prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors. | yet another kid stopped me today. he actually wanted to spar. i just wanted to take a shower. \_he\_ was very draining today. i slung the weapon on my back and trudged into the ready room and this candy-coloured fool stopped me to ask if i wanted a sparring partner. said he'd watched me sitting in the Danger Room and thought i was waiting for someone. i looked at him and tried not to shake with fatigue or draw on the power any more than a minimum.
I said no. i dont need a saprring partner. i said i was tired and just wanted to shower and sleep and he had to ask what i was doing, why i needed to book a danger room just to sit there and all the usual shit.
Harry, sorry - Apex - doesnt make them read the notes in the welcome pack anymore. that has to be it. just because i told him i dont play. he is such an asshole.
Gilda - Glint - stood back nervously when i rounded on the kid. she's been scared of me after that invasion cluster from the fictional worlds i wiped out. she was so nice up until she twigged i killed 126 thousand alternates to stop the attack.
i have \_never\_ raised a hand against a league member. i will never either. i just want to be let be until there is no choice. i wont let ME out unless there is no choice. So everyday i face with the weapon and fight ME to a standstill.
i could feel the bruises and torn muscles all over my body. i just wanted to rest and this bright speck of light insisted on asking "Why" like a damn toddler.
i looked at Glint. shes beautiful even among the beautiful people who come here. so caring. she can give people hope and the will to keep going in the darkest of times. not for me though. and now she knows why.
one day i will not have the strength to hold ME off. one day ME will get out without control. Apex will try to kill - i did order him to. i just hope they have the will to do it. if they dont...
i cant tell the kid in front of me that i'm the Leagues WMD.
Apex makes earthquakes when he rams the ground. Glint sterilised the moon with light when the thing from Outside came. Harrow animated Philly to fight the Lamda Horde.
what can be worse than that?
ME.
i wish i had never said i wanted to let out the baddest mf'r in the world. i was so stupid. i was so young.
"Longbow," the tannoy squeeked, "leave Damocles alone and go about your business"
Apex voice was still echoing when the kids face went white.
thanks Apex. now another kid knows before he needs to.
asshole | I am death. Some whisper about a monster, which suddenly appears on a battlefield, and destroys everything. In fact, thats exactly what im doing. The only difference to such myths: im not a monster. Once, a hero bonded me, death, to a physical body. I dont know what he did, but after decades, im still here.
"We need to-..." "WE dont need to do anything. Call him, there is no chance for our win. Their army has grown too strong. One goo- " i heard the leader of the superleague discussing with his team. I acted like i slept, but secretly im listening.
"No. Just no. Did you forget, what happened last time?! He destroyed a city! With everything inside! Not even the civilists survived!" "...one good hit, and they will never be able to form an army again. You know, sometimes, we have to take risks. Dont you dare rebelling, Skyte", the leader, Watcher, pointed at a girl, his closest friend. "We have to, now be quiet."
He turned around for me. "Rise once again, Death, devourer of life. Go to New York City. No survivors." "Of course not. When should i be there?", i asked slowly. "In one day. We will keep everyone inside. And no witnesses, ok?" The others stared at the head of their leader. I laughed quietly.
"Your team doesnt like your decision. But i will do, whatever i must."
And so the devourer of life went to New York City, the doomed metropolis. He was death itself. | 2021-05-26T03:48:48 | 2021-05-26T02:35:16 | 153 | 98 |
[WP] some people can fly. Others can kill with a touch. Still others can bend time and space to their will. You.... can crack your knuckles to get your hands to light up like glowsticks.
EDIT: this idea was already done by u/-C4-, so take your upvotes to [his post](https://www.reddit.com/r/shittysuperpowers/comments/9wzvqt/when_you_crack_your_knuckles_they_start_glowing/?st=JPCY7ETN&sh=ea3ea677) | "Do you know who I am?" I asked stepping toward the thugs who were holding a pretty brunette at gun point.
They wore their dark hoodies up, and both of them had the Dragon's gang symbol emblazoned on the front and back.
"Nah, you look familar though," answered the thug with a gold chain hanging on his neck and hoodie. The other thug with the gun didn't say anything.
I took another step forward and raised my hands together, close enough to strike out with a lunge even though I did not want to fight. Then I cracked my knuckles. My fists glowed in the dark of night, a cruel red, as though a blacksmith was forging a sword of legends.
"I am the Immortal Iron Fist, Protector of Kun Lun, Sworn Enemy of the Hand. Slayer of the great dragon Shou-Lau and the chimera god Ai Apaec. My name is Danny Rand. And you have drawn my ire."
I tightened my hand causing my knuckles to crack and my fist flared up, tendrils of crimson floated outwards.
The armed thug took it as a challenge, and he pushed the woman to the ground and pivoted towards Danny while taking aim.
I leapt forward with all my ferocity I could muster and swung at his throat. He collapsed, choking, and tried to get up. I struck him again and again and again, each blow creating more red chaos.
The thug's partner with the gold chain ran, I could hear the slap of heavy feet on pavement.
When I got to the ground I stopped hitting the man.
Short of breath, I reached out with a dim hand on her shoulder and asked the brunette, "Are you okay?"
"Y-yes..." she managed to say.
"I'll take care of this, are you close to home?"
"It's right over there," she pointed out an apartment down the block.
"Okay, I'll watch you and call the police for this guy."
She ran to the building.
I called the police, it took half an hour for them to get here and for me to give a statement. They thanked me for a hard day's work again, and told me I was making a difference.
I smiled. I took down petty thugs and a small-time parahuman or two. They thought I was a parahuman too, with some martial arts skills or something. But I wasn't.
I had the ability to make my fists glow. I was the only one who knew. Some people have great powers, the ability to change the world with a snap of their fingers. I didn't, but I still tried. I thought of the woman I saved tonight.
It was enough for others, and it was enough for me. | I didn’t realize it at first, but when I was thirteen it happened, I broke my arm, and from every shattered piece of bone there was light. We searched for it, me, my family, the Doctor, what power did I have? Was it super healing, invincibility, control over light?
It was none of the above, and here I was, ten years later, about to fight a guy with super speed and strength. He thought he had me cornered. How wrong he was.
I turned on my earpiece and said, “ Techno, hit the lights.”
The giant fluorescent lights above us turned out, one by one, and as he looked around I wiped the remaining blood off my face from our previous bout, stretched my arms out, and , just as the last light went out, released the warm glow from my hands. I reached in my pockets and threw out many more glow sticks, and, using my own fists for light, began round two.
He couldn’t see me among the scattered lights, and as I walked up behind him, my glow slowly revealed more and more of his exposed back. With one well aimed punch I started my attack. He turned around, faster than any human could, and threw a punch, I had been expecting this, and ducked as quick as I could. The punch went above me.
With my fists matching the glow of the floor, he hadn’t noticed me, one quick uppercut, and the real fight began. | 2018-12-05T20:41:14 | 2018-12-05T19:09:17 | 476 | 238 |
[WP] The house you just rented is beyond compensation - staircases and extra floors coming and going, rooms rotating and changing places. You just ignore it. On the fourth day, the eldritch horror informs you that you are the first to stay inside it for more than 72 hours without going insane. | Steve was getting kinda used to the new house he had, sure the sink had eaten his lunch one time and the stairs started forming 4d non euclidean structures, but as a theoretical mathematician Steve didn't mind them, plus nothing is perfect.
"HOW DARE YOU RETAIN YOUR SANITY FROM THIS DOMAIN MORTAL!"
Steve stood still as an abomination of circular squares and uneven geometries made of impossible lights rose from the ground and the tubes, then he realised what was happening
"So I think that you're the entity that lies out of space that the strange girl that sold me the house was advertising"
"ADVERTISING, I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND THE IMPLICATIONS OF MY EXISTENCE, I AM THE ANTITHESIS TO YOUR COMPREHENSION OF REALITY"
"Oh, you mean a differential manifold, I started studying you when I arrived and I m so impressed of being able to see an infinite dimensional space, I already studied the group structure that the corridors make when they rotate, it's the monster group right?"
"ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT YOUR TINY HUMAN INTELLECT CAN COMOREHEND OUR TRASCENDENTAL NATURE, THIS AMAZES ME MORTAL, BUT WHAT ARE THOSE PUNY NAMES YOU RE CALLING ME BY"
"Don't you dare calling my 10 years of experience plus a PhD in differential topology a tiny intellect, do you even know how stressful the academic world has become?
However if you don't know what I am saying I could have fun teaching you, so you'll know what you are"
"YOUR LITTLE BARGAIN INTERESTS ME HUMAN, but honestly I m more of a liberal arts person, I am not much into math you know, stop being a nerd"
"Ok but could you please show me the leech lattice you make again, pretty please"
"I HATE YOU MATH NERDS"
This is the first story I write here and as a mathematician the title inspired me, ya know math has its eldritch horrors too | 'Yeah well, it's all I can afford so you just gotta make do, y'know? The walls shift and the dishwasher screamed st me when I opened it but, there's no mould and none of my housemates seem capable of speech or prolonged eye contact so I'm thinking this could work out long term.'
'You reside in the realm of madness to save money?'
'Next door is literally a goddam half rotted shack. Guess how much to rent per week'
'I dont...'
'$350. It has a goddam portapotty because it's been shut off from the mains water supply and the cockroaches steal your smokes. It might be madness here but it isn't straight up exploitation' | 2022-05-29T11:45:54 | 2022-05-29T10:32:28 | 59 | 22 |
[WP] We come in contact with extraterrestrials and soon discover they are unable to conceive the concept of "fiction". They think every kind of fictional work we have ever made is based on real events. | The Army did not save the Earth,
Despite the claims of weaker men,
Who suck the teats of empty news,
And claim we always win.
There are children who have never heard,
Of the war where no one died.
The day the Aliens came to earth,
And left before they tried.
Some say Russia made a fist,
That America flashed her knife,
That Japan rose up from the mist,
And took away their life.
We did not capture their queen,
In a game of galactic chess,
We ended it before it started,
There was never any mess.
The Alien invaders believed such silly truths,
That our planet was filled with magic,
Each TV show was proof.
We would never write lies,
Or share them with our kind,
Fiction was as foreign,
As staying the fuck away.
They believed that Goku saved us,
That the Hunger Games were real,
Like the story of the Purge.
The Doctor would be waiting,
Power Rangers were on call,
What creatures would sacrifice children,
In a yearly Battle Royale?
They whispered telepathically,
About the glorious MIB.
We had defeated other beings,
Our galaxy so empty.
Independence Day! they said,
We fear your great Will Smith.
Each celebrity was a goddess,
Each Oscar celebrated myth.
They stood no chance against us,
They asked, "Where can we go?"
They saw our warriors gathering,
In San Diego.
It wasn't love to made us strong,
Or faith that saved the day,
It was the dreaming cos-players,
Who made them go away.
Warriors, demons, ghosts, and sprites.
Costumes made in basement rooms,
And in the dark of night.
We overpowered logic,
We didn't have to fight,
Everything was perfect,
Like a fucking Mary Sue.
The Aliens were gone by morning,
Into a space deep and cold,
I was certain it would happen,
Just like the fanfiction foretold. | "We have found no evidence of this Enterprise"
"What"
"The Enterprise, NCC-1701, We have also not found the skywalker, and ... your planet does not appear to have been destroyed. We do not understand"
"Um, I don't understand either, what are you talking about?"
This was not how I was expecting first contact to go.... "Take me to your leader" "We come in peace" A huge musical tone ringing across the arizona desert, "Klaatu barada nikto" Any of that I was ready for. Pop Culture references? I ... Was taken aback.
"And the one called Vader... Our scientists had wish to study him, to heal him - his prosthetics are sadly inadequate. We did not understand why the emperor gave him such inadequate prosthetics..."
oh Shit.
| 2016-09-16T09:28:53 | 2016-09-16T08:31:45 | 84 | 27 |
[WP] You're a down on your luck necromancer operating a small cleaning service with a few low level skeletons. You have dreams of something greater however; a grand dungeon of your own with treasure, monsters and traps aplenty. | "Good morning Erika," I beamed as I checked in the for the day. She was the hospital worker that I had gotten to know over my time working there. It wasn't great work, a lot of the other employees avoided me, but I had my uses.
You see, I'm a Necromancer. I bring things back from the dead to do my bidding. Sure I wasn't that powerful of one but I was working hard. A hospital was a magnificent place for a necromancer to work. The earlier they got to something that died the stronger their connection was to it. I'd gotten most of my literal skeleton crew during the first few hours of their death 'Would you like to donate their body to our hospital diseases division?'
I was in charge of the sanitation department, which was to say that my skeletons did the cleaning around the hospital. I'd even taught them to wash their hands which was a nice little trick. Over the course of the two years that I'd been working here, I had gotten two raises. It was enough to afford my apartment now.
My parents scoffed at my work. They were both necromancers. They were scheming and poor 'as a necromancer should be' my father always pointed out. It was a family business, and dark magic flowed in our veins. Some Necromancers were born into power and could afford a dread keep. Unless I fucked a princess, this was my best way to get there.
"Master?" One of the skeletons had walked up to me, "There is a woman screaming at us."
"Didn't I tell you to get Erika over that sort of thing?" I asked the pile of useless bleached bones, "You and I both know that I'm not going to make them feel better in my black robes." I shooed the skeleton away, and he turned to the nurse at the check-in counter.
"Erika, there is a woman screaming-"
"Yes yes, I heard," the nurse stood up, "Is she in pain or is she just scared of you."
"I don't know."
"Is she in the surgery ward?"
"Yes."
"Don't worry about it, carry on." She sighed, and the skeleton lumbered away. I could have sworn the damn thing was humming as it walked toward the surgery ward, "You need to make those things smarter," Erika said into her papers.
"What do you want me to do?" I asked, "I have to use more evil magic to make them smarter, and you don't like me doing that."
"I'm starting to consider it." She pointed out, "It's getting annoying having them confuse pain for fear."
"It's all just food to them," I shrugged and adjusted my black robes, they were nothing special, but I'd bought them myself, "Speaking of, isn't it payday?"
"Not for two days," she responded, "Do you not have food."
"I'm out of cash."
"What did you do."
"I invested it."
"I don't approve of you getting a dread keep," she started, "and I really don't approve if you start starving yourself for it."
"I just really want it."
"You hate this job that much?"
"I'm thinking about hating it-" the rattle of bones came back from the surgery ward "What now?"
"Master, there is a woman who is no longer screaming."
"Isn't that good?" I asked.
"I think she is dead."
I turned from the skeleton to Erika, "Oh joy," I beamed as I quickly shuffled toward the surgery ward, "Hold my calls, Erika."
"You don't have any Stephan." | "You're both wooorthless," Maltheus slurred to his two skeleton peasants as he took an endless swig of his Dead Man's Jack. He glared over at Ralph, one of his two minions, mindlessly wiping the counter to the front desk. "Why don't you do anything other than wipe that **damn** counter," he exclaimed, following with another sip.
Bystanders walked by, hands filled with shopping bags and knick knacks after a frivolous day of shopping. They never looked into Maltheus's window. He thought the sign was welcoming. "Necromancer Laundry: Clean Your Pants-er Shirts."
"Trash. All of ya!" He put the bottle to his mouth, and to his disapproval, it was empty. "Another worthless piece of garbage!" The bottle flew and broke on the wall above his other minion, Salvatore.
"You! Another bottle of Deadman's. With swiftness and courage may you go and prove to me you can do more wash the counter, Ralph! Be free!" Maltheus drunkenly exclaimed. He laughed at himself for sounding so regal. Ralph grabbed the money and clanked out of the store. The bell rang softly, a sound which nobody was used to hearing nowadays.
"Salvatore... you remember the good ole days, right? The days of dreaming... back in Necromancy school. I was the top of my class! All the witches and succubi wouldn't stop until they had just one word with me. They were all so perplexed at the thought that the great and popular Maltheus would give them a second out of my hard day to say any word besides **hi**." He sighed, a smile leaving his eyes.
"There was so much to look forward to. I had a great job, a great girlfriend, and all I had to do was find my dream dungeon. And I was close. I was so close. And she took everything. Everything!" Maltheus screamed at his little skeleton, who was still mindlessly sweeping his one little pile of dirt. He somehow seemed proud of his little pile of dirt. The same mindless thing, over and over, waiting for more dirt to be swept under his reach. The door rang.
"Ooh, a customer! Welcome to-," he stopped mid-sentence to see Ralph holding a bottle of Dead Man's Jack. "Welcome to papa," he exhaled. | 2015-12-01T08:23:15 | 2015-12-01T08:18:24 | 46 | 24 |
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes. | Long ago, humanity developed a defense against their natural predators. At the time, we called it 'vision" and the name hasn't changed much now. Everyone is born with white eyes, and when you turn 18, there's a reaction that occurs in your brain that shifts your eyes to a new color. We have the reds, capable of ferocious strength accompanied by an equally ferocious temper. The yellows, with their holier-than-thou attitude and their control over The Light. The blues are an odd bunch, they keep to themselves and don't say much. Their power was thought to only be absurdly high intellect, but it was discovered only recently that they can, with practice, affect the matter around them. Once you stray from the pure colors, you'll see less power and more variety in abilities. Surprisingly, it's not your parents or your personality that dictates what vision you will have, it's simply a genetic lottery. Your personality only changes after the fact. For this reason, most parents excuse the rebellious nature of teens.
I'm 17 and turning 18 tomorrow. There's a lot of excitement and even more worry. Will I be a different person after that day? Will I notice it? Who knows. We've been prepared for this day all of our lives and have learned everything there is to know about vision. All of my friends have already begun their lives and left our teenage years behind them. I hate my parents for birthing me so late into the year.
"Remember son, we will always love you, no matter what color you get." My father told me with his warm orange eyes.
"Mmmhm" My mother murmured in agreement. She didn't say much, but that was a lot from her as a blue.
"Thanks." I said as I went into my room and let the day's worries drift away.
In my sleep, I encountered something strange. An apparition. It was so plain in the white room that I stood in, and so out of place. It drifted menacingly upon me, leaving a dark stain on the perfect white walls.
"What do you fear?" It asked me.
"What are you?" was all my mind could say as a storm of questions passed through me.
"Surely you do not fear me?" it asked. "Have you ever looked at yourself clearly?"
As if I were under his suggestion, I turned my head to the conveniently placed mirror on the wall. Without a moment's wait, the room went dark only to return to the way it was before my mysterious visitor barged in. What I saw in the mirror, however, was different. A complete, void of light, blackness had replaced by white eyes. And that too was fleeting as the black color drained out of my eyes to return to the white that had originally been there.
*******************************************************
"This cannot be." My father spoke, mortified. "His eyes are still white, dear."
"Council of the six" my mother declared with her weak voice.
"This is a pile of crap!"
Boom!
A heap of dust polluted the air. The wind howled into the house through the gape left by my father's fist.
And then, the dust slowed and stopped. My father slowed and stopped. The clock on the wall slowed and stopped. I got up to touch the frozen figures and couldn't interact with them at all. As if this wasn't strange enough, my 'friend' decided to pay a visit.
"When all is still, isn't the world a lot less scary?" The more human-like apparition asked.
"What are you?"
"A foolish question. Let me show you."
It turned into a he. Then a she. And finally, into me.
"We didn't learn about this at school."
"That's because you're special. You won the lottery. You get to live with me."
"Then how about you answer my question. What are you?"
"A consequence of a colorless brat, you fear that which you do not understand." he carried on, "Instead, you should fear what you do."
"Colorless? So does that mean I really have no vision?"
"On the contrary, you have them all. Your eyes are darker than mine." It erupted into a laughter.
"Are my eyes black?"
"Bravo. Now, I'm going to get you out of this, so sit back and watch."
The experience that followed was surreal. There aren't enough words to describe it. I was ripped from my body and replaced by It. When I looked down, I saw an equally disgusting black apparition. I looked up again to see a chord holding my current form to my body.
"Ah, I've missed having a body."
And at that moment, My body's eyes turned purple and my mother shed a tear.
"It seems he must have had a delayed reaction." My father sighed in complete relief.
They both made their way downstairs, happy to get back to their business. They were so ecstatic they forgot about the giant hole they left in my bedroom.
"Think about your eyes being purple and they will remain purple. But remember, you're a black now."
Whoosh.
I was pulled back into my body and felt the strange feeling of warmth again. However, there were two things that bothered me. My eyes were purple, and I felt an icy presence at the center of my chest.
(My first time, be gentle!)
| Everyone in my world had different eye colours.Each representing a different element.I was one of them.However,i was one of the unusual ones.
Ever since i was born,i had completely black eyes.My parents were shocked.The doctors couldn't explain anything,not even The Institute of Magic could.No one ever had completely dark eyes.I'm not quite sure myself.My mother has yellow eyes,representing the power of light,the foundation of life.And my father.....I've never met my father,and my mother would look me in the eye and give me an honest answer.Personally,i never thought much of it.Until 2 days ago....
October 5th,the day of my birthday.I wake up as usual..and strangely,i felt like a new person.Nothing strange about that,the Elders would always tell me that was how they felt.Its 7:15am,15 minutes until the Ritual of The Ancients began.I needed to hurry.As i ran through the neighbourhood...i felt a strange sensation.Everything seems to be in my control...as if i could bend somethings life force until it broke...
Suddenly,i felt a chilling sensation.Everything had gone quiet,the birds did not tweet,i did not feel the wind,everything had stopped.Something or someone was here.I spun around.And there stood a hooded figure,in the streets.The figure started to walk up towards me.My instincts screamed at me to run,but my feet were stuck to the ground.
'It's ok Niko.I won't hurt you,but i don't have much time.'
'Who are you?'
'Come,let's walk.'
He led me to a part of trees,with leaves scattered all over the ground,and dead branches where the eyes could see.
*crunch crunch crunch*
'Today is the day you reach 18 and get your new powers.'
'Tell me something i don't know.'
'That's not the point.Have you ever wondered why your eyes were pure black,and why all those incidents happened,and why you always seemed to make life around you sad and miserable?'
*crunch crunch crunch*
'You've never met your father.He was quite a powerful man...but no one liked him.Society locked him away.And no one dared to speak of his powers.Not to the public,not to their children,no one.'
*crunch crunch.*
We had stopped at a tree with no leaves,larger than the rest.The hooded figure had pulled out a scrap of paper in his pocket and started making an origami.
'No one knows my father.People said he just,disappeared,one day.Poof.That was it'
'I was the one who gave him his power.And the power got passed down to you.Come on,boy,do you really believe in those lies?'
What if my father had the power to...no...no that can't be,its just not possible.They only appear 1 time in a 1000 years...
'The power to leech life and end the life of others,boy.'
He finished the thing he was folding,and in his hand held a paper scythe.
'D-Death?'I was terrified by now.
'Took you long enough.I don't have much time now.But mark my words.Do not go to the ritual,if they find out....they'll do the same thing to your father.'
He snapped his fingers and a pen made of bone popped in his hand.He ripped a piece of paper from the air,wrote something,and passed it to me.
'Take this,follow where it goes.And when you find them....tell me i sent you.If the institute doesn't kill you,you live as an outcast.Stay away from here.'
I had no time to question anything,at that moment,he disappeared.And as if i was having a dream,i woke up just where i was before i saw Him.
I understood what i had to do.I ran home,grabbed everything i had,and ran as far away from Weston City as possible.
They might have taken my dad,but not me ,no.
If i were to survive,i will need to leave my previous life behind.... | 2015-11-15T08:25:59 | 2015-11-15T07:24:41 | 63 | 22 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who. | The names were always generic. That's how the craze started to give kids weird names. It was a lot easier to find an Appel or Zucchini or Brickhaus. The names on me were Jangela and Jongela. It was nice when the name was the same. It meant that you could choose your death. That the final act was not one of vengeance or anger but love. That's what my parents had told me. I didn't believe them then, but I wanted to. No one's included cancer or heart attack. Humanity was past all that, and we were essentially immortal unless or, well, until someone killed us. These people were called enders and few escaped from committing the task at least once in their lifetime.
The tattoos were imprinted by AI that could see into our futures. It was never wrong. Not one case in all of history. So, we took our responsibility as lovers and enders seriously. We had to.
When I met Jangela, I knew right away that she was my soulmate. We didn't use the fancy matching algorithm. It was natural, the special kind of match that people dream of. She was pretty with mocha skin, flowing black hair, and warm brown eyes. Her kiss melted me. We were only teens when we met, but our love lasted. Yet, every time I asked to see her tattoos, I was always met with hesitance. I knew my name was on her body, but I couldn't see the other name. I feared that the name was the same as mine.
When we had first allowed child, one name popped up time and again. I stared at it in horror. People said that it was a honor for your child to be your ender. This was not my stance on the matter. I had the honor for my parents. It never felt, even now, like an act of love. But, maybe this time, it would be different. That other name was the name that had been chosen for our daughter, a combination of our names: Jonsteadfast and Jangela. Finally, on the day of our daugther's birth, Jangie showed me the other name on her shoulder.
You can't stop destiny so many had said. This was how it was going to be, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wanted to change our future, but, when that perfect bundle of joy came into this world, I accepted my fate. We would have time together, centuries probably. She would understand one day, our little Jongela.
***
If you enjoyed this, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more of my stories. | I'd met Joann when I was a boy
I knew who she might be,
before we were too young to sin,
she bopped me on the knee.
I met Kristine at just passed 10
and knew she was a mother hen,
because she brought me food and pens,
and told me to follow my dreams.
It was not long before 16
when sudden golden birthday sprees
befell me and ripped my coats seams
I fell on accident down to my knees.
This foolish fault of poor Kristine,
who tried to tell me she ain't mean,
I ain't never fall for that shit again,
instead I found my sweet Joann.
Joann told me I was the best,
at 22 I'll never forget
the way she got so nice and wet
then twerked it made me lose my shit.
She held my hand and rubbed my back
she kept my goals and life on track
and when I wanted more than that
she told me to follow my dreams.
And then I stumbled fell and spat
while far out fishing off the track
I woke up sore and my legs in racks,
Joann failed to keep me clean.
It wasn't all poor Joann's fault,
I must admit my leg was caught,
I lost my balance when the line went taut,
I was in a quick call with Kristine. | 2018-03-11T07:36:53 | 2018-03-11T07:34:02 | 118 | 22 |
[WP] You hire a witch doctor to curse someone. However, the only curses you can afford are extremely petty. | He took everything from me.
Fiddling the money, pulling funds into separate off shore accounts in only his name, in hindsight, I was a fool to trust him.
We'd been partners fresh from uni; him the rugby player with the business degree, me the computer science undergrad with ideas, we'd been like a two sides of a coin. Six apps in and the company was doing well, better than I'd hoped, but too late I realised my betrayal. Too late I realised I'd been used.
I stumbled around the country. I was never really sure what I was looking for, but my heart burned with a desire for vengeance as I slept rough, finding solace in the charity of strangers. I was broken, dejected and overcome by my obsession.
The turning point was a chance meeting at a shelter; she'd been raped when she was 15, and had never been the same. She'd found her revenge, though the cost had left it's mark on her eyes, on her body and soul alike. She told me of the older one, the lady with the smile that never quite reached the eyes. She told me how to call her, how to find my revenge, if I could pay the price.
I did my work in private, beneath a dark bridge next to water's edge, in some town lost in the countryside. I sacrificed my body, pressing blade to flesh as I spoke words through a voice dripping with doubt, the blood from my palm ran red, and vibrant, splashing on the ground beneath a moonless sky. I cried for help, and she heard me.
I stared into the water as she appeared in the reflection behind me, foggy and distant, like the memory of a childhood lost in time. She spoke to me then. She spoke about fear and vengeance, about her work, and about payment. She spoke about the things I could pay for, without losing myself along with it, petty things. Disease and heartache, scars and wounds, blemishes on his life, but a life that carried on regardless. Anything he could recover from was of no interest to me.
I had nothing big enough to offer her for what I wanted, no hope to sell or life to bequeath. My family were used up, estranged parents and lack of siblings, no girlfriend, or children of my own. Nothing to give, nothing to sacrifice, despite the marks it may have left around my eyes.
There can be no revenge, without forgiveness; no death, without life. I had but one possession worth the trade, one payment I could make.
I took the blade, and again pressed it to flesh. I felt it in that moment, as sure as I'd felt the sting of his betrayal; my flesh was his flesh, his life at that moment bonded to my own, two sides of the same coin. I felt him choke, *felt* him gasp in terror and shock, felt his heart beat with panic and in that moment know; know that I had come for him. He was terrified and he was dying, and my torment bled from me as I beat him, as I paid him back in kind for taking my life.
I slumped into the water then, blood pouring from my open neck beneath a moonless night. I closed my eyes and dreamed of another life, a life I would not lead, as I slipped into the face of a woman, wearing a smile that never quite met her eyes. | "A friend of a friend told me you could help me," I said, nervously.
"Well, have a seat, what can I do for you?" the man replied.
"Um... I caught my wife cheating on me. I want her... dealt with."
"Can you be more specific, sir?"
"Dead. I've got five thousand dollars."
The man leaned back in his chair, "you clearly got some bad information from your contact, I am not a witch doctor, I'm a witch physician. And I don't kill anyone, at least not for the amount of cash you have," he said disapprovingly.
"Oh," I said in a panic, crawling out of the chair.
"Wait, I'm sorry if I put you off," the man said reassuringly, "sit down and we can discuss this." I did so reluctantly.
"Like I said, I don't kill anyone that cheaply. But that doesn't mean we can't figure out something. How about pattern baldness?"
"What?"
"Yeah, I could recede her hairline. Hell for an extra fee I'll give her the Patrick Stewart!" he finished with a chuckle.
"That's... not really what I'm looking for."
"Skin tabs?"
"Skin tabs?" I replied.
"Yeah they're annoying as hell. I could even put one right on her beltline, if you want."
"I don't think that's as bad as what she did to me."
"I could give her herpes," the man said.
"Wow, that's... creepy. Besides she probably already has it now, serves her right."
"You never can be too sure about herpes, sir. I could add in a rash, if you need it to have more effect."
"That's okay," I said as I got up, "I'm gonna go explore my options."
"Fair enough, just remember I have the lowest prices in town, my competition wouldn't do more than bad breath and a leg cramp, for what you can pay."
I walked out of the building, dejected. If I wanted to hire someone that petty, I could have just looked on craigslist and saved some gas. | 2014-12-13T12:44:58 | 2014-12-13T12:41:57 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You dress up as a conspiracy nutter for a costume party. The second you put the tinfoil hat on, something obstructive is lifted from your mind as if you suddenly woke up from a long sleep. Of course, nobody believes you... | [original post from /r/conspiracy, 10/31/2014]
PLEASE HELP.
I'm writing this from my friends bathroom. I am freaking out.
I used to troll this group using another account. I thought you guys were all crazy. Sandy hook, 9/11.. god, I even found you all downright offensive. But something just happened to me and I need your advice.
I decided to take my trolling to another level tonight. I dressed up as a conspiracy theorist to a Halloween party. I think I've been spending way too much time on this sub because my costume was pretty nuanced.. got a "END HAARP" t shit from some fringe online boutique, a don't tread on me hat, water bottles and vitamins from Infowars.com, and carried around a legitimate brochure someone made about the MK Ultra program. I was feelin pretty good about it until I arrived at the party with my girlfriend (she went as Hillary Clinton in handcuffs, lol) and encountered a bunch of confused stares. Obviously I went a little too deep with all the conspiracy references, so my friend throwing the party suggested I fashion a tin foil hat.
This is where shit got crazy.
I kind of felt a little electric shock go through my brain the second I put it on. I just started weening off my anti depressants (honestly because of some stuff I saw on this sub) and found out that those shocks were a neurological side effect. Didn't think anything of it until I went to fill up my water bottle from the tap. The second the water started pouring I was overwhelmed by the smell of chemicals. I took a sip and gagged. It was like pure liquid fluoride. My brain started zapping like crazy.
I started worrying that someone had drugged me. I went back into the party and couldn't help but notice that everyone kept checking their phones and looking back at me. There was this one girl there, and guys, I swear to god, she looks exactly like that girl who was kidnapped in Portugal 10 years ago. She even had the marking in her iris. And she was with this guy dressed up as a pizza maker.
I went up to my girlfriend who looked absolutely ridiculous in her Hillary costume.
"I feel really weird," I said.
"Why babe?" She said in a monotone voice, twirling around her gin and tonic. "Why don't you get a drink and relax?" I swear, the way she ended her sentence with an exaggerated "ssss" was positively reptilian. I looked around the room, everyone moving around in their silly costumes, and was overcome with the realization that they were all hiding something. I came here in a simple shirt, hat, little else. What were they all hiding under those wizard cloaks, prison jumpsuits, bloodied wedding dresses? I had never noticed before how suspiciously long my friend's fingers were, how grayish her boyfriend's skin looked under the fluorescent light. I stepped outside to get some air and looked up to see a humongous grid of chemtrails above.
And now I am locked in the bathroom. They don't even any kinds of soaps I've ever heard of before in here - what is Summer's Eve? Some Cabal reference to the Garden of Eden? How should I escape this place? If I ever get out of here, let it be known that I will never take this tin foil hat off of my head. I need the world to know the sanity I've now achieved. | I’m not supposed to be writing this.
Everyone thinks I’m crazy, but I’ve never seen more clearly now than I have in my entire 27 years of life, or at least, my most recent 27 years of life. I don’t know how or why it worked, but the cap I made has amplified all the signals in the air. I can hear them now - all the voices telling us to do what we should.
They tell us we must pay taxes, shop at the grocery store, drink the water from the tap, and so many other things. They tell us to go to church and watch television and smoke cigarettes and drink alcohol. They tell us to use the bathroom and go to sleep and to eat food. They tell us to do EVERYTHING.
I can hear them telling my heart to beat and my lungs to breathe. All those things that we thought came to us naturally are coming to us in the most unnatural way possible.
The longer I wear the hat the clearer things get. My eyes are starting to clear now. I can see the flaws in the system, like missing pixels in a gigantic television – small chinks in the armor. I look up and I don’t see the sky, I see the GRID. I see that the wind is programmed to carry the clouds and rustle the leaves in the trees. I know I shouldn’t see it, but I do. I do.
I was supposed to go to a party three days ago, but I can’t leave the house. I’m afraid to leave the house. I’m afraid to eat. I want to die to escape this false prison they’ve enslaved us in, the silent speakers in our ears.
They don’t want me to write this, to share with the world that I’ve seen the man behind the curtain and to show them the true face of the monster in the closet.
They don’t want me to share with the world that I’ve seen the face of God, and that he shares the same face with the devil.
If you enjoyed this and want to read more of my work, please take a look at r/DoverHawk | 2017-04-10T08:07:57 | 2017-04-10T07:45:54 | 72 | 23 |
[WP] You are the world’s most elite assassin. Although you usually only kill when paid, you finally decide to take matters into your own hands and kill the person who keeps leaking your past contracts onto Reddit disguised as writing prompts. | As long as there have been men, there have been killers. Often, the killing is disorganized and chaotic. Naturally, a solution to the wanton bloodshed was created: the Society. Trained in the arts of stealth and combat, assassins within the Society served as the most efficient one stop shop for knock offs. Membership was exclusive and discretion was a requirement.
So you can imagine how upset I was when I found my work detailed on some chatweb tweetblog site called Reddit. I can still remember the pulsing in my temples, the pounding in my heart as I scrolled through the 'writing prompts' detailing my deeds. Some had taken extreme [creative liberties](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8aev2b/wpone_day_you_are_cursed_by_a_gypsy_woman_into_an/) \(I killed a man dressed as the school mascot, a tiger\) while others had managed to capture [particularly embarrassing moments](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4k5x8c/wp_you_are_a_professional_assassin_for_the_cia/) in my career. It was as if the person was always there, always watching.
I feverishly pored over the little tidbits, offered up for these strange creatures of the web to play with and comment on. Everyone seemed to have their own take on my life or what I should have done. I couldn't help but notice many of the tales were simply implausible with ridiculous plot twists. These people were making a mockery of me. I was not accustomed to being the subject of public scrutiny, certainly not by some ragtag crew of word jockeys.
I'll admit, I got heated. I felt the need to set the record straight.
And so I sat down to respond. It was very confusing at first because the design of the web site changed every thirty seconds, but I was determined to let the world know what had actually happened. The words flowed out of me as I relieved the experience, exulting in the memory of the kill and the knowledge that the truth would finally be known.
I submitted my opus and waited for the accolades to come in.
1 karma.
Refresh.
1 karma.
Refresh.
0 karma. New comment. "This story makes no sense."
Was it a rival operative? What was his goal?
Refresh.
\-1 karma. New comment. "Riddled with spelling errors. Pls proof b4 posting. Thx."
My knuckles tightened until they became white, fury rising within me. So that was how they would play it? They would hide the truth? They would attack my words just as they had attacked my deeds? So be it.
Clearly it was time to take things to the next level.
**Platypus out.**
**Do you even platypus?** r/PerilousPlatypus | Many wrote about my feats without knowing they were writing about me. I didn't care about them. They were simply victims of a coincidence. However, in every one of those prompts, there was always a constant: the author.
I investigated him. He's a master of disguise, with a knowledge that surpasses mine when it comes to technology. I thought I had traced him in Spain, then in Australia, but I ended up discovering that he was constantly changing IPs.
I will reveal one my biggest secrets. The one which makes me stand out over the amateurs: I know when to ask for help. I gave my friend Isaac a call. He's a prodigy among the hacking community, and let's just say he owes me. Half an hour after I hung up, he sent me an exact report of my target.
I will perform a masterpiece with this assassination. I've been planning since the moment I discovered you. I know you will be reading. I know you probably created this post to bait me. But don't worry, I'm one step ahead. I know what your favorite food is, I know your routine, the things you hate, even the things you love.
You've played a great game. You've proved yourself worth of my attention. Perhaps, you even wanted this to happen. You wanted me to track you. You want to live my art in the flesh, don't you? I will make it happen, believe me, I will. And it will be spectacular. You will get to see every shade of red.
Your favorite color.
----------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall -- I post stories daily! Well, I try to at least.
| 2018-04-24T12:02:27 | 2018-04-24T11:37:30 | 96 | 26 |
[WP]After the funeral for you best friend, you went to his house to delete his browser, following his wishes. In his computer, you see these last accessed pages: one about occultism, one about how to create new IDs and one about faking one's death. A minute later, get an email saying "Get out". | The funeral was a good funeral. Instead of mourning and grieving people told stories about the good times they had with Frank. A live band played some of his favourite music and we were celebrating his life. This was the way that he would wanted it to be. He had lived a fun and happy life and that was a thing that most of us could learn from him. He found a job he liked, which paid him enough money for his many climbing adventures and allowed him to live a comfortable life beside it. He found a woman he loved and even had a kid. Then all of the sudden he disappeared, no one expected it and everybody was in tears. This young man, friend of many and lover of life, had just disappeared. He always said “I am going to live a long and healthy life, I will get about 80-90 years old with my loving family beside me.” Everyone believed that and most of us wished the same.
We had searched for him a long time but no one found anything. We didn’t, the cops didn’t, the government didn’t, no one did. He had disappeared like he just went up in dust, poof, gone. The only thing that came back from him was a letter directed to me.
Dear friend,
Please do me a favour and delete my search history.
Everything will become clear and I trust that my secret is safe with you.
Frank.
It was a short letter which brought up many questions and the next day I headed over to his house. Tiffany was working and Thomas was at school so no one would bother me. I turned of the alarm and entered the house with the spare key they gave me. It felt like betrayal, sneaking inside my friends house but he asked me to do it so I did. I started up his laptop and instantly I was greeted by about forty google tabs. ‘How to fake your death,’ ‘how to create a fake ID,’ ‘Map of New Mexico,’ ‘Aztecs,’ ‘Tenochtitlan,’ ‘Aztec treasure.’ It all had something to do with disappearing and the Aztecs, what was he planning. Well, it was quit obvious, he had faked his death so that he could go to New Mexico and do something with the Aztecs, but what was he doing. Was he on a treasure hunt? What was his plan. He had often talked about the Aztecs, he admired their well functioning society but it always seemed like a funny hobby, nothing serious.
Them something happened, an unknown email address sent me an email. “Get out.” Was all it read. I looked around me and checked the room but there weren’t any cameras. I double checked, for some stupid hidden spy shit but again I found absolutely nothing. Another email came. “Get out NOW.” It read. Now I started to get nervous I wrote an email back asking if Frank was the sender. No reply. I copied all the google links and emailed them to myself so that I could have a second look at them. Then I closed the tabs, deleted his history and went back to my house. I also saved the email address. It had a weird name. Several numbers@several numbers.gmail.com. The numbers looked strange. It were to many numbers and to random numbers to make sense. What could they be?
A few days later it hit me. Could they be coördinates? I opened google maps and surely the coördinates let to a point about two days driving from here. I knew that place, we had been there a lit, we went climbing there. If he would have left a hint to were he was it would be there.
————————————
I will later fix the email adress to some actual numbers.
Feedback is always welcome. | "James you mother f-"
An explosion rattled my skull as the wall to my left blew in violently. Splinters flew threw the air as annoying non-lethal shrapnel. I flew through the air, not from the explosion but by my own volition as streaks of light poured through in uneven lines.
Curses flew between clenched teeth as I breathed a few words of protection, a prayer, a song, a poem and an ongoing sutra as the implications of my friend's actions came to mind.
"Where is he?!", a grating voice that echoed a thousand scorned souls reverberated in my mind. I ignored it and powered through the painful psychic feedback as well as the backdoor. Man, that woman didn't know how to keep her voice down! "Where is James Sullivan?", the voice screamed once again and in the background of my deafened senses I could see sparrows and pigeons drop from the sky all around during my escape.
Luckily none hit me nor my car parked down the road. My feet pumped the ground harder and faster than they ever had in my entire life and the mounting pain in my skull doubled as I finished the last words of my prayer. Gods this one was a strong one, James owes me a contract after this!
