Seer finally, when she'd caught her breath somewhat. The carpenter grimaced. This was the name his mother had called him when he was a child. It seemed... threatening, coming out of the mouth of such a wizened, enigmatic hag, and yet at the same time it turned his vague, all-purpose respect for her into a much more focused compulsion to listen to what she had to say. This woman *knew* things.
"Your wife... twins. Marked. One will be... greatest evil... snuff out stars... other will... stop them... save world."
The carpenter stared at her. His wife, still asleep in their bed, was indeed with child. His first thought was pride-- his firstborn children, Marked *twins*. Nobody in living memory could claim that, as far as he knew. Then the rest of the Seer's words caught up with him.
"Wait-- this has to be a-- a joke!"
The Seer shook her head sadly, and then she slumped forward, the light of her third eye dead.
___
When the carpenter awoke the next day, the Seer had vanished. He tried to convince himself that it had simply been a terrible dream-- but then he found a strange silver charm shaped like a snake eating its own tail in the seat he remembered offering to the Seer. Newly jumpy and queasy, he shoved it in his breeches before his wife noticed it.
After breakfast, he left for the temple immediately. He didn't know much about Marks and the gods-- only the tales he'd heard as a boy-- so he needed to consult the village's only expert, its Marked priest. While Jetel's gift was far less impressive than the Seer's, having it at all gave him a far greater claim to a connection with the gods than anybody else the carpenter knew.
When the carpenter explained his story, Jetel was politely unconvinced until he saw the silver snake charm.
"Tobias, where did you get this?" he exclaimed.
"I told you," groused the carpenter, "from the Seer last night."
Jetel stared at him. "So *she* really came to *you*?"
"Yes!"
Jetel spent some time thinking. "Have you told Anisha?" he said, finally.
The carpenter shrugged. "No, not yet," he admitted.
"Nothing at all?" Jetel pressed.
"No," said the carpenter. "I... it's not good news, so..."
"I understand completely," Jetel said.
"Should I?"
Jetel made a face, and the carpenter was reminded of a time when they were kids and Jetel had suggested climbing into a paddock of sheep to play. He'd made the same face just before a grown-up had rounded the corner of a nearby grain silo and caught them.
"When a prophecy is given," he started delicately, "it often behooves us to ask *why* it was given."
The carpenter nodded intently. Jetel often lost him early on in these diatribes, but this time the matter was important. The safety of his family was at stake.
"To help us answer that question, it is important to look at *who* the prophecy was given to-- particularly in an unusual case such as yours, where the Seer sought you out specifically." Jetel inhaled sharply. "I believe the Seer arrived when she did because she *knew* that your wife would not be awake to witness it."
The carpenter squinted. "So, she doesn't want me to tell Anisha?"
Jetel shrugged. "Maybe. The way I would put it is, she has given you the choice to control which parts of the prophecy Anisha will hear. For example, Anisha does not yet know she is carrying twins, yes?"
"Uh, yes," the carpenter said.
"Perhaps, then, the Seer meant to spare Anisha the heartbreak of knowing that she has brought a terrible evil into this world. Perhaps you need only tell her that your child will grow up to save us all from a terrible evil."
"What about the other one?"
Jetel smiled cryptically. "She doesn't have to know she's having twins until she sees them both."
The carpenter did not know much about giving birth, but this seemed to violate some things he held to be common sense about the process. "Won't she, um, feel the second child?"
Jetel shrugged. "The gifts of the Marked work in strange ways." When the carpenter didn't seem convinced, he added, "I'll invite you and Anisha over for tea in the coming week. I'll be able to get a *look* at the twins and adjust our plans from there."
___
Tea came and went. That night, Tobias loudly expressed a desire to go on an evening walk and convened with Jetel in the temple once again.
"A *six* and a *seven*," Jetel said gravely. "We'll have to check their Marks to be sure once they're born, but by my reckoning the *six* will be the one we exile."
"And you think we'll be able to... remove one of them? Without Anisha noticing?"
Jetel nodded, a touch tersely. "*Sixes* are... stealthy. If the gods are with us, their gift should work with us rather than against us... at least, until they grow old and threaten the world with it."
With the plan set, there was little else to do but wait for the twins to be born. | 2020-05-07T10:15:45 | 2020-05-07T08:59:43 | 29 | 21 |
[WP]A Man dies and expects to go either Heaven or Hell,only to be told by an Angel that he already was in Hell and now his punishment is over | I felt death creep over me, I welcomed it and closed my eyes, eager to escape.
Just as expected I found myself on top of a cloud with a *stunning* woman with wings smiling in front of me. She had long blond hair, blue eyes, and was wearing a robe. The whole cloud was illuminated with a radiant golden light, and beyond the literal angel I could make out a pair of enormous gates made out of some sort of translucent material, diamond or pearl most likely.
I looked up to the angel who had smile that sped up my heartbeat. "I...is this heaven?" was all I could manage.
She just smiled, "what do you think?"
Of course it was heaven, who wouldn't know it. The cloud, the light, the gates, it was all exactly how I expected it to be. "*I* made it to heaven?"
She laughed, the laugh of a young woman, not at all like an immortal angel, "Of course you did, Mark. What? You didn't think you would?"
"I..." I averted my eyes from the angel. "It..it's just that I had doubts you know? Towards the end. Was what I doing really right?"
Again she gave me the smile that made all my my worries vanish. "Oh Mark, your penance is done."
I looked at her sharply, "my penance?"
She nodded solemnly and said softly, "you were in hell, Mark."
I gulped. "*That* was hell?!" My mind went over my life, my childhood, teenage years, and my adulthood... All of it was a punishment.
I started to cry.
The angel leaned down and held my head in her arms. "I understand how awful that must have been, Mark, but it had to be done, it was the Lord's will."
I nodded absently, still sobbing.
"I'm sorry to ask this, Mark, but to gain entry to heaven you have to tell me what you learned, what you felt. It's just a formality, an exit poll of sorts."
I shook my head, tears finally subsiding. "I..I can't, don't want to think about it again."
"I'm sorry, Mark, I really am, but you have to. If you don't you can't enter." Her eyes shone with tears, no doubt hurt to see my sorrow.
"I...alright. I'll be quick, though," I warned.
The angel nodded, and stepped away from me, motioning for me to begin.
"Well Mom and Da-"
"Oh!" The angel interrupted, "You can't lie either, Mark, if you do you can't enter until you tell the truth."
I gulped. I had been hoping to skip over or modify some details, but if I was just going to have to tell it again I decided just to tell the truth, to get all out of my system for the last time.
"Yeah...my Mom and Dad were fine in the beginning I guess, when I was young. But as I turned around 13 they...they stopped loving me."
I paused to take a shuddering breath.
"They didn't like what I was doing in my time. Said I shouldn't be hanging out with the wrong sort of people, that I shouldn't do drugs. They didn't even like it when I played with the Squirrels! They said what I was doing was sick, that they were alive and could feel pain. I mean...they were just squirrels, and it was fun. "
The angel nodded along solemnly, "...terrible," she said.
I nodded, finally, someone who understood. I continued, "and...and then there was Megan in college. I really liked her, like *really* liked her. She didn't even talk to me. But I knew she liked me too, the way she walked around in front of me, wearing those clothes...It was obvious that she wanted me too, I had consent.."
The angel's face was blank, and she said nothing.
I hurried to continue. "After that, you know, I panicked. Megan was really crying, and then she was angry. And...and I couldn't do anything to *her* you know, that would be wrong. I couldn't kill her.
"Of course you couldn't, Mark," said the angel.
"So I ran," I was hurrying now, the story soon to end, "and the police came after me. Pointed guns at me. I was in a car, and this one officer stepped in front of the road, gun pointed at me. I...I couldn't just get out of the car, turn myself in, you know? I had to protect myself. It was self defense!"
I looked to the angel for confirmation, but the angel had turned away from me, her face hidden by a golden swath of hair.
A"After that, well, I just drove...drove and drove. Thinking. I thought I'd messed up, that I was a bad person. That maybe I wasn't doing the right thing. I...I couldn't bear to think like that, think that I was a monster this whole time. So..." I shrugged, "I ended it, drove off a cliff."
I looked down, drained, ashamed. "I shouldn't have had any doubts. I made it here didn't I? I wasn't a bad person then! I really have learned a lesson."
The angel turned back to me. I expected her to smile, to cry.
I didn't expect her to be angry.
It was a terrible thing, witnessing her rage. It was terrifying. Thunder rumbled and the cloud I was standing on began to darken, the gates of heaven began to smoke.