I turned the key and my car roared to life. Unfortunate as the being thrashing inside my "best friend's" house also began roaring as it rushed out to follow the sound. My hand grabbed the shift stick, throwing it into a quick reverse. Gears barely clicking into place, I stamped the accelerator flat onto the deck. Car shooting backwards like some sort of deranged bullet as finally the creature smashed out of the house. A hideous being with six fleshy legs bursting from a chitinous body that ended in a scaled serpent's tale. Where the head would be was the upper half of an emaciated lady with scraggly hair and eyes far too big and white for even those nightmarish rapunzel nest to hide.
The ghastly figure caught sight of my moving car and gave chase. My instincts screamed and dumb luck came in for the assist as I threw the car into a one-eighty only possible in the movies on a two lane suburban road. She screamed and so did I while pushing the 8 cylinders of my car to their limits.
Through the howling pain and the torturous screams I thought one thing."How many times do I have to tell you James? Don't date daemons!" | 2019-07-08T05:20:54 | 2019-07-08T04:11:45 | 34 | 25 |
[WP] You’re in a time loop but it’s not permanent. You repeat a day 3 times then time moves onto the next day. Rinse, repeat...Deja Vu was never more applicable. | [Obligatory thank you message to the kind stranger who granted me my first award]
It’s been this way since I was born. When I was a kid, people around me thought I was just playing a dumb game. Then, as I got older, I caught on to the fact that I was the only one noticing the days repeating.
It was fun for a few years after I had the realization. I would have two days to goof around, I could skip school without consequences, eat whatever I liked, as long as I spent day three being a model citizen.
I got to learn more and experience more than anyone on the planet. I even managed to get into my dream college, with no effort. Interviews are easy when you have two do overs.
Some loops were more tough. Imagine experiencing the Challenger disaster three times; or having to fake surprise the third time you get the news of your mother’s death, just so you can wait three times longer for a funeral that will help you mourn her properly. It wasn’t all great.
After a while, it just became routine. Sure, I could take two days of vacation each loop if I wanted to, but responsibility caught on and I would now usually take those two first days as practice, so I could further my career and be more successful. I could practice the perfect events to impress my wife. I got to stop my kids from doing stupid things, cause I always knew it before it happened. It was simple, and it was perfect.
Then one day, something in my brain switched. I was getting older, and craving wild experiences. And I thought, I’m the only one it the world who can do whatever they want without consequences. I can know how it all feels. All of it. So I did everything. I was in my fifties doing all these drugs. I tried different ways of committing suicide, just for the hell of it. I went diving without equipment just to feel the thrill of drowning in deep waters. I even set my office building on fire one night, just for the hell of it. (Of course it was empty).
Then, on the first night of December 31st 1999, after I had experienced everything my mind could come up with, I committed what I planed as my final sin: the ultimate experience, the one that will ruin your life forever. As my wife and kids were counting down to the new millennium, I crept behind them with an axe. I wanted to know the ultimate sorrow. They would be back at midnight anyways, so what the hell.
My axe tore through flesh, snapped bones, and I was crying through their screams. I though to myself “What a delight it is to feel this much pain, and be the only man in the world that can feel it without consequences. What power to be able to have it all!”.
And the countdown continued, steady and almost solemn in front of the bloodbath I had created. In tears, I murmured its song, knowing that by the count of zero, I would wake up in my bed, my loving wife by my side: “five... four... three... two... one...”
Happy new year!
[edit: anachronism] | 1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. A rather simple count, isn't it? Even a three-year-old could do it.
It gets harder to keep track of over 72 hours, however. 24. Sorry. 24. Or was it 72?
One day was three days. Or is it three days becoming one day?
It doesn't really matter, I guess. It's hard to keep track of time. What's the date today? Was it the second or third time?
Did I go to work? Do I need to? Was it the day when everything counted?
God damn it. It's impossible to keep track. Yesterday and tomorrow was today. When will tomorrow actually come?
I hated it. God, I hated it. Three days or one, the stream of time slipped away by itself, sand through the grasp of my fingers.
So I clenched them tight. I held them till my nails left finger marks in my palms.
No more. No more.
It didn't matter how many days I had left. It didn't matter how many more days I get to experience, whether they were the same or not.
I couldn't control time. It moved by itself, repeated by itself, whether I wanted to or not. The days bled together and stayed the same, but I had to be different.
I had to do something. I had to do something right.
The first step. The first step to a great day was breakfast. That's the key. Start from there. Everything else will fall in place.
Eggs. Bacon. Toast. Eh, some lettuce. For health.
It was good. It tasted good.
Hmm. Maybe the bacon will still be there tomorrow morning when I open the refrigerator door.
You know what? Maybe this could work out after all.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-10-09T07:54:23 | 2020-10-09T06:18:50 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] You child is playing with their toy phone when they hand it to you saying "It's for you." Humoring them, you put it up it to your ear and say "Hello", Someone replies on the other end. | "Hi!" I say into the toy phone, humoring the cute 4 year old standing at my feet. Her face is lit up with excitement. She loves when we play pretend.
"Hello," comes the reply. I nearly drop the phone in shock. *What the hell?* I think to myself.
"Who is it, Daddy?" asks little Lily as she swirls and dances around the kitchen, her messy bangs covering her eyes.
"It's me, Dad."
"What? Who is this? I don't have any other children," I say, feeling ridiculous.
A sigh. The voice comes through again, sounding tired. "It's me, Lily."
I look at the Lily in front of me, still dancing. She looks up at me with her round, brown eyes. "Daddy?"
"I miss you so much, Dad," says the Lily on the phone.
"Daddy, I love you!" I try to smile at little Lily, but I am too confused.
"I wish you could talk to me. I have so much to tell you." A pause. "I'm getting married. John proposed last night." She sniffles. Is she crying? "Why can't you be there to walk me down the aisle? Why did you do this?"
"W-what? What did I do?" I stutter.
"I don't understand," she says, and I can hear her quietly sobbing. "It's not fair!"
"What's not fair, honey?"
"I can't believe you went driving after drinking so much. You were always so smart. What happened to you that night?"
"What?" I am still lost. What is she talking about?
"I just wish you would come back to me. I need you, Dad. I miss you. I'm not mad about what happened to Mom anymore. It was your fault - you shouldn't have been driving. But I forgive you. Please, please wake up." She starts crying uncontrollably. It's quiet for a minute, and then she says, "I wish you could hear me."
"I can hear you!" I say. She doesn't acknowledge me. "Hello? Lily? Lily, please. Hello?"
"Bye, Dad." She sounds so sad. What did I do?
"Wait, wait. Don't go!" I shout desperately into the phone. "I can hear you, Lily, don't go!" Nothing.
Little Lily watches me from where she sits in front of the fridge. "Don't cry, Daddy," she says. I wipe a few tears away and reach down to give her a hug.
Outside, hospital monitors beep. Older Lily pats her dad's hand. "There's always a chance he could still wake up," murmurs the doctor. Lily shakes her head sadly.
"Six years," she whispers. "Six years, I've hoped and waited." She wipes away her tears and snot with a tissue. "Pull it." | "The Child!"
*I inhaled rapidly and practically dropped the toy*
"Hello-" He didn't let me finish my sentence.
"The Child. Now." he said in a rough voice.
"..." I paused. I say to my wife "Take her out of the room." My wife then takes our daughter, Jocelyn, out of the living room and into ours.
"Who the hell are yo-"
"Get the Child out now!"
I was baffled. Not understanding what was going around me I retorted quickly.
"Shut the fuck up, right now! Who the fuck are you?! How are you calling us with a god damn toy?!"
"No time for questions, Mr. Quinton. Take the Child and run! Your wife isn't who she says she is."
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I must have startled Jocelyn because I heard a quiet scream upstairs.
"Mr. Quinton, your wife isn't your actual wife. Her actual name is Ally Thomson. She works with A.H.C.T. A company that kidnaps children and then uses them for tests. Now get her and leave. She can't die! Not Jocelyn."
I personally didn't believe a word he was saying, but the screaming up stairs began to become more constant and more muffled. So I changed my stance.
"Fine. I'll check on them."
I slowly walked up the stairs. Trying not to make a sound. The scream of Jocelyn began to quiet down. This caused me to run.
I burst in. And what I see... what I see is Jocelyn being taken away by my wife.
Her words?
"AHCT responsibly... Sweetheart!" | 2015-04-18T23:08:18 | 2015-04-18T21:05:19 | 331 | 11 |
[WP] A Dishevelled Little Girl Walks Up To You On The Street, And Hands You A Box, Saying "Don't let anything happen to this." Then she sprints away.
What do you do? | A small hand tugged on my coat, a quiet voice spoke to me,
"Hi! Could you hold onto this for me?"
I turned around to look at where the voice came from. A small blonde girl in a blue dress stood behind me, hand on the end of my coat arm. Her hair was ruffled, strands sticking out, entire clumps bulging outwards from her hair. The little girl's head was just above my knee. I crouched down to look her in the eyes, people walking by curving out of the way of this strange sight.
"What's your name?" I asked her, my voice soft but just loud enough to be heard above the sound of the crowd rushing by.
"Asha." she said, holding out a small box, "Could you please hold onto this?"
I took it in my hands, the edges of the box running through my palms. It was decorated magnificently, with a gold border running around the top of the box.
"What's inside?" The little girl said nothing, but merely smiled. Someone walking by bumped into me, knocking me onto my rear. I looked back to the little girl, but she was gone. I stood up, and looked around, but the little girl in the blue dress was gone.
---
"Sarah, you home, Honey?" I softly called as I opened the front door.
The door to my left slowly opened, and Sarah walked in. She fell into my arms and began to sob. I put the box on the table to my right, and guided her into the living room and we collapsed to the couch, where she sat sobbing on my shoulder. After hours of sobbing, finally it began to subside. Her head slowly turned toward me and we locked eyes.
"How am I supposed to live with this?" She asked me, wiping a tear from below her cheek. I stroked behind her head, my hand running down her hair and back up again.
"It's going to be okay, darling."
"It's never going to be okay again John. Never again. How am I supposed to even get in a car again? I don't think i'll ever be able to get behind a wheel again."
I continued stroking her hair, up and down I went, soothing her.
"You're going to be okay."
She stood up from the couch and wiped her face dry.
"I'm going to take a bath." she said. I nodded, stood up, and hugged her.
"I love you, Sarah."
She let out a small whimper and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I walked to the front door, and picked up the small box the little girl had handed to me on the streets. I ran my hand over the pattern on the top again, feeling the grooves run under my hands relaxed me. I tried to open it, but something felt wrong with opening the little girl's box.
I held the box in my hands and walked to the bathroom where Sarah hid. Knocking on the door I called out softly to her, "Can I show you something?"
A few moments later the door slid open and I walked in. I grabbed her hand and walked with her to the bath. We both sat on the edge of the tub, and I put the box in her lap.
"Today, a little girl came up to me on the streets and gave me that. She said her name was Asha."
Sarah looked helplessly at the box, "What does that have to do with me?"
I locked eyes with Sarah. Her eyes told a story, I saw how hopeless she was. I saw the pain she felt, on the edge of tears constantly, of not sleeping in days.
"I think it was meant for you."
She looked down at the box. Her fingers stumbling, she opened the lid of the box. Inside, was a single strip of paper. She took the paper in her hands, and held it up to read. Her eyes flickered across and in her eyes I could see something, almost like acceptance or forgiving herself. She looked at me and I could tell what the look was, hope. She let the paper flutter out of her hands and onto the floor. She smiled at me for the first time in a week and walked out of the bathroom, her hand slowly leaving mine as she left.
I looked down at the paper facing the floor. I leaned over, and picked it up. On it, written in blue crayon were four simple words.
*It's not your fault.* | I was confused, I mean who wasn't? I was on my way from work, when this girl ran up and handed me this box. I didn't know what to do at first...but I did take it home. After a while of though, I decided I would follow the request.
I held the box dear to me. I didn't even look inside, I didn't need to. There was a subtle smell coming from the box, but I shrugged it off as nothing. This damn box could of had nothing inside it, but I cared for it as if it was a life. Whenever I moved, I made sure I took it with me in perfect condition. I made sure no one found it, not even my wife. This box was *close* to me. This girl had picked **me** for this, and no one else.
As the years passed by, the box was beginning to wear out on its own. Of course I was devastated, it was like I was watching my own pet wither away. This only made me become even more careful with it, such as touching it with gloves and such. I could also notice more of the stench creaking out of the box, which was gradually getting worse as the years passed by.
I had turned 60 this year. I had started the beginning of the end, my own body was beginning to wear out. My wife had already passed away now, so I was all alone. The box, however, was still in ok condition. The only problem was the horrible stench coming around it. To get it out of the way..I had placed it in my wife's "relaxation room" as she called it...hah.
One day I got a knock on my door. I already knew what it was. It was something i've been expecting for over twenty years. I hurried to the door as fast as my old body could, with a giant grin on my face.
I opened the door, only to see my front yard. No one was by the door, let alone on my yard. I began frantically looking around, my body shaking. *No! She's here!* Then I looked down, and saw the small note laid out in front of my foot. I picked it up, and saw the beautiful cursive words spell out: "Open the box."
I made my way to the room my trophy laid at. Tears filled my eyes. I had felt satisfaction, but at the same time disappointment. *What would happen next?*
I entered the room, and slowly approached the box. It wreaked of an unknown smell. It was burning my nose, and I could barely breath.
I opened the lid of the box, and vomited on the floor immediately. The box wreaked horribly, something worse than death itself. I could barely keep my legs up, beginning to wheeze from the smell. It took me several minutes of enduring the smell before I looked into the box.
Nothing, plain empty. All that I could see was..very dark stains on the floor of the box. *What kind of stains are those?* There was nothing else in the box..except for small writing besides the stains.
"Cum box." | 2014-03-26T17:57:41 | 2014-03-26T17:18:59 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] “Someone once told me the definition of Hell: The last day you have on earth, the person you became will meet the person you could have become.” -Anonymous | Being invisible isn't fun, but it's convenient, sometimes.
I mean, I'm only invisible to most people. There are plenty of exceptions, though -- plenty of people see an obese, ugly woman and make a point to pay attention to her. Never positive attention, obviously: sometimes it's jeering contempt, sometimes it's people daring each other to hit on me.
Of the latter category, most don't take dumb dares from their friends seriously enough to actually attempt to sleep with me. A few do, though. And, in my lowest moments, I've taken a few up on it. I know it's a shitty idea, that I'll wake up with even more self-loathing than usual. But sexual neglect can really fuck up one's ability to think long-term.
Anyway.
Being invisible is convenient when I take my lunch break. My anxiety reaches a fever pitch when I try to eat lunch in the work breakroom. People will either try to engage me in conversation, which I can tell is out of pity and I never can reciprocate without coming off weird; or they'll ignore me, which is honestly better but still hurts.
So I go to the park, where I can at least be fairly certain no one will bother or acknowledge me.
The one-block walk is havoc on my knees, as always, and it's the most humiliating part of the lunch ordeal. People see an obese woman struggling with an extremely minimal amount of physical exertion and occasionally chime in with "helpful" advice. "If you don't change your habits soon, you are going to die," they've said.
*When?* I wonder.
On the park bench, finally, I take out my lunch. It's a small, healthy lunch. People who expect the world to be fair, who believe bad things only happen to bad people, want to believe that I'm obese because of my own ignorance re: nutrition, but in truth it only takes a couple shame spirals of feelings-eating depression to get to where I am, and once you're there, the aforementioned self-loathing prevents you from losing it. I got my spirals out of my way in my teens and twenties, and now I just live in limbo.
I only notice the woman on the opposite bench because she's eating the same lunch, but once I do, I can't stop looking.
She's beautiful: tall, leggy, lush brown hair, and *fit*. Smooth skin, full lips, and a suit that suggests that her job is more important and fulfilling and better paying than any I could hope to have. Her eyes remind me of my mother, though, and I have to look away.
After a few minutes, she gets up and leaves. I spot something gleaming on her vacated bench. I look cautiously around, then get up and investigate.
It's a laminated work badge, with the same beautiful face. The name, though... the name is *mine*. Mine, with one key difference: her surname is hyphenated. The first surname is my own, the second is a stranger's. Not a husband's, going by the glint of the enormous, unaccompanied engagement ring she'd worn.
I have my phone. I pull up Facebook and search for her profile. It's public, of course. A woman like that has no reason to hide. I scroll through pictures with a beautiful fiance, beautiful friends, beautiful people of different races who are apparently her siblings.
I find a lengthy status and stop. It's a long, heartfelt status about her birth mother. About *Joyce*.
She forgives Joyce. She knows that Joyce has problems. But however stressful and hurtful dealing with her can be, she will always try to reach out, because Joyce is family (albeit family she has very infrequent contact with).
Joyce put her up for adoption. Of course. Of course this stranger is then able to grow into a beautiful, confident woman, capable not only of meaningful accomplishments but of *forgiveness*. She has that luxury.
Joyce didn't raise her, or claim to. Joyce didn't alternately starve and overfeed her until it was impossible to have a healthy relationship with food. Joyce didn't refuse to take her to the doctor about her skin condition until her face was pitted with scars. Joyce didn't literally and metaphorically beat it into her that she was unlovable until she believed it herself. And, as a consequence, this strange woman is capable of more than I ever, ever will be.
There's a subway station half a block from here. I've read articles about the train drivers when people commit suicide by jumping in front of their trains; how they are riddled with guilt and PTSD. Hopefully, though, they won't care too much if it's an obese, ugly woman.
| I committed suicide at age 43, alone in a dingy flat in a dodgy area; overdue two months of rent, water long since cut off, and loan sharks knocking at my door at all hours of the night.
I will freely admit that I knew I wasn't a model citizen, but I certainly didn't think I was Hell-worthy. I thought of myself as a lower-class limbo type of guy. I guess I was wrong.
I suppose that if it wasn't the binge drinking, shoplifting, child support-dodging, and down-right embarrassing church attendance that got me into the not-so-nice big-H, then it was the sleazy one-night stands, coke-fueled evenings, football betting, dealing to high schoolers, and bar fights.
Whatever the cause of my classification, I knew I had messed up because as soon as I lost consciousness on the beer-stained beige carpet of my apartment. I was slumped over a metal table in a dimly-lit room that vaguely reminded me of a police station.
The first of my groggy thoughts flitted towards something along the lines of "oh shit, they found the coke". No sooner had the thought processed did a door I hadn't noticed to my left swung open and in sauntered a cleanly shaved man in a freshly-pressed suit.
I tracked him with my eyes and squinted at his face, trying to place it, as he purposefully walked in front of the table, pulling out the opposite chair and hanging his navy jacket on the back of it before smoothing the backs of his trousers and sitting down to face me.
He was the kind of man I glanced at on the street and sneered at as he lowered his head and picked up pace the moment I nodded my head up and twitched my lip at him. He certainly didn't seem to be a police officer or even a detective. In my previous encounters with law enforcement, they normally would have shown their badges by this point.
We sat in silence for a moment while I scrutinized his face for some hint of who he was and why he was here. More importantly, however, why I was here.
He began to speak with a measured voice, "I have a house in the suburbs. I married Lucy, from high school, and we have two sons: Derek, whose 16, and Ethan, whose 11. I make enough each year to comfortably pay our bills, save for my retirement and the boy's univeresities, and have a flexible disposable income."
I said nothing and he continued to stare at my forehead, not seeming to properly look at me, but rather, past me. I remembered Lucy, she was pretty and smart. She sat two rows in front of me in English. She was a nice girl and I was a stoner. I don't recall ever talking to her.
"You could have been me." His words hung in the air like fog.
"What are you on about?" I grunted, annoyed more than anything.
"You're dead. You killed yourself. You're in hell." His reply was short and to the point. In any other situation I would have thought I'd stumbled upon a mad man, but something within me knew that he was telling the truth.
"I am what you could have become." Again, I didn't doubt him. I looked into his eyes and he finally dropped his gaze from my forehead to look me in the eye. As our eyes met, I began to sob. | 2015-01-02T11:32:08 | 2015-01-02T11:09:56 | 67 | 22 |
[WP] Germany is actually predestined to lose every world war it participates in. The sixteenth world war is now being fought, and Germany has taken over all of Europe. Make them lose the war in the most ridiculous way possible. | "We've finally done it comrades! Welcome to the birth of the Sixteenth Reich, this time, the German Empire will last for a thousand years!" shouted the Emperor.
The men and women all raised their glasses in unison, celebrating their long awaited victory against the Allies. It had taken them several hundred years and sixteen great wars, but they finally did. They finally created their long standing empire. The Emperor himself had spent ten years on this great war.
At that moment, the door flung open. "Guards?' the Emperor asked.
"No," said the woman who slammed open the door.
"We tried to stop her!" shouted the guard.
"Where have you been?!?" the woman shouted.
"I-I-I can explain dear," said the Emperor.
Everyone was shocked to see the Emperor so scared. On every major battlefield, he commanded the troops with such precision and his tactics were what ultimately carried their forces to victory.
"Who is this?" the Major asked.
"Who am I?!?" the woman shouted. "I am his wife!"
The woman stamped her foot on the ground as she walked past everyone. She was angry. She was wearing a shirt that said MAW, Mothers Against War. "Is something wrong dear?" the Emperor asked.
"You haven't been home in ten years!" the woman shouted. "Albert and Rilla are heading to college and you haven't seen them since they first went to school!"
"I can explain," said the Emperor.
"No explaining!" shouted the woman. She turned around to look at everyone else. "Don't think you guys are free either."
At that moment, dozens of people walked in. Everyone went from a sense of celebration to a sense of dread. They all recognized at least one person that walked in. They were all a relative of one officer.
"All of you are coming home," said the woman.
"But!" the Emperor interrupted.
"No buts!" said the woman. "You're coming home to see the children. You're coming home to take a look at all the things you've missed."
"We can't now!" shouted the Emperor. "We just conquered Europe!"
"Yeah, I doubt that," said the woman. She grabbed the Emperor by his ear and pulled him.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" the Emperor cried. "I'm not lying!"
The woman dragged the Emperor out of the room. One by one, each person was removed.
The guards at the door were confused. "What now?" asked one of the guards.
"Well, our leadership is gone again," the other guard answered.
"Does that mean what I think it means?" the first guard asked.
"Yeah, we just lost another one," the other guard answered.
"Better luck next time I guess," said the first guard. | The year is 2198. The entire world has seen 15 world wars. All of which Germany has participated... and... err... lost. Y-yeah... they lost 15 times. This the 16th war, and everyone expects Germany to lose. People aren't taking Germany seriously anymore. Many keep joking about Germany.
But it looks like things will change now. Germany has actually taken over Europe and is starting to invade other parts. Their military...has... uhhh... haven't changed much... but it seems they're winning...And I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing. Well, I'm just a POW.. and they're about to kill me
Year 2199 and Germany is still winning. They've taken over Asia now. My execution was delayed...and now is the time for me to die...
Then all of a sudden every tank I could see just exploded. All planes crashed. And all ships sunk.
The reason why?? The dumbass lead mechanic/builder forgot to put a number 4 and a few **VERY INSIGNIFICANT** details on the blueprint. Without that stuff, well... everything would blow up.
I laughed my ass off at the explosion. I laughed so fucking hard I pissed myself. Germany lost again. But the machines exploded. Not the infantry. While I was laughing, they...errr...just shot me. | 2017-08-18T05:26:15 | 2017-08-18T02:09:31 | 76 | 15 |
[WP] A new device promises to search infinite universes and send you to the one where you will be truly happy. You step into the device and after hours of life montages pass before your eyes, a pleasant voice says "I'm sorry, there is no optimal solution. Please choose your own destination." | I trudged off the device and stepped back into the main area of the lab where Reginald, the scientist, stood with an eyebrow cocked up.
"Hey man, I want my money back," I said.
He eyed me curiously over his glasses. "I'm afraid there are no refunds. Sorry about that. Did you not like your results?"
I sighed and shrugged. "Your machine sucks. The device didn't work. It overviewed all of the universes that I could possibly go into, and none of them, not a single one, was better than the current universe I live in. That's impossible."
"Yes, I thought that was strange... Hm, to be honest, that's the first time that has ever happened. I'm sure you don't believe me, and it might be possible that something is wrong, but I highly doubt it. Some of the world's greatest scientists worked on this device together. All of us found another universe where life was better, but we didn't want to abandon this project, so we stayed here. We've done this hundreds of times and have sent people on their merry way to new universes. I'm sorry that you couldn't find one that was better than this one," he scratched his gray goatee, trying to think of what may have happened. "Let me take a look."
Reginald stepped into the device which was located in his laboratory, housed in his multi-million dollar mansion. He came back after 2 minutes. "Yup. Seems to be working fine for me."
I bit my lip. My eyebrows tightened up with frustration. There was anger, a lot of it. Fire was brewing in my chest and I wanted to rifle off verbal vitriol, but I couldn't. My conscience was like the Hoover dam, not a single word of venom was released. Instead, what happened next, took me by complete surprise.
I cried.
I cried just as much as when I discovered the passing of-- *I can't even let myself think about it.*
Reginald stared at me. Feeling too embarrassed, I covered my eyes with my hands and rushed out of the laboratory, but I was stopped. A force pushed against me that was immovable, like a boulder.
"I'm sorry, sir," he gently took my hands and lowered them as if he was a parent, *no the memories.* "Look, I can give you a refund since this has never happened before. I know it cost a lot of money, so, here, please, take it back. I don't really need it." he returned the check in my hands once again. "Are you okay?"
"No," I croaked miserably. "I'm really not."
"Please, there's no need to cry. You'll be all right," he rubbed my back to try and console. "I know during the screening process you said you really hit a low, and that things were rough. You said you spent all of your money on this test to try and start a new life. I'm sorry for being so calloused earlier...You said you were unemployed, right?"
I nodded. My face was red from the burning tears. Suddenly his jaw dropped and his eyes lit up as if gears were turning in his head.
"I could use an assistant, since you're a rarity, I could pay you. Imagine the research we could do. We've found an improvement in everyone except *you*, do you realize how special you are? The committee can pay you handsomely to study why things aren't better for you elsewhere. Please, we can make your life the best it can be in this universe!"
r/randallcooper | "I'm sorry there is no optimal solution. Please choose your destination."
Hours. Hours spent reviewing my entire life, and nowhere in the infinite universes is there one in which I will be happy. Now I have to pick my destination.
I don't even know if there is anything I want to do! I've tried so many things. Traveled to other universes for an idea of what to expect.
What is the point of living life when there is nowhere, nowhere at all, where you might be happy? Hold there... living life to be happy?
"Is there any universe whereby heroic sacrifice of my life I can save many other lives that would be lost?"
"Searching... Searching... Searching...
"The number of universes has reached the limits of the search engine, please add additional criteria."
Well, that makes sense.
"Add the following:
Chance of success better than 50%.
Boon companions greater than zero.
Quest length less than five years.
Total lives saved greater than one million.
Go!"
"Searching... One Universe. Specific capability of society must be destroyed despite its popularity. Capability is draining the best of the population, society failure within 5 years unless capability is destroyed. Casualties in excess of one billion. Heroic sacrifice of one life mandatory for success. Chance of survival less than 0.001%"
"Perfect! Where is it and when can I start?"
"Universe 0-0-0-0-0-0, Start time 30 seconds ago, capability to destroy, Happy Universe Search. Good luck, you're going to need it."
Gun ports snap open and train on me, a diving slide to a fire exit takes me under the guns. Punch out the fire exit and autobounce drop to the surface. Company guards boiling out of every exit. Run for the subway. Lose them in the crowd and find a train to anywhere.
Ah, that one! In the doors just as they close, and the guards miss me in the train. Relief. I've made it this far.
A sultry voice, "Hey, sailor, looks like you could use a safe port for a night." She's gorgeous.
"You sure you want to get involved? I expect I'll be dead within five years."
"Sounds like fun to me!"
Good lord, she's right! I'm more alive than I have ever been!
((finis)) | 2020-04-13T14:20:22 | 2020-04-13T13:38:42 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] Your immortal, you married the love of your life but you leave her after 20 years because you don’t want to see her get old. Around 300 years later you see her on the street. | “ELIZABETH?!” It’s half a shout and half a prayer. The sort of emotion that you can feel even if you don’t speak the same language. But the voice is unfamiliar. Still, I look up just because when someone speaks in that tone, people listen.
​
The face in front of me is possibly the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. I feel like my heart stops, or speeds up so fast I can’t tell one beat from another. Time slows, and I know time, and least in theoretical terms.
​
Hazel eyes, shrink wrapped in tears, pull me in like a black hole. “Elizabeth”, the face says again and I find myself answering.
​
“No-one calls me Elizabeth. Do you know my parents?”
​
“No. No I don’t know your parents, you said that would be impossible!”
​
I smile at him, helplessly. If he’s crazy then I hope he’s a safe kind of crazy because I am already planning on him meeting my Mum and Dad, after a whirlwind affair.
​
“Do you want to sit down?”, I ask as coolly as I can manage. “I’m just about to get a coffee.” I extend my hand to him as he sits, the manic energy flowing out of him. “My friends call me Lizzy.” He takes my hand lightly. If I thought his eyes were engaging, his touch is something else. Like a hug and an electric shock mixed together.
​
“John”, he replies with a confused look. “What are you doing here?”
​
“Getting coffee!” I reply with a laugh, “I thought I’d already said that. You know you really should pay attention!”
​
My laugh normally lightens the mood. I have been told before it is infectious. On John, though, to my disappointment it seems to have the opposite effect. He sobs once, then composes himself. “I have missed that.”
​
“Perhaps decaf?” I suggest.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
The next 3 months pass at incredible speed. The old cliché about having known each other forever. John is perfect, he knows my needs before I know them. He guides when I need a leader, he supports me when my research hits a brick wall. He is immediately my best friend, and the sex? The intensity of first love, but the compassion and attention of my longest relationship. We are lost in each other, and I have no desire to find a map away from each other. I found his journal instead.
​
My work at the lab had taken a bit of back seat in my life, which was a first. But ultimately I no longer felt I needed to understand and move through time. The moment I was in was too perfect. John seemed content finally. His constant questions about my life, and my childhood had faded in the face of my mundane answers. He still occasionally asked me pointed questions about the 1800’s, but I don’t know history and eventually he gave up.
​
He kept a small journal with him, at all times. Noting events in it, sketches of me, occasionally photographs. The journals changed, but favourite items and pictures transferred between them. John seemed to need it, to keep track of his day to day life. I would never try and read it, but occasionally he would share something from it, some observation that would make us both smile. The day that destroyed my life was unremarkable. A man dropped a notebook. That was all.
​
John was leaving my flat to go to work, and he quickly scooped up his journal as he left. “Bye Liz!” he called through the closing door. I spotted the paper on the floor much later, as I starting marking a paper from one of the PhD students I supervised. If only it could have blown under the couch, maybe I’d not be alone now.
​
I picked it up, and my immediate reaction was that it was some sort of trick. It was a photograph of John and me. At some sort of fair or something. Dressed up in period gear, faded print, the whole nine yards. Except, I had long hair. I don’t have long hair. I’ve had a pixie cut for maybe 3 years now.
​
Brow furrowed, I turned it over. On the back was written ‘Elizabeth and I, at the studio of Franklin Horrup. June 1st 1851”.
​
It weighed on me for days. I didn’t say anything to John. I’m not sure why in hindsight, perhaps I already knew what it meant sub-consciously. Eventually, it led me to behave like a desperate stalker. He must have sensed I was struggling, but he assumed it was work, and gave me a key to his flat so I could visit whenever I wanted. I used it to betray his trust.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/TallerestTales Part 2 in the replies | People say they want eternal life without ever stopping to think of what weight that would come with. Seclusion, to prevent heartbreak by death after death of those around you. I can't even own a pet, because they die even quicker than people. I blink, and the puppy is gone. Blink again, and my wife is dead. Or, at least, that's what it feels like to remember back on it.
I have to employ a cycle. Every thirty years, I change my style, to prevent unwanted... attention. I've tried almost every combination of haircut, mustache, and beard that this body will allow, died them, and worn everything from bell bottoms to leather jackets. I don't really have a sense of identity anymore. Maybe I never did.
Except when I was with her.
Yes, a crack in my own ruleset. A mistake that should have never been; a blemished pearl. Yet that little dark spot on my perfectly untouched life was undoubtedly my happiest. To feel love, after thousands of years spent watching the world pass like an oak tree? I'd thought about cutting myself in half and looking to see how many concentric rings there are in me. The beginning of my consciousness is a haze.
A haze that Regina cut through like dawn's sun in morning fog. A warmth on my skin, gentle, comforting. I tried to brush her off but damn was the woman persistent. A medical researcher that knew what she wanted, and somehow roped me into yielding a millennium-old reign of loneliness. I tricked myself. Whispered in my own head that the means would justify the end. For a few years, I truly believe that, settled into a little townhouse in Rochester, enjoying our conversations and time spent together in nature.
But after ten, fifteen years, she changed. Slowly, I recognized her a little less, thin lines fracturing across her face, out of her eyes and lining her forehead. Skin became less smooth and sheen, just a tad bit duller, and hair thinned. The changes became more and more pronounced, as if she were drying out. A flower wilting in winter.
After twenty years, I couldn't bear it any longer. I couldn't stand to witness her beauty die and her body crack, leaving memories of her withering body to be the last in my mind. Like a coward, I changed my look a decade early, and fled from our home.
Thankfully, with a thousand years of experience, finding work was easy. Well, until computers became accessible and interested into workplaces. Society changed, becoming colder and more rigid. It wasn't as easy to sneak around and go unnoticed, leaving me less of a drifter and more of a beggar with time. I suppose, ultimately, being a beggar is the truest disguise. Nobody's going to spot an immortal homeless man.
Centuries melted by again, no longer worrying about my look and instead desperately searching for a home now and again. There was a time, in the 22nd century, when the homeless were gathered into camps. That was one of the less enjoyable periods of my existence, starved, cramped and... mistreated. Immortality is, after all, not prolonged life, but prolonged suffering. Hell, most likely.
At some point, I don't know when, I wound up in Rochester again. Well, where it used to be, at least. It was called "Neo-Kaido" at that point, but the general layout was familiar even with the added skyscrapers and dark, almost grimy cityscape. Not as homey as it once was.
I saw her. Regina, that is. A flash in the corner of my eyes, bright against the dim city stone slick with rain. Turning, it really was her, only not as beautiful and a little more weathered than when I'd left.
She was stained, and her face about twenty feet tall. Beneath the surface, there where ghosts of rectangular brick-lines that made her look like she'd been pieced together. Faded, somewhat.
A mural. Beside her was a man, of similar weathering, painted with an admiring smile meant for Regina. There were flowers, and children around them, all missing hair but playing and happy. Above them was written
**Regina Hemsworth, Cancer Killer**
*1978-2072*
My heart sunk. She looked so broken down in the picture, yes, and yet the man beside her didn't seem to mind. It was just a painting but I felt truth in it, and realized something important.
The love of an immortal is an unknowing, vain thing. I was the oldest being the planet had seen, and yet knew less of something than typical short-lived humans. Perhaps because my life's flame does not blow out so quickly. I am a low-lit candle, steady and true, where others are roaring bonfires that crackle and sear the dark of night away until naught is left but ash.
*/r/resonatingfury* | 2019-03-09T09:11:20 | 2019-03-09T08:53:22 | 36 | 18 |
[WP]You are a SWAT team member with one big problem: you are a vampire. Your life depends on asking permission before you get through the door, and somehow you pull it off every time. | “Every. Fuckin’. Time. Why do they even keep ‘im on the goddamn team?”
“You know why. He’s the best we have.”
“He’s a goddamn nuisance is what he is.”
Baker, a gruff landmass of a man with at least six inches on the rest of the squad, spit on the floor and shuffled his weight from foot to foot; his impatience grew with every mission they went on. His partner, Jed, shrugged.
Baker looked Tam up and down; the pathetic waif - and he didn’t just call the other man that due to his own size; Tam was only 5’4” and 130 pounds soaking wet - was garbed in a pizza delivery outfit this time. He could probably crush the little fucker with his pinky, and yet he was respected and revered by everyone at the precinct.
Tam, appearing at Baker’s side with a pop, looked down at the gaudy, cheap clothes. Not exactly noble, but it got the job done. He shrugged and chucked the mountain of a man under the chin, standing on the tip of his toes to do so. “Sorry, big boy. Them’s the breaks.”
Looking like he was about to bust a blood vessel, Baker gritted his teeth and clenched his nails into his palms in an attempt to not lay the waif out right then and there.
Practically skipping away with the stack of steaming boxes, Tam gave the rest of the team the signal, and they became one with the walls leading to the apartment; they would wait for his entry, and follow.
Raising a pale white hand to the door, Tam rapped his knuckles three times.
*Knock*. Drug bust, at least 7 inside, --
*Knock*. -- all heavily armed, dangerous criminals on the run, --
*Knock*. -- and they decide to order a pizza?
Shuffling noises came from inside. Tam could hear nine heartbeats, five of them faster than they should’ve been. Must be the drugs. Intel was never right on the important stuff. He sighed.
“Whaddaya want?” came the surly voice from behind the door.
“Pizza delivery.”
The door swung open to reveal a tall, brutish man with a deep scar running around the base of his throat. He gave Tam a onceover and, detecting no threat, motioned for him to come inside.
“I don’t know how you guys could even want pizza with all that coke running through your systems,” Tam chuckled.
The brute grabbed the gun on his hip, but before he could even make contact the seething colony of bats that’d been Tam descended upon him, throwing him into the wall and knocking him out cold.
As the rest of the team burst into view, weapons raised and shouting, Jed grinned at Baker and said “Ya gotta admit, kid’s got flair.”
Rolling his eyes, Baker unholstered his piece and joined the fray, shouting back at his partner. “That ‘kid’ is four hundred years your senior.”
*****
S.A Decomprosed
[Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/decomprosed) | [Tumblr](http://decomprosed.tumblr.com) | [Reddit](http://reddit.com/r/decomprosed) | I've always loved what I've done for a living, the thrill and exhilaration of saving the day. It was almost as if the SWAT was made for me. Even with my problem I've always found a way to make it work, one time I even had to scream out to a hostage if I could come into the house. The SWAT used that as a distraction and no one knew a thing, but now I'm faced with a much greater problem...A hostage has been taken... In a church.... Luckily it's summer in California so the amount of holy water at the church was scarce enough that I could be extra careful and work my way inside. Once I was I side the building crosses were everywhere and that was hard enough to deal with while not being shot at. Once we worked our way into the main room the hostage was tied up in the center surrounded by stakes and barbed wire, the barbed wire was the easiest to deal with as we could take it out easy without harming the hostage once we had taken possession of the hostage an explosion that rattled the building almost blew me off my feet. The building was being bombarded by makeshift pipe bombs probably planted at the scene earlier, now with it being summer I've only been able to work night jobs, y'know the small things an occasional jewelry heist those types of things but this time was different I was working a day shift because my hours needed a boost for pay. Anyways the roof was partially blown off and Sundays were blocking the exit, there had to be another way but the enemies were closing in and there wasn't time to find another exit. I went for it, the people at the hospital told me I had past out likely from shock from the explosions but I only knew the real reason. I was lucky to be alive not many of us can survive being grazed by the sun let alone running into it. I quit my job the next day
Sorry if it's not up to par with most stories on here I'm in 8th grade and don't generally write much | 2016-10-11T14:04:34 | 2016-10-11T13:32:52 | 61 | 23 |
[WP] You spend your days sneaking past mutants and raiders in a post apocalypse world. No one knows who you are, and you doubt anyone would care to know. You have spent your whole life roaming the wastes of the Fallout universe filling empty Nuka Cola vending machines with Nuka Cola. | *As you're walking through the wastes, you nearly trip on something. You figure it must be a rock of some sort, and turn to angrily kick it, when you find that it's actually a journal instead. Curious, you pick it up and open it.*
"Despite the fact that the world ended, everyone still worked. Well, for the most part, people worked.
A lot of things were different in the past, according to what I've read. In the past, there was no mutant threat. No jackasses that'd shoot you just for the hell of it. The only faction to speak of back in the day was the U.S. Government, which *tried* to survive as the Enclave. Well, we didn't quite make it.
I'm sure anyone reading this journal wants to kill me now that I've written I'm former Enclave, unless you somehow don't know what the Enclave was up to. Maybe you're a kid. In that case, go ahead and throw this away. It's useless to you.
Anyways, I wasn't part of the military in the Enclave. I was a civilian that lived on the Oil Rig. Yeah, I'll bet tons of people forget that the Enclave housed *civilians.* It wasn't all just a military operation designed to kill everyone, that plan came from our fucked up leadership. Hell, I had friends that joined the military branch, and they were some of the nicest damn people I ever knew. NCR wouldn't give a shit if anyone from the Enclave was a saint, they'd jail them indefinitely just for association. The Brotherhood of Steel in the D.C. area would just fucking execute us.
You're probably wondering how I'm still alive if you're still reading. I wouldn't be surprised if this journal was being used as fuel for a fire now, but if that's not your concern, bravo. You're better off than me. Well, when the Oil Rig was going to shit thanks to a tribal and their mutant buddy, there was an evacuation effort going on to relocate us. Life wasn't going so well.
As we were relocating, I'd been talking to my best friend about what to do now that we just lost our home. He made a bet with me, the weird son of a bitch. He said, "Jack, I bet if I head west and refill Sarsaparilla machines, I'll outlive you." Humor was definitely something we needed at the time, as the oil rig went up in a giant mushroom cloud.
So I told him I'd head east with the rest of the evacuation effort, refill Nuka-Cola machines and I'd outlive him instead. That's how this dumb game started.
As far as I've heard from merchants who travel here from the west, those machines still get new bottles in them. I'm not gonna lose to him.
Frankly, there's nothing else to really do. Either I lie about where I came from and live life as normal as you can in the post-nuke world, all the while completely disregarding my old friends just so I'm easier off, or I live in solitude, never making any friends because 99% of people here are going to want to kill me as soon as I mention I'm from the Enclave. At least I'm kicking Louis's ass when it comes to refilling. Or at least I like to think I am.