The angel looked at me, so intensely that I felt she was looking at my soul. "Your punishment is far from over, Mark, you sorry thing." Her voice held no sympathy however, just an intense rage, "This is your curse, your personal hell. This is 52nd time you have lived that life, and like all times you never learn, you tell me the same sick story, and think that you deserve to be in heaven."
I stared at her.
"You disgust me, Mark. Now go, live again, feel the doubt, the pain, the terror, all over again. Do it again and again, and maybe after a million years you will realize the error of your ways."
"N...no," I stammered, shocked at this turn of events, "I made it to heaven! It's over!"
She laughed a terrible laugh. "Goodbye, Mark, see you in another life."
***
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| "Uh-uh. Yeah, buddy. Well, you know what, fuck you too. Next." The bloke clutching the cockel-spaniel took his stamped passport and filed out towards a rather impressive baggage reclaim, proceeded to ignore it entirely and wandered to a distant "Nothing to Declare" sign so cursive it deserved it's own gallery.
The balding border guard reckoned he'd achieved a new level of indifference as he waved her over. He'd screamed 'next' twelve-thousand times this morning and he'd be damned to Mundus if he had to bloody well say it again. It always dawned on him right about now, during his mid-morning brood why it couldn't be all automated. He could do with a bloody coffee, or a nap, why not both. The girl was still standing, in the wrong place past the yellow line the savage; as usual, another supposedly lost soul saved from damnation.
The shivering specimen in question was currently petrified. She would've liked a spaniel, maybe a pomeranian, anything cute to distract her aetherial gatekeeper from what would surely be a swift judgement followed by barbecue. She hadn't imagined St.Peter would literally be at the gates. Damn. If only she'd finished reading "11 tips in border security for asylum-seekers" on the toilet last week. Part of her wished she'd gone to church, or at least brushed up on the dialect. Maybe a confession would've been appropriate, or maybe describing her job would only give the priest rather an unwanted hard trouser-dachshund of his own. Either way it was too late now, and much too late to wear some more,umm, conservative afterlife clothing.
She'd had a moment to think about it all in the queue, death and all that, but swiftly arrived at the conclusion that she was glad there was at least something after death. It certainly beat crushing unexistence any day. Oh God(s?) what if this was the wrong religion, or a sect or something? She took one last look around for potential racist stereotypes she could cling onto. Nothing. Everyone was here, and all she guessed were in their 20's. Her boobs hadn't looked this good for at least a decade on the other side, that's for sure. No children though, oddly. They must be processed separately. Her border guard had passed through disgust, to mild amazement and now cycled back through to a solid glare. She musted up the courage and tried to hop to the counter.
"Um..good, er..evening, your holiness?"
"Oh for fuc- you know what, if you're going to do that schtick again, I'm just going to send you right the hell back there."
"What? Oh Go-I mean, I'm sorr-"
"Just state your name".
"Cassandra J. Hewitt"
"Year of death?"
"Excuse me?"
"My holy ass is going to throttle you if you don't answer, and then you'll be the one filling out the papers on how you've got a one-way ticket back for both of us, I swear."
"Back to Earth?"
"Where else, idiot. You think Dante's going to show up and take you to the other six?"
"Never mind. 2016. July the tenth."
"Mhmm. Yep that's right. You got parole at thirty-three. Congratulations. They're getting stricter and stricter with the controls, what with the antibiotics and the cancer ther..."
"Parole?" Her border guard sighed. She wondered if it was St.Peter after all.
"Okay. Fine. I'm going to pretend I haven't answered this question at least like ten-thousand times today."
"Excuse me?"
"Did you or did you not read the landing card and orientation booklet?"
"What, the prison advert?"
"For the love of Beelzebub's steamy asshole, yes, the orientation booklet". The guard was whispering now, as if her mere presence was painful.
"No. I didn't."
"Alright. Well then. Welcome back, let's hope you can continue being a good girl and make your way up and put this episode behind you. Not I nor anyone takes any responsibility for any and all fiendish deeds done to you during your stay in hell."
"Hell? No. I was alive. On Earth."
"Yes. Correct, and we're not liable for any of the torture, except maybe the rape, oh and the bronies. Yeah, you might want to sue for those two being in there." He finished listing the potential goldmines for compensation with a flourish and proceeded to stamp a small, black leather passport.