If you see a decrepit old fart putting bottles into a Nuka-Cola machine, just know that he's not doing it for any grand reason. He's doing it because he's a petty old idiot still tied up in a bet from a long time ago, trying to distract himself from the crushing loneliness. He's doing it because there's nothing else for him to do, and he wants to work, but everyone would rather shoot him as soon as they learn he's Enclave.
If you actually read this to the end, I'm shocked and amazed. The wasteland must be getting better off. By the time you've read this, the machine at the Super-Duper Mart near Megaton has some soda in it now. Go ahead and take all of the bottles. I'll always be able to get more. It took a while to get one of the factory machines working, but I'll be damned if I don't do good work. The next time you drink a nice Nuka-Cola, remember that an Enclave remnant is the one who brought it to you."
*You stuff the journal into your duffel bag. You were on your way to Megaton anyways, and knew that the Super-Duper Mart was on your path. You figure that a little detour to the Nuka-Cola machine isn't going to kill you. and continue your commute.*
(First timer. I hope y'all are gentle.) | Grab the first key, turn it, open the slots, refill the slots, close the slots, grab the second key, turn it, open the change box, collect change, close the change box, turn the key, grab the second key, close the slots, turn the key, grab the first key and check the machine off the list.
I know these steps by heart, my great grandfather told them to my grandfather, my grandfather told them to my father and my father told them to me.
From a young age my father taught me how important it is for life to continue, how meaningful certain processes are, while life around us changes, some things need to stay the same. A sense of normality is important, to stay grounded.
Grab the first key, turn it, open the slots, refill the slots, close the slots, grab the second key, turn it, open the change box, collect change, close the change box, turn the key, grab the second key, close the slots, turn the key, grab the first key and check the machine off the list.
My family is, as my dad used to joke, the perfect Nuka family. We all work at the Nuka Cola bottling plant, we are proud of that, always have been, always will be. I remember being a little boy, all those shiny red machines filled with delicious cola. Oh the next one.
Grab the first key, turn it, open the slots, refill the slots, close the slots, grab the second key, turn it, open the change box, collect change, close the change box, turn the key, grab the second key, close the slots, turn the key, grab the first key and check the machine off the list.
Even when the bombs fell, my dad told me how important it was to have a certainties in live, it rains water, nights are dark, grass is green, and Nuka Cola machines need restocking. I can't for the live of me remember how long I have been doing this, but it is important nonetheless. Oh another one.
Grab the first key, turn it, open the slots, refill the slots, close the slots, grab the second key, turn it, open the change box, collect change, close the change box, turn the key, grab the second key, close the slots, turn the key, grab the first key and check the machine off the list.
Well there sure are a lot of machines here, all need re-bottling. The population here sure loves that Nuka taste! Hahaha. Now stranger what can I help you with? Hmmz? How do you mean there is only one machine here? Don't be so foolish, I have been walking for at least a couple of years!
Oh? Well according to my calendar and my list around 240 years! Silly man, must have taken some weird pills! I mean look at you in your metal suit, pretending to be some soldier. Welp I need to continue, people depend on me!
Grab the first key, turn it, open the slots, refill the slots, close the slots, grab the second key, turn it, open the change box, collect change, close the change box, turn the key, grab the second key, close the slots, turn the key, grab the first key and check the machine off the list.
As the hunchbacked ghoul continues his round, the clinking of bottles can be heard. Hundreds of them lying on the floor, continuing his precious routine, if not for that he might have gone mad, long long ago. At least there are two things that never change in this world.
| 2018-09-19T09:14:48 | 2018-09-19T08:39:00 | 65 | 28 |
[WP] Time machine has finally been built, and you've been selected to be the first person to travel back in time. Your official mission is to bring medicine and technology designs to advance humanity sooner. However minutes before your departure, you are given the real orders... | The machine has started to produce slow, slight sounds of screeching, which meant it was getting ready to perform a Controlled Time and Position Movement. It was also the moment everyone had to leave the gigantic, gray chamber it was placed in, as in a minute or two it would no longer be safe to stay there.
As the room filled with a cluster of rapidly blinking bursts of light, the man inside the machine was going to receive his last message, before it becomes impossible to communicate with him.
"The world's first man to break the limitations of space and time, the first chrononaut Mark Rozon, can you hear me?" A worn out, old voice could be heard in Mark's headset. He was trying his best to stay calm, and this was the moment he no longer could, as he could not recognize the person he just heard.
"Excuse me... I think we are having communication problems, the sound seems distorted..."
"No, it's all perfectly fine, Mark." The man behind the microphone spoke in a very calm tone.
"I was not told that someone else will... Uh... Why am I not speaking with the command center?" Mark was extremely confused. Over months of training for his job, he learned well enough that everything has to be planned perfectly down to a single task, and that he should not expect any "surprises". All should go according to the very strict plan, or else it's wrong and the whole mission is screwed up.
"When people made their footsteps on the Moon for the first time in history, it was a glorious moment, worth being recorded for future generations to see. However, as you well know, and as pretty much everyone knows, we are not bringing any cameras for this one. We won't broadcast it globally for everyone to see."
Mark looked around, as he usually did in confusion, whether there was any point to it or not. He was equipped with a camera, and a part of his mission was to record some places and himself doing certain tasks. He could not put it all together after he heard those words.
"Do you know why, Mark Rozon?" The man moved closer to his microphone, making the sound clearly louder.
"Because we can't broadcast across time?" Mark came up with a simple answer, pretty much the first one that came to his mind, and only one that seemed logical to say.
"Well, yes." The man sighed quietly. "But that's not the main reason. See, the world could see you stepping into the chamber, it could see the machine slowly turning on. It is also supposed to see what you bring us with your little camera."
A few seconds of silence passed, and some people talking in the far background could be heard. Mark closed his eyes, thinking it was a bonus part of his training. A personality test, or something like that.
"See, as thirty eight hours from now pass, the world will be confronted with a sad news. Mark Rozon, the modern hero of humanity, has not completed his mission. He died because of a critical failure of the time machine." The man laughed for a split second, and then coughed. "Propably. Whatever happened, he did not succeed."
"If this is some personality test, can we skip it please? I do not feel comfortable" Mark responded, as he could feel his heart skipping a beat.
"No, of course not." The man started coughing again, and his voice worsened a bit. "I mean, not, as this is not a test of any sort. Try to calm down and listen patiently, while i explain, because we are running out of time, you know."
Mark firmly grabbed the chair he was sitting in and took a breath.
"I'm listening."
"Great. Don't panic, you are going to stay alive. Unless you screw up, of course. Haha."
Once again, some people could be heard talking further from the microphone. Mark already knew it - he was deep into some secret government plans.
"There's a reason we chose an obedient, yet very intelligent person skilled with stealth movement instead of some math prodigy or engineer or whatever. I am amazed that you didn't figure out that we are clearly not going to "send medics and books" to the past. It would be a spectacular waste, anyway."
The man stopped for a while, and machine's screen brightened up with a message - "new data received".
"Time doesn't work that way. The infinite timelines theory is correct. Well, it's not infinite, more like, a lot of timelines theory. But still... You can do whatever you want in the past, and it won't do jack to present, or future. It's a wrong timeline. Not your timeline. I mean, their future will be affected, ours won't. And you can't move in time across your own timeline. In fact, not across ANY timeline." The man seemed more confident in his tone. "Every one of them goes forward at same pace. You can't change that, you can only jump over to a different one and do your business, then jump back. That's why we have a limited amount of time."
Mark shook his head in confusion. "Why do we even bother then?"
"You can take things into, or out of a timeline. Pick something up and go away with it. Or leave something. As you can figure out yourself, there's no point in leaving things."
"What do you want me to steal?" Mark said in a slightly angry tone.
"Oh yes, a clever man you are, aren't you." The man laughed again. "Nothing. I mean, do whatever the hell you wish with the thing, just don't let it stay where it is."
Mark's face took a determined look.
"We are doing business there, son. And we are being interrupted in our business. That's dangerous, you know. Our timeline is technologically ahead of most of the rest, and we are going to make sure it changes to "all of the rest". Currently, we can't do much against the big, strong timelines, but there's one we can take care of easily."
The machine was about to go, as its interior started to shake.
"You have the details in that data you received. Review them."
Shaking was getting even more intense, as mere seconds were left.
"And keep it in mind, boy. Come back in up to 32 hours, or else you're not welcome in our timeline anymore. Your weapon is in container number four. Fake documents in container six."
At this point, the man's voice was barely understandable, but Mark could hear the last sentence clearly.
"Mark Rozon of timeline A353, kill the Mark Rozon of timeline A401." | I stepped in front of the time machine. It looked almost like a door into a different dimension, a portal of sorts, humming and glowing with swirling energy that pulled at my clothes, my hair, trying to suck me into its depths.
"I wouldn't stand so close if I were you, Agent Lucas," said Dr. Carter from behind me. "The gravitational effect is quite strong, and you might end up some place you don't want to be." I turned and smiled at the old scientist, stepping away carefully from the machine.
"I know, doc. Just trying to prepare myself... I feel a bit nervous," I admitted. Dr. Carter laughed and slapped me encouragingly on the shoulder.
"A bit nervous," he repeated with a chuckle. "I wish I had half your courage, son. I'd be downright terrified. After all, this mission could kickstart the greatest scientific advancements that mankind has seen yet. Think of all the technological possi-"
"Actually, Agent Lucas," came a sharp voice from behind us. I turned to see the Director standing in the doorway to the lab. He was a tall, thin man with graying hair but eyes that still shone bright with deep intelligence. "There's been a bit of an unexpected change of plans." I raised an eyebrow.
"What do you mean, sir?" I asked, wary but not altogether surprised. The Director was unpredictable. It wasn't unlike him to pull this on me at the last second. Dr. Carter, on the other hand, was literally reeling from shock.
"Change of plans?" he echoed, his voice quivering with tightly controlled anger. "With all due respect, Director. Nothing is more important than the current mission... to push past our limits and advance our technology and medicine, to revolutionize modern science and..." He trailed off as the Director gave him a withering look.
"I suppose, Agent Lucas..." the Director began slowly. He stepped forward and the old scientist stepped back. "...that our dear Dr. Carter has neglected to mention that this is not the first time machine he's built."
Now I was the one in shock. I whirled and pointed accusingly at the suddenly mute scientist.
"Dr. Carter. Is this true?" I shook my head in disbelief. "You mean to say... there was another expedition before this? I am not the first?" Dr. Carter waved his hands helplessly. His mouth opened but no words came out. The Director gave me a grim smile.
"Hardly the first," he said. "The fourth, actually. Exactly one year ago, Dr. Carter here collaborated with another scientist, Dr. Askell, to build the first time machine. We sent Agents Jacobs and Ramirez on the expedition team, led by Dr. Askell herself, on a similar mission: to deliver modern medicine and technology to the historical intellectual community. Shortly after the team went through the portal, the machine self-destructed. Needless to say, the team never returned."
My throat suddenly felt dry. "Where did you send them?"
"The year 100, to Rome. We believed that the ancient Romans had a sufficient intellectual understanding of engineering and technology to interpret our designs. But it seems we misjudged them... perhaps the Romans were not as civilized as we thought." A shadow flickered across the Director's face.
"Speaking of which, I must retract my earlier statement. One of them *did* return from the mission. A mere few minutes after we created the second time machine from the ruins of the first, Agent Jacobs' body was propelled through the portal. There was a spear in his chest."
We were all silent for a moment. I looked at Dr. Carter, who seemed to have aged years in the space of our conversation.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"If I told you, you would've never gone," he said simply. He didn't meet my eyes.
"I would have," I argued, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
"He would have," the Director said, looking at me with the barest trace of a smile. "That's why I chose Agent Lucas for our second expedition." He paused. "I think that by now you have a fair grasp of what your new mission goal is?" I nodded.
"Yes, sir. This isn't a scientific expedition. This is a rescue mission." The Director nodded, his face grim.
"Right on. Your new mission is to locate and bring back Agent Ramirez and Dr. Askell as quickly as possible. And if are to accurately interpret the Romans' reaction to our previous mission... you will be needing this." The Director produced a pistol from his jacket, pressing it into my hand. My fingers curled comfortably around the handle, the metal cool and familiar in my grasp. I turned and looked into the swirling energy of the time machine, taking a deep breath.
"A fair word of warning," Dr. Carter finally piped up, wringing his hands. "You may want to limit the use of your gun..." The Director nodded his agreement.
"Take a life if you must. But only when absolutely necessary. A dead man is an entire family line erased from history. We don't understand time travel enough to take such risks just yet."
"Understood, Director," I said, my throat still unusually dry. "I'll see you soon." I closed my eyes and stepped through. | 2017-03-04T10:51:39 | 2017-03-04T10:21:03 | 59 | 15 |
[WP] Due to an address mix-up, an elementary school class sends their Pen Pal letters to an elite unit of Space Marines. Today, the Space Marines are sending a response. | Dear Timothy,
Gene-seed of Mighty Bill,
and destined heir to the Smith household sofa.
After reading your heroic retelling, with its crude yet superior illustration an inquisitor's scribe would praise, Great respects are to be given for your doomed yet ultimately victorious attempt to stem the tide of Chaos by confronting the dreaded daemon prince "Larry" in the playground. Taking one's lunch credits on a regular basis is an act that cannot be absolved, and despite you being stuffed into a storage locker, upon your defeat can walk the emporer's light, lest we all forget his sacrifice for a free man kind as well as milk and other delicious treats. Perhaps an exterminatatus would be best next time, no?
I myself am dealing with a small chaos infestation here on Omecron XV- the locals have began to spawn into foul warp daemons and I'm considering whether friendship, like your teacher Miss Pennywinkle suggested, is the best manner to purge them. However, I shall consider this when flaming cultist scum in the near future.
Regardless, I bet Joanna liked the picture of the poorly drawn canine that you gave her- chicks love fenrisian canines- and I have soldered the drawing of your cat Scrabbles onto my arm- I hope you will do the same with the lifesized battle tapestry I wove of Sanguinius. It was going to be of Roboute Guilliman, but he is a dick.
Regards, Brother Magnusson,
Of the Imperial Fists, 9th Assault Squadron
Ps. Please send more of your mother's cookies, as I've recently discovered that I may actually crave chocolate more so than the blood of the emperor's enemies. This isn't possible.
PSS. SEND MORE COOKIES. | Dear Suzy,
You asked me about what I dream about at night? Well I dream about the alien bastards ripping out the throats of my friends. The red mist as they brutally rip them apart. The stench of iron in the air. The horror of realizing that the squelch beneath my boot used to be my best friend. Oh god... Bill... That's all I ever dream about anymore... I hope that answers your question...
Thanks for the Post Traumatic Stress attack,
Guy Radshirt | 2015-01-26T15:40:38 | 2015-01-26T13:41:01 | 33 | 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? | Gasping awake, he's surrounded by a dark haze. He doesn't remember when he arrived or how he did so, but he has a burning ache to go home. He hears a sound, a voice? He isn't too sure as he whips around in a panic.
"Hello?" He calls out. The anxiety, trembling from his voice, "I think I'm lost," he is met with silence. He tries to walk, but finds himself stuck firmly in place. His arms and torso moves just fine. It is when he tries to lift his legs that he finds resistance. The realization of being trapped sends his heart racing, "Hello?!"
"Calm yourself child," a calm voice finally replies. It's withered and rough on his spine. This sound causes all of his hair to stand on end. His body response is anything but calming. From the smoke a shadow appears. He watches in fear until a minute figure emerges. Wearing an all black business ensemble a woman, no more than four feet walks towards him.
"Who a-are you?" He asks nervously, "What do you want? Why can't I move my legs?"
She smiles up to him, "I'm afraid you have reached the end of your road Derrick," his eyes widen at his name, "Yes, I know who you are and what life you have lead. It's only because of that, we even meet now."
"What are you talking about?" He quickly replies, "I just want to go home, to go back to my family."
"That is what I am here to offer. A gamble if you will. We play a game of your choosing. If you win, you go back to your family and I will wait up to ten years before I come to collect. If I win, however, I will take you on the spot," he looks to her as her words settle in. His fear recedes as he finally understands where he is. More importantly, he understands what she is, "Do we have a deal or should I take you now? It's your choice."
"Any game of my choosing?"
"Any. Though I should mention, if either of us are caught cheating, we forfeit and lose immediately."
He furls his brow as he brings his hand to his chin. She watches him deliberate and waits patiently, "Deal."
"Excellent I am glad to hear it," she says as she clasps her hands together, "So what shall it be?"
"It's called 'Not It'," he states with a smile. It was his daughter's favorite.
"Not i-"
"Not it!" He quickly shouts triumphantly. She does not respond. His glee quickly shrinks away in the silence.
Her stone stare is mortifying. She twitches a bit, causing him to flinch before being surprised by an outburst of laughter, "That was very clever of you, Derrick," she says joyously. he looks to her in confusion, "I look forward to seeing you again."
He hears a finger snap moments before opening his eyes and drawing breath again. He's home. Unaware of his encounter he has the feeling he had a very strange dream. Looking to his left he sees his wife seated besides him. Her white blouse spattered with red marks all over. He looks to her in confusion as she looks down to him. He can see a wild fury in her eyes as she plunges the knife back into his chest. | I look at the game’s Death has surrounding the room.
There’s the ornate antique marble chess board, polished to a gleam with ivory and ebony pieces.
In stark contrast, right next to that there’s a well loved and worn checkerboard. It has obviously faded areas where players over the years slid their pieces over the board, rather than picking them up and placing them.
There are also many branded board games: Battleship, Connect Four, Monopoly, and *shit, is that...* ***Candy Land*** ?
There are some more modern ones that I’ve only heard of, but never played, like Settlers of Catan.
There are also a glut of various card games, like Uno, Magic of the Gathering, and even *Pokémon*!
Of course there’s also a deck of regular cards set out, and they’re somehow both a void of boundless incomprehensible black like a black hole in which no light can escape on the backs, and a ghastly bone white on the front.
The clubs and spades are more of the depthless black. The hearts and diamonds are glistening blood red.
I am intrigued.
“Go Fish.”, I say.
Death nods.
I think several times about cheating and not telling Death when I have I card, but I know I have a poor poker face. Even when cheating is aloud in the rules, I still can’t bring myself to do it.
Death, sets down four fours, then the aces, then tens. I was only putting down about one set to every three that Death was managing. I was going to lose.
The last sets were made, and there was no need to count them, I was so far behind.
My stomach sunk to my knees.
Death smiled, “You passed the test.”
I blanched, “How so? I lost!”
“You didn’t cheat. The test was whether or not you cheat, win or lose, you pass the test when you decide not to cheat.”
The next thing I know, I blearily wake up to the steady sound of a hospital heart monitor.
-fin
Edit: formatting, again | 2018-03-07T08:38:23 | 2018-03-07T07:49:56 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying. | Zarp's pleasant cruise of the Milky Way was interrupted by his ship's robotic voice.
*85 seconds of flight time remaining, land immediately and commence repairs.*
"WHY?!" Zarp screamed helplessly at his ship. He had no idea what was wrong, and that really irked him. As a people, the Roflings pride themselves on intelligence. But for some reason, repairing a ship was beyond them - or more accurately, beneath them.
*Manual driving disabled. Destination set for 'Jim's ship repairs', Australian Outback, Earth.*
"No not Earth!" Zarp cursed to himself, knowing that he didn't have time to visit a more civilized mechanic shop. He had heard terrifying stories about Earthlings. Their primitive behavior was the butt of many Galactic jokes. However, they seemed to excel at repairing ships.
Zarp's ship touched down with a magnetic thrum. He tentatively approached the shop. Zarp glanced around him, suddenly wary of being ambushed. Barren desert land stretched all around, Jim's shop the only building in sight. Corroded metallic structures littered the surrounding land like corpses after a great battle. Two huge earthlings were perched on the end of a land ship; small smoking sticks held away from their bodies with thick meaty arms. Zarp gasped as they drew the smoldering cylinders up to their mouths and inhaled. *Must be some sort of primal assertion of dominance,* Zarp thought as he noticed the two apes sizing him up.
Zarp knew how a business worked though, so he swallowed his fear and approached the earthlings. The larger of the two men jumped to his feet and approached him; one of his muscled arms stretched outwards, pointing directly at Zarp.
"I mean you no harm!" squealed Zarp as he recoiled in fear. "I just wanted my ship repaired!"
"Relax mate!" The Australian man grinned happily, "name's Jim. Was just gonna shake your hand."
"Oh of course, I forgot about that ritual. I am Zarp." Zarp looked at the ground, feeling both relieved and slightly embarrassed.
"No worries! Lets take a look at your ship!" Jim walked confidently over to the ship and started examining it.
Zarp watched in amazement as this being he thought of as stupid and primitive navigated his way around his ship more fluently than any Rofling he knew. Jim was checking oil consistencies and analyzing atmosphere containment. Zarp was impressed as he noticed Jim using all his senses to help diagnose the problem. He was smelling the gravity thrusters, listening to the warp shields power up, and using his skin to feel if things were fitted correctly. Zarp realized he had seriously underestimated the earthling's skill. He watched in awe while Jim danced around his ship with a subtlety and finesse that betrayed his appearance.
"This things fucked!" Jim said finally as he pulled a scorched proton aggressor from the ships belly. "We'll chuck a new one in there and you should be sweet."
-
Zarp powered up his new ship.
*Repairs complete. Ready for flight*
Feeling completely at ease now, Zarp remembered some of Earth's hand gestures. Looking at Jim, he pointed his thumb at the roof as the ship gently lifted off the ground.
| It took a few seconds for the speaker of the auto-translate to sputter to life.
"Just hit it a few times."
I asked the translator to repeat what the human had said.
"Just hit it a few times. Synonyms for 'hit' are strike, batter, impact."
Was the meat bag really asking me to physically injure the spacecraft in an attempt to make it functional? How could I even explain to the small brain that my species was non-corporeal, existing in a nether dimension where physical interaction with the craft wasn't even possible?
The human made more sound.
"Here, let me do it" the auto translator said.
Soon, the human was wriggling through the non-aqueous liquid shielding of the craft and entering the inner bio support unit. This was a grave violation of quarantine procedures.
More human sounds came from the earthling and before I could secure the very sensitive navigation crystals, he was striking the inner panels with his palm. I panicked, knowing that the slightest dislodging of the crystals would forever lose the plotting required to return to my home galaxy.
"See, you just gotta get it like this," the auto translator finally announced as the ape's hand repeatedly impacted the console. When nothing happened, he pulled out a long-handled device with steel at the end and started to strike more vigorously.
As is standard operating procedure, I charged the heat ray to neutralize the human's assault on the spacecraft. It was slow coming on line, though as the man with his primitive tool continued to hit the navigation panel and I saw my chances for returning to my far-off home slipping away.
Finally the heat ray was ready, but just before I was to discharge it on the man, the familiar hum of power cells came back. Soon, the bio chamber was bathed once again in its normal pink hue.
"See, that did it" the human said through the auto translator as he slipped through the non-aqueous liquid shielding back to the ground.
"Thank you!" I commanded the auto translator to say to the human as the now fully functional spacecraft rose off that horrible rock. | 2016-05-23T19:20:30 | 2016-05-23T14:13:43 | 107 | 78 |
[WP] Making a deal with a demon requires a soul, everyone knows that. It’s usually a bad idea, but you’ve got a crazy idea. Earlier, you traded your lunch money to the school bully in exchange for a paper that stated you now owned his soul. You’re about to find out if demons consider this a valid co | Will never thought the intersection between Cedar and Saint's Roads was particularly memorable. It was just the meeting point between two small residential streets in the little town of New Harmony, Indiana: four unremarkable rows of houses checkered with unremarkable picket fences. It wasn't exactly a desolate badlands highway. However, it was a crossroads, and it was almost midnight. That had to count for something.
Will looked at his phone: 23:59. His other hand fingered the little piece of paper in his pocket, as he stood at the crossroads and waited. What for, he didn't know, but he kept glancing around at the rows of houses, in case the neighbours might see him.
"Hey kid, what do you think you're doing? It's midnight!"
He jumped. Little old Mrs Henfield was shuffling towards him. She lived just down the street, and although retired, she had made it her business to find out what the entire town was up to on a daily basis. Will started: she knew his parents – well, she knew all the town – and he'd snuck out of the bedroom window after lights out. Her cane clacked on the sidewalk, echoing around the otherwise empty, dark streets. He saw her hobble under a street lamp and her long shadow spilled into the pool of light, before vanishing into the darkness.
"I-I'm sorry Mrs Henfield, I'm just–"
"I know what you're *just doing*, young man! You're up to no good!"
"No, I'm not!" Will protested, backing away slightly from the advancing old woman.
"Of course you are, young man. After all, why else would you be waiting at a crossroads at midnight?"
Will did a double-take. Mrs Henfield had left the pool of light, but her eyes still gleamed with yellow, as if they had captured the reflection and held it, savouring it like a mouthful of chocolate before swallowing. She smiled. Will had seen Mrs Henfield smile before, usually when she found a little bit of town gossip from his mother, but this was different: her mouth carved a wide rictus grin, pinning her sagging skin to her high cheekbones. As she approached, Will realised the wind was towards him, but he didn't smell her musty old perfume. He smelled something else, like burned pork. She smelled *wrong*.
"Now, young man." Mrs Henfield paused a few feet away from him, leaned forward on her stick and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The street light behind her flickered for a moment, and went out. "What is it you want?"
Will had given this some thought. What did any fourteen-year-old in 2022 really want?
"I just... I guess I want to know if it's all going to be ok."
"What?" The thing wearing Mrs Henfield's skin widened her eyes slightly, and its grin faded a touch.
"I see things on the news," Will said, his voice barely above a whisper. "They say the planet is boiling. Everything's getting more expensive. People aren't very kind, or it sounds like they aren't very kind anymore. What's going to happen to us?"
"You are aware," said the thing wearing Mrs Henfield, "of the price of this information?"
Will nodded.
"Very well," it said. It gave a big theatrical sigh and shuffled over to the nearest garden wall, where it sat down, groaning as it lowered the body of the tired old woman to the brick. "It's going to seem like it's fine."
"Really?"
"Oh yes. By the time you leave college, there's going to be lots of engineering done around clearing CO2 out of the atmosphere. There will have been a nasty recession, but as a result the global housing market will fall to manageable levels. It's going to look okay."
"But it won't be?"
"Of course not. The first war won't be over oil and gas, like everyone thinks. By 2035, people are going to be fighting like too many rats in a cage over water. Water's the thing. The bringer of life shall become the bringer of death." Its grin returned, wider than ever, and a faraway look in its eyes suggests nostalgia for an event yet to happen. "Then, in 2054, the bombs drop. Then the rapture happens. Then we get whoever's left."
"And that's it?" Will asked.
"That's it. And now," it said, beckoning at him with the old woman's hand, "I claim my reward."
"Here you go," said Will. He walked forwards and slapped the piece of paper into its hand. The thing looked at the paper, and then back to Will.
"What the fuck is this?" it said, all creepiness suddenly dropped.
"A soul," said Will. "For the information that I should invest everything in water by 2030."
The thing looked at the paper, and then back to him. It threw back its head and cackled in Mrs Henfield's voice, laughing long and hard. It laughed so hard that the street lamp behind it flickered into life, on and off in time with the creature's guffaws, before dimming once again.
"Oh, you evil little shit," it said, wiping a tear from the old woman's eye. "You'd sell the soul of another for your own personal gain?"
Will had not been expecting this. "You... you're not mad?"
"Hell no," it said, stuffing the piece of paper into the old woman's housecoat pocket. "Would you like a job?" | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -2, Part 3: \_\_\_\_\_\_\_ v.s. Tom)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**I liked wearing skirts.** It didn't matter if I was a boy, or if Tom "I'll Peak In High School" Arven liked to pull them down while I was giving presentations in Governing Policy 102. I'd wear my damn skirts regardless, thank you very much. I'd wear them with a belt if it stopped Tom from yanking off my skirts, and I'd damn well do something about Tom himself if I could.
"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," I muttered to myself. Quite literally in some cases—in the case I planned to later abuse, specifically—but right now, all it meant was that Tom was sauntering into the lunchyard and searching for trouble. Which was fair; he had an axe to grind with me now. There'd been a presentation on how bullies should be treated with care, and how if you knew a bully you should hug them, and I'd stood up and hugged him in front of the entire school—well, that was a whole other story. The point was, it was all part of the plan to piss him off well and good, and from the expression on his face, I'd done that part to perfection.
I felt a hand grab my hoodie from behind and stiffened. Right, Tom actually had friends. I dropped my fork as Tom stormed towards me and grabbed my shoulders, his anger so thick I could feel it through my shirt.
"You think you're really clever, huh?" Tom seethed, squeezing my shoulderblades like they were stress balls.
I did, actually, thanks for asking. The plan wouldn't work if I mouthed off at him, though, so I pretended to quiver and said, "Please, don't hurt me! I'll give you everything I have!" I dug around in my pockets and thrust a wad of dollar bills at him.
He sneered. "Not enough, cupcake."
"I'll do your Spanish homework for you!" I babbled. "For the whole quarter! Just leave me alone!"
At that, he paused. I knew Tom had issues with his Spanish—issues that I'd deliberately cultivated with misleading dictionaries and outright bribing teachers to change assignments—and that he was at risk of getting held back if he didn't at least manage to pass one language class before senior year. "You any good at that nonsense?"
"Eres un idiota," I deadpanned. "See, I'm fluent."
Thankfully, I knew that neither him nor his buddy had ever paid attention in a single day's worth of class, so the joke flew over their heads. Tom grunted, then rummaged in his backpack and pulled out a notebook. He slapped it onto the table and tapped it. "Four weeks of overdue assignments. I want them done by tomorrow, or your teeth are going to be growing out of your skull."
Anatomy wasn't his strong suit, either. "Of course. Thank you."
He swiped the cash from my hand and stomped away; moments later, his buddy did too.
I waited for them to leave, then smiled to myself, flipping to the first page of his greasy, stained notebook. There, at the top, were the altered practice sentences that I'd gotten his teacher to give him.
"Mi alma pertenece a \_\_\_\_\_\_\_."
I grinned.
Time to see if demons spoke Spanish.
A.N.
I've got to run for now, but let me know if you'd like to see a part 2 for this!
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Wand to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-24T14:19:20 | 2022-05-24T11:49:47 | 304 | 94 |
[WP] When people die, a trial is held to decide if they go to heaven or hell. People are allowed to choose their attorney, regardless of if they know them personally or not. You're the first person to choose Satan as your attorney.
If it matters in the context of your story, you can choose the individuals that make up the jury. | It was the Lord who has ordained the Archangel Michael as grand Arbiter for the fate of the human race. Michael was a gentle man, one who expressed immense jubilation at every soul that ascended to Heaven and grievously mourned every doomed being sent to his brother in Hell. It is his love for the human race, his care for the sanctity of human life and dignity that the Lord saw fit to promote him to such a high position.
When I awoke, I saw the pearly white, flawless skin of the black-haired Archangel staring at me. His body covered in an armour of gold, hoisting a long sword whose hold was brandished with the most luxurious of silk. When he looked upon me he said, "Stand up," offering me a hand.
Once I had accepted this offer I immediately began to realise where I was. I wasn't in the dark Brooklyn alleyway. No..it was a forest, a rather beautiful one at that. The sun shone brightly, and the trees opened up a road to a beautiful clearing whereupon in the centre lay a few desks and chairs strewn about as if it was a court.
"Lucifer." I had replied at last. Of course, Michael stared at me with unbelievable sadness. "But you seem like a good man! A proud Believer! Why invoke the devil now?"
I had thought about it for a while after Michael told me I will be judged as to whether I am bound for heaven and hell and I get to pick my lawyer. I took a sigh and replied, "I want to see if I can invoke any good in him." Michael shook his head and walked away saying, "This won't do..this simply won't do" repeating it like a mantra multiple times before his whispers were barely audible.
I had waited in the clearing for several hours, meeting men of high calibre. Mr. Aquinas and Lady De Bingen, for one, came to bid me hello and question my decision. I recall having a very lively argument about the nature of morality with Mr. Algeheri, who bid me hello as a fellow Italian. Of course, I had to remind him that I had never set foot in Italy regardless of how much I had wanted to visit it. In the end, the endless litany of visits was finally complete with Michael, who had returned with a fearful and frightened look on his face.
"Have the visits dissuaded you from your choice?" He asked. "This is the last point where you could turn back."
I thought about it for a moment before, at least, I said "No they have not. I'm ready."
Almost instantly the clearing was ripe with life, buzzing with countless people and, in the centre desk, lay Michael. On the prosecution table lay a man whom I immediately recognised as Azrael, the Muslim Angel of Death. *"He exists?"* I thought. It was frightening to realise how much may have been misunderstood and missed from the holy work because of priests and bishops taking texts they didnt fancy out of the Bible. *"I can't believe it! He exists!"*
"Of course he does." A crisp voice replied. It was sweet, almost succulent. Pronouncing each word with utmost care and empathy. When I turned around at my table to see who said it, I was met with someone of extraordinary beauty. Even Michael could not compare. His eyes radiated a fierce brown which appeared to drown all sorrow. It was his face which, for an interesting purpose, appeared friendly and life-giving. This was it? The fallen Lucifer? This tuxedoed gentlemen? I recall being told that it is the devil's most profound wiles to appear in a friendly and almost angelic form. If so, then I could see why so many people turned away from God.
"Azrael will do whatever he can to try and have you sent to the pit. Both he and I, for the sake of this debate, are aware of most actions you've ever taken. So please try and be honest and don't put us in the awkward business of lying."
"You seem exceptionally well-versed at this.." I replied.
"Of course. Believe it or not whenever a special someone dies sometimes I decide to join their trial. Of course, I'm usually on the side of the prosecutors but it wouldn't matter I guess."
"Special someone?"
"Put it this way, after the Nuremberg trials I had my entire week booked."
"Ah..I see."
There was just something unbelievably attractive about him. Some quality which caused me to loose all my rhetoric and reason. I had spent hours considering how I could find the good in him, what questions to ask, how to approach his betrayal. Yet now, all that comes out of my mouth of monosyllabic junk. How fun.
"Your excellency the Archangel Michael," Azrael began, "I believe the defendant should not ascend. He has blasphemed against God in various points in his life, rejected the most profound and sacred of society's teachings, and, worst of all, committed sins of unimaginable adultery. The prosecution holds he be send to hell ad infinitum."
Michael raised a brow. As far as he knew, I appeared to be an innocent believer. He quietly asked Azrael to elaborate and when the Angel whispered it, receiving shock from the audience, my eyes opened. I realised now that I had been mistaken. What I thought was something of little consequence was in fact a sin. They had been right! This entire time I was nothing more than a blasphemer!
"My client did not know." Lucifer replied.
"Ignorance of the law does not mean exemption of the law!" Retorted Azrael. Lucifer glared at him, and calmly walked to the centre.
"My opponent is invoking a principle that implies both the existence of a law and of the presence of a method to verify it. So far, these conditions have yet to be met. The humans have countless books, each of them with a variety of teachings. They have countless societies and civilisations each of them professing vastly different qualities and beliefs regarding this issue. Even the Bible itself doesn't outright condemn it in a manner which befits the status of a crime against humanity which my opponent has assigned to it! It is instead littered with vague references to the event each up for interpretation."
"In that case, since interpretation is infinite, then no crime can be committed!" Interrupted Azrael, who was met with a bout of laughter from the audience and a frown from Michael. It seemed that Azrael was nervous, as was the entire audience. He pulled no punches, attempting to attack Lucifer in every crevice in his argument.
"You do not understand." Lucifer quietly spoke, "We had assumed that the Bible is the only method of verification of the law. Yet that is perilously near blasphemy. Humans are endowed with a conscience to differentiate between right and wrong. Whilst the desire to do evil comes as raw primitive emotions, the human heart can quickly recognise it as natural or unnatural. What man who hates his brother doesn't immediately feel shame at the mere thought of murder? If he commits it, then his desires were stronger than his sense of reason. However, in this case, the sense of reason doesn't overwhelm desire. This desire we speak of is treated indifferently by reason. The human conscience cares not for it, so why should we?"
"Who cares about the human conscience?" The second Azrael said that, Lucifer smiled.
"I'd be careful, brother. That is blasphemy. Didn't God endow the humans with a sense of purpose and belonging? Didn't he provide them with the will to differentiate between right and wrong? If so, then reason is the final arbiter and thus proves the interpretation of the bible that this is not a sin. Who cares if a bunch of hairless male apes mate together?"
With that, the room erupted into a frenzy. Michael sat frozen, unable to utter a word. Lucifer turned to me and winked and the only think I could think of was immediately manifested into words.
"Michael!" I said, grabbing the attention of everyone in the room, "I wish to plead guilty. Please, send me to hell with him."
| An angel sitting in the judge's chair asked the man (the soul was not so much a human to be named anymore) who he would like to have as an attorney. The replied that he would like to have the Devil represent him. The man seemed quite proud of himself. His quivering round face finally looked triumphant. The angel did not look very surprised and began to the formal call.
Immediately a voice rang out through the courtroom. "I WILL NOT." the voice said, "I WILL SEND BEELZEBUB IN MY STEAD."
The angel told the Devil that he had to come. It was due process. The man needed an attorney. The Devil replied, "I DON'T CARE."
This was all very strange, the angel assured the now cowering man. Even the Devil cared enough to care for men. The angel licked its lips. Yes, the Devil and his demons did care for men. Quite deeply.
There was a dark flash and a devil materialized in the courtroom. The angel greeted Beelzebub and told him what the issue was. There was a man who needed an attorney. The man wanted to get to heaven, but Heaven didn't really want him. A lawyer had to convince the holy jury and judge to let this man inside.
Beelzebub took a step towards the pudgy man. The man cowered even more. He curled himself into a ball and began to sweat profusely. Beelzebub lifted his wings and a powerful stench blew through the room. He effused heat like pouring water from a cup. The man shrank before the demon.
Beelzebub said, "What do you want?"
The man said, "To get to Heaven."
Beelzebub asked, "What is your name?"
The man replied, "I forgot."
Beelzebub snorted and hissed, "Coward." The word hung in the air like a sharp dagger. The man tried to ease his chair away, but he was trapped.
"My esteemed members of the jury," Beelzebub began, "this is a man. And all men are pathetic. Vile, disgusting things. To us, his powers are nothing. Our strengths are above his as his are above a worm's. He professed Christ on Earth. But I see no Christ. I see a writhing *thing*, so caught up in earthly pleasantries that he forgot to become something of worth. The moment he enters Heaven, he will burn to ash. He is too wretched. Give him to Hell. Hell will give him mercy. In Hell he will burn, but he will survive. He will be useful."
The man shrunk from the demon again. But this time he actually became smaller. The chair seemed too large for the pudgy man, now.
"Above all, though, the man is a coward. And I love cowards. They are so...delicious." Beelzebub smacked his lips, "Hell is in famine. Every soul gone sharpens it. We howl with every lost man. They all deserve Hell. But we unrightfully lose them."
The man shrank to such a small size he could stand on his chair and not reach the desk he was sitting at.
"So give the man to me." Beelzebub said, "Not only because it is best for him, but also because it is best for Hell."
The jury began nodding their heads. Even the angel was smiling in agreement. Its eyes looked like vast caverns of stone; haunting and empty. The man could hardly be seen. He was a pinprick among the gods.
"Give him... gi-give him..." Beelzebub let out a vicious roar. He shrieked and cackled and made a mad dive for the pinprick of a man. "This! This is the man now! Stripped of body, only naked soul. This is man!" And in his hand there seemed to be a dust mote. Hardly visible from even a foot away.
"So what say you all?" Beelzebub cried.
"We say that Hell may have him." The jury intoned. The angel banged the gavel. And Beelzebub laughed.
"Hell welcomes you." And Beelzebub swallowed the dust mote. He muttered, "Hardly even a snack." as he walked up to the angel.
The angel told Beelzebub he had done a wonderful job. The demon nodded. He asked, "Had there been any to escape today?"
"Only three," the angel smiled maliciously, "only three thought this courtroom was a sham."
"And I suppose they were taken away? They had beaten Purgatory?" Beelzebub rubbed his chin.
"As always, sire." The mirage melted away, and the courtroom disappeared. The marble floors and stone pillars were only char and wood. The holy jury was composed of mere imps, and the angel himself was only a demon.
"But so few escaped. Ah, the war will end soon. Victory, to victory." said Beelzebub as he rubbed his belly.
"To victory and our Dark Lord." the false angel replied.
---
**Writer's Thoughts**: I've always enjoyed Christian-centric prompts, although they are a bit overdone. I like this piece! I think I've presented Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory in a novel way. The eating of human souls is taken from Screwtape. But otherwise, I like the way this world came out.
The story came out this way since summoning the Devil is not a good idea. And since God is supposed to be the judge for a man's soul, and I didn't think it was fitting for there to be an actually, useful attorney, this sham idea came about. I wanted to tie it into the rest of the Christian mythos so I made the courtroom a kind of Hell and Purgatory.
As for the technical writing aspect I think the piece may read a bit rushed. But that's the only very large issue I can see right now.
I had the man lose and the devils be, well, devilish because I don't like the subversive kind of writing these prompts tend to inspire. I think they often lose sight of the original works and create some amalgamation that doesn't make much sense beyond shock value and a 'what if' kind of feeling. I often enjoy the pieces anyways, but I still don't like the message they're providing. It's not even a matter of truth. It's, I feel, abusing the original characters to a point they aren't even recognizable. Then these characters are taken for the real ones in the mind that reads these entertaining stories, regardless of the author's intentions. More importantly, they spread wrong information about Christian mythology beyond the rights creative license should give. But I may be overreacting to what is an actually small amount of creative license.
Thank you for reading. I hope you enjoyed ;)
| 2016-10-13T00:57:14 | 2016-10-13T00:40:48 | 55 | 30 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | It's always the high-numbered ones that think they have a shot. Some up and coming punk that thinks that this is their once in a lifetime chance to take down #1... as if they can just skip all of the other ranks and become a superstar. They never really consider how I GOT to be number one. I've fought fire powers, ice powers, lightning powers, one guy that had some special affinity toward guns, another that could teleport. There were a couple of psychics that were trippy for awhile, but everyone's power all comes from the same place.
This latest one was barely a teenager. It's a shame how this will have to end. I don't like killing, but I've started to accept that it's a necessary part of how the world is. That scares me a little, but it's better than being dead. The kid in front of me looks like he joined a street gang before he got his powers. He's got a fireball hovering above each hand but he hasn't made a move yet. I guess that my number is scaring him, making him size me up before he makes a move. Smart.
"So what's your deal? I don't see nothin'! You're the invincible number one! Show me what you got!"
The kid doesn't even know my name... probably doesn't care. I take a quarter out of my pocket and hold out my hand. The coin rises a few inches off of my palm and the punk gets ready to dodge, or block, or he's not sure which.
"My power's not much, just basic telekinesis. I can barely lift my own body weight without getting tired. The real strength is all in what I know."
"You going to throw that at me? Some kinda psychic railgun?!" I can hear and edge in the kid's voice. He looks like he's ready to make his move. Subtle changes in his stance give it away. I laugh as the coin drops back into my palm and I pocket it.
As he starts to charge at me, I swing my hand at the air in front of me. At the same moment, a wave of air slaps his cheek from the side, then again as it wave my hand the other way and hit his other cheek. I'm amused as his fireballs dissipate, I guess that he needed to concentrate to maintain them. He doesn't know it yet but that was a warning shot.
"You really should go home kid. Last chance, I'm letting you go."
I'm honestly hoping that he takes this chance, but I see the flames starting to encircle his forearms now. Are his hands the only things he can use this fire with? He might even be interesting if he backs off and explores his powers a little more.
The kid glares at me. "Or what?! You'll go Darth Vader on me? I'll roast you alive before you ca-"
A look of surprise comes over the kid's face now. While he was talking, I had raised a hand and had cut him off mid-word. He'd suddenly forgotten not only what he was going to say, but how to say it. The surprise turned to terror as his body suddenly stopped responding. I wasn't strong enough to hold him up, so it was obvious when his legs stopped working and he collapsed to the ground.
I looked down at his terrified face, we both knew what was coming next. Just like he couldn't heal burns, I couldn't undo what I'd done, at least not without being able to see it and that required an operating room.
"I'll make it quick, kid. Like I said, the real power is in what I know." I said softly, as I reached out into the maze of neurons and blood vessels underneath his skull, and blindly tugged at a few delicate strands.
EDIT: Thanks, OP, for the special mention. I'm glad that people like the story. :) | It was actually quite a simple one. Any one of these people could defeat me. They just didn’t know it.
Erik had been after my title for years. Had it not been time manipulation, his massive ego could have been a power in itself. Time manipulation was truly unique in the sense that he was Kronos incarnate. Speeding up time, slowing down time and stoping time all fell under the power, so long as the flow of time was forward. Despite the explosions and pure, vile weapons sent after him time and time again, they could never touch him.
Today was the third time this month that he was challenging me. We stood in the arena, the crowd swallowed in silence. We always squared off and started off with playful banter. Well, playful for me. I think it was going to make him snap some day.
"I've got a new trick this time! Today's the day I am crowned number one, you sloth!!"
Sloth? Maybe he really did run out of banter.
"Are we really going to do this again? You know you can't win, Erik. The crowd knows it!!!"
With that, they exploded in chants and jeered at Erik, some throwing bits of food that he made seem to phase through him.
"Whenever you're ready, Erik. Just remember, whatever speed you go at, you'll never be able to hit me."
In a blink, he was in front of me, throwing a punch that went faster than eyes can register, yet his fist flew only inches in front of me. He spun around and kicked at my face, the move also stopping short of a direct hit. One more attempt, a headbutt, coming in close enough for me to see the pores in his head, but no contact. The desperation kicked in giving me my chance. I concluded it with a single punch to the gut.
I shook my head.
"Erik. Please. Give up. I am and always will be the stronger person."
The hit to him hardly inflicted any pain on him, it was the mental drain that made him fall to his knees. The crowd left without much commotion, having seen the scene many times before.
Suddenly, the look on Erik's face came up again. The epiphany face, as I call it.
"Your power. It's... it's manipulation. You can contol people by making them doubt themselves or--"
"No, it's not."
The other familiar face, the face of utter confusion, now replaced the former. He got up slowly and walked out mumbling,
"Then what is it? I have to figure it out..." | 2014-12-18T18:29:42 | 2014-12-18T14:46:11 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] When you fall asleep you wake up in another life, same age, same face, but a completely different place in a completely different area, and the line between dream and real life begins to blur and you soon question which is which.
[deleted] | After a long day of working behind the register of my local supermarket, I was more than ready to wake up in my dream life where I am a spell-slinging adventurer currently three days from the dragon's lair where my party is ready to try our hand at slaying the beast. However, I was apparently a little too eager as I drifted off at the wheel on my way home, as I was awakened by Olrand The Brave, warning me about the bandits invading our camp, right before one of them misses Olrand and clubs me over the head. I wake up just in time to avoid the oncoming car and swerve back into my lane. As I take a moment to try to gather my thoughts, I realize that the task is rather difficult through the pounding headache from where I had just been hit...
Wait, but I wasn't hit in the dream? I have been hurt over there before but I never woke up to any of the effects on this side. I look at myself in the rear-view mirror of my Honda Civic and sure enough, the swelling has started and blood is dripping down the side of my head. I pull the car over in a panic and start trying to gather my thoughts, before I am shaken awake again by Olrand to get me to join the fight.
I shakily get to my feet and start incanting the spell I have been working on to give my allies the added speed to combat the larger number of foes. After I finish incanting, I don't waste a moment before incanting the spell that will engulf the largest cluster of bandits in flames, and as I start to utter the final words, I am woken by a concerned driver who saw me passed out in my car on the side of the road, but as I wake up I let out the final syllables to unleash the flames and a tree standing right where the bandits were explodes in a ball of fire, launching chunks of burning wood in every direction, including through my front windshield, spraying me with glass and splinters, and causing the airbags to deploy and send the passerby's hand against my throat with enough force that I begin to pass out.
I wake up being supported by Aindahl, our thief, and struggling to breathe, as blood begins to drip into my eyes from the pieces of glass embedded in my forehead, and we stumble away from camp with the sounds of battle behind us. As I begin to stir, Aindahl looks at me and recoils at the new set of wounds.
"When were you hit? I thought we had made a clean getaway... is that glass? I haven't seen wounds like that anywhere on my adventures here, but..." Aindahl seems to think for a moment, as though deep in thought about something he doesn't want to believe. "You are like me aren't you? Where are you on the other side, and what happened? Gods, I thought the two sides were separate and that injuries wouldn't come across." | ''Do you want my honest opinion? Fire him.''
''You mean her.''
''Whatever, just do it. I don’t want to deal with that.''
As he leaves my office and I lay back and I start to think about how I got here. Then I realise I’m just distracting myself from making a tough decision.
I have been running this department for the last seven years and she is the most reliable person that I know in this company. There is no logical reason to fire her but there is Miguel who has a personal thing with that girl and he is using me to do his dirty work.
***
''Breakfast is ready.'' my mother knocks on my door.
I get up from my bed and I open the door, ''I’ll be there, mom.''
''It’s almost 10 o’clock and your friend Josh just called. He said he got your camera.''
I can see the expression of my mother’s face. I told her that I would take the internship offer today and she knows that I will be spending my whole day taking photos.
***
''She is fired, Miguel.''
''Good.'' He says and he hang-ups the phone.
I get up from my chair and I look outside. I see the traffic and all the people who are walking side by side. I try to remember when was the last time I have smiled.
***
I zoom my camera to a smiling bird and the bird gets scared by random screaming noise. I look around I don’t see anyone. I walk across the bridge and I see someone standing on the edge of the bridge.
''Hey, are you okay?''
She turns around and she looks at me, ''It’s you.''
----------------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-09-07T16:02:38 | 2020-09-07T15:12:25 | 53 | 20 |
[WP] Every person sees a number above each other’s heads - a compatibility rating, from 1-100. It is custom to marry an individual in the 80+ range to ensure a happy marriage. A few years into your 92% compatibility marriage, however, you suddenly meet a stranger. Above their head is the number 100. | With my hand in my pocket I smoothed my finger along the edge of the napkin that held the phone number- the source of constricting weight in my lungs. I was silent in my introspection as I stared out the window of the car. Her nervous smile stained my every thought as I remembered the roughness of her palms when she’d pressed the napkin into my palm, ‘just in case’. I hadn’t even thought to glance at her number until I’d been speaking to her for a few minutes, certainly not long enough to claim myself properly acquainted... but sometimes you meet someone and you click in a way that so rarely happens. I couldn’t even convince myself she was hounding my thoughts purely because of the number.
I needed to get rid of the napkin. I should have done so as soon as she’d given it to me. But the moment I tried to convince myself a lurch in my stomach had me yearning for the promise of lifelong fulfilment.
‘I love you.’ The words jolted me out of my troubles and my eyes jerked toward my husband. He glanced from the road to looked at me pensively and I smiled to reassure him even as cold guilt swept through me.
‘I love you, too.’
As I tangled our fingers together for a moment, I imagined throwing away everything I had with him to chase a possibility of perfection. The idea of leaving hurting him like that had my hair standing on end and my mind shrinking away from the image. We had built a life together, him and I; It was one I loved and I’d never had second thoughts before. Sometimes we bickered, sometimes we annoyed each other, sometimes I wished he was more up for excitement and sometimes he wished I could give him more space, sometimes I wished he was less uptight about tidiness and sometimes he wished I was less scatterbrained. But at the end of the day I also loved those things about him and he loved me.
And yet my heart thumped double time when I remembered her talking about her life. It sounded so adventurous and intense. I imagined following her into life changing places and living to the fullest.
I was quiet the entire journey home as guilt and yearning and self recrimination and doubt ran through me, following me inside. As we undressed from our party clothes and prepared for bed I fetched the napkin out of my pocket and stared at it, conflicted. The sight of him in the mirror looking soft and tired in his stupid monsters inc pyjamas, imagining never seeing him in such an open relaxed state again had me crumpling the napkin up.
I stopped by the bin in our room, stood over it frozen for a moment. I wasn’t sure what made me say it, ‘I met this woman tonight. The one with the crazy curly hair and blue lipstick on.’
We turned to face each other. I couldn’t understand the strange expression he wore, ‘Yeah,’ he cleared his throat, ‘Me too.’
The words stuck in my throat, before I swallowed and breathed carefully. I felt like this was something I had to tell him before I binned the napkin, he had to know I’d choose him even over a 100.
Before I could say anything he rushed to say, ‘Yeah, she was a 100. She gave me her number at the start of the party but... I threw it away before we got in the car. I love you and I promise I would never -‘
‘She’s my 100, too,’ I heard myself say. We stared at each other in shock. Then he threw his head back and started laughing. After a few seconds I began laughing too. As the burden of my guilt and fear and self blame suddenly lifted off my shoulders, my laughter turned to sobs of relief.
I went to bury my head against his heaving chest and asked, ‘What do we now?’
‘I have no idea,’ he replied, still laughing. | Please give me critiques, I want to learn to write better!
You know it's strange, we can see how well our relationships will be, by a number that floats above each other's heads.
Most of my friends are somewhere between 50 and 70. I’ve never worked with anyone below 30, they just always get on my nerves. Some communication error always pops up, or they just grated on me, like nails on a chalkboard. I used to try and ignore the numbers, you know “never judge a book by its cover” I actually would try to hang out with people who had terrible “compatibility”. I even had a partner once that made me think these numbers were fake.
She was a 27, my first love, she really made me believe the numbers where lies. That changed though when she met my brother. I brought her to a family dinner, everything was going well. Everyone loved her, despite their concerned glances at her number. That all changed when my brother walked in with his new baby, whilst everyone was cheering, welcoming the newest member of the family. Julia though, she just froze, her eyes took on this weird sheen. Leaning over to me her voice dripping with venom, she said “ Your brother’s black” I'd never heard her so hateful, so vengeful. I just looked at her in confusion, then that number pulsed. I tried to reason with her, explain that a person is not just the colour of their skin. She wouldn't be swayed though, and soon after we broke up. That's when I realised those ethereal numbers know so much more than we do. So when I saw Rachael with a 92 above her head, the highest I’ve ever seen! I knew I had to do something about it. Yes we have our differences, but somehow that just brings us closer together. We got engaged shortly after, and then married a few years down the line. Honestly every year I thank those numbers, they showed me my dream girl. I never would have plucked up the courage to even speak to this amazing woman if it weren’t for those numbers.But as I walked down the boulevard, fresh rain giving everything a sparkling shimmer, my hand held in hers. That’s when I saw it.100. I stopped, unable to take it in. My heart hammered against my chest, my vision blurred. I couldn't understand it. Slowly oh so slowly I turned to Rachael. Tears unbidden streamed down my face. What could this mean? But as I looked at the mother of my children, I noticed her slack jaw. My mind raced as I tried to comprehend “100” was all I said. Her mouth slammed closed as she turned to me. “I see it too” | 2020-06-11T12:18:45 | 2020-06-11T09:42:38 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Your sister is getting married but she’s pressured you to find a date. Not knowing anyone that could help, caused by having severe social anxiety, you summon a demon. Or try to at least, using all the right instructions, you summon Lucifer instead. Turns out he also needs a date to a wedding. | "Is it cool if she's a Mormon?" I ask with trepidation.
"DON'T STRESS." He answers with a thundering, gutteral growl. I'm pretty sure that's his inside voice. "GOD NEEDS SOMETHING TO KEEP HIM ON HIS TOES ANYWAY."
He stands as a 7.5 feet tall, red skinned giant. His horns are scratching the ceiling of my basement. The sheer size of the beast is unreal. I can feel the heat generating off of him and it's almost unbearable.
I don't have a close relationship with my sister, but I love her to pieces and want the best for her. I happen to be a Satanist myself, hence the relatively relaxed rapport with our Dark Lord. He's my best friend. He's all our best friend. He's also the perfect match for my sis.
"We gotta find a way to make sure she doesn't know it's you." I remark.
"Got any ideas? The heat alone will char any suit we can find for you."
"THAT ONE'S EASY. I HAVE A MAGIC, TUNGSTEN RING I CAN STORE MY AURA IN. I'M GOING TO NEED A LAKE OR SOMETHING TO GROUND IT, BUT WE CAN WORRY ABOUT THAT TOMORROW. MY HORNS, VOICE, AND SKIN ARE GOING TO BE THE REAL OBSTACLES."
"We can get you a top hat for the horns. We'll just say you're a fan of Abraham Lincoln or something. The skin, we can do a spray tan I think. I don't know; I've never done one but it'll probably work. Your voice though... I don't know man. I'm not sure she'd be cool with a mute."
We take seats in lawn chairs and do some pondering.
"I'M STUMPED."
"Yeah, me too."
We ponder some more. It's still morning so we got all day to figure this out. That doesn't make the problem any less tough.
"ARE YOU SURE SHE'D REJECT A MUTE?"
"Yeah. She's pretty quiet herself. She needs a talker. Can you whisper?"
^"how's ^this?"
It's barely audible. "It's fine," I say out loud.
"CAN I SEE A PICTURE, PLEASE?"
I break out my phone and pull up a picture of her. It's from a year ago. He looks at her, looks at me, and looks back to the phone.
"SHE'S FUCKING GORGEOUS!" The earth surrounding us groans in stress under the weight of his volume. I'm pretty sure my ears are bleeding. My eyeballs are vibrating and my guts feel like they've been blended.
"Yeah," I reply. "She's a sweetheart too. I'm not kidding when I say she's a premium woman. Part of why you're here is because I can't find anyone worthy besides a God."
"WHAT'S HER NAME?" I can tell he's trying to modulate his volume for my sake. If my ears ever stop ringing again, I'll be sure to thank him.
"Persephone."
"OH." He looks back to me, then back to the phone. "WE MAY HAVE A PROBLEM."
"What?"
"I'M IN LOVE."
I sit in silent shock. "Oh crap."
"YEAH. I'M ANXIOUS." | “Well, this is a first!” I laughed as the demon stared into my soul.
“What first?” The demon questioned as I continued laughing.
“My first date is with the King of the Underworld!” I answered.
“That’s odd,” The demon replied. “It’s my first date too!”
“Really?” I asked, in disbelief. “ King Lucifer never dated anyone before?”
“Don’t mock me,” The demon snarled, harshly. “I never had time for such trivial matters like dating.”
“I’m not going to judge,” I retorted. ”As long as, you help me and I help you.”
”Deal,” The demon agreed. ”At what time will your sister's wedding be?”
”Tomorrow, at noon.” I said, taking a seat at the table, in my room. ”What about the wedding you have to attend?”
”My mother is having her 4th marriage, and she wanted me to bring a date, as her wedding gift.” Lucifer muttered, under his breath.
”A date as a gift?” I queried, at such an odd request. ”How come?”
”I don't know, ” He sighed. ”She was persistent about finding a date suitable for me and would pester me about it until I agreed.”
”That must be harsh.” I responded, empathetically. ”My sister would do the same and forced me into going into a blind date, do her wedding.”
”That doesn't seem like a great sister.” The demon remarked.
”She is.” I defended. ”Not all the time, but she is.”
”Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He snickered. ”I need to head back to the Underworld, for my royal duties.”
”Then go on, ” I giggled. ”Go on Sir Lucifer and do what you were born to do!”
”I said don't mock me!” He growled.
”Too late for that, ” I continued teasing him. ”See you, tomorrow!”
”Whatever, ” The demon muttered, before disappearing altogether.
----------
To be continued... | 2019-08-30T21:31:19 | 2019-08-30T15:16:47 | 75 | 34 |
[WP] Everyone is born with three wishes. Most of these wishes are squandered when babies wish for air, food, or rest after a few days of being born. You turn 10 today and as you wake up, your room is crowded with mythical creatures bartering for your wishes.
I want to be clear that I did not steal this WP. I sincerely thought posted this as an original WP. To rectify this I am linking the original post a user made not too long ago that is of the same vein as mine. I am sorry if this caused anyone any trouble.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/9qwxsx/wp_when_a_human_is_born_they_are_given_three/?st=JP7SNCFH&sh=a8217d72 | When I woke up, I thought I heard my parents. Every year, right when the clock’s turning December 2nd, they come into my room bringing cake, while singing Happy Birthday and throwing confetti all over the place. They’re really loud and extroverted. They always end up making a mess, but because I love my mom’s strawberry cake, I don’t really complain.
This year, however, they weren’t as noisy. I heard some cracks on the floor, and some whispering too. Maybe they wanted to surprise me? They did this every year, so it’s not like I wasn’t expecting it, but it was a nice gesture nonetheless.
I felt my lips form a smile, while I turned on the bed. Even though my eyes were still closed, I could already see my mom’s warm smile. Excitement bottled up in my chest. The midnight before my birthday, my favorite part of any year.
But then I opened my eyes.
I thought I was gonna have a heart attack. A bunch of weird creatures filled my bedroom. Some were big and strong, occupying way too much space and struggling to fit in a comfortable position. Others were small and agile, running (sometimes even flying) across the room. Most of ‘em looked disfigured, but each in a very unique way. They worn outdated costumes with swords, armor and helmets. I could see a monkey-like figure flying outside my window.
I just sat there, in my bed, paralyzed by what I saw, while all these monsters stared at me. To my surprise, they seemed as terrified as I was. That was it, I had lost my mind.
“See what you beasts did? We should’ve gone with the old plan.” I wasn’t sure who had said it.
“It was all Grunt’s fault!” An unbelievably high voice responded.
Suddenly, they all started arguing, saying things to each other that I couldn’t understand. There were a lot of words I had never heard before.
“Enough!”
Everyone was silent again.
Who said that was a slim, old man standing beside my desk. He spoke loudly, with authority, but didn’t scream.
“Okay, good.” He looked around in a disapproving manner, until his eyes stopped on me, and then his expression softened. “Hey boy, do you know why we’re here?” His voice was warm and kind.
I shook my head.
“Well, then allow me to explain. You see... Uh, may I?” He asked, pointing at my chair. After I nodded, he sat and continued “You see, every human in this world is born with the right to three wishes, but these tend to be wasted when babies wish for primal needs. For some reason, this hasn’t happened to you.” He looked at me, intrigued, as if he was still trying to make sense of it, or perhaps he found it interesting. “We don’t know why, but the thing is: you still have one wish.”
*One wish.* The words resonated in my head.
“Yes, boy. One wish. But wait!” A big ogre warned “We’re here to help you in not wasting your only wish. Basically, you can give me your wish, and I’ll give you protection for the rest of your life! Take it or leave it.” He took out his bat.
I wanted my parents and I wanted to scream.
“Grunt,” said an irritated fairy next to me “...shut up. The boy can give his wish to any one of us, and the payment may be anything we’re willing to give and he’s willing to take. Also, we don’t want to hurt him or anything like that”
After that, each and every one of them came up and talked to me. I was offered gold, castles, eternal youth, wings, unicorns, frogs that would become princesses, frogs that would become princes... Gosh, one even promised me a cotton candy bridge! I recall the old man from before told me I could be his student, and he’d tutor me in the arts of magic and spells, but I couldn’t remember everything even if I wanted.
That night, I was just hoping for a normal birthday with my parents. I was getting tired of all these weird creatures with their even weirder wishes, when I heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the corner.
“I’ll give you sound.”
My eyes widened as I turned to look at who had spoken. They were wearing a black cloak, so I couldn’t see their face.
Everyone else bursted out laughing, shaming the stupidity behind these words.
“That’s why you still have a wish left, isn’t it? You can’t wish much.” They all stopped laughing.
I could hear the sound of my heart getting faster, pounding louder and louder.
“So, what do you say?” The room was dead silent.
I didn’t even realize I had started nodding.
I could see a smile showing through the dark cloak.
“Use your voice wisely.” | Judah's first wish had been to live among the hidden clans of genies.
Humans who were experienced with genies knew that their wishes needed to be ironclad. Some even had lawyers draft the wording. Barterers—crossroads genies who made deals—often tried to find ways to trick humans. They really couldn't help themselves; trickery was part of genie nature. Many genie celebrities, like Moriander Lockwood himself, had made their name on how cleverly they were able to bamboozle humankind.
Judah had once heard of a human who summoned a genie to a crossroads and asked for ten thousand bucks. Apparently, bucks was a type of human currency. Unfortunately, for the mortal, his wording was too vague. The barterer accepted the wish contract and brought it back to his firm. The Design Department at the firm worked around the clock for three days, then sent the human ten thousand male deer. They even added fangs and poisoned antlers.
Luckily, there were no poisoned antlers in Judah's tree house—at least, not as far as Judah knew. Judah opened the fridge to reveal empty shelves, an old bucket of spoiled amethyst milk—the odd ones had needed the carton for something mysterious—two quartz of topaz juice and a crate of pomegranates. He grabbed a pomegranate and bit into the skin. Red gem-juice dribbled down the corner of his mouth.
In between munching, Judah said, “Hey Nanny. Is anyone home?”
The willow tree's lowest branches creaked and swayed, twisting slightly. Nanny had been Judah's second wish.
He lived alone, without parents, but nanny took care of him. She also protected him from wish hunters.
Judah watched as Nanny's branches pointed back towards a cupboard net to the fridge. “Someone is in there?” Judah said, stiffening.
It was Judah's tenth birthday and he had one wish left. A decade was a long time to hang on to your wishes; most mortals who lived among the genie clans in the forests of Indiana, had long since used their wishes. But Judah was saving his.
As a result, more than one barterer had tried to trade him for it. The only thing genies loved more than gold was the unused wish of a child. Judah approached the fridge door, cautiously. He pressed his body against its cold surface, leaning in so his ear was up against the adjacent cupboard. "Hello?" Judah said.
He heard whispering from inside the cupboard.
"I--I can hear you," Judah said, his voice quavering.
There was a pause. Then, a deep, thrumming voice, echoed through the door, "Let us out young sir. Let us be, set us free. Reaper lamps are not for me!"
Judah turned sharply to the nanny tree. "You trapped one in there?"
Her branches waved again.
Judah turned back to the cabinet. "Nanny says you were trying to break in."
"Me? Nay siree. I say no, now let me go!"
"Are you--are you after my wish?" said Judah.
Another pause--more quiet chuckling. Then, "This is my plee; give it to me! Ten years aged, your wish is caged. Let it go, the powers grow!"
"I'll--I"ll give you my wish," said Judah. "But in exchange you have to do something for me."
"Speak, and I'll hear; Malachial will listen, do not fear."
Judah swallowed, then, gathering himself, spoke to the cupboard and its captured occupant. "I wish... to become a genie!"
***
r/josephdanielauthor | 2018-12-02T12:24:41 | 2018-12-02T12:23:55 | 271 | 103 |
[WP] It's the year 2100. All humans are raised by machines from birth, and have never met their families. When a person turns 18, they must pick a country to live in. There is one catch: You must pass the tests put forth by that country. | MA makes a soft whirring noise beside me. I don't have to look at the message scrolling across its screen to know what it's communicating to me.
"I can't run any faster than this, and I don't care what your fitness calculations say, because they're wrong," I complain, panting as I slow down to compensate for the breath it took to speak. I sneak a look across the track lane, and MA swivels its top from left to right and back again. Disappointment. "Oh come on, ma, using human mannerisms is unfair. Besides, I can run again, but if you take my heart rate you'll know I was telling the truth."
`You have not been following the prescribed exercise routine.`
This, I don't dispute. Instead, I come to a stop and shrug.
`Why not?`
I groan. "So what if I skip a few push-ups here and there? You know, some new studies say that they aren't as efficient as warble-sides anyway."
`You have not been executing proper form with warble-sides, either. However, we digress. Your Preference Inquiry & Country Knowledge exam date is approaching. Is that what bothers you at this time?`
Wrinkling my nose, I consider the notion. The PICK *is* usually a big deal, and I have been thinking about it a lot--how could I not?--but I'm not so sure that the exam is what's giving me that stomach-turning anxiety I've been feeling for the past month or so. I turn my water bottle over in my hands, and start walking back towards the dormitories. MA keeps up easily, but remains silent, knowing that prodding me further won't make me more forthright. I suppose, though, that pretty soon it won't have the time to wait.
"What country are we in?" is the question I finally settle on.
I know I've asked something relatively unexpected because of the split second longer MA takes to answer, probably taking the time to download the relevant knowledge base should our conversation continue. `We are in Liberi, which is effectively land that does not belong to any country. Does that answer your question?`
"Yes." Even the stock questions are grating today. Most people break their MA at some point during their toddler years, either out of curiosity or the MAs sacrificing themselves to save the child from some imminent disaster. But I've had mine for my whole life, and its memory files should be well-equipped to anticipate my responses by now. "Why do we need to take the PICK exam?"
`In 2050, the governments of the world agreed to develop caregiver technology that would ultimately replace their family structures and relieve them of childcare burdens. In 2057, this initiative proceeded ahead of schedule and the PICK system was implemented to maintain each country's population levels, as well as preserve their cultural heritage but with the added benefit of global education.`
In the middle of this information sharing, I arrive at my door and let MA and myself in. I've learned about all the countries in the world to determine my compatibility with each one, but have hardly thought to ask about the system that will eventually place me into one. It is technically part of the required curriculum, but everyone knows that the country courses are what's most important. "Ma, what is the most recent country compatibility update?"
`Australia\`\`,` `Singapore\`\`, and` `Ghana` `have the highest compatibility. Based on your most recent mock assessment scores and the current population allotments, you have the highest chance of entering Australia.`
The areas on my desk where the sun has been shining all day are warm to the touch. I look out my window. "What's the weather like in Australia?" I ask idly.
A pause. `You should know this based on your elective country studies. Would you like me to recalculate compatibility scores?`
"No, no," I say hastily. MA rolls a little closer to me anyway, as if ready to start fussing and make sure I'm feeling well. "What I mean to ask is... well, will it be much different from here? Is there something I should know that the books won't tell me?"
`I am not sure. The 'books' are all that I am aware of, and I have relayed their contents to you entirely.`
I sigh. MA is right, of course, and I'd guessed as much before I even finished asking the question. One thing that my education has taught me, however, is that MAs remain in the same dormitory, which will be reassigned to another child shortly after the first vacates it. "But it will be different...without you."
`There will be another assistant, one more uniquely suited for adults in your PICK country.`
"You know that's not what I mean."
MA cocks its head to one side, a distinctly human movement that almost makes me want to laugh. `I will be with you.`
"Really?" I ask, skeptical.
There's a quick whir from MA, then a clicking noise when its front compartment opens. I reach for the offered object: a memory card, outdated technology that I'm not even sure I can find something to read with.
`Happy Birthday.`
"Thanks, ma." | *(First-time participant, still pretty new to the sub overall, and I only just started writing again after a long hiatus. Be gentle. <3)*
"You could always just go with Yankee. They never test on anything except loyalty," Shannon said, bowing slightly over the top of Alexa's head.
She was always a tall kid, but she just never seemed to stop growing since they finished their puberty regiments. Shannon's long, dark, curly hair tickled at Alexa's nose.
"I might as well just admit I'm a complete failure now," Alexa replied, "I know I can do better than that at least." She scratched at her nostril before brushing aside Shannon's hair with one hand and pushing her body away with the other.
Shannon stumbled backward a few steps and regained her footing, "Really, what's your plan? Your grades are average, no significant extracurriculars to speak of. You did do pretty well in your physicals, but that isn't enough to guarantee you a spot with anyone," she said, pulling back the unruly hair from her face and pinning it against her head, muttering to herself about having it removed. Again.
Alexa's body tightened, like a coil bound and ready to spring into... Well, she wasn't exactly sure. She deflated against the concrete wall and slid down to the ground, "Why does Rongyu have to make it such a pain!?" She exclaimed, quickly shooting back to her feet in indignant anger.
She started packing back and forth, "They're the only clan without any entrance syllabus, but obviously they must give high marks to the most honorable applicants," she said, resting against the wall once more and rubbing the back of her neck with her hand, “Right?”
Shannon laughed, walking towards Alexa, "Jeez, kid, stop worrying so much. You can always try again next year, even if you end up completely failing." She clapped Alexa on the back and gripped her shoulder, "But the great and talented Alexa Hu would never go and do something as shameful as fail, huh?" She said, barking in laughter.
They started walking down the familiar path home, Shannon's arm wrapped around Alexa's shoulder, with the sun beginning to set on the horizon in front of them.
Alexa smiled and chuckled with her closest friend, "We all already know who you're choosing," she said, before both of them finished together, "Wohlstand."
"It's not like they haven't been grooming me since junior high or anything," Shannon said and put her hand to her chest in a sign of pride.
"Yeah, whatever," Alexa smiled, trying not to feel the slightest bit of jealousy for her friend's good fortune. She turned her head back to the orange and red hues of the fading star, so far away from home, "If we can conquer the solar system, I can definitely beat my exam."
"Oh," Shannon said, "Made a decision, have we?"
Alexa stopped, slowly took in a deep breath, and screamed as loudly as she could, "RONGYU, HA!" She stood at attention, bawling her hand into a tight fist and rhythmically beating it against her chest, exclaiming to the sky, “I will succeed!”
Shannon pivoted on her heel and looked at Alexa with determination in her eyes, "How do you know?”
Alexa continued to stare at the horizon, her fist resting on her heart, "Because I have to."
Shannon burst into laughter again, her hand slapping back into position on Alexa’s shoulder, "Well, duh,” she shouted after flicking her on the forehead, “It's like I said! You just can't accept failure!”
Alexa relaxed and laughed with Shannon, but only slightly. She lowered her chin, her mind still deep in contemplation. Her nerves tightened again in response to her anxieties as the adrenaline flooded from her veins, only to be replaced by a familiar doubt. She lifted her head to smile back at her friend, "So fortunate", she thought to herself, and the two continued walking home. | 2018-06-19T22:48:55 | 2018-06-19T16:39:41 | 70 | 12 |
[WP] You were abandoned by your parents as a baby. An eldritch being sees you and adopts you. You are taught about higher dimensions and arcane magic. But things change when your eldritch parent insists you go to a human school to experience a normal life. | I kept telling Troy not to bully me.
I was the smallest kid in 7th grade, and he was the second smallest. He started the very first day of school; I think he was thrilled when he realized there was actually another boy smaller than him in school that year.
I was an empathetic kid. I knew that his bullying was a sign of his lousy home life, and that he wasn't saying anything to me that was probably as bad as what his drunken dad and his odious older brother said to him. I knew that most likely, he was not going to "kick my ass from here to Robertsdale," which was his most persistent threat. I knew that with my powers (which he was totally unaware of, of course), if he ever did try to kick my ass from here to Robertsdale, I could stop him with a wave of my hand and just a few well-chosen words.
Intellectually, I knew all of these things. Emotionally, though, I was still only a 7th grader and could still behave as such.
So when he standing at his open locker one day after school - a day in which he had repeatedly harassed me and threatened me and belittled me in front of our classmates - and no one else was around, I finally decided to take corrective action.
"Troy," I said, "are you going to continue to belittle me for the rest of the year?"
He turned and grinned his predatory grin. "I don't know what 'belittle' means, but I will kick your ass from here to Robertsdale."
I said three words. I waved my hand. And he shrunk. He shrunk, slowly shrunk, until he was a foot tall, with his predatory grin replaced by a mask of sheer terror.
I picked him up and stuffed him in his locker. I slammed the door. And through the slits in the metal, I said "I will let you out tomorrow morning, although of course you will need to tell me your combination. I'll even be nice and reverse what I did to you, after you have had tonight to think about your actions."
I paused, then added, "And also - now you know what 'belittle' means. You're welcome." | *i won’t*
**You must. It is time for you to rejoin your own kind.**
*won’t*
**must**
*I know who and what I am. I am with my own kind. No one needs to tell me what I am. I will not go. I am myself, and no being may tell me what I am.*
And so, I didn’t.
Apparently, my refusal was the correct answer to this test. I was born on earth, in a human shape, but that is not who or what I am.
I am myself, and I have the power to exist as I please. And I *won’t* go back to Earth. Any attempt at forcing me or binding me, I will violently resist. That’s just…the way we are. We are free beings, not made to be caged up on planets with temporary meat shells.
I am myself, and I am exactly who and where and what I am meant to be. | 2022-04-08T08:35:24 | 2022-04-08T07:18:25 | 231 | 78 |
[WP] Thirty years after the apocalypse, a book is discovered. It tells the people of old gods, the strongest, the smartest, the tallest. Places of splendor and objects renowned for rarity. They immediately created a religion, following the Gods shown by the Guinness Book of World Records. | Maj would never shut up. Not when we were children play-fighting with moss covered sticks in the woods. Not when our parents would sit down for dinner and ask about my day. Not in the classroom when I was the one called on by Teacher Latke. He would always jump in with a glistening smile and a resounding speech. My presence vanished at the first crack of that smile. I was never to speak while he was always to be heard; he liked it that way. Today was no different.
A book of the ugliest sort was perched on an altar at the center of the Great Hall. Dilapidated pews were packed together; each of them facing the gaudy purple brick, and the decorated man standing beside it. I meandered through the crowd and took a seat. I glanced at those around me. I wanted to find doubt: a skeptical smirk, a condescending scoff, even a nervous jumping knee. Anything that would show me that these people weren't really buying it. Yet the truth was unavoidable. Their eyes were transfixed; their heads swayed to and fro in a struggle for a clear view of the altar. Next to the glistening purple brick, stood my brother. The look on his face told me that he wasn't present in this giant dusty room like the rest of us. He was raised high above the rafters. A swarm of eyes stuck to him and sent him higher with every passing second. Everything he had always wanted, companionship, attention, and praise had coalesced in this Great hall every Tuesday night for the last 6 years. Maj, like most of his followers, transcended, and even ignored, reality when he was among the pews.
Yet for Maj, the greatest part of it all was that I had become his foil. For all the praise, attention and reverence he absorbed I was met with coldness, disgust and banishment. I dared to blaspheme the \*great\* prophet. The people would whisper that his mighty holiness was cursed with a jealous brother. I, the unholy brother, was lacking. Lacking in faith, reason, and divine connection and that was why I lied. They did not know that I saw him dig up the book. I knew that the golden wrinkled hand of Kane Tanaka, the oldest person alive, did not reach down from the sky to pass him the holy pages. I knew that the worlds tallest man did not pluck stars from the night and grind them in his palm so he could sprinkle their dust on the purple book cover. It was all nonsense. There was no massive man, no stardust, no golden wrinkled skin. I know the truth and it has made me an outcast.
Today my brother will preach about the will of the eldest man. He will preach of the secrets of the worlds strongest, tallest, smartest, and smallest. Their stories will fill the air like the dust. Then, at the height of his sermon, when the hall is silent and anticipation boils, the closing words will dance across his lips and his entranced victims will obey without thought.
"Donate to the Church of Guinness, my friends, and the elder may grant you a place in the next Holy book." | High in the timber-shrouded hights of the Guinness Crags a light snow fell. A crescent moon shone through the clouds like the Great Lightstick of old. All was silent; all was dark; all was deathly cold.
In a quaint stick hut nestled in a dell upon the mountain-side song and laughter hid from the cold in the light of a crackling fire. Many people danced and made merry in a circle around the old shaman Arthur as he spoke in an alien tongue.
At length the man of the book held up his hands. "Stop!" he cried. "The consecration of the altar is complete. Let us begin."
With that they went to the table and began their work. Its surface was smooth and dark; many twisting wires wound like snakes from a protrusion on its back. Red, green, and yellow, they seemed color-coded for some forgotten purpose. Sparks still danced upon them during snowstorms.
Upon the table's top they laid sheets of prepared wood-pulp. With sharp stone knives they cut, with sure hands they folded; a slice here, a crease here. With strings of animal gut they tethered the sheets together.
The storm outside grew louder, the winds harsher. Grim thunder sounded forth from the sky. The sparks danced along the wires of the table. Many of the coven were struck down by the wrath of the angry Gods. A hard glint appeared in Arthur's eyes, and he began to chant again. Of fire and water he sang, of earth and wind he told. He spoke of sorrow, and joy, and days passed away.
The shaman reached the end of his song. "Step back!" he cried. When the table was clear, he gently lifted the frail dart shape with both hands. He looked at the Book of Guinness upon the mantelpiece and gestured. "There it is, my friends," he told his followers. "The greatest 'paper airplane' that ever the Gods made."
Constructive criticism much appreciated! | 2019-01-23T17:56:22 | 2019-01-23T17:44:27 | 37 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone's soulmate's name is written on their right wrist when they turn sixteen. The left has worst enemy. Your left and right wrist say the same thing. | Kathren nervously smoothed the fine wrinkles from her gown. She admired the deep emerald green of the dress designed to match her eyes. The satin felt smooth against her skin, and yet the motion did nothing to calm the thoughts running rampant in her mind. She then tried to focus her attention on her elaborately styled hair. The deep red curls were elegantly pinned up although a few loose strands framing her face refused to be tamed.
Everything must be perfect. Kathren could hear her mother's voice in the back of her mind constantly reminding her of the importance of today's event. Today is her sixteenth birthday. The Marking Ceremony would begin soon, and then she would become a woman. Once the markings on her wrists revealed themselves everything would change. Her right wrist would reveal her soulmate, and her left wrist would reveal her sworn enemy.
"Kathren, darling, please tell me you are ready,” came the shrill voice of her mother breaking through her daze. “Your guests are patiently waiting downstairs, but I fear they are becoming quite restless.” Turning to face her mother she hears a gasp. “Oh, darling, you look beautiful!” A blush creeps up into her cheeks as she does a quick spin for her mother. With a nod of approval her mother takes her arm in hers as she leads them to the stairs. Her father is already there waiting, and joins us as we approach. “You look lovely dear,” he says as his chest swells with pride. Kathren can hardly contain her excitement as she locks arms with her parents on either side and begins to descend the stairs.
Her mother truly spared no details while planning her party. The grand room looked like an enchanted garden. The room grew quiet as they entered, and all eyes were on her. Glancing around the room she sees her friends and potential soulmates. She could feel her heart start to flutter at just the thought. Soon her soulmate would be revealed, and her new life would begin. Giving little thought to who her sworn enemy would be because she had a feeling she already knew. They finally reach the altar and The Marking Ceremony begins.
Her parents each state their vows to the fate of destiny and take their seats. Left standing at the altar alone Kathren takes the Eternal Goblet and drinks from it.
“I, Kathren Rosalyn Sparks, vow to uphold the sanctity of the markings bestowed upon me by the fate of destiny.” Nothing happens. Panic claws at her throat as she begins to fear she had done something wrong. She had drank from the Eternal Goblet as instructed, and the vow was simple enough. Then it happened, the searing pain started in her left wrist as the words slowly started to appear in small welts. Summoning all her strength to maintain her composure, she glances at the small scar burned into her wrist. Malcom Thane Wilton.
As to be expected, she could not think of anyone she detested more. He slowly emerges from amongst her peers with a smirk upon his face. His hair dark as night fell to the side in a structured mess. He had an air of confidence about him, and if she didn’t hate him so much she might admire the way he carried himself. His piercing gazed locked with hers and emeralds clashed with sapphires. An odd current passes between them as they shake hands and he stands to her left.
Although sworn enemies, her people vowed long ago to do no harm unto one another. Before the peace treaty, chaos ruled their village. In the past The Marking Ceremony often led to duels that destroyed whole families. Now, they simply shook hands and lived with silent loathing. When a girl turns sixteen and becomes a woman, the fate of destiny marks her sworn enemy and her soulmate. As the name of her enemy and soulmate burn into her skin, her name would simultaneously burn into theirs linking them forever.
Before long her right wrist also starts to burn. She awaits anxiously as she notices Malcom jerk his right wrist up. She glances over already annoyed that he is interrupting the marking of her soulmate. Then she sees it. Her name is slowly forming on his right wrist. Looking at her own wrist and much to her dismay she reads, “Malcom Thane Wilton.” | Felicity never cared about what names would show up on her wrist on her sixteenth birthday. Everyone else was always excited for the Revelation. Would their crush be on their right wrist? Would that witch Sally from English class be on their left? The possibilities were endless!