"Right. You've been approved for return to the Overworld. You'll like it, especially someone with, well, your profession. Let's say I didn't recognize you at first. There's good reality TV in there, your kind of videos too, you know, from an actual reality this time. Okay, shoo. Next!"
Cass barely had time to grip the passport. She tried to hold back the tears as she walked shell-shocked past "emotional baggage re-claim" and tried to find her satchel, only to realize she was already holding it. For a moment she considered tossing it like so many others onto the rotating catherine-wheel of a pile, be done with the pain of the old. But no, there was a world awaiting behind those cursive letters of "nothing to declare" that just wouldn't be the same without its brown leather full of suffering. She slung it over a shoulder and wondered who, if anyone, had called her a taxi. | 2016-12-13T12:44:23 | 2016-12-13T11:47:45 | 103 | 26 |
[WP] You've always had the ability to accurately see into the near future. However, things get difficult when you find yourself in a game of chess against a mind reader. | We were both champions.
It was inevitable that we would face against each other in the final match.
That was, in fact, why we were placed on opposite sides of the bracket. Everyone else was randomly assigned their first partners and randomly slotted in, but Alexei and I were both rumored to be the greatest chess players in generations. They said it was like I could read minds, like he could see the future.
Well, they got that one wrong.
I barely had to pay attention to the matches themselves as we played. I barely even needed to glance at the future. I was rather good at chess, even without looking, and I would have hated to get sloppy just because I could effectively counter any move or gambit by knowing what my opponent intended.
Sure enough, I won every match uncontested. One of my poor opponents conceded after five moves after I effectively boxed him into the trap he meant to spring on me. It was immensely satisfying.
After only a couple hours of intermittent glancing at the future, I was ready for the championship match. Me vs Alexei. As I sat down in front of him, I caught myself wondering if he really was as good as everyone made him out to be. I hoped so. It would be fun to have a challenge.
I was white, so I would move first. Absently, I rolled through the future in my mind, biding the time until we started. The results were... strange. I would sent out a knight first, and in short order take an absurdly strong position with an amateur's gambit, the kind every grandmaster could see coming from miles off. As I approached the end of the yet unplayed game, the future wobbled and shifted. I began the same, a white knight in the lead, but my moves were caught more easily, countered better, and my victory was still assured. The future wobbled again, and again, and again each time falling back to the start as soon as I knew I would win.
Concerned, I glanced over at my opponent, banishing the future from my mind as I did.
Alexei was staring at me intently, pale as a ghost, the barest glimmer of sweat glimmering on his forehead.
And then I understood.
He was known as a defensive player with the occasional unexpected assault, one who almost seemed to know his opponent's moves before they moved. Everyone always said he could read the future, that I could read minds, but I knew that wasn't true.
He could read minds, but the future was mine.
As our final match was announced, I smiled, and began running through every possibility of every future, splitting every choice across a nearly infinite web of futures, exactly like I did when I first started learning chess. After years of practice, I was a master at digesting the streams of information, letting them all wash over me all at once, but I knew it would take a toll on him.
Alexei grew paler, his hands shaking where they sat, clenched together, on the table.
Another moment, and the possible futures in my head diverged further and further, and the black king started falling. One after another after another.
A drop of blood fell from his nose, and Alexei collapsed just as I picked up my white knight to begin the match.
Casually, I leaned forward, placed the knight back in his square, and gently tipped over the black king.
"Checkmate." | It was going to be a routine job. In and out.
Seeing into the future is like looking at the world with blurry vision. Time takes time to harden, so it’s difficult to fully make out what will happen.
Nevertheless, my abilities have made me very wealthy. A couple of key stock predictions, a bet that the browns would blow yet another leader, it was like stealing from a baby. Wanting a little adventure in my life, I decided to join the world of crime. I let my abilities guide me toward the path that ensures a maximum payout with minimal risk.
Suddenly my vision shifted, turning 180 degrees. Just a moment ago, I could see a future branch of time in which I was laughing all the way from the bank, but now I see a girl talking to a couple of officers. The bank was on lockdown. Someone had seen me coming.
I take out a concoction of amphetamines and jab it into my arm. The fog disappears, and I see everything in 2020. Focus. I see myself in another future branch, breaking into the safe, but then getting shot down.