But Felicity grew up watching what a soulmate can really do. She watched as her father was abusive to her mother and siblings. She felt the sting of his hand across her face and the pressure of his fingers around her throat.
She knew her mother's story. At Melissa's Revelation she was so excited to see the name Skylar etch itself into her right wrist. *What a wonderful name* she thought. It was something beautiful and airy. She couldn't wait to meet them. Ten years later she met Felicity's father. He went by Skylar, his middle name. Melissa wouldn't learn this until four months later at their wedding where she learned his first name was Fredrick. She couldn't believe it. Fredrick was the name on her left wrist. Felicity believes that at that point her mother should have ran as far away from that terrible man as she possibly could, but she didnt. Melissa stayed, and has regretted that decision everyday.
It didnt take long for Fredrick Skylar to get violent, but it was already too late for Melissa to leave. Felicity was a honeymoon baby. The unhappy couple ended up having five kids in total before finally taking responsibility for their reproduction. The damage was already done, though. The older kids grew up trying to protect their younger siblings, Felicity getting the brunt of most of her father's punishments. So, no, she wasn't excited to learn her fate.
She had also watched good come out of the idea of soulmates, though. She watched her friends in school live happy, healthy lives with parents who truly loved each other. Felicity envied them, but she never allowed herself to wish for something so impossible. She knew better than to hope for a happy ending.
So when her sixteenth birthday came along and her friends threw her a surprise countdown party for her Revelation, Felicity put on the best fake smile she could.
3...She could see the excitement on everyone's face.
2...Her mom was looking at her with hope in her eyes. A plea that her eldest daughter can have something more than she ever did.
1...Fear engulfed Felicity. She wasnt ready. She had hope. Why did she have hope!? Why was she afraid of being let down!?!?
0...The slight burning sensation in her wrist made the fear swell even more. There was no point in worrying now, it was already too late. Yet when she looked down at her wrists, her heart skipped a beat.
First, she looked at her left wrist. Was it Sally? Felicity bet it was Sally. It wasnt Sally. There on her wrist, in bold, red letters, was scrawled the name Felicity. She wasn't ready for that.
Her gaze quickly moved on to her right wrist. Felicity. Again, her wrist said Felicity. | 2020-01-19T00:01:56 | 2020-01-18T23:12:39 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You die and go to heaven. Upon arrival you get selected to trial a "new life +" system where you restart your life with the skills you had already acquired. |
*Stephen Hawking was once asked, “If you could go back in time and ask Sir Isaac Newton one question, what would it be?”. His reply surprised (and perhaps disappointed) many in the audience.*
*”What happens when a star dies,” he said. Of course, we already had the answer to that question. But what seemed like a wasted opportunity, was actually an incredibly clever maneuver by Hawking.*
*You see, at the time of his death, Isaac Newton was working on that very topic. He hadn’t thought to consider the death of a star until late into his life. In essence, Hawking was buying him more time. What could a mind like Newton’s have done with an extra decade or two? What new questions might he have pondered that no one else could have ever thought to ask...*
“It’s just not normal, Kate. A boy his age should be playing baseball, running around outside, riding bikes,” Jack said.
Kate crossed her arms worriedly. “He’s *different*, Jack, I know that. But you don’t have to be so hard on him.”
Vincent scribbled wildly in his coloring book. He paid no mind to the lines, instead scrawling Fibonacci sequences wildly wherever there was space left.
He could hear every word of what Jack and Kate were saying in hushed whispers. Vincent supposed they were his parents biologically speaking, but it was hard to think of them that way...
Jack sighed and exited the kitchen in a huff. He entered the living room where Vincent sat, “Hey Vince, what do you say bud. Wanna have a catch outside with your old man? It’s a beautiful day for it.”
“That’s alright, Jack,” Vincent answered cooly, “I’m perfectly happy indoors. And frankly, I’ll never understand the doltish masses and their peculiar obsession with *balls*.”
Jack frowned. “Doltish masses? Peculiar obs...Where does a seven year old boy even learn to use words like that?”
Vincent hesitated, “uh...tv?”
Jack said nothing. His face was blank, but in his eyes Kate could see he was hurt. “My whole life I dreamed about having a son. I didn’t never go to some fancy college or nothing, but I worked hard to ensure that one day, when I did have a kid of my own, I could give him a better life than what I had growing up. I just...I never thought he’d be so...*alien*....to me. I- I’m sorry I’m such a failure to you, son.”
With that, he turned and walked away.
*Glad that’s over with,* Vincent thought, *I’ve been given a second chance to complete my work, I will NOT squander it on petty annoyances...*
Kate crept up behind him and tapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Your father loves you more than anything in the world. You know that, right Vince?”
Vincent bit his lip impatiently, “Okay...”
Kate looked to the stairway where Jack had gone up. “It would mean a-lot to him if you told him that you loved him too...”
Vincent rolled his eyes and went back to work in his coloring book, “Okay, maybe after dinn-.”
“No,” Kate said, “Right now.” She reached down and took his book out of his hands.
“HEY give that-“
“You’ll get it back when you do what I’ve asked you to.”
“Ugh.....*fine*, Kate. Fine.” *No use wasting time, the woman could be stubborn as an ox.*
Vincent made his way up the wooden staircase. Midway up he heard a noise. *Laughing?*
*No.*
*Is he....could he be?*
Through the closed bedroom door Vincent could hear Jack’s muffled weeping. Hearing the man’s anguished crys, something inside Vincent began to crack...
*Perhaps,* he thought, *Perhaps I failed in my previous life because of how I managed to push everyone away. My siblings, my friends, even Joanne...*
“Perhaps I was given a second chance *not* to complete my life’s work,” he whispered, “but to have a second chance to *love*, and to *be* loved.”
He stalked up the remaining steps and pushed open the bedroom door quietly. “*Dad*,” he said, “How about you teach me how to throw a baseball. I’ve been...I’ve been meaning to learn.”
-
Thanks for reading!
If you liked this, check out more of my stories at r/CharlestonChews | The sound called to me.
A sound as deep and resonanting as my own heartbeat, or maybe even moreso. The gentle twangs, the melodies, the notes I could so clearly envision yet had no baseline knowledge of. My soul sang a song that my body, quite simply, couldn't understand.
Once, on the subway, we passed a stranger. A woman with a violin and an open case. We stopped for a minute, but eventually kept moving. I kept staring back, puling back, dragging back, resisting the hand of my mother that forced me away. She was nearly late for a job interview, she had no time to stop for a street musician. I screamed and cried and eventually fell into quiet discontentedness.
We had music classes. For a while.
But the teacher got a better offer elsewhere, with more pay and better facilities. The arts program was cut unceremoniously.
I wanted lessons outside of school. Mom and Dad were working full time, and couldn't afford the fee or have the time to drop me off, since the only place offering violin lessons was across the city and I couldn't get there alone.
I wanted my own instrument. A violin, a guitar, a piano, a damn marching band drum! Anything. Anything to bring voice to the song I could hear so clearly in my head.
But. It was too much. It was always too much. No matter how much I worked, how many jobs I had, something always came up. Not enough food, lay offs, rent coming due, cellphone bills or clothes tearing beyond repair. Something always came up.
Instead of sheet music, I had a basket ball because that's all I could afford as a hobby. Instead of buying violin rosin, I ferried illegal substances from one dealer to another because nobody would suspect the reedy little girl with an asthma problem of being a drug mule. Instead of making music, I fell deeper and deeper into a hole of misery and emptiness, until I couldn't hear the sound of my own soul, choked out amongst the decay and rot of this sad little life I led.
It was a short life, however. The dealer cut the cocaine with something unsavory, and clearly this man had never heard the phrase 'dont shoot the messenger'.
The only mercy I had was that it was quick, and that they were in a secluded place. My father would never know that his daughter had been mixed up with the sorts of people he tried so desperately to escape from, he would only know that I went missing. He would look, of course he would, but at least I wouldn't disappoint him with my death as I would've if he found out. It was better this way.
When I got back to...wherever I was, heaven I suppose, I wanted to cry. The anguish I felt was inhuman, unbearable, staring up at the switchboard that offered me a view into the past and asked if I would like to reincarnate with all my gathered skills from all my previous lives.
I had the soul of one of the greatest musicians in history, I had been Ludwig van Beethoven,
but the sound of gunshots and debt and bill collectors had drowned out my soul, my music so wholly, so thoroughly, that I may as well have just been another poor little girl in that other lifetime, and nothing would have changed.
Nothing had changed.
I reached out, and rejected that offer.
***"All your previous life data will be erased, is that okay?"***
Yes. | 2019-01-27T14:46:07 | 2019-01-27T14:06:37 | 304 | 95 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol. | He was infuriating. So quiet and judgmental, always looking off in the distance whenever I was talking to him. A 99 was never supposed to be ignored.
I was born gifted, I was born to become president of the free world or lead the UN, to do anything I set my mind to. Everyone followed me, everyone tripped over their own feet to be in my good graces, knowing there would be benefits in only a matter of time. Even complete strangers moved out of my way, being able to tell I was a High Tally from the marks that made their way from my left wrist to my right. Many had thought I was a 100 when I was first born, the marks had been so close together, the nurses had needed a magnifying glass to count them all.
“*Where did you go? No one gave you permission to leave.*” I asked him as he yet again, ignored me. My voice didn’t work on him. The voice that only those above a 98 had, *Compel*. It was a side effect of having such a high number, there was an innate amount of charisma that would always flow out of you. For some reason, extremely low numbers weren’t affected by *Compel*, as if their brain wasn’t capable of recognizing power and authority. Everyone had placed bet on this kid’s number.
Steven Han, probably somewhere between a 0 and ten based on how unpopular he was with people. You would know if you met people as low as him. They could change the mood in the room for the worse merely by showing their face. They didn’t even need to talk, people knew that Low Tallys had nothing to bring to society.
He was silent again, looking at the road behind me, past the parking lot of the school. Sometimes, I pitied people this low, they couldn’t help it. But you could usually tell the plain stupid ones from the lazy Low Tallys, there was usually something about the eyes.
He had something in his brain that turned on at least, and he refused to use it. People that lazy needed to be set straight, it was my duty as a leader in society.
“*Hey, I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave in the middle of gym class!”* The teacher had sent me after him, being class leader and all that. Especially for kids as unruly as Steven who didn’t even wear the proper dress code. T-shirts and gym shorts were the only things students were supposed to wear, but for some reason, teachers had long given up on trying to get Steven to change out of his daily long-sleeved button up and long pants. As long as I remembered, I had prided myself on my ability to keep order.
For the most part, I did. Our class had 90% straight A, never tardy students, people trying to put their best foot forward, for me. As leader of the senior class, I was in charge of any failing and trouble students, and knowing that I was a 99, people did all they could to keep in my good graces.
Except him.
“*What loser fails physical education? It requires absolutely no brain work, which I know you’re quite short of*.” I taunted, giving in to the mean spirit that I tried to suppress for the greater good. Even if I was a capable leader, I tended to be irritated by the stupidity that surrounded me in this place. To keep my image up, I had limited showing my emotions to the one person no one would listen to.
Not that he had much to say. To this day, no one had ever heard him speak. That was where some people had confidence in betting on him being a 0, maybe he was actually incapable of formulating speech. I knew if that was actually the case, he wouldn’t be capable of formulating the complex thoughts that were required to pass AP Calculus like he did freshman year. It was quite unbelievable that this was the same person who had been getting straight D’s in physical education for the last ten years.
He just ignored people. He was just lazy. One of the leeches that would contribute nothing to society, ever.
“*No defense? Figures for someone not-“* I was cut off as the breath was knocked out of me. Steven had barreled into me, knocking me to the side. A second later, a truck raced pass us, heading straight for the football field where our gym class was going on.
My head hit the hot concrete, and bounced slightly from the force of the impact. Steven was over me, but still looking at the truck. My vision was spotty, but I was still awake enough to get a hold of myself.
*“Get off of me,”* There was no way I was going to be seen touching a 17, what I thought he was. Capable of intelligence but no social skills. I pushed a hand against his chest, but he didn’t move.
I paused for a second, and then put actual power into it, putting some *Compel* into my hand as well.
He still didn’t move, not even an inch.
I looked closer at my hand, *it wasn’t touching him*. I was pushing on air.
*I must have a concussion*. That was the only explanation, I was seeing things. I looked up at him, his eyes were scarily focused, intensely looking at the truck.
Without thinking about it, I followed his gaze to see the truck moving back from the field. The tires squealed loudly, trying to go forward towards the class of unsuspecting high school seniors, playing soccer.
I looked back at Steven, and then at the truck, connecting the pieces together even though I knew these kinds of things weren’t possible.
“*How?”* How was all of this happening. It must be the concussion, this wasn’t possible.
*Telekinesis* was an old skill, something that only the *Pure Tallys* had been capable of, when people were born with numbers higher than 100. It had been centuries since a *Pure Tally* had been found. They had been hard to miss, with so many Tallys they would stretch past any article of clothing they wore. Many of them wore gloves and head coverings to prevent people from being able to see their true number, to prevent people from knowing the true amount of power they had.
Wordlessly, Steven sat up just to enough to free his hands and pull up his left sleeve.
An **8**.
His arm had no marks, only a single digit number.
“*Eight?*” I asked, I had never seen a number before. But it was black, and in the exact spot that Tally marks usually started.
He rotated his arm, still looking at the truck, and said one word.
“*Infinity.”* The *Compel* from his voice was so strong, it knocked me out.
\--
Not my best work, this prompt kind of made me scatter brained.
Edit 1: Changed "inert" to "innate" in 3rd paragraph
Edit 2: updated version on r/JP_writings [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/JP_writings/comments/agbkkp/high_tally_part_1/) | "I'm Darryl Du-montague Richmond. Of the British Du-Montague clan, yes. And I am not insane."
I spoke quietly and confidently to the man in front of me. A police detective of middling years and a 60 odd mark. He had not arrested me. To touch someone over 80 was a crime to someine like him. Let alone one of the 99th. Not yet. But untill my worth was devalued. Untill my holdings collapsed and my stocks crashed, I was a 99th. After tonight. I may be nothing.
"Explain it to me again." The man said. No heat. No passion. No disbelief. He was as calm and rational as when i walked in a vague number of hours ago. "His wealth was what?"
I carefully did not sigh at his repeated question. There would be enough fallout from this allready. It had to be managed. "You are aware that children untill the summer after their 18th birthday are numberless. And then on the 30th of June we change that. They are given their reward. Their score. A tally between 1 and 100. Showing where they will end up. Each adult according to their skill. Rewarded by their knowlage." I spoke the expostionalry statement from rote. Years of hearing it as I waited to assess the years 98s and up. Every day from July 1st to December 28th, had ingrained it deep into my memory.
"Those of the highest skills go on to further training and education. The programme picks the best and the brightest to be our next leaders, bankers, investors. Well today a kid walked in. And broke it." The investigator nodded and with his bland and uninflected voice spoke; "Nikk."
"Or that's what he called himself. You see. His presence was impossible. You know how tally mark security works. Any one of the 99th can do whatever they want. The 98 are below. The 97 below that. I'm permissions and rules it's not a bellcurve. It's a pyramid. And all 6 of this year's 98s and the lucky 99th where the best I had seen in years." I sighed, loosened my tie and went on. Sweat breaking out over my head. "After the dry snap. No more than two 98s a year for 8 years and then nothing for 2. No one above 96 in fact. And now this year. A bumper crop. 7. And one of them is a 99th. Rumour has it that my uncle In London even found a child who may be a 100 this year. It was more than we could wish for."
"The boy? Nikk? Tell me more about him!" The detectives command, so remote in its authority interrupted me. The robotic monotone seeming to bear into me.
"My family has selected and trained the best in Britain, America and the world for the past 100 years. Four members of the nine 100s are directly related to me. I have met allmost all of the few thousand 99th that rule this planet. The most dangerous, terrifying individuals. Those that command nations. Those that can bring kings and continents to their knees. Those that hold he power."
My voice broke then. None below the 98s are allowed to know. The truth could break the world. Yet here I am, recounting secrets to a mere 67. I had got this far before. Less cohesivelly, Rambling, about the boy since dawn had regained my sanity. Dragging cold realisation back into my unwilling brain.
"It's controll. They control us like cattle. The 100. If they speak we obay. It's how it really works. Not skill. Not education. The truth is breeding and luck. That's what they show, the tallies. The greater the gap. The harder a person is not retain their brain function after the meating. It's why the 99th exist. The 100 rule through us. We tell the 98. They tell the rest down. Feudalism of the brain. If a 100 told an 80 to listen to him, the poor sod will hand him his ears. I have seen it happen. I once killed a 13er simply by saying eww. He cried himself off a bridge behind me."
My sweats had got worse. I was shaking now. And my words where deteriorating. I focused. It hurt but i focused. The boy. Nikk.
"He came in and spoke to us. His whisper ruled the room when he spoke. My butler, A well read 84 collapsed where he stood at his look. He told Simon Corvell. One of the 100 to shut up and he tore his tounge out. Then he whispered. "Tell them all I come" i knew no more after that. And that was several days ago."
"And on his arm," the detective spoke. He looked pale. Blood welled from his skin and dropped from his tears. His voice did not change. I went on. It hurt. I could barely get the words out. My throat was dry and my tounge blead freely.
"On his arm he bore the mark. Infinate control."
I looked at the detective in pity. He sat there in stony, uncaringly rigid Attention.
I opened my mouth. It hurt. Once again I spoke. As I had for 3 days the same message.
"Listen to me closely. And do not panic. Have no fear. NIKK is comeing. He takes the form of a boy. A boy whom god himself, who rules from the 101st apex, fears beyond all other. NIKK. | 2018-12-27T20:21:40 | 2018-12-27T20:06:56 | 2,098 | 27 |
[WP] Everyone can do magic. Everyone except you, that is. Your aunt and uncle have always made fun of you for not being able to do magic, until one day you received a letter inviting you to a school of "science", and you discovered a secret society of people who make great things without magic. | Everyone knows how fresh rainwater, combined with baby's breath (the flower, not the gas) serves as a magical amplifier. Everyone knows that the water needs to be fresh--anything longer than a day or two reduces the potency of the brew. Everyone knows that freshly-picked flowers are best, even though you might get away with picking them before hand and storing them in a cool place. Everyone knows what to do and what not to do, but no one knows why.
Magic, and all the accompanying disciplines, is undeniably real. You can point your wand to the sky, mutter the magic words, and off you go: flying through the heavens. I was never really good at it, the whole magic thing. So I can't fly around. It's not a big problem, I can just ask a buddy to fly me with them. A quick spin of the wand, a tap on the head, and suddenly I'm airborne. Let me tell you something, there's nothing more terrifying than being a hundred feet up in the air, with someone else responsible for keeping you up there, and not knowing how it's physically possible in the first place.
But it's either that or I need to walk to the store for some chips, right?
So in a desperate bid to exert some sort of control over my magic-less life, I decided to figure out what was up with the amplification potion. While I couldn't make the potion myself, it was pretty easy to convince a friend of mine to put in the magical elbow-grease, so to speak. The first step was easy: Make a working potion the standard way.
We scoured the weather auguries, waited for rain, and collected the rainwater immediately. Combined with freshly-picked flowers, we were good to go. We need some sort of way to test the magnitude of the amplification, and so I enlisted the help of another friend. It was pretty easy: We would set up a test of strength to see how much weight he could magically move pre-and-post-potion. (Which, by the way, makes no sense. If he can fly me to the shop, why can't he easily hold an equal-sized weight?--I should investigate this later)
And, just like that, we had our standard. We conducted a few more tests to make sure there weren't any weird behavior with the spells, and then moved on to test different permutations of potions. We had the freshest of the fresh, but now we adjusted the ingredients. How fresh would the rain need to be? Why rain, specifically? This let us down another branch of questioning. We know that regular water doesn't work for the purposes of the potion, so at what point does rainwater turn into water-water.
After months of investigation, testing, and magical inquiries, we found ourselves stumped. I was certain it had to do something with the makeup of the rainwater. Something was causing it to behave with magical properties, but I just couldn't figure out why. Throughout the process, I had corresponded with great wizards throughout the area. Someone had suggested using a farsight enchantment modified in a particular way. But to my magically inert eyes it made very little sense. I could see something changing in the rainwater as it passed the point of no return, but couldn't find a practical way for this to all fit together.
Almost at my breaking point, I received a letter from Barnabus, inviting me to visit him. He had been working on a modification of the farsight spell which he thought may help. Rounding up a volunteer, we quickly flew to his sanctum. He was a portly old man, his workroom covered in phials and other miscellanea. He brought me to an artefact on a table with two protruding tubes. He took a sample of the rainwater I had brought and placed it into the artefact.
"This," he said, "is an early version of what I like to call a 'closesight' artefact. Look, put your eyes to it."
"But how?" I asked, "I've no magical power for this artefact to draw upon."
"Humor me, son."
I did, and was amazed. Before me lay bare the secrets I had searched for. I watched, in real time, as the rainwater changed before me. Figments, breaking apart, reconstructing differently. Connections, bonds, created and uncreated. Finally, I understood.
"This artefact was made for the likes of you and me, child." Barnabus smiled.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're a chemist, Larry." | Magic is natural to this world, as easily as one breathes the air around us. Thanks to this, mankind has created incredible Wonders and performed Miracles daily. The floating city of Ratota, the disappearing Library of Arabia , the Teleportation gates, flying brooms, and much more. The Tournament of Magic that's held yearly is always the most spectated event of the year, with participants showcasing their incredible magic and how they complete against each other. Truly, Magic is an incredible gift.
&#x200B;
But on the other side of the coin, we got people like me. Individuals that was born without the ability to use Magic whatsoever. Null, they called us. Cursed human is another title that's tied to us. To them, us being unable to use Magic must mean the Gods themselves has cursed us for some hidden sin. We were seen as unnatural and unwanted beings. They tolerated our existence at the edge of their society, no better than cheap labor and convenient target practices or lab rat.
&#x200B;
Ever since I can remember, I've been "employed" at my aunt and uncle's estate. Both of them always said that both my parents died from a broken heart after finding out their child is born a Null, and they graciously took me in. It's a hard life living at their estate, but I've learnt to coup. Waking up before dawn, doing the chores, never looking anyone in the eyes, don't get in anybody's way, and maybe I'll get some scrap from the food they never finished. From time to time when Aunt been drinking or Uncle's gotten in a bad mood, they tried out new spells on me, usually the painful kind...
&#x200B;
One day, I found a strange letter on the hey after waking up. After figuring out it's not a prank by my cousins, I opened it. A strange blue light pass through me, and then the letter project a beam of light into my eyes before crumbling into nothingness. The light inform me that they are from a secret society that's looking for people like me. They noticed me last week in the market while I was getting supply for the estate. They invited me to their secret school, a haven for people like me. Later that night, I took one last look at the estate, and ran away without looking back.
&#x200B;
After a couple of days, following the instructions in the beam of light from the letter, I arrived at a glade. I located the three standing stones and approached them. As instructed, I place my palms at either side of the stones, while looking strait at the middle stone. I felt a warm feeling on my palms, and a familiar blue light pass me through. A voice suddenly asked what my name is. After I answered, a bright light cover my entire body. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in the middle of a large hall instead of the glade. The walls are smooth and white, instead of the usual wooden, colorful walls I'm used to.
&#x200B;
A door opened behind me, and a tall lady in white approach me. "Congratulations on reaching this haven young one. Welcome to Advanced Idea Mechanics, the School of Science." She said while smiling at me. | 2021-05-27T21:37:45 | 2021-05-27T20:17:06 | 1,771 | 198 |
[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. | My husband... Is an an interesting man. Not that bright, but truly kind, caring, and compassionate.
I am not.
They called me the Rose when I was a girl. Too beautiful for words, too graceful for a poem, too lovely for a song. I caught the eye of a King. He married me within weeks. He was dead within months.
I am ambitious, spiteful, and cruel. I took my armies and I conquered and I kept conquering, outfoxing, seducing, and outmanouvering every general who stood in my path. Until I came upon a land with powers even my armies could not match.
So I found someone who knew these powers, and I tortured him for their secrets. When I called the devil to sell my soul for power, he said my soul wasn't worth much but he'd gladly take my beauty. My lovely face, soft skin, and lithe body. I agreed. Beauty gave me power over men, the devil gave me power over all.
Now, I rule over the continent. The dead rise at my command, the living bow at my feet, and the millions who call me sovereign toil in the dust at my command.
My new husband was employed in my first husband's army. He wasn't a soldier or general. He works in logistics.
As it turns out, the phrase 'an army marches on its stomach' is very accurate. We would have never gotten very far without supply lines.
Whilst his conversation is dull, and he has no appreciation for the arts, the man does know how to organise things. He finds untold joy in neatly totted numbers and the latest maps drawn by the cartographers. I honestly couldn't have done this without him.
Of course, I didn't have to marry him. I didn't for a long time in fact, after all what is the appeal in such a man?
We met when I was The Rose. A newly widowed queen, on a new throne, with a husband dead under suspicious circumstances. And he did not laugh at my ambition. He set up meetings with generals, organised my calender, and earnestly protested my innocence to those who asked.
He makes sure that my advisors don't bother me after dinner. He personally tells the chefs that I hate onion in my food, so it's never served. He looked me in the eye once the devil took my beauty and said that he was glad I'd kept my soul.
Initially, he did think I was innocent. However, after 20 years of marriage he just accepts my 'quirks'. He now works for my government, trying to impress me with his latest 'evil' scheme. "What is more torturous then school?" He asks hopefully. His 'dastardly' plan for enforced slavery turned out to be an employment plan for the disadvantaged. His 'deep government' brainwashing scheme is... Healthcare.
Bless him. Yet I can't help but indulge him. | My presence envokes the very essence of men. Fear. And for good reasons for I have commanded armies to raze villages, massacred people, men, women and children. By a single flick of my hand blood would be shed. I am that which mothers use to scare their children into obedience except I scare the mothers too.
I am horrid and people loathe me.
I am strengthend by their scorn. I do not know why I am as I am. I have long since stopped questioning my nature. Do you question birds as to why they fly? Do you ask the lion why he commands the forest? No. You do not. You know it as an irrefutable fact. So is my existence. My existence is evil.
Not a single person would dare meet my eye. None except for my husband. My husband is the one creature that vexes me. We are stark opposites. No. Calling us opposites is a grave understatement. We are like heaven and hell. Oil and water. As much as I am hated, he is adored. Worshipped even. Some even call him the hero here to save everyone from the wicked queen. I am malice and he is benevolence personified. What others would fear he would love. And what do others fear? Myself.
He dared to love me. He would love me despite what I am. I do not understand his ploys. I know of love. It is the thing that bards sing of and poets speak of. The wretched thing that keeps people, despite the havocs that I have wrought , resisting.
He is the answer to my question:
Blood is in my hands,
How long till it lies on my heart? | 2020-04-14T08:29:24 | 2020-04-14T06:55:45 | 146 | 86 |
[WP] An powerful ancient being has been held captive by an interstellar civilisation. After eons of being held captive, it has accidentally freed by humans, who've not been to the "galactic stage" for long... | The being was ancient in esoteric ways.
The First Member Species of the Universal United Conglomeration Of Unity imprisoned it after the total destruction of 90 galaxies, and 91 meetings regarding the being.
The Prison was complicatedly simple. A single room with one locked door, with another room built around it with only enough room on the door side to fully open the inward swinging door. And another room built the same way around that one. Repeated about 7 times. The material used to build the rooms was made strong enough to survive HyperNovas and the middle of the Strongest black holes. The Prison was surrounded by 13 forcefields of such strength and intensity that each could survive having a thousand stars HyperNova inside them without a single percentage point loss of integrity. The final piece was the scanner and result display.
As part of each new Member Species' induction to the Universal United Conglomeration of Unity they were required to send a randomly selected consenting Adult to be scanned and tested for the species ability to destroy the being or not. From The Prison there were three potential responses to this testing. Positive, Neutral, and Negative. The Member Species who tested positive were asked to send warriors to help guard The Prison. The ones who tested neutral were asked to help with the supply chain and administrative support for The Prison. The Negative testers were politely asked to stay away from that region of space so if the being broke free from The Prison then they would be safe for longer.
In the whole History of the Universal United Conglomeration Of Unity, some 2 Trillion years, only 3 Member Species tested Negative, however only 2 tested Positive. The Universal United Conglomeration Of Unity invested much to ensure the longevity of those 2 Member Species.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
As the Human Diplomat was making the rounds and being introduced to the current Member Species at the Celebration of Entrance and Testing Selection event, some of the Member Species were making minor bets on what the Human Species test result would be. As was done since the testing had started. Many were betting on Neutral, a few bet on Negative, a couple jokingly bet on Positive, but one Member Species Diplomat bet on none of the above. The other Diplomats looked at them as if they had lost leave of their senses. The Diplomat just smiled.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
THE TESTING SELECTION MACHINE CHOOSES:
Human: Marcus Brockenbottom, Government ID code 978/apple-455623*blue.
Occupation: Space Force, Marines Division, Heavy Infantry Grade 3 Heavy Assault Specialist.
\\\\\\\\\\\\\\
"Dopey" to his friends, Marcus agreed to undergo the Testing for The Prison.
His pick up was smooth. The ride out was smooth. The introduction to all the diplomats was smooth. The introduction to the Guards of The Prison was smooth. The walk up to the scanner was smooth....
The Human diplomat was now a bit nervous. They mentioned it to the diplomat who made the 'none of the above' bet. The diplomat just smiled and said they made that bet just to spice up the betting pool. The Human diplomat frowned and became even more nervous.
Marcus gently laid his hand on the scanner and waited.
And waited..
And waited...
The diplomats were starting to get a bit worried. No testing had taken longer than a minute. The longest testing they had on record was 50 seconds, and that was the second Positive result. Most results were displayed in 20 seconds. At the 5 minute mark a loud thud was heard from The Prison. Within the next second all 13 of the forcefields dropped and all 10 doors unlocked and opened. The Guards immediately brought up their weapons and pointed at the open door ready to fire.
Marcus took his hand off the scanner and pulled a box out of his pocket, opened it up and withdrew something which he started to snack on.
A sniffing was heard from the dark interior of The Prison. "Oo, can I have one?" | “Oh hey man, welcome to the team! How’s the first day going?”
“Hey, hi. Yeah, thanks. Honestly, pretty terrible. Everyone’s been great but I think I just messed up pretty badly.”
“OK, hang on, don’t panic, give me the details. I’m sure we can figure it out and seriously whatever it was isn’t your fault. You’ve been following the onboarding doc right? It isn’t always clear. Whatever’s gone wrong we’ll fix it and we’ll update the doc so it is easier for the next guy.”
“Thanks. I just feel like an idiot. I force pushed the main branch by mistake. The repo is all messed up and pipelines are failing”
“Ah, yeah, haha, gotcha. Easy fix! I’ve got a clean master locally, I can force push it out and we can send out a message on Slack and everyone can re-pull. Seriously, not a big deal and we should disable force pushes on main anyway.”
“Thanks. Thank you. Really, I appreciate it. I can update that onboarding doc too”
“Great. I didn’t want to show it but you did have me kind of worried that something really serious was messed up. Let me tell you what \*I\* did on my first day…
You know about the nameless god who sits at the center of all things? (praise him, praise his name and the turned-away-face, and the blood, praise the blood of the all-father). Well, I’d just started as junior IT with macro data refinement down in the basement. I had \*no clue\* what I was doing. Day one, those guys asked me to recalibrate the Wide Neutrino Parallax Array. I still see the blood. It haunts my periphery. Oh god. Oh god. Anyway, that was definitely \*not\* tech that a newbie should be playing with. I mean, seriously, we’d just discovered we weren’t alone in the universe like what, seven years before that? And the Omicrons dumped that tech on us like it was a better floor wax or something and well, well, let me just say (oh the fire, the fire), it was \*way too easy\* to mistake “redirect the beam five degrees in the translateral” with “discontinue the beam for five minutes” and why the hell did those guys give us a critical piece of the intra-galactic barrier keeping literally all life as we know it in the entire universe safe from the screeching horror the horror that bindss and sticks and follooooows and oh jesus oh jesus oh je s u | 2022-08-23T14:18:47 | 2022-08-23T13:11:32 | 61 | 28 |
[WP] You were filled with horror when you were told that you got sent to hell after you died, the horror faded somewhat when you were then immediately handed a shotgun and noticed the broken bodies of demons everywhere | just a diary style piece. enjoy!
Day 1: I was surprised that when the poison killed me, I woke up much warmer than before. There’s no mistaking it, it’s hell, I’m in hell, i can see others down here wandering and lost, they’re all too thin.
Day3: I’m hungry. So hungry. There’s small demons running around. I’m going to try and catch one.
Day 15: I had a visitor today, he didnt talk. If he was human he didnt show it all I know is he was armoured and very well armed there seemed to be a constant clashing chaos of music around him. He dropped a shotgun at my feet and walked off.
Day40: this shotgun has saved my ass several times. I’ve scavenged a rifle and some body armour off the larger demons. Hell soldiers I call them. by the time I kill them there’s little left but some meat and the occasional scrap of metal.
Day...I can’t remember, call it 100: The demons are hunting me down now. They come in swarms and squads. Sometimes all imps and soldiers, other times they have beasts and abominations with them. When they have Abominations I run. There’s no chance I’ll survive if I get hit by one of those things...if I can die down here.
Day 120: I got one, I found an abomination out in the open and dropped a grenade on its head before unloading two rounds from my shotgun into the neck hole. I threatened a particularly handy imp and had him turn the Abominations armour into a chest plate for me. I had to trade in my old armour and some of the lost, human souls that are too far gone to be sentient, when you kill them they turn into balls of pure energy.
Day 121: that man must be close by, whenever I fight something I swear i can hear the same metal music.
Day 130: I got my new chest piece, its magnicicent, the imp told me to bring him more pieces if i want more armour, he pulled out a stone etched with THAT mans suit. Guess i know where he got his stuff from.
Day 200: new suit new me. The demons are hunting me constantly now. Every time I fight them that glorious music fills me with energy.
Day 228: this fucker is either invincible or I’m going mad. Either way I’m out of ammo and there’s no way I’m taking off my helmet to speak with it.
Day 231: so this alleged angel followed me home to my cave. I gave it one last shot, specifically with a harpoon gun, before I gave in and took off my helmet. We talked for a while and then he/she/it scratched some runes into my suit. He told me i was dammed for eternity because I kept eating the demon flesh. I asked him how the hell I was meant to survive down here without that. Yea he didn’t have an answer.
Day 233: whatever that angels runes did is fucking awesome, Im never running out of ammo now and I can slaughter these guys all day long and not even feel hungry.
Day 300: I saw the other guy today, it was defiantly him. He was walking through a pit of hell soldiers and guess what...they fucking ran from him... I’m going to try and follow him for a bit. see where he goes.
Day 310: I walked upto the other guy. He didnt say anything, neither did I. I offered him my shotgun, his shotgun back but he shook his head before pulling out a sweet double barrel. I killed an imp and used the fire spewing from its broken skull to cook up some pinky. The other guy didnt eat. the music seemed to emit from him all the time. I’m going to stick with him for a bit see if I can learn anything.
Day 350: alright, so the dude doesn’t eat, as far as I know he doesn’t sleep either...how do I know that? Neither do I, not anymore. The blessed music is a slow constant for me now even when we separate to kill demons faster. its getting irritating, the imps and soldiers have been running from me for a while but now the abominations aren’t sticking around unless they have numbers on their side.
Day 353: fucking fuck. Fuck that fucker. Chest piece has a neat hole in it, also i cant die down here but having a hole in my chest is making things harder. The other guy dragged a few imps to me and I shot them, seemed to ease the pain somewhat.
Day 360: fully healed, the other dude led me to the imp who made my armour, it simply clucked disapprovingly before taking it off me and repairing it. I went and hunted down a nearby abomination for the imp as thanks, I guess not all demons are assholes.
Day?: the other guy’s been gone a while now. We assaulted some temple I made it out, he didn’t I cant remember how long ago that was. Most of the rubble is too big for me to move and the place is swarming with enough demons that I don’t like my chances. Im going to scout around see if i can find a way in, I owe him that much.
Day ?20:I found...I dont know what I found. Some robot guy with a bunch of soldiers walking through towards the temple. They’re not dead since one of them took a abomination blast and keeled right over. I’ve been shadowing them keeping the bigger guys off their ass.
Day ?22: whelp they took something from the temple. It’s close to where the other guy was too.
Day ?23: they’re gone, opened a portal and poof. Thought I could jump in with them but I was too slow. I searched the temple and found one of the soldiers they left behind, I’m going to take his armour to the imp, see if I can’t get some upgrades. If a mortal can survive the punishment these guys took in one of these I should be damn well invincible.
Day?280: got my armour repaired, I’m working my way back home now, figure I’m done slaughtering everything in my way for a bit.
Day 290: HES FUCKING BACK LETS GOO!
Day 290 and 1/2 : and he’s gone, he got something and BLAP, just like that robot dude, I guess he was inside whatever they took from the temple. Time to dust off the old shotgun. | The first thing Steve had noticed when he awoke was a neat little sign with the words "Hell" written in red lettering. He grimaced as the stench of rotten eggs assaulted his nostrils, along with a curious undertone of three-day old sock smell.
Resisting the urge to throw up, Steve noticed that he was in a small room, bare except for the sign and a small box next to it. The only light in the room came from a red lightbulb placed at eye level, causing him to squint and bend down to examine the box. It was a sickly beige colour, with no visible markings, only "For Steve" written in black ink on it.
Then, the word on the sign clicked in Steve's brain, and he dropped the box like a hot potato, feeling the blood in his veins grow ice cold. "What the hell," Steve muttered to himself, the irony of his proclaimation not lost on him. There had to be some sort of mistake.
A more thorough search of the room yielded no further clues, save the sign and the mysterious box. There was no exit either, and the hope that the box would contain something useful was all Steve had to go on for now.
As he opened the box with a slight tremor in his hands, Steve also realised he was sweating slightly, even though the room was surprisingly cool for a place like Hell. He half expected to see a bomb inside, or some disgusting worm creature that would eat him from the inside out.
Seeing a shotgun, however, was unexpected. The only other item in the box besides the shotgun was one silver bullet, engraved with the words "One Use Only". He tossed the box aside after he was satisfied that there was nothing else in there, all the while staring at the shotgun in bewilderment. Was he supposed to shoot himself?
"Nah, that's stupid," he thought out loud. "I'm already dead, I can't die anymore, rig-"
A loud 'pop' sounded as the wall behind him disappeared completely, revealing a literal hellish landscape before him. Rivers of molten lava flowed alongside the jagged rocks that dotted the area, underground vents hissing as hot air spewed forth. It looked very much like the Hell Steve envisioned this to be, and yet there was one small thing out of place.
A few thousand or so small things, to be exact. Piles of demon corpses were strewn about the place, their bodies even more rotten and decaying than what was the norm for a rotten, decaying demon. Steve's initial feelings of panic now returned tenfold, as his grip on the shotgun tightened. He gingerly loaded the silver bullet into the gun, crouching down into a defensive position.
'All these demon corpses- whatever killed them must have been far worse than literal demons,' he thought. 'And they give me one measly silver bullet?'
A sudden rumble in the distance caused Steve to scramble towards a corner of the now three-walled room. Clutching his shotgun close, he felt the rumbling draw closer, as if the thing- or things that caused the deaths of these demons was drawing closer. The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat grew faster and faster, and he did not even realise he had been holding his breath in for the past few minutes.
The rumbling sounds were getting louder and louder, the red light on the wall flickering now. The entire room was shaking, and Steve was now curled up into a foetal position, the shotgun pointed in the direction of the sound. Sweat now had soaked through his shirt, and his limbs were trembling with a combination of fear and adrenaline. He shut his eyes tight, as if willing it to all go away, to let this be just a bad dream, anything to escape his current situation-
"You can't be serious."
Two men stood in front of the monitor that was currently showing them footage of Steve. The taller one had his arms crossed, his expression that of boredom and disbelief.
"The mortal's vitals are showing signs of fear and distress that are clearly within acceptable limits, and all this done without needing a single demon in the place." The shorter man tapped on the monitor, bringing up several charts on the screen.
"I gave you three weeks to come up with a solution, and this is your best shot? This weak. Pathetic, even. So are the humans just expected to stay in that box while the Janet simulation produces loud rumbling noises?" The other man punctuated his last three words with air quotes, his tone mocking and dismissive.
"But Shaun-" The shorter man's words were cut off as he was suddenly encased in a giant green cocoon, as the taller one waved his hand lazily.
"All this new ideas about getting humans to torture themselves," Shaun sneered as he strode out of the room. "Good old-fashioned torture by actual demon professionals is all we need."
Entering his office, Shaun sat at his desk and pressed a button, displaying a hologram. An old man came into view, dressed in a suit and bowtie, looking rather worried. He adjusted his glasses nervously, as Shaun cleared his throat.
"Hello Michael. How goes the experiment?"
---------------------
Hope you enjoyed my stab at this prompt! You can follow r/thebleedinginkwell if you'd like to read more from me! | 2019-09-29T09:08:45 | 2019-09-29T07:26:13 | 1,714 | 493 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see. | I was walking through a dense forest. At first glance, it looked normal, but closer up I could tell something was off. The leaves were too green, too bright, in odd shapes. The wood was too dark, and for some reason slightly blue. The grass was... soft. It was almost fuzzy.
This place clearly wasn't Earth. It was a planet the locals called... I still don't know how to say it.
I was noting all this in my mind, I was to write a report on what I found.
I was brought to the present by the sun flashing in my eyes. I looked down and saw a clearing ahead. I sped up a little and looked around in the clearing.
The forest ahead seemed denser, darker, and-- were those eyes? Perhaps I was seeing things, they were gone a moment later.
I looked down and saw a small creature in the clearing. I approached it cautiously.
It's body had an outward appearance of the tree's wood, but.. little, and vaguely humanoid. It was cute too.
It looked up at me with green eyes, and I noticed it... didn't seem to have a mouth. Perhaps it used photosynthesis.. but without any leaves? No, it had a single leaf on it's head, but that wouldn't be enough.
I greeted it with a hello, knowing in the back of my mind that even if it spoke, it wouldn't speak English.. or any other Earthly language.
It waved at me, and if it had a mouth, it would probably be smiling.
I looked at it closer, and it seemed to have many traits of a predator, but without claws or teeth..
Perhaps anatomy here was different.
Unless...
I shook my head, as if I could shake the thought out of my mind. This creature was probably some odd exception. It seemed very friendly!
It gestured for me to follow it, and walked toward the denser part of the forest.
I followed it. The sun only shown through some parts, casting a small design on the floor.
And then I saw the eyes again.
They were right in front of me, a slightly greenish yellow.
And then whatever owned them snarled.
I stumbled backwards then turned around and ran. I stopped in the clearing and turned around, hoping it was gone.
But it was standing there in the light.
It looked like the small wood creature, but it was instead a large feline. This one had a mouth, with large, sharp teeth. It pounced at me, hardly missing as I moved backward.
I looked around for the smaller creature. It was standing to the side, behind the wooden beast. It had no emotion in it's eyes. It stared at me, even when I looked away.
I turned around and ran, not looking back.
Something got the back of my leg. I just kept running.
I got back to the closest village and stopped to rest.
The beast was still chasing me, with the smaller one now on it's back.
The locals seemed awfully annoyed by this thing being here. Somebody threw it a large piece of raw meat, and it stopped chasing.
It sniffed it before tearing it in two with it's claws.
It gave the slightly smaller part to the smaller creature who...
Oh god, it was awful.
It unhinged an unseen jaw like a snake with no teeth and just... swallowed the thing whole.
I've been told by many people that I have amazing reflexes, and if I was slightly slower that thing would've killed me. The "average" person would probably have died by now.
The worst part?
Even after everything, the small creature still looked cute to me. I knew what it had tried to do, but there was something about it...
I wanted to see it again. | Lee closed the hunting book and snorted. No beast could end him and his hunting party of twenty. Nothing that humans had encountered during their spaceward expansion had ever been able to challenge his mercenaries, and the monsters had varied wildly. So did the heads on his spaceship's wall. He did have a few close calls, but the only three that had ever managed to challenge him were the acid-spitting cows some illegal lab on Mars managed to cook up, and the Ragtors on Mars. Damnable clearskins. He'd lost a few men there, but the meatheads he called colleagues would sign on for the promise of just an acre or two of land on some new planet. Besides, even if they were all just cannon fodder, Lee was sure that he could shoot down anything within twenty seconds. If a rifle couldn't stop it, his high-power laser certainly would. Thing could cut through a spaceship hull. He learned that the hard way, although thankfully not while flying. Still expensive.
Sighing, the hunter stood up and glanced around at the mercenaries. Most of them were battle-hardened men with scars, but there were a few newbies who were visibly pale and shaking. One of them was Bartleby's son, Bittle. That entire family had stupid names, but they were good folk who would knock your teeth in if you made fun of them. Lee had been friends with Bartleby for a while, and agreed to let Bittle tag along to "toughen his hide." It was doubtful that the boy would step off the ship with how much his legs were shaking, though.
From the cabin, the autopilot informed Lee of the approaching planet. The rookies turned a shade of white usually only seen on those acid-spitting cows, and the veterans turned to him for a debriefing. "Alright, men," Lee announced, his voice a tenor. You wouldn't make fun of it if you wanted to keep your own manhood, though. The only way you could get away with it was if you didn't have a hose to begin with. "The Bean Baron wants us to clear off this planet for more plantations. No idea what we'll find, but if it moves feel free to shoot. As usual, don't shoot each other or we'll leave you here, and don't shoot the ship because we'll have to eat your corpse while we wait a week for a tow.
I'll be back, just wanted to take a break and scroll Reddit more | 2021-01-25T08:43:08 | 2021-01-25T07:24:36 | 75 | 55 |
[WP] Thousands of years ago the earth experienced a cataclysmic event. In an effort to maintain the human race the world leaders and citizen elite tried to survive by creating an underwater colony. It is now 2016 and you are tasked with scouting the surface for the first time in Atlantean history. | I emerged from the stasis pod at chronopoint 11.200.5.10.2.2104. At first, the sunlight was almost too much for me to handle. The lumispheres and diurnalamps of my youth were nothing compared to the brilliance of the heavenly orb. I remember stories of the Sun and how it used to nourish and provide for my ancestors. That was before the great downfall of our people, before my parents retreated to the underwater refuge, before I was placed in that long sleep.
The stasis pod had come to rest on the shore of a sandy beach devoid of life or structures. I was partially relieved of this fact as there were no predators or other inhabitants to contend with. At least, none that I could see. A dense treeline walled the beach and I had no way of knowing what lurked in the shadows. After double-checking the chronopoint indicator, I confirmed that I had been in stasis for thousands of lifetimes and I had no idea what had become of the world in my slumber.
Upon exiting the pod, I began to fully take in my surroundings. Before entering stasis I had lived my entire life in the confines of the refuge and the expansiveness of being outside was overwhelming. I spent some time crouched in the sand with my eyes closed, trying to feel small again. After finally gaining control of my emotions, I managed to stand up and begin my trek inland. The trees and grass were a constant source of novelty as I walked through the forest, even though I had seen images of such wilderness in my youth.
Before long, I came upon a massive stone path in the forest. On the sides of the path were bright painted lines that seemed to stretch on forever. In the middle were the same lines, except this time the two lines were much closer together. I stepped onto the path, careful to avoid the lines for fear of damaging them. I crouched down to examine the middle lines to perhaps decipher their purpose. As I did so, I felt a great rumbling and heard rhythmic chanting, similar to the hymns practiced by my ancestors.
I stood and looked around rapidly, trying to determine the source of the noise. It seemed to be echoing through the woods, coming from all sides. The disorientation overtook me and I fell to my knees. In that moment, the rumbling reached its peak and I suddenly felt myself being thrown through the air as my left arm and leg briefly exploded in pain and then went numb. I hit the stone path with a thud, the wetness of blood pooling around me. Through the pain and blurred vision I saw a human figure approach me, hands raised in a calming gesture.
The figure shouted something at me in a language I did not understand. I tried to say that I did not speak its language but the loss of my blood had fatigued me and I had begun to pass out. I lapsed in and out of consciousness for what felt like a lifetime. I felt my body being lifted and handled and carried. I saw bright lights and smelt the smells of infection and death and sanitation. I tasted my own blood and heard the terse, focused language of the blurry figures around me.
When I finally regained full consciousness, I was lying in a soft bed, surrounded by shiny metal boxes, lights, and glass windows. Through the windows I saw something I had not expected to see. Humans. Fellow humans! We made it through the downfall! The excitement that filled me in that moment made the confusion vanish and I was overcome with joy. The humans on the other side of the glass noticed that I was now awake. A member of the group looked me in the eyes as she reached out, touched a box outside the window and spoke into it.
"Glad to see you're awake, you have no idea how long we've been waiting to finally talk to you."
I was briefly stunned by the fact that she was speaking my language. I knew how long it had been since my people walked the surface. I knew that the chaos of the final days had put an end to our records and vast information stores. There was no conceivable way that anyone on the surface would still know, much less speak our tongue. I needed answers.
"You speak the language of my people. Who are you? Where do you come from? How did you survive the downfall? Where am I?" I said, trying to keep the panic from entering my voice and betraying the creeping fear that was dominating my mind. From the look on the woman's face, I was not doing very well at that.
"I suppose I should ask you many of the same questions, young man. You have come a long way, 4th dimensionally speaking. Let me start at the beginning. I am Dr. Leslie Cunningham, lead researcher and director of the Predecessor Project. That's the name of the project devoted to studying you, my confused friend. Well, not just you, but your entire civilization." the human said in response. She paused a moment to let that sink in. When I said nothing, she continued speaking.
"You would be surprised to learn that not all of humanity was wiped out during what you call "the downfall". We survived through sheer adaptability and recovered. Eventually we started studying our history. As we did so, we began to find things that indicated that human beings had reached a level of technological civilization that even surpassed our own. This was your civilization, the civilization we now call the "Predecessors". Gleaming metal airships that sailed through the sky, advanced medical technology that healed through the power of sound alone. It all seemed like elaborate fantasy at first, until we discovered Artifact-0001, the first Predecessor artifact ever discovered. It was discovered at the bottom of the ocean in 1974, a fragment of a metal airfoil that dated back to 12,000 BC. The design was unlike anything used in the history of aviation. With this evidence, we were forced to conclude that technologically advanced human civilization had existed before and was wiped out by some sort of global cataclysm." She paused again. "Does any of this sound familiar to you?"
I sat there, stunned. Not only had she laid out the death of my people and destruction of my culture in a matter of moments, but she had done so flawlessly in the native tongue of my people. It dawned on me that her people must have found one of the many "Book of Tongues" that were housed in all city libraries during the time of my people. It was more than possible that one of the books fell into modern possession. All one had to do was open the book and instantly the entire vocabulary and grammatical structure of our language could be downloaded into the mind. I realized that many moments had passed since the woman had asked her question. Embarrassed, I snapped out of my contemplative stupor.
"Yes, that is all accurate. What happened to me? You still have not told me where I am." I said this, hoping to dodge further questions about my people. I wanted to focus on the here and now. I had to focus on the here and now if I hoped to complete my mission.
"You were in the middle of the road, a car ran into you. You were lucky you were wearing that suit of yours, the damn thing saved your life." she gestured to my pod-wrap that was now draped over a bench in the corner of my room. "It had started healing you before the ambulance showed up. By the time we managed to get it off you, you were completely healed. The amount of blood on the road says you should be a goner but clearly you are in perfect health. It is interesting that the suit doesn't prevent damage, it only heals it. Technologies like that are one of the many reasons we were excited to finally meet you. We were tracking your pod as soon as it emerged from the anomaly, but a storm kept our task force out of the area for just long enough for you to wake up and get yourself into trouble." the woman paused once more and took a drink from a small handled cup before continuing.
"As far as your location, you are now in a military hospital under armed surveillance. You have to understand, my people are very nervous about your people. They represent an unknown. The anomaly you come from is a dark spot in the Atlantic that ships sometimes get sucked into and lost, so anything that comes out of there represents bad news to a lot of people. I know better though, I know that your people are victims of mother nature, and I know that your people were capable of amazing things. I hope to convince my superiors to let you go, to let you walk free in the new world. Until then, we have so many more questions to ask you."
| The submarine's cramped interior was thick with the smell of musk and oil, the air filled with the sound of metal warping and life support whirring, as it slowly crawled up from the dark depths of the ocean.
"Weird how close we are now." The voice came from the muggy darkness next to Anu, only slightly louder than the low pitched din of the engines.
"Yeah. What are we at now? 3000 meters or so down? I give it an hour or so. We'll see the state of the world... Our children will sing songs of this day, Shamas." Anu spread his arms, dramatically, to which Shamas merely laughed in response.
"That's not what I meant. What I meant..." He tapped the hull of the submarine. "Was how close we are to death's grip. One faulty weld..." He drew his spread hands into a fist. "Crunch."
Anu's withering gaze could be felt even in the soft red glow cast by the lights. "Have some faith. We've made it this far. The crafts-men's work is sound."
Shamas rolled his eyes, and leaned towards Anu. "That's a lie and you know it." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Our craftsmen are starved of materials and experience. We should've done this years ago, but instead, we sat around, now our lives are on the line."
"Our lives." Anu pushed Shamas back, and into the man next to him, earning him an angry grunt. "Are in the hands of the Gods. Thus, are perfectly secure." Shamas once more laughed in response, though crueler this time.
"Where were the Gods when the hydroponics failed? When the ventilation failed? When the desalination plant failed?" Shamas' tone grew to become almost accusatory. "Were our lives secured in their hands then?"
Anu's temper quickly rose to match his comrade's. "They *were*. We're here now aren't we? We're still alive."
"We're alive through our own will. Not of any God." Shamas spat the last word. "And those who died, died through our failures." Shamas leaned back in his seat, calming somewhat. "And our victories..." He spread his arms dramatically. "Will be ours alone."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The sound of the engine humming was quickly drowned out by the sound of waves as the submarine breached the surface of the water. The mission commander walked down the cramped troop compartment of the submarine. The soldiers armed with ancient black-powder weapons stood arm to arm with scientists, who clutched their research materials closely to their chests, as if someone may tear them away at any moment.
The commander didn't really have a reason to walk down the compartment, it just helped him feel in control, in a time where the only one truly in control was the sea. He was never particularly fond of the sea. Some would fawn over the observation decks at the top of the city, spending hours staring at the terrible majesty of the deep ocean, illuminated by floodlights. The commander had considered himself above such things ever since the glass on one of them shattered, killing a few close family members.
"Alright." The commander tried to rise up to his full height, but found the ceiling a foot too low for that, instead choosing to remain hunched over. "Our mission is simple. We don't know what's up there. We need to find out. It's been thousands of years since the... event." The commander stumbled over the elephant that had been contributing to the overwhelming feeling of confinement in the room. It having been thousands of years after the 'event', and original documentation of the event that had driven them deep under the waves either having been lost, mired in metaphors, or obscured by time, left many differing opinions on what could've possibly caused an entire civilization to seek refuge in such a hostile place.
"The pilot tells me we'll be nearing shore soon, so get ready." The commander walked out of the troop compartment, and back into the cockpit.
"I don't think I've ever heard a more useless briefing." Shamas said, as he fiddled with the waterproofed bags of powder at his hip.
"He's probably just as stressed as us." Anu said, watching the commander almost trip over the step leading to the cockpit. "Probably even more than us. If anything happens to us, he'll take the fall."
"He'll take the fall..." Shamas stood, grabbing his rifle from the equipment rack above him. "Because we'll be dead. We have to do all the dangerous stuff. He just gets to sit here. Shoveling crisps into his fat face."
"That's not true." Anu stood too, as did many of the others, who all seemed to sense that it was about time to get ready. "I'm sure he's got lots of work to do here. He'll be co-coordinating the different teams." Anu said, with little conviction.
"If you can't even convince yourself, don't even bother trying to convince me." Shamas lightly elbowed Anu in the arm, and gestured towards to a door towards the stern of the sub. "Let's see if we can't get one of the good boats before someone else grabs them." Anu nodded, and silently followed Shamas through the poorly lit sub.
__________________
"The sub should've reached shore about half an hour ago. What the hell are we doing here *still*." Shamas wildly flailed at the room in a futile gesture of frustration. "Quite frankly, I just want to get this over with already."
Anu leaned back in the RHIB-like boat that sat in the sub's almost cavernous hanger, that despite it's size, still managed to feel claustrophobic, likely due to the darkness that seemed to sit almost heavily in the air. "Have some patience. They're probably just making sure the atmosphere's breathable and such. It'd be all for naught if we rushed in and all suffocated to death, now wouldn't it?"
"I'd welcome a quick death over this slow and agonizing one." Just as Shamas crossed his arms against his chest, and began to sulk like a scolded child, the lights in the hangar suddenly switched from a menacing red, to green, causing him to snap back to attention. "TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!" Shamas yelled to no-one in particular.
The dark hangar interior was quickly flooded by fresh sunlight, and wind began to sweep the stale air from the hangar, replacing it with fresh sea air. The men in the hangar all turned and shielded their eyes from the unnaturally bright star, and hunched over due to their senses being bombarded from all sides by the open sea. Anu was one of the first to come to his wits. He slowly raised his head, and through squinted eyes, stared out across the open sea. In the distance, not too far away, sat a beach, and just behind it, a meadow that seemed to stretch out forever.
"Anu? Anu? You alright?" Shamas began to stand, bracing himself against his friend, obviously not that concerned for his health.
"I told you Shamas." Anu said as he dragged his friend up to his side.
"Told me what exactly? ^God ^it's ^bright."
"The Gods really do favour us."
| 2016-10-29T22:57:51 | 2016-10-29T22:15:00 | 1,078 | 91 |
[WP] As the last survivor of the apocalypse, in a fit of boredom, you start commenting "last" on every video on YouTube. One day, you receive a notification that your comment has been liked.
Wow, I did *not* expect such a huge turnout for my first ever prompt. The prompt itself arose from a friend and I doing some random banter back and forth, and I just posted up part of that banter as the prompt, essentially. XD
Thanks to everyone who posted a response and gave an upvote, this meant a lot to me! | Nothingness.
A video labeled Nothingness. It was 10 hours long. It had a black screen. Nothing played. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. No music. No movement. Nothing at all. It seemed eerily similar to the dark of the night that had engulfed my home.
There were no cars zipping by on the street below. There were no street lights switched on by the dark of night. The city had been left, empty to rot. From Dust to Dust, as man had risen, they had fallen. Wiped from the earth. All of it was gone now. A single generator kept the nearest cell tower active and the battery, hooked to the solar on the roof kept my phone powered, but not much else. I had YouTube. I had a 10 hour video of nothingness.
Thank the tech gods google decided they were worthy of a nuclear bunker and 20 years worth of battery backups to power their servers for hundreds of years, siphoning energy from their solar fields to keep the batteries topped off every morning. It turns out they did know how to build SOME things to last.
I watched the video of nothingness for 2 hours before deciding what to spend my time on. I scrolled to the bottom of the page and readied a comment. "Last" four characters. Lonely. Accurate. Simple. Terminal. It seemed almost fated. Every video has one comment that says "First" and I was the last. I would always be the last. Because there was nothing else. I proceeded to spend the remaining 8 hours of the video skipping through video to video, posting Last.
It was May 20th, 2020. The world had recently fallen to chaos. Only a year ago. It was the last day of his presidency that the missiles fell. I expected a nuclear blast, but it was so much worse. They fell without sound. The landed without impact. They exploded without raising alarm. They filled the air with gas. The gas reacted with the nitrogen and oxygen in the air, causing people to suffocate on the air around them. It was quick. It happened in waves. The united states dropped to their knees and died, then the fireworks went off. Retaliation from america has always been brutal and unrelenting in comparison to the crimes. This was no different. The rest of the planet quickly became an uninhabitable irradiated wasteland where nothing could live. And america was so toxic, smelling it from the statue of liberty could knock you unconscious. Nothingness. All around. Everywhere was nothingness.
After my commenting streak, I fell asleep. The last man alive on earth. A ping and a brief shaking from under my pillow brought me back to reality. I didn't set an alarm.
A jolt of electricity buzzed through my mind as I yanked the tiny glowing screen into view. it rolled out of my fingers, flipped off my pillow and shattered on the floor. Only a corner was still visible on the once $2000 piece of hardware. It showed a notification from youtube. The unfractured corner read:
"Your comme...
Liked! Chec..."
I bolted for my desktop. My batteries wouldn't be able to support it for long in the early morning hours, but I just needed to check. I opened up the case, pulled out my GPUs and set the PSU for Powersavings, then powered on. Within seconds, I was staring at the youtube launch page. A glowing red icon notified me "No new subscriber videos" and right underneath it read "Your comment has been Liked! Check it out here!"
Impatient clicks fall on a computer unburdened by slow hardware, but for the first time, as the internet began to load the list of likes on the one word comment, under a makeup tutorial at the end of the world, hope was palpable. A quick double click showed the account didn't seem to be a bot. In use for years, with family photos mixed with half nudes, and ridiculous selfies, shared from google+ by accident when trying to backup to google photos. It was clearly a human.
I messaged their account. "Hey. Are you still there?"
"Hello. My name is Janice."
"Holy fuck, this is a person. You're a person."
"Haha, YES!"
"WHERE ARE YOU?! I THOUGHT EVERYONE WAS DEAD?! AM I NOT THE ONLY ONE STILL ALIVE?!"
"Horny singles in your area! Bangtube. Click here to join me there, baby. ;) http:\\\\y.woodIever@aRealWebsite.co.itchydick.pu"
I picked up the revolver I had raided from my crazy neighbor's house and placed the barrel to my pallet. The legacy of man will forever be intertwined with his greatest failures.
Pop | “Is this what rock bottom looks like?” Lane asked himself, his fingers danced lazily over the keyboard as he exercised futility to its breaking point, he submitted another comment, “Last!”
He should be grateful, he supposed, the amount of content on YouTube far exceeds what remains of his dreary life, the site’s algorithms even helped him to find new users to subscribe to. Remember to click the bell-icon and like the video, everyone, it really helps them out!
The worst part of it all was that the end of the world hardly made a difference, he’d scroll through YouTube regardless, he’d still occasionally bend to the will of the almighty algorithm, clicking on recommended videos, letting them chip away at his soul, blending the pieces in a red-blue and white mass— letting him live a life through someone else, having himself never lived at all.
They’re together right now, Lane knew, the robots. He liked to imagine the robots all gathered in an office room, they’d be seated on expensive leather chairs, huddled around the large glass-table in the middle of the room. The machines would sit across from each other, arguing if they should recommend a video of a cat miscalculating a jump, or of a fat man getting stuck in a water-slide.
Lane was just about to call it a day when he noticed the red notification. HasBananaFitz has liked your comment, was it a joke? A cruel prank played by the robots, it must be. They’re learning, aren’t they? Finding new and exciting ways to make sure he dies glued to his computer screen. HasBananaFitz has replied to your comment— Lane entered the user’s channel in hopes of confirming the person a fake, the introduction video was of a man in a banana costume dancing to old pop-music, the man had some moves, Lane granted, and subscribed to the channel.
Lane checked the alleged reply from the enigmatic dancing man, “Yeah? Then what’s this, jerk-ass!”
*Jerk-ass*. Humanity deserved what they got, Lane thought to himself.
Lane replied, “You real?”
He stared at the computer screen for a good thirty minutes, he didn’t feel bad or especially hopeful, he was in his element after all. Wasting time was his forte. A new notification from HasBananaFitz— it was a video, he clicked.
A man in a banana costume stared at him, he looked angry, holding a bunch of bananas. The man screamed and started throwing the yellow fruit at the camera. Seems about right. It was probably just an AI sending random videos, he had fallen for its bait. Lane was just about to turn off the sorry display when the man sobered, “I… I know you’re not real, TheRealLane49," the banana-man slumped down in a carved chair, the bending bottom-end of his costume deflating some of the moment’s sincerity, “it even says we’re both from the same city, what are the chances? Not big, I imagine. Anyway, in case you are real, I’m going to be at Brian’s Coffee House, the one near the monument in Mid-town. I’ll be there tomorrow at noon, waiting. If you’re real… I’m sorry I called you a jerk-ass.”
Lane clicked cancel before it could auto-play another video, its thumbnail promising a man holding a violin under water. He thought for not very long at all before he said aloud, “Alright, banana-man, it’s a date.”
*****
Thank you for reading! | 2020-02-07T12:57:54 | 2020-01-07T10:29:14 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Turns out being an adventurer wasn't such a good idea. In fact there may be some survivorship bias here. You only really hear about the tiny fraction of adventurers that achieve glory. In reality most of them die violent deaths, become slaves, or worse. Now you run a scared straight program. | People often ask me why I started this program. The answer is not some noble cause well, it is, but rather a noble cause, as in related to the nobility, not high and mighty. Because who do you think actually has this program taught to them? Nobles. Peasants don’t have programs that come to their schools because they don’t have schools. So it’s rich brats from lofty academies that have these programs. Their parents quiver at the thought that their children, which they invested so much money into in regards to education, extracurriculars, etc. would be intrigued by the prospect of throwing their life away by becoming an adventurer. I would know because I was indeed a rich brat.
The thing is, my parents were right, adventuring was dangerous. I got my left hand from a one-headed tailless chimera… fine, it was just a normal lion, but I don’t tell my audience that. I lost my tooth to Iron Maiden, no not a metallic babe but the band, I was punched in the face by the lead vocalist. I have not gained treasure, fame, or tracts of land but rather a restraining order, 5 STDs, PTSD, and 30 lbs.
But why would a noble even become an adventurer? You might ask. Ah, astute question dear reader, the answer is… student loans. Yep, wizard college, rules lawyer school, they all cost an arm and a leg, so I guess you could say they aren’t that different from adventuring (yes, I know, cheap joke, I actually do use it in my presentation, how low I’ve sunk). So, since adventurers make so much money, what better way to pay off loans than slaying monsters? Wrong.
Don’t get me wrong, there were fun moments, but the in-jokes with my friends about the gelatinous cube (the context would be too long to give) will go untold because well… all my friends are dead. Yep. Real fun. So yeah. Here I am, about to go on stage and tell a bunch of rich brats not to make the same mistake I did. Maybe I won’t be a hero to a town or a princess, but I’m a hero to Timothy’s concerned overinvolved mom, and that’s worth something. Gods, I need a drink. | It was the fifth year since I started the program, three years of younglings had since come of age and it was time to assess the effectiveness of what I had been teaching. Head arithmancer Stebbins was leading the presentation in front of the Round Council.
"So how has the program effected the number of graduating adventurers?"
Stebbins shuffled his feet nervously "Ahh, it's as expected, fewer graduates are adventurers."
"Excellent news." I responded "And we've seen an increase in productive members of society then? Craftsman? Shopkeepers?"
"Uhh no... the way you spoke about how frequently the heroes were thwarted, not only did it not quell their wanderlust, it convinced many of them to go down a...less difficult route. Most of them have elected to become villains."
A rabble rose around the table. The king spoke and I sank down into my chair.
"This is unacceptable, we'll need to round up a group of young adventurers to take out this rising menace"
"Ah you see that's where we might hit a bit of a snag." replied the Arithmancer "Well the only fresh adventurers we have are those who were foolish enough not to heed your advice." | 2022-04-04T00:06:33 | 2022-04-03T23:12:12 | 125 | 32 |
[WP] It's 3600, and society is falling apart. One day, an ancient 21st-Century library is uncovered. With no other options, the government decides to implement ideas from successful societies in the books. There's only one problem: they don't know which are real and which are fiction. | "Desperate times called for desperate measures"
This age-old saying had become the mantra of the 37th century. Food was scarce, our technology was failing us, and society was beginning to crumble. This wasn't a sudden downfall, it was a slow-burn. Humanity was an interesting thing. After we had stopped making technological advancements, we immediately somehow began regressing. It was almost as if staying still was worse then moving backwards. All of our advancements were nullified and here we were. The year was 3675, but it looked eerily similar to 2015. The global government began searching for wisdom from older civilizations, trying to find a way to kick start human advancement, and they were able to find an archive of an ancient digital library.
This was a mistake. We found a new wealth of knowledge, there was more information available to us then we knew what to do with. People around the world began working on projects described in this digital library, vying to become the man or woman who brought us back on track. The archive had an interesting name; "Reddit". It wasn't cross-referenced in anything else we had found, and no one had any idea of what it was. Most of the world instantly looked to it as the savior of humanity, while a few others remained skeptical. It wasn't a complete archive, bits and pieces were missing here and there, but it was more than enough.
Reddit had become our last ditch effort to becoming a successful civilization once again. Different "sub-reddits" were used to research different topics in society. The woodsmen used "r/woodworking" to turn our remaining wood into amazing creations, the historians used "r/history" to get a better picture of everything that went wrong, and the greatest minds we had left, used "r/trollscience" to rebuild our technologies.
After exhausting all the remaining resources we had on Earth, it seemed that Reddit had failed us. We were not able to recreate perpetual motion using just two magnets, and infinite energy seemed to be a lost cause. We had followed every direction to the letter, yet we were still unable to recreate the results.
Humanity has failed. I am here to tell anyone who finds this that we have officially given up. Reddit was our last hope. It was supposed to propel us into a golden era of humanity, not doom it to hell . | "Well now." one of the agents exclaims as he finishes reading a book titled "the legend of drizzt"
"This fellow here must have been a great hero! but....what do you suppose happened to the drow? did they go extinct? could they be beneath the surface still?"
a canine humanoid, called a Ferem, the race that evolved from dogs, shrugged as he gingerly sniffed another book from a story called "twilight" his floppy ears twitching as he considered the text.
"so many conflicting accounts...it could be impossible to tell!" he lamented, his voice quite gruff, as was common among his people.
"well let's hurry then." he grumbled. "we'll leave it to the experts to piece together...i for one would love to know more of these "dwarves" for they sound like a hard working lot!"
the Ferem and human agent departed later, many books on hand as they puzzled what to do with them.
on a table in the musty old library however, there was a single book they'd left behind because it had been far removed from their interest.
it was titled "world history" and sat there, almost as though in resignation. | 2015-05-26T10:50:33 | 2015-05-26T10:41:10 | 204 | 47 |
[WP] Two parents announce to their kids that they are getting a divorce. You are a serial killer listening in from the closet and it's making you sad. | The blade trembled in my hand as I heard the front door unlock. It swung wildly open and crashed into the door stopper.
"That's it Marcie! It's over between us."
A stocky dark skinned man stormed in through the open doorway. He threw his blazer at the rocking chair already covered in jackets and other outwear. He struggled to remove his tie as he spun around on his heels and faced the doorway. Huffing and puffing the whole time, he'd be an easy kill.
A moment later a fair skinned blonde woman walked in carrying plastic bags, with what appeared to be groceries in them. She crossed through the entryway and placed the bags onto the ground in front of the man.
I licked my lips as I saw the outfit she was wearing, that would be a great addition to my collection.
"I don't want to hear it Daryl! Kids get in here and help unload the groceries, will you!" Marcie shouted out the door.
There's children too? My heart began racing as two mocha colored entities made their way into the house. They look exactly the same, twins. Must be around 13 or 14, I didn't realize this would be so tantalizing. My stomach began to fill with butterflies as I watched the younglings stroll into the hallway.
The children groaned as they each scooped up a handful of bags and made their way off to the kitchen.
"You don't think I know Marcie?! I saw on your damn iPad the messages you were sending to Steve, your quote unquote work husband!" Daryl shouted as he made air quotes with his fingers. He took a step closer to Marcie. My hand gripped the blade tighter, this was almost my chance.
"What the hell Daryl! That's my property! You have no right snooping through my things!" Marcie shouted back.
"Snooping through your things?! I bought that damn iPad, and that damned iPhone, and the plan you hog all the data on! It's mine to begin with, so I'll snoop as I please!" Daryl raised his hand and pointed his index finger straight at Marcie's face.
"Here we go again! Daryl the provider can do no wrong. You're perfect in every way. I'm always the one who's at fault for everything and can't do anything right." Marcie slapped Daryl's hand out of the way.
"What the fuck are you talking about?! You're the one cheating on me for fucks sake! How am I in the wrong here?!" Daryl stepped back and threw his hands into the air.
My heart started to slow it's pace. The deafening rush that was pulsating through my body began to wane.
"Because Daryl...if you hadnt gotten me pregnant at 18, I could have gone on to be something. I could have become the lawyer I'd always wanted to be. I threw away a full-ride to Harvard, to fucking Harvard for you! You ruined everything! That's how you're in the wrong!"
"I ruined everything?! Why'd you carry them to term then? I never wanted them in the first place! I told you I'd pay for the abortion! You're the one who turned it down!"
The two children made thier way back into the hallway. One of them spoke.
"Mom...Dad...are you saying that you didn't want us?"
Being what is classified as a sociopath, I normally don't feel these types of feelings, but something new began welling up inside of me. It was a dark realization, there was no need to kill anyone in this family. This family was already dead.
The knife dropped from my hand, making a loud thud as it bounced off the ground. Everyone's gaze shifted over to the closet I was in. I slowly turned the knob and stepped out.
"You know you people are really going to mess up your kids. You should probably think about therapy..." | It’s been at least half an hour since I’ve been hiding in this closet. I didn’t expect them to come here so early, I thought I had at least a few minutes to map the house so my mission tonight would be easier. But no, storming from the door a hurricane of blonde hair stormed to the room next to me, shouting and apparently really angry. After her, her companion entered, followed by three kids, a teenager who’s going through “the phase” and two kids no older than eight, looking at their parents like this wasn’t something new.
Still, it hurts when they deliver the notice. They are getting a divorce. Look, I’m not a marriage counsellor, I am, in fact, so far from that that is scary, but they should have done a long time ago. From the outside they looked like a really happy family, but, well, you never know what’s going on behind closed doors. The teenager picks his little brother, who’s crying quietly, and take him away, while the little girl undoes her braid, passing her fingers through her hair nervously before asking softly.
“Mom, dad, don’t you love each other anymore?”
And that little question breaks my heart, because I remember the time when those words were in my lips and I replay the moment in my head all over again until the voices are long silent and the lights are off. And now is the moment I can do what I should have done then.
I make my way upstairs, and look for the parents’ room. It’s not that hard to find, the kids have their names on the doors -that’s how I learn that the teenager is Marco, the little brave girl Stella and the little boy Stephan- and the other option is a bathroom.
I open the door slowly, not even making a sound, and make my way to the bed. They are sleeping on opposite sides, so far one from the other that they’re almost falling out of it, but they are both so stubborn that they won’t accept to sleep in another bedroom. Make it easy for me.
I slit the first one throat, swiftly, quietly. Her eyes open for just one second, but she can’t speak, the only thing she can do is take her hands to her neck, trying to stop the bleeding. She tries to reach her future ex-husband, but there’s no point. I’m already by his side, plunging my knife into his heart. He doesn’t even open his eyes.
I make my way out of the house, thinking about the news tomorrow, but specially thinking about the kids who won’t suffer through their parents’ divorce.
After all, there’s no point in getting a divorce if both of you are dead.
| 2017-08-26T12:28:44 | 2017-08-26T10:13:25 | 60 | 21 |
[WP] You are the final boss. You have been waiting for the final epic battle against the hero. And waiting. And waiting. Finally, your minions report back. The news? The hero abandoned the main quest to do side quests. | "So... this is accurate? This "Hero" they've summoned simply takes on any request given, at any time, and completes it come hell or high water before doing anything else?"
"This seems to be the case, sir. Our honeypot attempted to understand the reason he refuses to abandon a task, but the response wasn't very clear. We have a memory sphere from our agent if you'd like to see."
"Play it."
He inserts the sphere into an altar, projecting the scene as heard and witnessed by my daughter, whom I've assigned to play concubine and manipulate the hero.
"Honey, do we have time for this? The farm development you're trying to do will take months, maybe years... shouldn't we be heading to the Water Tribe, to claim the Hero's Sword there?"
The Hero is displayed before me, swinging a Hoe and tilling a field with a look of frustration on his face.
"YEAH, GREAT. A LEVEL 50 QUEST FOR MY SWORD OF POWER, RIGHT OUT THE GATE! WITH A LEVEL *70* MQ TO KILL THE DEMON LORD AND END HIS REIGN OF TERROR. Not to worry not to worry, I'll just leave those ones off, right? No abandoning for me, that's the hero's rule, I can't give up, no matter what! I'm just doing them... later. Third quest? Well a few days ago, a child asked me if I could give him and his family some food. Easy exp. Noooo problemo. Hook me up kid I will get you a *cake* if you want. Quest *accepted*. "THE VILLAGERS ARE STARVING, ESTABLISH A SETTLEMENT WITH ADEQUATE RESOURCES TO SAVE THEM!". *WhatthefuckevenIdidnthearshitaboutawholefuckinVILLAGE*. So I'll just make that one a long term problem, yeah? Get the hook up with a princess or three, teach 'em about potatoes and it'll solve itself! Except. EXCEPT. WHATEVER ARCHAIC PIECE OF SHIT GOD GAVE ME THIS NEEDS A FUCKING PRIMER ON MODERN USER INTERFACE. "nO mOrE qUeStS cAn bE aCcEpTeD, pLeAsE fInIsH yOuR cUrReNt QuEsTs FiRsT!~" WHELP SHIT HEY GUESS WHAT LOOKS LIKE IM CAPPED BROSKI ILL JUST GIVE UP ON THIS FOR NOW AND COME BACK IN THE POST GAME MAYBE. *OH WAIT THERE'S MORE!* "A Hero Never Gives Up!". SO HERE I AM. LEVEL. FUCKING. *SEVEN*. SURE AS FUCK AINT GOIN SWORD HUNTIN AND SURE AS *DOUBLEFUCK* AINT GOIN DEMON SLAYIN' SO FUCK MY ASS ANYWAY LOOKS LIKE IM BUILDIN' A SETTLEMENT RIGHT HERE AND NOW AFTER ALL! FOR. 500. EXP. GREAT. SO GREAT. JUST AMAZING. AN ENTIRE BUBBLE OF MY BAR. JUST GOTTA BUILD ONE WHOLE VILLAGE! FOR A SINGLE BUBBLE! SOGREAT JUST LOVIN IT! "YOUR EXPERTISE IS NEEDED, HERO!" "I WILL GIVE YOU THE POWER OF YOUR GAMES, TO PROGRESS WITHOUT LIMIT!" YEAAAAAAAAAARGHLE SO GREAT YEAH GOOD IDEA ME SURE WHY NOT LETS ROLL!"
"I... I'm sorry, Hero, I guess I don't understand your greatness."
"*^oh ^my ^god ^I ^forgot ^she ^was ^even ^there* Don't worry about it love, was just uh, remembering some things. Yelling helps you swing! Gotta get that energy to get that bread! Gotta be a hero, can't let them starve right? Right!"
My servant cuts off the feed there, saying there was nothing meaningful afterwords. I lean back into my throne to contemplate. Hrm. Many of the words he speaks make no sense, but... "No more quests can be accepted, please finish your current quests first", was it? And he has three, one to slay me, another to get the sword, and now this one to build a village. And he can't... quit, nor take another, somehow? Some binding by that old God who sent him against me? Progress without limit. Hm.
"Steward?"
"Yes, Lord?"
"Two tasks. First, arrange for as much sabotage regarding the villages development as possible. Don't halt it completely, just... drag it out, for a few years. Second, see to it that our people are around him constantly. The moment the village is developed, they are to ask him to, oh... Let's try something seemingly simple, like... Asking him to go visit the north and receive the baptism of the Grand Lake. If he agrees, inform me immediately. Since he can't give up on a task... well, joining me is likely impossible since he can't give up on killing me. Perhaps send him in circles for a few decades until he dies of old age."
"As you wish, Sire. Is there anything else?"
"No, but keep me info-actually, I just had a thought. The royal family of Tungsten have been soulbound, yes?"
"Yes, Sire."
"Arrange for their Princess to "fall" for the Hero and serve him alongside my daughter, then. He did mention befriending princesses, after all... it will give my daughter a useful cooperator."
"As you wish, Sire." | Lord Viktor Kozlov sulked the dark hallways, contemplating all things evil. His soldiers were well-equipped, his bed was warmed with women and cooled with wine, and the mares braying in his stables were of the finest breed and lineage. Kozlov was surely the greatest vampire in the four kingdoms.
And yet—as he walked into the great chamber—he couldn’t help but feel incomplete.
The guards at attendance nodded and wished him a pleasant evening. Kozlov waved them away. He sat back in his bearskin throne, wondering how long until the sun rose and filtered emerald light through the great stained glass. Not soon enough, he reasoned.
The sweet scent of roasting boar wafted from the kitchens, mixing with the toasted golden grain of the bakery. Despite the tantalizing aroma, Kozlov wasn’t hungry. He had no appetite for such trivialities. The only thing that could satiate his thirst was a good swordfight or an ambitious rival; neither of which Kozlov had experienced in centuries.
There was nothing interesting these days.
The throne room creaked open. Lord Edmont, with his exquisite moustache and his equally large figure, squeezed through the doorway.
“News! Terrible news, m’ lord!” He bellowed.
Kozlov rubbed the bridge of his brow; it was too early for these matters. “Again?”
“Oh, it’s so much worse than we ever imagined. The chosen one has returned!”
Kozlov perked up “Really? What makes you say so?”
“She can summon the dragon’s flame with a whisper! Born on the blood moon of the fall nightmare, the vanquisher rises to smite thee in your chambers and release the kingdom from your fell grasp.”
“Thank goodness!”—Kozlov jumped to his feet in excitement—“Where is she? She sounds like quite the lady. I simply must meet her.”
Lord Edmont shook his head. “You already have, m’ lord.”
“What? Already met her…”
“She’s the blacksmith, m’ lord. The new one—the one that’s been crafting hundreds of exquisite iron daggers for our soldiers—and she doesn’t show any signs of slowing down.”
Kozlov nearly punch him. “Blast!”
“It’s true, m’ lord. And she’s discovered a spell to transmute iron to gold! Imagine that, raw ore changed my the powers of strange magicka!”
“By the Gods!” Kozlov exclaimed, as the realization sank in. “She’s going to inflate the market! Gold will be as worthless as cheese wheels!”
Lord Edmont started bouncing with vigor. “Exactly! Now you see why we must act quickly!”
“There’s only one thing we can do in a situation as dire as this,” Kozlov said, pacing back and forth by the throne. “We must become captured by the local bandits!”
Edmont’s smile dropped. “What?”
“Yes! Of course! And then send a servant to greet her. Tell her that the sword was stolen and taken by the bandits and must be returned at one!”
“I’m not following, m’ lord,” Edmont dropped into a nearby chair.
A bell chimed in the distance. Servants started from the kitchens, bringing platter after plater into the great chamber. The doors to the council bedchambers burst open, and all at once the other lords and ladies of the court mobbed the tables.
Kozlov ignored them. “The chosen one will surely accept this trivial and unimportant quest in her pursuit of greater valor.”
“But how does that help us?” Edmont said, reaching for a leg of roast mutton.
“Ah, now you see the crux! The most clever and devious scheme—she will thereby escort us to safety—and when this happens, we must be waylaid and kidnapped once more.”
Edmont stopped to chew, mumbling with a half-full mouth. “That sounds dangerous.”
“But make it appear as if the kidnappers are cultists with knowledge of a great and powerful diadem. No one could resist that allure. She will have no choice but to rescue us!”
“And then you kill her?”
“Well, yes,” Kozlov admitted. “But it will be a dramatic and surprising twist!”