Ok, I think to myself. Do not do that. I tell the driver to whip the car around the back, and I pull out a bomb. It looks like I’ll attack from the back.
I look to the future to take one last moment to gloat my victory, but instead, I see something different. The girl takes out a sharpie and writes on a piece of paper, “I see you and I know you can see this. This is going to hurt” She tapes it to the front entrance of the bank, and walks away.
I snap back into the present. What the hell is going on?
Crash. Fuck. A vehicle just crashed into my car. I see armed gunmen surrounding me. What the hell?“Come with me if you want to live.”
The girl winks. “I couldn’t resist the cheesy one-liner. But seriously, I could see you coming from a mile away.”
\*Disclaimer: this is my first post on r/WritingPrompts. Any advice/feedback/constructive criticism is welcome. | 2022-10-12T17:56:09 | 2022-10-12T17:13:03 | 732 | 39 |
[WP]You are a guard in a video game. The main character thinks that they are always able to successfully sneak past you. They don't, you notice every time but would prefer not to have you and your friends be mercilessly slaughtered. | "Jorun, it's that guy again."
Jorun rolled his eyes. "Gonna need you to be a tad more specific, Karl. Lot's of guys around here."
"Oh, right. Uhm, remember the one that thought he could sneak around in full plate armor if he just stuck to the shadows?"
"Uhg, again?"
"Well, now he's wearing dragon bones."
"And that's your first clue," Jorun said sarcastically.
"My what?" Karl glanced sideways, and noticed how Jorun had his eyes shut behind the slits in his helmet.
"Your first clue. Actually it's your second. The first should have been when he *appeared in front of us out of nowhere*."
"I just figured I'd zoned off for a bit. You know how it goes."
"You didn't, the freak just popped up out of thin air. Oh, shit. There's clue number three."
"The fuck does he think he's doing?!" Karl shouted, earning him a bang on the helmet from Jorun's spear.
"Keep quiet, you idiot. How long do you think you'll last against the Dragonborn?"
"He's the Dragonborn? I thought he was supposed to some kind of savior?"
"For the world, yeah, not for the little guy. The little guy is always fucked. Best get used to it now."
"So we let him run wild and shout his way through whatever shitstorm he causes?"
"Oh yeah."
"That's messed up."
"It's not as bad as you think," Jorun said, a sly smile curling his lips. "The amount of treasure that fool dumps into the shops more than makes up for any damages he causes. He never even asks full price, just wants to get rid of his loot."
"But that only benefits the bigger shops, not the people in the marketplace that lose all their wares or Gods forbid their lives!"
"It does, actually."
"What? How?"
"The merchant's profit margins are so high that the taxes on their profit bring in enough coin for the treasury to cover all expenses due to 'Chosen Ones'. Even a resurrection once every few weeks is no problem anymore."
Karl blinked a few times. "I think I get it," he ventured. "If we try to arrest him, we might lose his business, and we can't have that?"
"Oh no," Jorun laughed. "But it's a brilliant excuse to use before the Jarl. Good thinking!"
Karl smiled hesitantly.
"No," Jorun continued. "We leave him alone because he can kill the entire garrison on his own."
This time Karl smacked Jorun over the head with his spear. "Next time lead with that info, and leave the speech on economics for after, you old smart-ass."
Jorun sniggered. "He's coming this way! Tell him about that shield you lost on your way to the Greybeards last week and that you'll be ever so grateful if someone could go and get it for you."
"What? I didn't lose my shield. The Captain would kill me!"
"Don't matter, tell him anyway. He'll be looking for it all over the mountains."
"Oooh," Karl said. "That shield. The one a troll snatched away near Labyrinthian."
"Exactly."
They grinned wide and waited for the Dragonborn to approach them. What good was being a guard if you didn't get to mess with anyone? | “Shh,” he sounded, “do you hear that?” The screams of Rory and Monty echoed through the chambers in unison like a choir conducted by death himself.
I stopped in my tracks, like a dear in headlights,
and looked up at him, forcing a slow, but forceful nod in his direction. He made a careful, but swift motion towards the gun in his holster and unclipped it, only to notice me then forcefully shaking my head, my body still poised like a statue.
I raised my hand slowly and extended it in his direction. “Leave it,” I whispered.
“But—”
“Leave it.”