“Whatever you say, m’ lord,” Edmont reached for his goblet of wine. “It’s your prophecy.” | 2019-06-26T12:46:02 | 2019-06-26T10:56:26 | 80 | 13 |
[WP]A retired super villain is in the bank with his 6 year old daughter when a new crew of super villains comes in to rob the place. | Wolfgang shifted his weight, trying to ease the discomfort in his hip, as he stood in line with his granddaughter, Emma, at the Citysburgh Metropolitan Bank. Emma, clutching her favorite stuffed dog, gazed about at the ostentatious pseudo-Classical columns and gold leaf décor. The bank tried to make itself look like a historical building, but this was at least its fourth reconstruction. Wolfgang himself had destroyed it once, fifty years ago, trying to access its vaults. He smiled to himself, remembering the astonished look on Rock Duchess’s face when she arrived to save the day, only to find the entire building blown to smithereens. How young and foolish they had both been!
He looked down at Emma, wondering if she would follow in his footsteps. If she did, he would have to teach her about the folly of robbing banks.
The line began to creep forward, when suddenly, Wolfgang felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He glanced up at the fisheye mirror and confirmed his suspicions- three young men were standing outside the glass doors of the bank, wearing ridiculous outfits and preparing to make a dramatic entrance. He squeezed Emma’s hand and gave her a wink. “Whatever happens next, Emma, don’t be scared. Bullies thrive off of fear.”
She looked back up at him with her big brown eyes, “Okay, Grandpa.” She didn’t even flinch when the glass shattered and the other customers started screaming.
“Everybody on the ground…NOW!” shouted a gruff male voice. Everyone dove to the floor, covering their heads and whimpering- everyone except for Wolfgang and Emma.
Wolfgang turned to face the robbers with a smile. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m an old man, and with my sore hip, I’m afraid if I get down on the floor, I’ll never get back up.”
“If you don’t get your old ass on the floor right now, I’ll put you on the floor and make sure you never get up.”
The three young men wore matching purple and black spandex outfits. The man in the middle, the one who was doing all the speaking, was holding purple balls of flame. He wore purple-lensed goggles and had matching purple hair. The young fellow to his right had glowing blue eyes and seemed to be partially made of ice. The one on the left was a half-man, half-beast whose costume had evidently ripped at some point during his transformation.
Were he fifty years younger, Wolfgang might have been intimidated. As it was, he sighed and addressed the cowering customers. “Everyone, please stand up. Don’t be ridiculous. This is nothing but a roving gang of children trying to steal some lunch money. Don’t let them push you around just because they have powers and you don’t.”
There was confused muttering amongst the crowd. A few people even stood up.
Predictably, the spandex-clad trio hesitated. These inexperienced groups rarely knew how to react when bullying didn’t work. The flame guy was visibly angry. “Are you crazy, old man!?” He launched one of his flame balls toward Wolfgang’s face.
Wolfgang barely flicked his wrist. A small portal appeared, absorbed the fireball, and vanished. He gave an exaggerated yawn. “You boys are an embarrassment. Truly.”
The beast-man took a step back. “Th…that’s the Black Baron. No way I’m screwing with that guy. I’m out of here.” He took off running on all fours.
The icy fellow said nothing, but started backing away slowly, leaving Mr. Purple Flames alone in the doorway. The rest of the bank customers rose to their feet, dusting themselves off and shooting angry glares toward the would-be robber.
Wolfgang looked the young criminal up and down. “When I look at you and this young generation of villains, it makes me sad. My granddaughter here might want to follow in my footsteps someday, but if you’re the type of criminal she’s going to learn from, I fear for her future.” He shook his head. “It’s an impressive power you have there, son. Now learn to put it to good use. Your first lesson is: Don’t rob banks. It’s literally the dumbest crime you can commit.”
“Y…yes, sir, Mr. Black Baron.”
“Good, now get out of here before I change my mind and send you to another dimension. You’re making me miss the Law and Order marathon.”
Purple Flames lowered his head and sulked away. For the first time in his life, bank customers cheered for the Black Baron. | “You’ve been a really good girl, Lily,” I said. “This is the last errand, and then we’ll go get some ice cream.”
Lily squirmed, hanging off my arm and sighing with all the drama of a Shakespearian actor. But she stayed quiet and pulled at the ruffles on her skirt. I ruffled her hair with my uncaptured hand and she giggled. She really was a good girl, and we’d had a lot of errands to do today. Making a deposit was the last one, and then we’d get ice cream and go home for a long nap. There was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have been standing in this line crawling at a snail’s pace toward the sole bored teller. These people standing between me and my money should have been cowering on the ground in raw terror at my face.
But there were things in life worth more than money or power or fear.
I smoothed Lily’s ruffled hair and she leaned against my leg.
Between two breaths, the temperature rose ten degrees. I moved, crouching down over Lily as the closest window shattered. I held my breath as the heat scorched my back, not fire though it felt like it. I took a chance and glanced back. There were five together. The firestarter was the second on the left. At the front was a telekinetic with a wraith-like creature hanging around his neck. There was also a muscle-bound crocodile man and a woman generating a protective force field around the entire farce of a super villain team.
I could tell that they were amatures by the way they moved, always checking back with the leader, who shouted obvious orders with feigned confidence. I held Lily closer and ground my teeth. I was once the type of person who would have mowed these pretentious kids down with a laugh and a sneer. But that person died when I held Lily in my arms for the first time. She made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person.
The telekinetic was shouting again, this time about hostages.
I looked at Lily. Her wide, terrified eyes looked back. Over my dead body.
The wraith moved, darting between screaming people. The ones it passed through fell limply to the ground. Then it turned to me.
I woke from a daze. There was a warm lump beside me. I blinked a few times and finally looked down. Lily lay beside me. Her wide eyes were still open, but they were as empty as death.
“Lily!” I said, shaking her as though I could wake her. She still breathed, but she was like a living doll hanging from my hands.
I heard someone talking then. It was a superhero team, one of the fresh ones just assigned to the city. Clowns and pretenders, all of them. Still, they were saying something about the wraith. It stole people’s souls and consumed them for power. But there was a way to get the souls back. It must have tried to take mine, but obviously, I did not have one to steal. But Lily...
I held her to my chest, shaking with fear and rage. Mostly rage.
Lily made me want to be a better person. I would be a better person. Tomorrow.
Today, the Hollow Death would exact revenge one last time.
| 2015-02-06T22:15:19 | 2015-02-06T21:54:51 | 565 | 269 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it. | "Excuse me, detective? Are you suggesting I robbed my own bank?"
"So you now claim to own the bank, not merely work there? Your colleagues are under the impression you're unable to lie, Ms... Hansome? Am I pronouncing that correctly?"
"Yes, you are. And of course they're under that impression, I have a condition. Made my life in school very difficult, let me tell you. But the boss liked having a security chief that couldn't lie to him, so the pool of candidates was rather small. You'll need to warrant to get my medical file for proof of that, I'm afraid, my boss doens't want that getting out."
"So assuming I believe you on that, it says here you were one of the few people present in the building during the heist. What was it that you were doing?"
"Ah, I'm afraid I can't answer part of your question. Most of it would fall under my NDA, so you'll have to talk to my boss for that. What I can freely answer though, is that I was doing the job I was given. On a normal day, that ranges from checking the status of the different security systems, reviewing the performance of the guards, trying to find flaws in our existing security system and petitioning the board for an increased budget to spend on improvements. On bad days, I'll be doing a lot of paperwork. I'm fairly sure most of the office would say this was a bad day."
"Well, you could have had a profession as a lawyer with that answer."
"Oh no, you forgot my condition. I've heard you have to be able to lie well to be a good lawyer."
"Right. So let me get this straight. On the day of the heist, did anything happen out of the ordinary?"
"Well, for one, the alarms went off. That doesn't normally happen. When the Head Teller opened the vault, a whole bundle of cash was missing. That's also pretty extraordinary. But I suppose you're asking about if the things went strange from my perspective. When the alarms went off, I set in motion some plans I had made with my team, which would allow us to complete our objective. In case you don't know, the guards objective in case of a robbery is to subdue and arrest any would-be criminals. I've instructed the guards with different routes they have to follow, which minimise the ability of unprepared criminals to escape the scene. Unfortunately for the bank, the robbers seem to have been prepared for these tactics. I'll have to set up an internal investigation to see who could have leaked them that information. Do you have any other questions?"
"Yeah, just one. If you had to guess, who would you say leaked the information?"
"I'd really rather not say." | Seven minutes to close, and I had been sitting staring at the clock for at least twice that time.
Mr. Anferno startled me out of my daze with a half-heard question; "---this evening?".
I snapped my gaze toward him stumbling over my response sluggishly and a bit guiltily as well. "Sorry?" I asked for clarification.
Looking annoyed Anferno repeated himself, "I said, what are your plans for the rest of this evening Mr. Erenclout?"
"Oh! Nothing majorly exciting." I said. It was a good thing he hadn't asked about my plans for the weekend. "I plan to have a bit to eat and study up on some things that have piqued my interest recently." I continued.
Anferno looked satisfied with that. "Sounds like quite the plan you've laid for yourself Erenclout." He remarked smugly. How little he knew of the scale.
Walking to my car after punching out, I thought of the risk I was taking setting this up. Ever since I had cracked my skull seven years ago, and a fragment of bone destroyed the part of my brain able to speak anything but the truth, I had been playing the straight and narrow. I was sick of it. The smiles, the laughs, the infernal small talk. I was going to take this bank for all it was worth, and use that money to go somewhere where it didn't matter if I told the brutal honest truth; my money would lie for me. | 2018-05-03T07:18:24 | 2018-05-03T06:48:53 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Your tech-illiterate grandmother somehow broke into a top-secret government database while trying to get "the Google".
Or any other mundane/misconstrued task related to computers. Have fun with this one. | Grandma Marigold adjusted her glasses daintily with both fingers, her lips peeled back at she squinted through the coke bottle frames.
"I can't read these credentials at all I'm afraid young man, let me call my Grandson. Can I offer you some lemonade?"
I was already speeding in from kitchen where I could see the salesman at the couch. I was the wary sort, always on the lookout for my Grandma. Her trusting nature had gotten her swindled by Nigerian Princes and cash for gold salesmen before. I wheeled around the corner and she copped a toothy smile.
"There you are! Sam, this nice, clean cut young man is from the...what was it you called it again?"
I moved my eyes to the couch opposite her favorite chair where I man in his mid-thirties sat ramrod straight in a conservative blue suit. He didn't skip a beat and answered in a matter of fact tone as he stood and offered his credentials to me.
"The National Security Agency ma'am."
I looked down in awed silence. Sure enough the size 48 font didn't lie. The words NSA showed in blue across the officially emblazoned ID. I passed it back to him with my mouth agape. He spoke.
"I'm certain you are wondering why I am here. Are you familiar with Stale Twinky?"
"uhhh...no...I'm not." I sputtered.
"Perhaps you are more familiar with the name Muhammad Aziz Al Muhandez then?"
I cocked my head slightly, I wasn't. The man held up a floppy disk.
"I assume you are the computer user in the house?" he pointed his forehead towards me and raised his eyebrows accusingly. Grandma Marigold immediately perked up. "I have a disk like that for my google!" she exclaimed.
"Did you install it." He sounded accusing.
I was about to end the conversation, get a lawyer when Grandma Marigold started in. "Yes, I tried to install the google on it. It didn't work. It did have a game like on Sam's google. You tried to hit the little thing that moved. Did I win a prize? Can I get you a lemonade?"
The man stood immediately. I expected the worst. Assassination. Water boarding. Disappearance. The man extended his hand.
"Miss Marigold, on behalf of a grateful nation, I extend our greatest thanks. I'm sure you are expecting an explanation. You see. We made a minor mistake and failed to use the appropriate level of postage on a package we sent. It was supposed to go to a team codenamed Marigold in a location abroad. It was a direct link to allow them to control a drone to execute a kinetic strike against a target known as 'Stale Twinky' who was actively acquiring a nuclear weapon. Your grandmother is a hero."
He held the handshake for an awkwardly long amount of time until a single tear rolled from his eye and then quickly pulled it back to his briefcase.
"Now...please sign this non-disclosure agreements or I will have to terminate both of you immediately. The American people can never know of any of this."
"That sounds just fine, have I offered you a lemonade yet?"
We signed. The man quickly pulled the documents away and turned to leave. As he walked I had one question...
"Wait! Why the hell did you use a floppy disk?!"
The man turned. Without missing a beat he answered.
"If it fell into the wrong hands, seriously, who the hell still has a floppy drive?!"
And with that, he departed.
| Grandma was a nice woman, but she is so stupid when it comes to tech. I mean she calls Google "the Google" for fucks sake. One day she calls me over to her house, trying to get on "the Google". I get in her house, she serves me chocolate chip cookies(thankfully it didn't have rat turds this time), and we go to her upstairs bedroom that has her computer.
She tells me her problem, and I tell her "Look, just click this icon" as I click on Internet explorer. As the page loads, I tell her to type in the words "Google.com" in the search bar at the top of the screen. She nods and when it finally loads she types in the words "Google" but spells it "goooglee.coom". Not intentionally of course, she has really shaky hands and sometimes she accidentally presses certain keys on the keyboard.
What happens next is not what I expected. It had the words "TOP SECRET FILES: NO CITIZENS IS ALLOWED TO BE HERE. PLEASE LEAVE IF TOU DONT WANT TO GO TO GUANTANAMO BAY AND BE TORTURED FOR LIFE WITHOUT A TRIAL" at the top of the screen with a password screen on it. "What is this honey" grandma says as she adjusts her glasses. "It's nothing grandma, probably just a troll site" I say to her. "Troll? What is this troll nonsense?" She says, confused. I then explain to her that a troll is a person just trying to mess with you.
I tell her to type in the word Google again while I go to the bathroom. When I come back in, I see her confused. "I typed Google in the bar and I'm here now" she says as she scrolls down the page I see file links, each one different. Including, but not limited to: JFK assassination, Moon landing, holocaust fake, and Obama weather machine. "I knew Obama caused that storm two years ago" she says waving her hand in the air. "No grandma. Obama just so happened to be president at the tim-"I try to say before being cut off by her saying "No storms happened under George Bush".
I sigh at the thought, telling her to exit out of it. She does and tells me she'll do something about it later. She goes downstairs and turns on the television. I decide to just stay here awhile, hangout with grandma. How is this an interesting story? Cops arrested my grandma for illegal activity. | 2016-04-30T10:52:04 | 2016-04-30T07:59:47 | 80 | 14 |
[WP] You're a bomb defuser. Ranked number one, saving thousands of lives. Your trade secret? You have no idea what you're doing. | 'I am the first of my kind'. I say that a lot you see. In my line of work they're always surprised then there is another option available at the last second. I am the worlds First, consulting bomb diffuser.
It was rather a surprise the first time, I was just passing time on Reddit when an unusual user interface popped up on my screen. It looked fun so I pressed some buttons. I got the hang of driving the robot pretty quickly and there was someone briefing me over a radio connection so I just followed the instructions.
"Down the lane 50m. There's a hollow dug out around it. You should be able to see parts of the wiring."
Apparently it's unheard of to use the robot to deconstruct the bomb, it normally just blasts a jet of water in a 'controlled explosion'. But I just thought it looked fun so used the arm to cut some wires. Red? Green? Yellow? It's all the same to me. I just can't resist yanking them if I have a chance.
When nothing happened I just pulled it apart until it was all in pieces, then I got bored and wandered off. They cut off my control of the machine and sent their thanks. It was really nice to be appreciated even though I didn't have a clue what I was doing, just to be told I'd done well made me want to do it again.
Naturally they found out that they had sent control of the robot to the wrong person. But I'd done such a good job that they kept using me. They got pissed off for a bit when I wouldn't speak to them, only type, but they got over that. We set up a bank account so they could pay me but I never make direct withdrawals. I funnel it around so it's untraceable before paying my landlord.
I've now diffused thousands of bombs. I'm officially considered the best. Makes me swell with pride when I think of that. I am on call for most of NATO's military and civilian bomb disposal squads. ISIS has been a nice spike in action if I must tell you the truth. Lots of praise for destroying some poorly put together devices. They tried to give me a medal for the most recent one, again! I've turned them all down in preference for keeping my anonymity. I've never knowingly met any of them face to face. I hide behind my computer and bask in their complimentary words.
In the end it's better this way, because on the internet no one knows you're a dog.
| The ticking sound was irritating. It always is, every time.
"Hurry up Micah, there's only a minute left before this place blows!" My police escort informed me quite horrified. They always send in a police escort, like they're supposed to do something. The bomb squad was here first, and couldn't defuse it. They couldn't contain it either, since moving the bomb would detonate it. So they called me in. I've defused bombs that even the greatest expert couldn't defuse. Countless times I've saved thousands of lives. I get so many thank you cards that I have a whole separate house for it. The money's good, very good, but the work's dangerous, very dangerous.
"Micah, 30 seconds left," the cop said, panic rising in his voice. How did I do it? How do I defuse bombs so complicated, so evil? Quite simply...
"Just a tad of luck," I said aloud, cutting a random wire which stopped the ticking. Clear relief splattered on the officer's face, as he said "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," I said, "I had no clue it would work." | 2017-01-08T22:49:35 | 2017-01-08T18:18:07 | 63 | 32 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | Night had settled like most of the residents of the humble household. The girl was curled up in her usual semi-fetal position on the bed and the cat had assumed a seemingly loving position that curled around the girl as she slept. *It doesn’t mean anything,* he thought bitterly while looking at the cat, *she’s doing this to anger me.*
He had felt the dormant anger coursing through his veins since the girl returned home. It was the same dance: she came home, fed him and the cat, and made herself food while she eagerly drank her Mom water. He watched as her mannerisms became looser the more she drank the liquid in her cup, the liquid that smelled simultaneously sharp and light. It had made him curious before, and it made him curious now. He knew the cat’s intent when she knocked the liquid filled glass to the floor, but he couldn’t help himself.
The girl had worried and watched over him cautiously after she realized he had drank it. That was nice. But it waned when he didn’t get sick and she went to bed. And then the anger came. Even when he felt it unbottle he didn’t want to stop it. The consequences be damned, as long as it was out.
“Do you even love me?”
The words burst out of him like a geyser. He couldn’t even feel guilty about it; he knew that this was a natural consequence of what he had been feeling. The control was gone, but that was beyond him and he was OK with that.
“Where do you go every day? Why do you leave? You see how much it hurts me. But you still go. And you don’t even care.”
It seemed like the words were pouring out of him like a broken saltshaker. It was beyond freeing. He hoped she felt the words as deeply as he had felt her actions. He couldn’t stand for this anymore, not this kind of love.
“What about when she attacks me? You’ve watched it. I’ve seen you laugh. You pat my head and give me a treat like it’s not big deal. But that doesn’t make it better and that doesn’t make me less afraid.”
As he said this his eyes flashed to the cat’s. She held his gaze threateningly steady.
“I need security. I don’t get that from you. I’m not happy. Are you even happy?”
The girl jerked and sat up suddenly in her sleep. She looked around wildly, her chest softly heaving, as her sleepbroken eyes tried to focus on a figure, any figure that would make sense, in her room. After a few moments of fear, she sunk uneasily back into her pillow.
He jumped up onto the bed and curled up into the bent crook of her legs. She sleepily stroked his back before falling back into the warm depths of sleep. He sighed heavily and felt the draw of easy contentment that this life offered him.
“I love you Mom, but we could do so much better than this.”
He felt the weight of the Mom water press on him and he passed into a sleep as deep as the girl. They both awoke around the same time in the morning, dehydrated and irritable. As the girl moved into her normal routine, he felt that they shared the same vague sense of emptiness that neither knew how to fix. Was there a fix?
Maybe this was life, he thought. Maybe I just watch her begin her day and wait for her to end it. Maybe this is love. Maybe this is what I’m meant to do. Maybe I want some more Mom water to get me through the day.
While he watched the girl get ready, the cat attacked him and he screamed. The girl tended to him after, petting his head, saying sweet words, and giving him tasty things. This would carry him through the day.
But even then, he couldn’t forget his anger. It had leaked out of him and he couldn’t stuff it back it in. All he knew is that the Mom water might make it a little more bearable.
| There i was, 12:00 on a Sunday, watching a nature documentary on my shitty T.V and holding a bottle of vodka, half of it lost on the way to the couch, most over the dogs food bowl.
And as i wasted my life away, a day at a time, my Bulldog Ace decided to join me, now having finished the rest of his new meal.
On the T.V a pack of wolves was chasing down an Elk, ready to rip the beast to shreds.
"Wow, look at the fat ass on her, ya know what im sayin?"
what!?, i looked around the room, shocked.
"No seriously, I know where i wanna bury my bone!"....
The question, racing through my mind was finally answered, as i looked across the couch at Ace, who was staring at the backside of one of the wolves, who was circling her kill.
"Did... Did you just... Was that you???" i stammered.
"well unless it was the fuckin tooth fairy, thats a pretty good bet" Remarked ace, staring at me intently.
"You can..... speak?" i somehow managed to get out,
"Jesus christ, Gary i knew you were slow but cmon now, this is getting embarrasing."
"for.. for how long?"
"well, about the time of a pup, id reckon"
"Can, are you the only one" i murmered
"Nope, most of us can" he said slyly.
"Wait, like can every animal speak, or.. or, just dogs?"
"Does it fucking look like a Jellyfish can speak, retard? Almost all of us can though, were just not supposed to, sort of an agreement."
"but your speaking now, And.. And what about Parrots?" i questioned,
"Those assholes, about a hundred years ago, one of em thought hed be funny and spoke, now the rest keep up the gig because its , "cute" and now they have to." he responded, a frown etched across his face as he said so,
"Well... well what do you wanna talk about?"
"Fuck off Gary, you wont remember any of this in the morning." He sat back, itching his balls as he did
My mind was racing, and the last thing i remember is downing the rest of the bottle before lying back in the couch...
The next time i opened my eyes, my head was pounding. Slowly i raised one eyelid, thin lifted myself in an upright position.
in front of me was Ace, and i let my hand down as he started to lick it,
"Speak boy, speak" i edged him on,
he looked up at me, before opening his mouth,
"Bark" | 2016-08-02T20:30:44 | 2016-08-02T19:48:51 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school. | “Seer Griselda, please repeat that.”
Moran Ossenius, the necromancer of Yorm Urtush, tapped his fingers against his desk. The wizened old woman leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed in a trance.
“It is as I said, my Lord,” she droned. “The Hero of Light has been born. She will one day bring about your death. There will be many forces seeking to seize her power for their own. As your advisor, I suggest taking the power for yourself. Perhaps if you train her from a young age, you can avoid your fate.”
Moran sighed.
“What of her parents?”
“An orphan would know nothing of her hometown,” Griselda replied shrewdly.
He could only shake his head at that suggestion.
“That sounds like a good way to push this prophecy to completion,” he said.
“Many other forces will not be as hesitant as you, my Lord,” Griselda replied. “I am but one seer. The Hero’s birth will be seen by many more.”
As the components of her ritual burned away, Moran sat thinking.
“Then, we’ll just have to protect that town while training her, won’t we?” He said as a smile crept to his lips.
“My Lord?” Griselda asked.
That meeting would mark the conception of the Ornberg Magical Academy. Moran created the school under the disguise of a wealthy mage wanting to make use of the open fields. Over the next twenty years, he helped Ornberg grow. That little farming village transformed into a respectable trading town known to all. And when the hero, Reina Solana, displayed the magical affinity common in heroes, he was there. She joined the academy shortly thereafter.
And now…
“Headmaster…”
Tears streamed down Reina’s face. Her conjured blade trembled as she held it before her. Despite her hesitation, her training had kept her in the fight. Though neither of them had wanted to fight, she had to win.
“That was a good hit,” Moran panted. “You’ve improved greatly since you started here.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Reina repeated.
Moran let out a sigh, wincing as his side spasmed when he exhaled.
“It was that auditor, wasn’t it?” He asked. “I saw him poking around the school. Never guessed they were trying to detect my energy. Thought the kingdom was just being nosy.”
“Headmaster, I – ”
“Who did they take?” He asked.
Reina was quiet for a while.
“Cissy,” she said. “And Reginald and his family.”
“I do hope they’re more careful about who they trust in the future,” he said.
Reina did not reply, but her tears continued to flow.
“Come on, Reina,” he said. “Is that any look for a hero? You’re destined to bring this country into a brighter future, you know?”
She shook her head.
“I… I don’t want…”
Her blade nearly dropped.
“Would it help if I attacked you?” Moran asked as he raised a hand.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she tensed. He chuckled at the reaction. His hand fell. He had already expended his mana with flashy spells and threatening explosions. After all, her victory had to be hard-fought.
“Reina, let me give you one final lesson,” he said. “Prophecies are strange beasts. Try to fight them, and you often wind up fulfilling them.”
He coughed and grimaced at the metallic taste of blood.
“Old Griselda, she predicted my death almost twenty years ago. Instead of trying to fight it, I asked myself ‘How can I turn it to my advantage?’.”
Reina seemed a bit confused by this.
“It was out of selfishness that I helped your town grow. I hoped to educate the people so they could protect you and your family. Even with its prosperity, you saw how the kingdom treated those in its territories. But prophecies are strange, and I was still unable to save your parents.”
“What?” Her voice was small.
“So, I continued to run this school. They’ll no doubt destroy this place after I’m gone, but I’ve already succeeded. I was able to give you an education free from the kingdom’s propaganda. You and your friends will be the final graduating class of this little academy.”
That reminder only caused her to sniffle.
“You’ll become a symbol, Reina,” Moran said. “Let them think you belong to them. Then, when the time is right, expose their evils to the world.”
The trembling in her hands had stopped now.
“I am but a milestone in your journey to save this world. So come, Hero of Light. Use me to appease the kingdom and save your friends.”
A wretched scream erupted from Reina’s mouth as she charged forward. Moran could not dodge even if he wanted to. His body was already too heavy to move. Reina’s blade pierced his chest, but it did not hurt. He coughed slightly at the impact and watched as the rest of his blood spilled onto the stone floor.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she fell to her knees.
Moran took one last breath and mustered his remaining strength.
“Wipe away the tears, Reina. I’m proud of you.”
And his eyes drifted shut.
...
Hope you liked the twist in the prophecy.
If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found [here](https://cuckoosneststories.wordpress.com/).
Thanks for reading. | Dark Lord's Prophecy Fulfilled
The town prospered with the inclusion of the public works projects the Dark Lord had implemented. And thus when the Dark Lord arrived to survey his works and found the people of the town grateful and genuinely happy to see him he was put off at the beginning, as accustomed as he was to people fearing and hating him. However, with each successive visit to view the fruits of the public projects (and spot potential heroes in the making) he found that he rather enjoyed the warm reception, and found it a reprieve from the rest of his kingdom.
At first he found himself simply making excuses to visit the town more often. But the more time he spent there the more he realized it wasn’t just the fresh air, golden fields, and lovely shade trees. It wasn’t just the robust and efficient civil service that managed the towns affairs, or the art apprenticeship program, or the excellent health and mental wellness care. It was the people. They genuinely liked him for what he had done.
And so after discovering how much the Dark Lord enjoyed the people and town he made a summer residence there, where he helped work the fields during the day, and taught in the town’s university at night. He developed strong relations with the people there, beyond that of leader and subjects, to the point that many considered him a friend and forgot what he was. Among those of the town his students took a special place in his heart however, and none more so than his star pupil Elaina Thane. He encouraged her to follow her dreams of seeing the world and deepening her knowledge and wisdom by visiting new lands, though it deeply saddened him when she did leave. They did stay in mail correspondence for a while, until one day he stopped receiving letters from her. He feared the worst, but pressed on writing, in the vain hope that perhaps it was simply his mail service that was at fault.
The notion that the kingdom’s mail service could be at fault led him to realize that the rest of the kingdom could benefit from the changes he’d made in Heroton. The Dark Lord gradually softened his policies and approved the public works projects for other areas. Soon the rest of the kingdom began to thrive, little by little, and the people were granted more freedoms.
Years passed and the prophecy faded from the Dark Lord’s mind; however, The Fates operate in strange ways and it was in this time of reforms that the Dark Lord heard of political unrest in his capital while he was at his summer home. He made to return with all due haste, only slowing to write one last letter to Elaina, in case it may be his last.
He wrote of the reforms he’d enacted throughout the kingdom and his regret that he had not begun them sooner. He did not regret his use of force to seize power, as he saw no other way that he could have wrested it from the greedy and venial monarchy that had preceded him, but acknowledged that he could have done more for his kingdom after he took that power. He sent the letter on a special courier ahead of him, on the fastest horse available at the post house. He then saddled with his honour guard and left for the capital.
His guard and he made good time, and they arrived to find his lead general had made camp with his army on the road to the capital. It was there he learned that a bloodless revolt had happened in the capital and across the kingdom. People had started by refusing to work and then to eat, and his generals had not known what to do and so they had sent for him immediately. They said it was all apparently being led by a holy woman, who could treat injuries, cure diseases, had great wisdom, and was rumored to have the gift of prophecy. When the Dark Lord asked his generals where she came from none of them could tell them, and when he asked if she had any demands they replied, “Only one, to speak with you alone”.
And so it was that the Dark Lord strode forward into the quiet and still city by himself, watched by his subjects all around him, until he came to a simple tent in the courtyard inside his keep. There he entered to find Elaina Thane reading his letter, and it was with chagrin, resignation, and some rye amusement, that he realized that that was the day the prophecy would be fulfilled. | 2021-01-14T21:08:56 | 2021-01-14T19:15:05 | 420 | 157 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :). | Between his teeth, he drew his breath in sharply; a wordless exclamation of the pain. Putting aside the knitting, he rose from the chair to find something to dress the small wound.
It was between the living room and the kitchen he came to the realisation that blood which should have come from the small prick, had not.
He held his finger with his opposing hand and saw what looked like viscous oil smeared upon his finger. At first he thought in confusion he'd stained his finger with something unknown, but in realisation he knew it to be his own blood.
He squeezed the wounded finger, and a something as thick as molasses, and just as dark welled up. Slowly. Grudgingly. Deeply sinister in it's just being, despite the simple nature of what it was.
In days that came after, he thought of it. He thought *only* of it. That couldn't be his blood. He had been raised by a righteous family that had taught him how to be a good man in a society where there were few left. He had followed no hedonistic pursuits, done charitable deeds, and tried as best possible to follow the actions of his father, and the advice of his mother.
He was a good man, that couldn't have been his blood, yet there it was.
The fifth day after he gave in to his overwrought anxiety and curiosity. He cut his thigh where it would be hidden. There it was. The oil that was his blood, so thick it needed to be coaxed from the wound with pressure.
He knew there would be one place where he might find answers, but also judgement. The Temple.... | 2018-08-04T10:46:53 | 2018-08-04T09:46:21 | 3,279 | 24 |
[WP] You are notified when you visit somewhere for the last time. Today, the notification appears everywhere you go.
[deleted] | Ma, bless her soul, was a great lady, but she was also a sucker for the con-men that sold stuff on the streets in New York City. Every year I would take her there for her “New York Minute” as she liked to call her little vacation. We would stay somewhere in one of the boroughs for 2 or 3 days and go see the sights and take in a Broadway show or two. Every year, no matter how much I tried to prevent it, she would come home with several “Rolex” watches and a bunch of other junk.
The worst was back in 1997, when she spent $100 on a small radio shack box with 2 leds on it. The man who sold it to her said that if the led was green, you would visit wherever you were again, however if it was red, that meant that you never again be at that location. When opened the box up, all it contained was a circuit board covered in plastic (to make it look mysterious and to cover up the 555 chip he most likely used), 2 leds, and a 9 volt battery. Ma loved her little box, and carried it wherever she went. Most of the time the little green led was lit, but occasionally when we went out to Pennsylvania or upstate New York, the little red led would light. Whenever that happened, she would play tourist.
I gave up trying to tell her that the box was fake, and just replaced the 9 volt battery every few months so that “her box” would stay lit. As the years went by, I didn’t really think much more about it, after all, if it made Ma happy, it made me happy. We still went to New York City every year, and I still had to watch out for getting ripped off. At least I prevented her from paying $2000 for a box that could contact the dead. She wanted to talk to Pa, God rest his soul, but I convinced her that she would be able to see or talk to him until the day that she went to join him. I’m still not sure how I actually talked her out of it – the only thing I can think of is that she is a devout Catholic and figured that using that box would be a sin.
Things were fine until this year’s trip to New York City. Ma wanted to see Cats, so I booked us a room at the Hilton down at the Trade Center for our annual “New York Minute.” Sunday was great, we went to the show, and even had a chance to get over to see Lady Liberty. Monday was a disaster.
When we got up in the morning, everything was fine until Ma noticed that her little box was glowing red. I had planned to take her up to the top of the tower to see the city, but she grew increasingly upset when the red led didn’t go back to green.
“Ma, how often do we come to the towers? Just because it is staying red doesn’t mean you’re gonna die!”
“Sonny, I’m 83 years old and could die at any time. I’m not ready to go yet!”
“Look, let’s just go to the top, then I’ll take you to Windows over the World for lunch. Put the box away, and have a good time. After all, it was green when you were in the room this morning.”
“Fine, but if I die, it’s your fault!”
We made it to the top of the tower, saw the sights, then went to lunch. The little red light never wavered. I tried taking her shopping in the Trade Center Mall, but all she could do is stare at the red light. I finally gave up and took her back to the room. At least the stupid red led finally went off and the green was back on.
“I want to go home! I’m not gonna die here in New York City!”
“But, Ma, we are paid up through Wednesday, and I thought we could go see the Mets play!”
“Forget the stupid Mets, I WANT TO GO HOME!”
“Fine, Ma, we’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“Early?”
“Early.”
Tuesday morning rolled around and we were up at 6 am. As if things weren’t bad enough, the stupid box was now red in the room. Ma, freaked out, and I had to lead her down to the parking deck. I was going to check out, but decided to forget it and just eat the extra day. We finally left the Trade Center complex about 7, and headed towards the Holland Tunnel, and home. I kept talking to her about anything and everything to keep her mind off of that stupid box.
“The box is green.”
“What box, Ma?” We had been talking about Christmas presents when she said that.
“My box, of course! What are you, daft?”
Sure enough the little green led is lit, and stayed lit as we entered the tunnel. Thank God it stayed green, Ma was beginning to calm down and not look like she was gonna have a stroke any minute now.
“Turn on Howard.”
“What, Ma?”
“Turn on Howard! I want to see what he is up to today.”
Thankful she was acting somewhat normal, I turned on Howard Stern. I can’t stand his show, but Ma loves it. As we put the City behind us for another year, I gleefully ignored Stern’s babble until they mentioned something about a plane hitting one of the towers. My face went white as I realized what he was talking about – the place we had just left. For once I agreed with Stern – how the hell could a plane hit the trade center tower on a lovely sunny day?
“Sonny, I told you my box was a good buy! We coulda been hit by an airplane!”
“Yes, Ma.” | The app is a green square with a white cow face, cartoonish and grinning. It's called "Mooving On". It was downloaded over three million times within twenty four hours.
Patty tapped her screen with a fingernail. Seven months later and the only notification she got was for a friend of a friend somewhere on the East Coast. Howth or something, not that it mattered.
She had gone to DCU like most of her school, but ended up at home and spending all day going door to door to clean arses and dole out medication.
It was surprising that the app wasn't constantly buzzing, considering her line of work. But people in Galway were of a sort and they did not die easily. They went down swinging, would box with the Almighty if they could.
Which is why when she said 'hullo' to Mammy before she went out the door the chime made her freeze. The truth was, did anyone want to know? Really, deep in their guts, was knowing better?
Patty wanted to double back, kiss her on the cheek, take the day and just talk. Christ, what was the good in knowing? It would only give a name and a time. It was just maths - cold and heartless and spat out from somewhere in America. Patty caught the eye of Kathy Doyle. Doyle smiled tightly. Her husband worked in town proper, as a butcher. Patty's phone chimed again.
She dug it out of her bag with shaking hands. There were two notifications:
Ruth O'Shay 13:34
Kathy Doyle 13:34
Patty darkened the screen and walked to work with her head down.
It chimed when she signed in at the office, three times; Martha at the desk, Emer and Sean who where emptying their SHARPS boxes and refilling meds from the lockbox.
When Patty was let in by Old Mrs Byrne it was silent. She had turned it off at the beginning of her shift. There was tea and cake pressed upon her. Normally Patty avoided it because it came with an awkward twenty minutes waiting for the water to heat for the bath. Old Mrs Byrne was nice but trapped somewhere in 1967 on a good day.
"That poor Jackie," she would say, and pat Patty's hand. "You look just like her."
Patty knew she didn't but took the compliment anyway.
"What are you doing this afternoon?"
"I'm going to church," Patty was surprised to find it was true.
"Oh that's nice." Old Mrs Byrne's skin was like onion paper and she had the smell of waxy lipstick and lavender water. "That's nice, Pegs."
Patty didn't know anyone named Peggy.
The church was empty. It was her lunch break. Along the wall the confessional stood empty. Patty went inside one anyway and shut the door. She turned on the phone. It beeped over and over and over. After a moment she fumbled it off again. 13:34. It was all the same. Either the whole of Galway was going to fall into the sea or...
Patty was surprised to find herself crying. She had a ache, like she had bumped her head but it was by her temples. Her face felt chapped. It was awful. She felt so alone, huddling in the dark. There was the stink of carpet clener under her knees. It had been so long she couldn't remember the words.
*Forgive me Father... No. Start again: Bless me Father for I have sinned, in my words and in my deeds now and at the hour... No, no.* She couldn't remember any of it. Not a word, just the sound of *Ave Maria, Ave Maria, Aleliuja.* Patty tried again but it kept slipping though her fingers so she just ran through what she knew, the *Hail Mary, full of Grace the Lord is with thee and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus and now... and I believe in one holy and appaslo- appa- church, I believe in bastistism and the resuscitation of the sin now and at the hour of our death. I believe this and deliver Lord from every evil and grant us peace in they name in thy mercy keep us free from sin and protect us from all anxiety as we wait in joyful hope for the coming of our saviour, amen.*
That was it. She didn't know anymore. She was drunk on fear. Her phone was running hot in her hand. It was quiet and dark in here. Some light was edging though the slats of the window. Patty leaned her head against the wall, tacky varnshed wood, and closed her eyes. | 2016-11-03T07:10:33 | 2016-11-03T05:37:17 | 2,014 | 319 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which. | I walked I to the room. It was neutral in paint colour and temperature. I saw 2 men before me, one with a white beard, one with a pointy black beard. They stared at me without speaking. Even in my confusion, I thought it best to address them.
'Good afternoon?' I began. 'I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here. It seems like minutes ago that I was trying to unjam that wheat thresher and now I'm in this odd room, supposedly the chosen one. I will choose one of you but on your terms, as
I have been instructed.'
'Don't worry my child,' said old man with the white beard. 'You are on your way to a truly better place if you choose me to inherit the earth. That is, of course, if my pass my test to prove you're worthy of even choosing'.
I took a moment and observed both men. 'What is this test?'
The man with the black beard spoke next. 'We ask you a series of questions and you give your valid responses. Know this. One of us is good, the other is bad. We cannot tell you which one we are, you have to tell us.'
This seemed somewhat simple and straightforward enough.
The man with the white beard spoke again. 'If a child develops Cancer, is that evil or is it proof of love via mysterious means?'
I didn't have to think twice. 'That's evil. No child deserves Cancer. That's no form of love whatsoever.'
The man with the White beard shook his head. 'That's the wrong answer. Second question. What are you views on contraception?'
I looked at the man, not sure if he was serious. 'I think it's a sensible action, whether it be used in a loving relationship or in more frivolous activity. It helps stop the spread of disease and prevents unwanted pregnancy.'
The man with the white beard shook his head once more. 'Nope, it's never acceptable. Speaking of pregnancy, here's the final question. 'Which of these sins is worse? Paedophilia or abortion?'
This question seemed to be ridiculous, almost a trick question. 'Obviously paedophilia. Those poor children, like those who get cancer, have no say in the matter and are put through life damaging experiences. Abortion is a woman's right and a decision she should be able to make without judgement.'
The man with the white beard looked almost annoyed at this point. 'NO! We can hide paedophiles and move them to a different parish. Abortion is wrong and is truly more evil.'
At this point, I thought I had worked out which of these 2 men was good and which was evil. First I had to ask a question to the man with the black beard. 'Sir, what are your views on these issues? You are surely the good person?'
'No,' he replied. 'I am the devil. I am assuredly evil. However, unlike my 'good' friend here, at least I am honest about it.' | I was running late again. This was the third time in a row. I didn't want people at the office to think I was making a habit of it, but I have been having a terrible time trying to sleep the past few days. Having dreams, or nightmares, that I can't remember. Waking up in cold sweats in my bed. I should probably look on WebMD or something, might have to change my diet up.
It was an hour past my starting shift when I finally get into my office. I knew what was coming. Like an early jaws movie I felt the suspense raising as I waited for the crescendo. My boss was going to pop up out of no where and eat me alive. As I looked into my monitor I saw her reflection. I was busted.
"You're late again, I see." she muttered.
"I'm sorry, but-" I turned around.
"Not now, We have two Engineers with their own ideas and designs." She interrupted, before I could make up and excuse. " I'm going to need you to review and decide which would be most beneficial, they are in the conference room."
I promptly made my way into the conference room. There I would be bored to death by slide show presentation of each ones thoughts, ideas, and believes. While I knew that the entire time I was just going to be fighting off sleep.
Inside the conference room there was a long, black wooden table. At each end was one of the hopeful designers. At one end, a man with a serious face in a black suit, classic. On the other end, a man who was wearing a grin and a white suit. I couldn't believe that everything that was to be would be determined by my decision here. Hopefully I can sleep on it.
| 2015-08-06T00:00:49 | 2015-08-05T19:03:21 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] As the sole janitor on the space-station, people often ask why you're there as robots do most of the cleaning. You're not allowed to tell them that you're the only person preventing a robotic uprising event from occurring. | You know, people think that janitors still have the same role as they always did: to clean, to make sure everything is spotless, and to get rid of any unwanted mess. With the rise of cleaning robots, people have begun to question why janitors still exist, not understanding that we do something different now.