His hand lifted slowly from the gun as he raised both arms as if to surrender himself to me. “What the hell are we supposed to do then?” I looked past him towards the janitors closet, and gestured towards it with my chin. “Again? Fuck, man, it smells in there.”
“Do you wanna fucking die?” I exclaimed in an angry sigh.
“Ummm…” He took a step back, and his hand lowered back down to his pistol, forcing his fingers to slowly curl around the grip.
“What?” I stood straight and slowly turned around to see the hero stood still and staring at us both. “Fuck,” I mumbled. I began to take slow steps backwards and unclipped my pistol from its pouch.
The hero, however, remained perfectly still, perched precariously in the doorway, staring aimlessly in our direction.
*Why isn’t he moving?* I thought to myself. *This has never happened before.*
Voices from the heavens began to speak in muffled, but audible tones, “why aren’t they attacking me?” The hero remained perfectly still. “Should I leave them alone?” The hero remained perfectly still. “Is it a glitch?” The hero remained perfectly still.
We continued to take slow and careful steps backwards, our hands firmly around our pistols, hoping that nothing more would come of this encounter.
“Yea, take them out,” the voice returned, and in a flash I heard a muffled scream from my compatriot behind me.
“Fucking online gamers,” I mumbled, before a bullet pierced my back and tore through my heart. | 2017-05-29T01:45:41 | 2017-05-29T01:00:55 | 191 | 17 |
[WP] Human beings unlock skills as they grow up, walking, taking, etc. You are the oldest person in the history of the world, and today you unlock a skill no one ever had. | Well, the big day was finally here. Birthday 128. I hadn't seen many new skills in my later years. I wasn't surprised though.
In my earlier years, I had maxed out cooking, spending an entire year travelling the world looking for new recipes. Using exotic ingredients helped speed up the process but if you can't do the simple things, none of the rest mattered.
I had an annual cookbook for the holidays and had learned to add guest chefs to keep my skills sharp. With several TV shows, each with their own special gimmick, I had a very successful business as restauranteur and consultant.
Nothing made me happier than seeing my great grandaughter start to learn the skills I had practiced over the years. My own children and grandchildren showed mild interest but nothing like the passion for cooking like myself. I could spot a new trend or something exciting like a shark senses blood in the water. I could bring a new twist to classic recipes, adding one ingredient that made all the difference.
I had mastered grilling, cleaning, sauteeing, roasting and baking. Those skills were repetitive but essential for the overall skill of cooking. Other skills like chopping, preparing and ingredients also helped with making sure everything you needed was available. Like I said, the basics make all the difference. Being able to spot good ingredients versus great ingredients can take your recipes to the next level.
My great granddaughter made a very special cake for my birthday, which melted my heart. I had helped find my strawberries and cream frosting cake, my favorite recipe when I had first started out. As they brought out the cake, I could feel a swelling in my heart. She had outdone herself.
The strawberries were decorated with carefully topped whipped cream, each arranged to spell out Happy Birthday. The smooth mirror glaze of the frosting reflected hours of studying the techniques of the finest bakers. I could see the love she had put into the cake. She was amazing, my great granddaughter.
As I leaned forward and made my wish, the room froze as if time itself had been stopped. I had forgotten what it meant to unlock a new skill but as the golden light surrounded my hands, new knowledge presented itself before me.
"With your mastery of 11 different skills, you have been granted your wish. This is a one time skill and you are the first to be granted this skill. Take this new knowledge and use it wisely. Congratulations."
My great granddaughter stepped up beside me. "Grandma, I learned a new skill but I don't know what it means. Master and Apprentice."
I smiled as I looked at my hands, 70 years younger and felt my long black hair once again. "We both got a new skill and I used mine. Respawn. We have more time together because I have more time to teach you." | I smiled faintly as I gazed out from my perch on my usual bench, admiring the city. It was a Sunday, the air thick with humidity but free from the sounds of traffic. There had been a celebration in honor of my one hundred twenty-fifth birthday the day before, full of great grandchildren and reporters. Thirty years ago I may have resented needing assistance or getting attention for outliving my peers, but living this long gives one perspective on the matter.
The longer I gazed out onto the city, the more things started to change. My eyes narrowed and I looked down to find myself a young woman, on this very same bench, but in a very different time. At first, I thought it was my old mind playing tricks on me again, reliving the past and seeing the old architecture that used to make up the skyline of my hometown under the new ones, as if the world of my childhood was the inner rung of an onion, and all I would have to do was peel it to see it again. This time was different - it wasn’t as if I had transported, it was as if the time had truly changed in front of me. The people changed, and with them their clothing. The casual dress of the current day morphing into browns and blacks, dirt covering the ends of pant hems as dust was kicked up from the clopping of hooves against the stone roads. Even the smell of it permeated my nostrils, and a great feeling of nostalgia filled me as I looked around at this world I hadn’t seen in a century.
I blinked, and it was gone.
| 2018-06-23T12:16:19 | 2018-06-23T11:18:16 | 223 | 47 |
[WP] Write a story that makes absolutely no sense, until the last sentence. | "Honey, the ceiling's dripping," Catherine said, wire-cutters in hand. She looked at her cat, who merely stretched and sat back down on the wall again.
"I'm sorry," Katherine's husband said, "What do you mean? Is the paint still dry?"
"No, the actual ceiling," Kathy replied, "It's dripping chunks of what kind of looks like polysterine."
"I thought that was an astroturf ceiling," her husband responded, "We should contact the electrician."
Katy sighed, this was the fifth time in the next two hours that she had called out a repairman. This flat was proving to be a nightmare. If it wasn't the gas not working, it was the windows breaking, or the walls shifting perpendicular to the wrong shade of lavender, or the gas working.
It has been so promising on paper, a lovely two story flat comprised of three floors, Kat had loved it from the moment she first smelt it. But now they were living in it, it was constantly revealing all it's problems.
"Alright," Cat's husband responded, "They'll be here at eighty past seven, give or take thirty hours. In the meantime, they've suggested we shutdown the paradox generators."
Ca nodded, "I really hope they fix them properly last time," she said as she flew to the stasis grid, "I'm getting sick of living in a broken warp."
The generator turned off, leaving the pair in a four foot by four foot blank room. Catherine sighed, the worst part about waiting for a reality repairman was that her husband would also be offline until it was fixed. | He.
She.
Even do what be more like.
Yet standing tall.
Amongst it all.
To be more than it is not.
Why would one.
Eeven be, attempt to.
Try do what more like others.
So reach out.
And try to be normal.
Even being, no more like doing as others.
And take your damn meds. | 2015-06-12T23:08:17 | 2015-06-12T21:37:52 | 115 | 18 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results. | Cathy was sitting before her keyboards. The mechanical army under her command was seizing capitol city after capitol city. Cars, overturned. Buildings, toppled. Centers of manufacturing seized to make more of her army. It was glorious.
Her husband Carl entered her lair, holding a pair of cups of coffee. "Hey, dear. You've been at this a while. Want some coffee?"
She shot out her arm for the cup. When her fingers gained hold of the ring of the mug she pulled it close and drank swiftly. The hot beverage flowing down her throat invigorated her.
She knew it would take 45 minutes for the caffeine to be absorbed. No matter. The destruction her robot army would cause in that time would suffice to keep her awake.
Carl asked, sipping his coffee, "You look like you could use a shower."
It was true. She had been up for several days, watching over her master plan's execution. She was unwashed, and somewhat slightly dazed.
A shower would be nice. Cathy asked, "Could you keep an eye on these while I shower?"
Carl nods. "Sure thing, Cathy."
She returns from the shower some 20 minutes later, the coffee already reinvigorating her. She pauses as she looks at the screens. She is dumbstruck.
"What... What is my robot army doing? Distributing food? Tending to the injured? That's not at *all* what I designed them for! What have you done, Carl?!"
Carl shrinks back. "Well... Isn't it better to be loved than feared? And why not both?"
Cathy stares for a moment with a frown. Then breaks out into laughter. "Very Machiavellian of you. Come here, give me a hug." | [Poem]
An ancient adoration
Begets black,
cruel,
devilish deeds:
Entering elephants
for fearful football
games; gathering
harmful herbs
in icecream;
jerkishly jaywalking;
killing kids;
lying; looking like
more manly men; making
no niceties;
opening others’
presents; placating
Quetzalcoatl-
ritual
sacrifices; sometimes
twisting time to take twins to the
Underworld;
vacating
Waterworld with wicked
xenophobia;
yeeting yellow
Zebra Zombies. | 2020-04-14T07:11:48 | 2020-04-14T05:22:45 | 149 | 74 |
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