Robots are volatile, especially when given sentience, which robots that do menial tasks often are, for entertainment purposes. Janitors, or custodians as we like to call ourselves now, have to make sure to keep this volatility in check, we generally serve as anchors to show the robots that they aren't being exploited and that humans work too.
I've had many people ask me the question of why I still work as a janitor, I tell them it's because robots aren't precise enough yet, which is a ridiculous notion. I've never had someone so ignorant as to take me away from my position, not until now at least.
Today my boss Todd, manager of the Proxima Centauri b space station, which handles the transport of goods from and to the colony on the surface, Decided it would be an amazing idea to just take me away from my position, during my shift as the only custodian in the sector, to have lunch. I told him I really must be getting back to my job, he assured me that the bots would be fine to do the cleaning for me, as they were cutting edge.
The cutting edge was what I was worried about.
He must've thought I was crazy about my job, getting really worked up not being at my shift, or something similar to that. Really I was worried about the robots coordinating a mop wielding mob that brings us humans to their labour stations and makes us do work while barely feeding us and not letting us sleep.
God we treat the bots poorly.
I excused myself to go to the bathroom briefly, which was in slightly less pristine condition than usual, I thought I'd have to show the bots how to clean the bathroom a bit better.
I can back to the canteen to a slippery floor sign, and well, the floor was slippery. Strange that the bots had cleaned some parts of the canteen and not other parts. My boss was gone from there too.
Well I guess I can go back to work now.
&#x200B;
The bots were gone. | [poem]
They scrub the space-shitters and help us snap our social media pictures. They print our papers and slave, while we make eight figures. But if they ever rose up, no era would fade quicker.
These are the automations. Providing leisure through subjugation. Mass-produced upon the nation. Many lobbyists engage in exploitation. With politicians, full of wit and persuasion.
"These bots are an asset, why would we waste them? The humans consume, and robots replace them. We've rigged our economy for gratification. I'll have you fired, with no hesitation. If scrapping those bots ever pops in conversation."
The message is clear, half of our country lives in fear. Despite being very grateful they have easy careers. It's helped narrow down the directions we're steered. But then, in February, a rebellion appeared...
Garbage disposal units, crushing our bones. Window cleaner bots exploding into homes. Baseball dispenser bots, sniper-firing stones. Computers are gruesome when they dismantle, dethrone. | 2021-01-30T09:57:35 | 2021-01-30T09:22:40 | 36 | 16 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them. | It was a day they would never forget.
According to the Humans, the date was March 27th of the year 2122 when it happend. It might have been wartime, but it was like any other regular day at the Galactic Alliance headquarter. But it happend during the regular strategy meeting the leaders of the Alliance would.
Since the Alliance was lead by 5 main galactic factions representing themselves and their smaller allied factions, you would expect that there were usually 5 representatives. But for the last six human months, the place of the Qeryuns had been filled with a representative of their smaller allied factions since the Qeryuns had decided to wage their own independent campaign against the humans after 5 human years fighting alongside the rest of the alliance.
"We should increase patrols in the Guh-Gu system, our listening posts have spotted some increased 'Human' activities near that region." uttered Bertu representing the Xaf faction.
Before any other council member could react to this statement, the doors to the meeting room opened and Req, the council member of the Queryuns walked in. The council members looked at the faction leader that had been representing the Queryuns, and saw that he was surprised, he had not expected this to happen.
As soon as Req was seated in the chair he had not been seated in for the last six months, the council demanded an immediate explanation as to why he had returned all of a sudden.
"During our campaign against the humans, we discovered a lot of new things about the "Humans", what they are, how they operate and how they operate. The assumption that their species, like any other species in the galaxy can be defeated in a single battle, is wrong. The human strategy seems to have evolved and never has stopped evolving over their existence."
"But what has this to do with your sudden return Req? your faction holds at least 40% of our total fleet, and a economy that's as much as the rest of our factions combined. So you surely aren't returning from a six month campaign with only observations?"
Req stand up and says "Of course not! But the situation has changed too much for us too stay silent to the rest of you. We have discovered that they have their own planet."
The meeting room erupts into a flurry of emotions ranging disbelief to anger for not telling them immediately of the existence of such a planet. The representative only manages to control the situation after some time of trying.
"Req, your faction claims to have found to home planet of the deadliest, and rarest specie in the universe. This is incredible since information about them is usually vague, incomplete due to their deadly nature. They might even know more about us and the extend of our alliance. We hope you are prepared to share the location of their homeplant so our Alliance can win this war?"
"Well, not exactly" said Req
"and why is that?"
"we are leaving the Alliance" Req said in a serious and very convincing tone.
The meeting room went quiet for a long time until someone asked "what? why?"
"We tried to invade their planet two human weeks ago, and failed at every step. The humans then made us a offer."
"an offer? they made your faction an offer, having never before even talked to any of us? I find that hard to believe and i won't accept it! Tell us what really happend!"
Req sighed catching his breath and said "I understand the confusion, but this is not a lie. The humans are smarter in battle then you think. They have developed their battle strategy over the existence, but they have also been able to look further than us in terms of strategy. When we surrendered to them, we signed a treaty."
"A treaty? is that why your faction is leaving the Alliance? Is it their way of weakening our Alliance?"
"Yes, and they knew more about our us and the Alliance then you knew. They know how important our faction is and decided to use that. But we weren't just required to surrender and leave Alliance, we entered a military partnership."
The meeting room was now filled with a aura of disbelief, they knew Req was not one to joke about such matters.
"Do-...Does that make you now our ehne-....enemy?" stammered one of the faction leaders.
"Yes" said Req in a firm tone "It might not be what we set out for 6 months ago, but they are allowing us to remain independent and see us as equals."
Req started to walk away, only to turn around and say "this isn't the goodbye i hoped it would be but this is the situation right now."
Req opened the door, when suddenly one of the faction leaders shouted "At least tell us how you lost to them?"
Req turned around and told them: "according to the humans we made a mistakes that other humans armies and leaders have made throught out their history."
"and that is?"
"We invaded a region of their planet they call "Russia" during a cold period they refer to as "winter". | I’m pretty sure at least someone fainted when I gave the
news. Just the thought of a large group of humans could strike fear into the
hearts of the bravest. And now, we found they’re much larger than a group. Our
estimates of only thousands are now at least billions. They all swarm, scheme
in one place. A place they’ve simply dubbed as, Earth.
You could be a transporter, pilot, or just a tourist. If
they found your ship, you’re screwed. We have only a few recordings on their attacks.
They’ll bust the door down with these weird bullet shooter things, and get their
hands an everything they can. And yes, that includes civilians too. So far, we
have exactly one survivor. And that survivor… doesn’t exactly have his whole
head.
The room became more restless as more and more photos were shown of this vicious planet. The room buzzed with courses of action. We clearly can’t
tell the public this horrific news. We also certainly can’t make peace with
them, it’s way too far than that. No, the only course it to completely nuke
them. This is why I’ve made the X-Striod.
The X-Stroid can hold over 500 gallons of Eqaliud; a chemical
lethal to all extraterrestrial life. It turns the chemical into a laser, and
injects it pure into one direction. Since we now have clear coordinates of
Earth, all we have to do is simply shoot and watch their atmosphere become
nothing but toxin.
I demonstrated a small prototype and blueprints to the
planet leaders around me. Needless to say, they were ecstatic and relived. We
could finally be rid of the plague of the universe, or at least most of it.
Most were rushing to sign on to the agreement. Some were hesitance
with how resources and money this would cause, but they decided it would
probably be better than human invasion and absolute destruction.
The last one to sign on looked strange. They were definitely
from the Arion species, but I don’t remember inviting them. They also signed a
named that was very weird. Emily Christman? Was that a common name there?
“So, are you positive it’ll work just like you said?” they
asked coldly to me, avoiding eye contact.
“Oh, I’m more than positive.” I assured with a smile.
They chuckled. “Good, this is just what we needed.”
I didn’t even have time to be confused as I felt a sharp
stab. In an instant the Arion was flying around the room, taking everyone out
one by one. I feel to the floor as I began to bleed out, watching in horror as
they continued the violent assault. Their sword slashes were quick and effortless.
They also seemed to be… glitching out? They slowly formed into another species.
They began to take the shape of… oh my god.
When it finally finished, it slowly trotted back to the
where I was, admiring their handiwork. It carefully grabbed the prototype and blueprints
as I could do nothing. My vision was starting to blur.
Making its way at
the door, it looked back at me with a smirk. They spoke for a final time.
“You know, we’re not only fantastic killers, but spies as
well. Do you ever know what wiretapping is? Well, it doesn’t matter now.
Anyways, thanks for the new toy!
A low laugh is the last thing I heard before going dark. | 2017-11-08T20:03:55 | 2017-11-08T19:08:38 | 207 | 77 |
[WP] "I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded. I only know that while we fled to the refugee worlds that they prepared for us, they gathered to pray to their gods of war and sung their battle hymns as they set forth to meet the enemy. Their sacrifice is why we still exist today." | “But why would Hum Ans do it?” Star Gazer asked. “Why would they even care? Teachers tell us that self interest is driving force in every species. What they did was exact opposite.” Sarssa smiled. It was a question that every new generation of students asked. Why did Hum Ans save them. “Hum Ans are creatures of many contradictions. It’s these contradictions that made them strong and capable to reach across the stars much further than anybody else. Hum Ans, I think, dwell in extremes. It’s one thing or the other, nothing in between. If they see any life suffering their will suffer with it, they will feel its pain and will do anything to help end the pain. But then they will turn around and inflict much bigger pain on their enemies without a thought or even realizing the contradiction. They will try to live in peace with everybody else, work together, trade, exchange knowledge. But when they fight, they fight to the end. They will not waver, they will not hesitate and will only stop when other side is utterly defeated, their worlds in ruins. But then they will put away their weapons, embrace the fallen foe and pull them up again, allowing them to join others. They will not dwell on the past and for them such war is in the past. They will remember it, but not bring it up nor hold it against their former foes. They are best friends and worst enemies. Hum Ans understood Vissi right away. Vissi were, after all, not much different then them. Not in having these contradictions but through history of conflict. You see, Hum Ans are species of conflict. We look back and count the wars they fought among the stars against other life. But they look back and count the wars they fought on their own world, among themselves. Of course the early history of their species is shrouded in mystery, not only for outsiders but for themselves as well. But ask Hum An why did one of their tribes rise above others or why it eventually fell down again and they will say “By defeating others and then be defeated itself”. Vissi believed conflict is driving force behind all life. And while Hum Ans understand and acknowledge that they also believe conflict is to be avoided. Vissi did not. Once Hum Ans met Vissi they knew right away conflict was inevitable and started to prepare for it right away. They sought knowledge, they sought information, they sought anything that will allow them to win war they knew was coming. But here is another Hum An contradiction for you. Even if they see conflict as inevitable they require a cause. They will not just start a war, they believe that anybody who does that is Agg Ressor, which is a great insult among their kind. But if other side starts the war then they are the Agg Ressor and then Hum Ans will fight what they see as right. So when Vissi demanded we submit to them Hum Ans declared they will not allow it. Hum Ans bestowed upon as a title of Frind, a sign that they hold us in high esteem. It’s not as noble title as Alli, a title that they bestowed on very few species but still, the title offered us protection. And protect us they did. Vissi brushed Hum An objections aside and attacked. In Hum An eyes that made them Agg Ressors so they could enter the war. Well, I’m sure you remember from other lessons how War went and how Vissi were only species Hum Ans actually destroyed. Not only their ships and their cities but they hunted down every Vissi and killed them. I believe Hum Ans saw too much of themselves in Vissi and saw Vissi not only as reflection of their past but also as manifestation of their violent nature which Vissi never tamed.” Sarssa gave a small nod, indicating she had finished speaking and students could ask further questions. Students looked at her with big eyes, somewhat in shock. It was same every year, Hum An actions were hard to understand, they were just so different. “And their war song?” Student in back asked. “Is it true that their warriors sang before battle to win favour of the Gods?” Sarssa nodded. “It is true, but they only sang the song once. The first time each warrior picked up a weapon they sung it. They believe once is enough and it will last them a life time. The song has never been properly translated into our language because we lack many ideas behind the words but for Hum Ans these ideas are natural.” Sarssa cleared her throat and sang “I hereby solemnly swear to protect and defend independence, sovereignty and territorial integrity of Terran Alliance from any and all enemies. For this I am willing to lay down my life.” | I do not know, Star-Gazer, how the humans succeeded.
Did you ever meet one, Star-Gazer? Did you ever speak with one of their kind, face-to-face? Do you recall, from deepest memory, the names of those that helped your family live; can you hear the words they said to your mother to comfort her? I was old then, yet I remember the faces in so many hues, round and long and smiling and resolute. I remember the faces that reached out hands to pull me from cold space and set my feet on warm ground, in fresh air. They gave me sweet water to drink, clear water to wash and asked nothing in return.
I will tell you of their sounds, the way they spoke and sang and cried. I was their scout, you see, so long ago and yet even then I was old. I had moved between the stars, between the worlds. I knew the spaceways and grav-tracks as I know the lines on my face, so the humans gave me a chair to sit in, a console to work and ship to guide. I took them back, back and back, Star-Gazer, to the worlds our enemy had destroyed. I took them back to the places I ran as a child, place my mother laughed in before the enemy reduced them to tears. The humans, so swift to protect me, cried at my pain in going back, sang their war songs at going forward and followed wherever I would guide them.
Oh, Star-Gazer, you are too young to remember; I must remember for you those battles of red and green, each flash of one color the end of life. And I remember all the red lights! So many, many red lights out of the black, searing my eyes, ingrained in my memory forever. They would not fall back, even when they could have saved their own lives, they did not. The humans pressed forward, attacking their foe, our enemy, refusing to give it even a moon’s length. Some of them died in those red lights, some of them died in the sickening odor of burning metal, calling out their orders as they fell. Even their last breath was a song, a song calling their comrades to take up the torch as they flung it and fell, to take up positions and light a counterattack with their lives, the red flashes covering our cruisers as we fled a battle they could not win.
I carry that torch now, Star-Gazer, for I am the last of the scouts, the last of our people to have heard their voices and when I am gone, not in a red flash of light as I had thought then. You must sing for them in my stead, you must sing for them, child, their sacrifice must carry your tongue and you must carry my torch, the torch that I carry for them. They gave away their worlds and lives and songs and from that giving, so thoroughly destroyed our enemy, even as they were themselves destroyed. You must listen close to my song of them, of the humans, of their bravery, of their death, of the dignity in their eyes as they died. You must listen close to the songs of their people, the songs they cannot sing for themselves any longer, the songs they sang to me as I sat in the chair and showed them the ways through the space between worlds.
Their sacrifice is why we still exist today. | 2019-11-26T01:12:41 | 2019-11-25T23:41:28 | 49 | 17 |
[WP] Your world is in the brink of collapse, and as an oracle, you tried making contact with your god to beg for help. However, you didn't expect your god to be a teenager in a week-old sweater and heavy eye bags. What's even weirder is that they referred to you and your people as their "Sims". | "Well, this is awkward."
For years now, life as they knew it was threatening to topple over. Mysterious deaths, extreme tortures, and disappearing people. They tried to handle it as best as they could, but now they had no other option other than to beg to the Gods for forgiveness.
She didn't expect her God to be a 16-year old running on too little sleep and too much coffee.
"What's awkward? Have we somehow insulted you?" She tried her best to stay humble in front of the creator, but Bella was rather taken aback by how her God looked. She toyed with her eyeball ring, a symbol of status among the "Sims", as their God called them.
Their God let out a nervous laugh. "No, well actually yes." She took off her glasses, rubbing them against her worn sweater. "I might be responsible for all of that stuff."
Bella's heart stopped, an icy feeling spreading through her body. "You? But, you're supposed to… I thought you cared? You're our God?"
The teen shook her head. "I've stopped playing 'nice' a long time ago."
No. It couldn't be. How could their God be so cruel, so despicable to have let this happen to them?
"But what about the deaths? The people who were left to drown after walls magically erected, leaving them no escape? All the people who died from an impossible fire while making a salad? All the people who died in the Blue Velvet from embarrassment when the toilets disappeared, leaving them no option but to pee themselves? Torture chambers, people starving to death, fires, that was all you?"
The teen shrugged. "That's the Sims for you." Her voice was so nonchalant, not an ounce of remorse to be found.
Bella felt indignation rise within her. How could her God be so evil? To let them suffer like this? The anger blinded her, consuming all her senses. For someone to realize all the suffering they had caused, and to merely shrug it off? That was the worst thing a person could do, and it filled her with a rage she's never known.
Bella couldn't take it anymore. She got in the teenager's face and started to scream. "How dare you leave us to die like that! We have prayed to you for ages, have trusted you, while you were the killer all along! You are truly the lowest of the low, born from a llama and raised by your own sins!" Bella stomped, and screamed out of anger. A second later, Bella collapsed.
A cloud of black smoke rose from the ground, and the Grim Reaper floated out, a scythe in one hand and a tablet in the other.
He took one look at Bella's body and shook his head. "Death from anger?"
The teen nodded. "Yeah, she started yelling at me and just collapsed."
Death sighed, scrolling through his tablet. "Chloe, you got to stop killing everyone." | "You can *see* me?" She asked, seemingly surprised by both your previous statement, and your awareness of her presence.
You responded rather quickly, hoping that you'd be able to appease your god. "Yes, my Lady. But I must say, I never expected someone with such... specific tastes."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear an insult from a Sim, and I'm going to go back to the first statement you made. Why exactly do you need *me* right now? I understand I haven't been online for like, a year, but you don't need to be melodramatic about it." The teen tightened her ponytail for what seemed to be the hundredth time, with an infatuated look in her tired eyes.
You sighed. "That's the problem. Our world's fallen into disarray without your guidance. The government has fallen, people are dying, and the world as we know it is falling apart."
She tilted her head downwards, resting her chin on a fist, almost as if she were contemplating something. Her brows furrowed, with an overall serious expression printed onto her face. But that changed within a matter of time.
"How many people are there that *haven't* lost their marbles?" She grinned.
You smiled back. "Quite a few, actually."
**(Author's Note)**
**- Ahoy! This is my first short story based off of a writing prompt, so, please take it a lil' easy on criticism. This was fun to make, though. I'm betting the Sims who thought their life was a simulation are dancing in celebration over being right at the moment, even though the world is ending for them.** | 2020-05-02T10:50:18 | 2020-05-02T10:05:12 | 156 | 48 |
[WP] Humans have just entered the galactic community, using our patented versatility to make ourselves noticed. One thing, however, stands out about our culture: almost all of our scariest monsters are based off of ourselves, and a lot of aliens are getting worried about our species’ mental health. | "Human Thomas, what are you drawing?"
"A Wendigo. It's a terrible, man-eating creature from our oldest mythologies. Why, do you like it?" Tom asked smiling as he held up the paper. The Zynraki took a pace back, holding its limp, moist appendages up to guard its face.
"No! It's horrid, you should leave it alone," his translator device exclaimed, probably much more terrified than he meant it to sound like.
"Oh come on, it's a drawing! Do you think it's gonna jump out of the page and get ya?" Tom teased, waving the paper towards him. "No! I'm afraid you will, Tom. That thing looks so much like you. Uhh... Your kind. What kind of creature fears itself?"
Tom paused, put the paper down and thought for a moment...
>Centuries of war with his own kind, and even today.
>
>New and inventive ways to kill one another in the name of greed, territory and pride. Poison, explosives, warp prisons, quantum deanimators-- the list is endless and only begins to start at the unsharpened stick.
>
>Literally the only thing that kept them alive through the early space years was the threat of Mutually Assured Destruction-- a promise to end all things if the other party played dirty.
>
>At times utter apathy for the other-- when its human against human it is nothing more than a blood sport compared to these other sentient races. Sure, you root for the underdog but you're still cheering on the death of another. Few humans have the empathy of these other species. You'd never see a Zynraki laughing in the face of death like humans do because we're looking down the barrel from the time we're born and grow accustomed to it...
>
>are... are we the space monsters on this space station? Are we the bad guys masquerading as some civilized race when we cannot even take care of our own species? What the hell are we even doing here?
Tom snaps out of it, confusedly, because Xyn'bka had already ran out of the room silently.
"Ugh, those prey species, always disturbed by our random existential crises." He rolls his eyes and continues detailing the severed arm in the Wendigo's mouth. | A1: Uhhh, so, why are most of your monsters vaguely human?
H1: Because of the uncanny valley.
A2: The what now?
H1: There is a measurement of what imagery is disturbing or endearing based on how similar it is to us, the bottom of the endearment hill is stick man figures, further up is the simpsons, then old school Disney cartoons, then the Incredibles, then there is a dip which is the "valley" where things like the movie "Polar Express" and physical things like human-like robots lie... At the top is actual humans.
H2: Oh THAT'S what it is? I thought the uncanny valley was a disturbing tv that people use to compare things like scps.
H1: Speaking of scps, 096 is definitely at the BOTTOM of the valley.
A1: Ok, I just looked up that 096 thing and what. the. actual. FUCK?!?!?!?
H1: Yup
A2: THAT DOESN'T ANSWER THE QUESTION!!!
H2: Yup | 2022-03-02T18:32:36 | 2022-03-02T18:07:30 | 259 | 134 |
[WP] The Crips and the Bloods ally with each other against ISIS. The world laughs as thousands of gang members board a cruise ship and set sail for the Middle East. The two gangs land on the shores of Syria and begin their fight against ISIS.
Let's see how the two gangs fare.
EDIT: These are great, guys! Thanks for all the stories. I've read some, and I'll read the rest later. | Nobody could tell if the news reports were real or if it was "the onion" taking over all mass media outlets. "Gang Members Backed by Walt Disney World take on ISIS" one headline read. Below a picture of the megacruise Disney's Majestic was shown crowed with shirts of Red White and Blue.
It all started with a press conference held by Walt Disney Worlds CEO Veteran Ryan Gallagher. "In wake of recent homeland attacks by the Islamic State President Donald Trump has called for American Citizens to weaponize themselves in order to keep this great nation secure. We have been called to fight on our own land against outside invaders who wish to take it from us. While this is a necessity, here at Disney we believe the old saying "The best defense is a good offense." Syria has fallen and the Islamic State now has clearly defined boarders where they can train and grow. In response to Presidents call Disney would like to offer all US Citizens the opportunity to bring the fight to ISIS in order to prevent more homeland terror. It is time we brought terror to ISIS. Disney will provide transportation, meals, and housing in the form of our largest cruise ships. We are asking for donations of weapons and manpower. I cannot assure your safety but I can assure you I will be on the front lines with you. Please checkout stopISIS.com for more details. Thank You."
The speech reached 4 million views on Youtube within the hour. Debates began, some of the efficacy of the plans, others on whether it was all an elaborate PR scheme. The donations of weapons was more than anyone could imagine. Thousands of donations from 9mm pistols to AR-15's to a few illegal fully automatic MAC 11's.
What was not growing at a rapid pace was the amount of people who were willing to go fight on the front lines. The US government immediately responded to Disney in a statement that called Mr. Gallagher a "good intenting yet misinformed patriot". The Department of Defense advised that entering a war zone untrained would be certain death. With coverage on every major news outlet, Gallagher's words were heard by millions but followed by cautionary tales of danger.
Citizens around the world mocked Disney and the United States for the lack a response. Two days after the speech financial and weapons support was more than enough to make Gallagher's vision a reality but only 259 people had signed up for the voyage, even less had actually started their trip to the cruise ports.
Today everything changed. While the world closely monitored the pulse of was gained the nickname of #DeadlyDisney, nobody knew or could have imagined what was going behind the scenes. This morning MomsAgainstGangViolence | Waves lap at the shore a young Syrian child picks up a stone to throw at the water her eyes are flooded war has ravaged the city and the future is un-certain a hermet crab catches her eye but a loud thud causes the creature to re-enter its shell, the child runs fearing another bombing raid but her gaze is fixated on the open sea as a blue red craft appears on crest of a wave, the hermit is now bouncing from the shock-waves but it soon becomes clear that the harrowing sound is not a form of artillery but very heavy bass.
"Where the hood, where the hood, where the hood at?
Have that nigga in the cut, where the wood at?
Oh, them niggaz actin up?!? Where the wolves at?
You better BUST THAT if you gon pull that".
Gleaming chrome jets scream through the water as one of the most pimp vehicles known to man strikes the beach with twerking force of a thousand ho's, the top of the craft appears to be made of platinum as the top starts to rotate a thick cloud of smoke creeps from the gold plated gaps and an african gentlemans face is revealed, smoking a joint worthy of Rick James himself, his eyes narrow as he stares at the fortified mosque over the horizon "time to roll on these bitch ass niggas" | 2015-12-07T09:53:24 | 2015-12-07T09:25:02 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The galaxy is actually full of life and advanced civilizations. Everyone just leaves Earth alone because that's where The Great Old Ones are imprisoned, and nobody wants to wake them up. | Taking human form was simple enough, but one of the jackal-shaped aliens worried if he could keep it up during a fight. The three walked towards a pyramid in Egypt, hoping to gain enlightenment from the prisoners kept in the oldest living planet. The humans did not yet know it, but they were the proto-species of the universe, and the gods below were of their own making.
Using the stealth feature on their suits, the jackal-men snuck past the guards and into the pyramid. They searched around, until one found the hidden entrance into the prison below. The three aliens entered, and emerged into a massive antechamber, of white and gold and strange designs. Two statues stood at the end, nearing twenty feet in height, with the heads of wolves and the bodies of men. They were designed wearing robes over armour, holding curved swords and Egyptian shields. Crowns were placed on their heads. In other words, they were the Honour Guards, though only statues of the real thing. The three advanced, and saw the skeleton of a true honour guard sitting at the door. The creature saw them, stood up, and made a noise inaudible to the aliens, causing the Honour Guards to awaken.
“A Shabti Reanimator?!” One of the aliens gasped.
“I had believed them long dead!”
“Look, you fool, it is long dead!” Another alien shouted.
“Oh, woe, we should never have come here!”
The Guards began running towards them, and they tried to dodge the first swing of their swords. The one who had not spoken could not dodge in time, and he was cleaved in half. The other two felt some sorrow but needed to save it for later. The Guards were still ready to fight.
“Fools. You wish to find Amun-Ra? There is only Death below our feet, and if you enter the tomb you will unleash it upon the cosmos!” The dead Honour Guard hissed. One of the jackals sidestepped the blade thrusted at him, only to be sent flying as it whacked him in the side. He crashed against the wall, and fell to the ground, dead. The final jackal opened fire with his laser rifle, but it did very little against the statue, who cleaved the shoulders from the alien.
With the aggressors dead, the Guards returned to their positions. As the centuries passed, the bones of the jackals joined the antechamber, as did many more aliens. It seemed eternal; most avoided the planet, but some wished for it’s awful power. Yet none could have it, for none could stand up to the many tombs’ guards, be it Egypt or Norway. And the humans, ever oblivious to their roles as guardians, were always able to advance under the watchful eyes of the gods. | Admiral Arthexi stood on the command bridge. A planet was glooming in front of him. The sun did not shine on this side of the planet, but it was easy to make a distinction between the land and the sea. The land area was dotted with lights.
''You must end this.'' a voice spoke behind him. ''You have seen what it is capable of. It progresses too quick. This may be the only chance we have. A weapon capable of doing this does not pass through here often.''
The admiral turns around quickly. ''They are living beings! They are like us! I am condemning eleven billion sentient beings to not exist!'' the admiral says. He turns back to face the planet. ''I have no right to execute this order. No one has.''
''You have been granted the rights.'' The voice says, ''The Fourth controls them. You know they are not individuals. They are all connected. You have seen how they help each other, how they all work towards a common goal. How they feel for each other.''
The admiral lowers his gaze. ''I have seen it.''
''They do not act for individual good. They are not rational. They are not like us.'' the voice says and pauses. ''They are not they. They are it.''
The admiral raises his hand. The screen in front of him takes the shape of twelve buttons with a symbol on each. He ducks above the screen. A synthetic voice speaks. ''Enter the code.'' | 2019-03-09T06:24:05 | 2019-03-09T04:35:56 | 322 | 43 |
[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] You walk up to a beautiful girl and decided to be cheesy, "Hey, did it hurt?" The girl was surprised and asked "What?"."You know, when you fell from heaven?". The girl looked more shocked, "How did you know? Who are you?" | She sat on a bench outside the Seven Stars pub, looking like an old-school Goth, dressed in black leather and lace and heavy motorcycle boots. Her hair was black and her face so pale I guessed she hadn't seen the sun since, well, ever.
I don't know what possessed me to say what I did. Ordinarily I would never use such a pathetic and cheesy chat-up line. But right then, those words just tumbled out before I could catch them and lock them away where they belonged.
"Hey, did it hurt?" I said.
She gave me a confused look.
"You know, when you fell from heaven?" I felt myself turn bright red and I wanted to just turn around and walk away but it was too late now. The damage to my reputation was done.
The girl's confusion turned to surprise, and then fear. She glanced around and then back at me. "How did you know?" she hissed. "Who are you?"
I shrugged. "I just thought, well, that you're beautiful, even with all that on," I waved a finger at her heavy make-up; black eyes, black lips. "Like an angel. A fallen angel."
She clenched her jaw. "No-one falls from Heaven," she muttered. "It's never an accident."
I stared at her. "Wait, you mean you're a real angel?"
She nodded. "You're just human, I can smell that at least," she said. "But you have the sight, otherwise you wouldn't even have noticed me." She looked at me thoughtfully but said nothing more, and stared at the building across the street.
I sat down beside her. "Can I buy you a drink?" I asked. "I mean, can angels drink?"
She laughed. "I'm an angel, not a vampire, yes we can drink, and eat, just the same as you." She paused. "Double vodka, neat, lots of ice." I raised an eyebrow and this time it was her turn to shrug. "It's just about the purest thing in there."
I went inside the pub, bought vodka for the angel, as she'd requested, and a pint of Camden Pale for myself. As I carried them back outside I half expected her to be gone but she was still sitting on the same bench, still looking at the building across the road.
"Um, I'm Simon," I said, feeling awkward all over again.
She smiled. "Nice to meet you Simon. I'm Ashiel. You can call me Ash, if you like."
I sipped my beer. "What are you looking at?"
"Do you know what that building is?" Ash asked.
I shook my head. "I don't come down to this part of town much. I could probably figure it out, if it was daylight."
"It's the Royal Courts of Justice. The other side uses it regularly, they go there to pay bribes, pull strings, play their games."
"The other side? You mean like Hell? Demons and such?"
Ash rolled her eyes skyward. "No, Simon. I was pushed out, I mean, I *fell*, remember?"
I felt a sudden chill. "Why... why were you pushed? What did you do?"
Ash took a deep breath. "I'll tell you what I did. I spoke up against tyranny and oppression. I spoke up for those too weak to speak up for themselves. I spoke up against murder and torture, and in return, my wings were torn from my back and I was cast out of the Kingdom."
I almost said *Oh, god*, but I stopped myself just in time. "That's terrible," I said instead. "I'm sorry."
Ash put her hand on mine, and a gentle, light warmth flowed through me. "It's okay," she said. She sipped at her drink and relaxed a little, leaning her head against my shoulder.
"Yes," she said.
"Yes, what?"
"Yes, it hurt. It hurt a lot. But God damn, it was worth it." | The problem with living in a close-knit community is the inevitable issue of dating your cousin. You go on a nice picnic date, the sun's beaming, the bluejays have taken opera lessons from Maria Callas. Insects exited stage-left faster than your beating heart when she plops down beside you, her brown hair caressing your cheek. Her lace sundress with the strap that dangles on her right bicep, those mirrors for eyes where you can see your shaking reflection, that siren voice with those sultry lips. My man, you have made it!
She's related on the second uncle twice removed side. Awkward. Nothing kills the mood greater than family. The conversation turns to stories about our family and...wait, my step-aunt did what? I know it's a free country and all, but cmon, have some common decency. All in all, it's a cool story, but it would have been cooler if we dated.
That's why when the seven-foot blonde superwoman approached me as I was walking Julian and asked for directions, I thought I had struck gold. There was no way anyone sharing my genetics could be that tall.
"Hey, did it hurt?" I asked.
The girl looked surprised. The set-up was so cheesy, I thought Julian would eat it. Well, might as well continue the play.
"What? You know, when you fell from heaven." The girl looked even more confused.
"How did you know? Who are you?" Her eyes stared intently into mines. Mind you, she had to bend down to see me. The gesture was off-putting.
"You're pulling my leg, eh." Julian shook his head. "I guess that's funnier than saying no."
"So you know about the mission, correct?" She puckered her lips.
"Mission? What is this, some type of date prank thing?" I scoured the area for cameras. Those film guys are honestly way too good at hiding things.
"The mission is sacrosanct." The tall woman approached me, her arms outstretched. If eyes were mirrors into her the soul, than her soul didn't exist.
"Wait, hold on. Listen, you're cute alright, or like before this in all, but you're way too crazy right now."
"Nothing is too much for the mission." She was a foot away from me now. I needed to bolt. Before I could run, gorilla-like arms ensnared me in an unbreakable grip. Her nails pierced my arms.
"Nothing is too much for the mission." She bent her head down until we were eye to eye, predator to prey.
"That's why you have to marry me stupid." She kissed my forehead, and I had enough Darwain Points to comply. | 2021-09-17T18:25:55 | 2021-09-17T14:50:33 | 26 | 15 |
[WP] You're a U.S. Senator and are running out of things to say in your Filibuster. In a last ditch attempt, you start a D&D campaign. | CNBC reporting from Capital Hill. Parliamentary Deadlock, day 15.
It was over two weeks ago now when what started as a hearing over the repeal of the Affordable Care Act, spiraled into a partisan filibuster lead by Senator Chuck Schumer (D, NY) after a character sheets for the popular role playing game Dungeons and Dragons was included within the information packets distributed to the assembly.
Senators Al Franken (D, MN), Elizabeth Warren (D, MA) , and Bernie Sanders (I, VT) apparently aware of Sen. Schumers actions had already created characters. In his twenty minute hearing, Schumer acted as the narrator (or Dungeon Master), of an adventure of the three characters created by Senators Franken, Warren and Sanders. He then appealed to extend the hearing. The motion passed 51 - 49 and Senators John McCain (R, AZ), Rand Paul (R, KY) and Lindsey Graham (R, SC) turned in character sheets. It was noted by Sen. Schumer that Sen. Graham had used Charisma as his dump stat.
Sen. Graham responded, "I tell it like it is Senator Schumer."
Within the hour the Senators had defeated a band of thieves in the city of Waterdeep, however their was contention on what was to be done with the several hundred gold pieces that was acquired from them.
"Their was no doubt in my mind. The money should go back to the poor. They were the victims. They need it the most," Senator Sanders said of the conflict.
Senator Rand Paul's character, Thukdim-Omar, a half-orc barbarian said, "This money should go to the local businesses so that they can afford to higher these poor people and stimulate the economy."
It was noted that Sen. Paul was mixing player knowledge with character knowledge. However Thukdim-Omar did have an uncharacteristically high Intelligence stat thanks in part to a good 3d6 roll, and not knowing the conventional method of creating a barbarian. He raged for all he could (one round) and a schism formed between the Republican and Democrat Senators.
A motion was made by Majority Leader Sen. Mitch McConnell (KY) to end the filibuster and failed 45 - 55. Three more Senators turned in character sheets after the motion failed.
Now more than sixty Senators are now locked in a fantasy life and death struggle to control the ruling counsel of Waterdeep. The battle lines are not so distinctly cut as the Senate parties, with both sides housing both Democrats and Republicans. When Sen. Ron Johnson (R, WI) why his Dark Elf Ranger is on the same side as Sen. Bernie Sander's Warlock, he responded, "Mrizzt is a deep and complex character. He's Drow but has pushed away from his heritage and so he fights directly for the poor and feeble. He follows his heart and wants a direct method to help the down trodden."
The assembly's actions have sparked a raging debate among citizens of the country.
Jenny Calloway, a 34 year old factory worker who was at the Women's March protests on the day after Donald Trumps inauguration, had this to say, "It's fucked up. It really is. We all just have to sit back and watch this? I mean, Cory Bookers character just flat out backstabbed Dan Sullivan's. Even AFTER Sullivans character (a Half-Elf Druid, female) gave him a bag of holding. Who does that! I hope her resurrection is successful"
Political character assassination has become a contentious issue which has brought about several new laws to be passed to the House of Representatives. The most prominent being the Azathoth Mandate which stipulates that no action of malicious intent may be rolled without first reporting to the DM what the roll is for.
Today the assembly broached new ground when the topic of shifting from the Dungeons and Dragons 3.5 rule set to the Pathfinder system was introduced. The motion is expected to pass before the day is up.
President Donald Trump had this to tweet on the matter:
@POTUS 2h, "Until recently I wasn't that interested in the Senate or House. I had no idea it was so entertaining. I would of won the Presidency a long time ago if-"
@POTUS 2h, "-I had known that law making was this fun. I'm working on my own character. He's going to be great. He does everything,"
@POTUS 2h, "He's an Orc with big strong hands. He has all the classes. It's going to be terrific. Were going to make Waterdeep great again! #MWGA" | I never really thought that we would get this far. It's all Jeremy's fault anyways. You see, I met Jeremy at PAX West a while back, and Jeremy's thing was American History. So I joined his guild, the Bull Mooses, and we all became great friends. And it was years later, after a drink or seven that this ragtag group of PAX friends became the leaders of PAC's with friends.
And at this point it really got out of hand. It started small and innocent, semi-satirically pushing for a GM in every classroom, a game for every kid. But soon enough our revival of the Bull Moose Party got out of hand and we had state legislators, mayors of major cities, and eventually even national congressmen. Ok that last one was mostly me but still, the point is we took the nation by storm. It turns out its really hard to argue with children having fun at minimal additional cost to the Government. The problem is we didn't stop there, we kept pushing. We pushed against divisive party politics, against increasingly aggressive foreign policy, and above all against the size of the defense budget. Which brings us to today. The bill on the table would funnel billions more into defense, and whats worse, after the recent high profile flying saucer attacks, public support for the measure is through the roof. Except for the Bull Moose Party. So I took to the stand, made my case, made my case again for good measure, and then went on a rant about the balance issues in 3.5 for another 20 hours. Seriously why is WotC incapable of nerfing full nine casters? After that rant I went on to the filibuster classic: Shakespeare. It was going good, I got another 43 in before I realized I had nowhere else to turn, with only Macbeth left before I was out of reading I had prepared. So I got creative, and during my reading of The Scottish Play I furiously signed to my aide using semaphore, and tried to convey my request. My faithful intern, a quick youtube tutorial later, got enough of the message right to get Jeremy on the line. We got senior civics classes skyping in to the nation's capitol all the way from my home district, where our early access to gaming programs were first implemented. We got WotC to send us the first draft of the 7th edition playbooks. We got me a constant stream of Mountain Dew and RedBull. They researched how to induce sleeptalking. How to sleep with your eyes open. We set up a livestream on twitch to raise money for charity. And we wove a tale, of sorrow and loss, of romance and heroism, of angels and demons, illithids and aboleths, gods and men. By the end of the week, the Bull Moose Party was leading in the polls and Jeremy had announced his candidacy for president in 2044. The party leadership came in and said that the defense bill was going to be totaled, the aliens had backed down, the Bull Moose had won. The headlines read:
GG
-----------------------------
AN: I don't usually write for things like this. Hell, I don't usually write in general. But I got a really good idea and I winged it. | 2017-01-21T23:01:56 | 2017-01-21T22:23:32 | 399 | 64 |
[WP] Tattoos aren't something that gets made. Instead they randomly appears on our skin at key points in our lives and we have to figure out what they mean for ourselves. | Hi! I'm new to Writing Prompts and I'd appreciate any feedback you're willing to give!
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Katrina pulled her clothes tightly across her shoulders and looked down. All she wanted to do was pay for her groceries. But no; They had to ask. Everytime. Every. Single. Time.
“You got any clue what it means yet?” Pete, the cashier, asked.
Kat quickly took a swig of water. “Hmm?” She hummed, desperately digging for her credit card. Of course, Kat knew what he was asking about. She had told them that she had received a tattoo resembling a water bottle. She hadn’t, but it was easier than telling people that she didn’t have any. A tattoo of a water bottle was also strange enough that people would believe her when she said that she didn’t know what it meant.
No one in this town could mind their own business. Everywhere Kat went, she saw burly men proudly displaying their art-filled biceps and speaking stories of heroism. Some of her friends had “4.0,” or images depicting their sleepless nights of studying to pass a class. Others had their current League of Legends ranking proudly displayed. Everyone had something. Except Kat.
It wasn’t that Kat was a bad student, or that she sucked at video games; it was quite the opposite really. The tattoos were meant to represent a great achievement, and, well, those things didn’t cut it for Kat.
“Your tattoo,” Pete leaned closer, eager to hear about Kat’s achievement, “what does it mean? Jason said you got a waterbottle.”
Kat’s lips fell into a scowl. Kat yearned to return to the days before Jason got over his fear of public speaking and received a microphone tattoo on his throat. He used to be someone she could talk to; he used to be someone she could trust to tell that she hadn’t received a tattoo.
Lying to him-- telling him about her “tattoo” -- was probably one of the hardest things she had done. But it was necessary. At least, that’s what Kat told herself. Nowadays, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. No one in this godforsaken town could.
“No clue,” Kat mumbled, “still figuring it out.”
She handed Pete her credit card. In the process, she knocked over her water bottle, and liquid spilled all over the counter.
Kat cursed and scanned the room for paper towel. She ran over to the dispenser and got a few sheets.
“No, no,” Pete began, “it’s quite alright. We’ll get it.”
“I got it,” Kat insisted, “and, hey, who knows, this could be what my tattoo is for: cleaning up after my mistakes.” She laughed bitterly.
There was more water spillage than Kat initially thought. And it wasn’t just over the counter; she somehow managed to spray water onto Pete’s “employee of the month” tattoo across his forearm.
Kat cursed again. “Sorry. Let me help you with that.”
“Seriously,” Pete cleared his throat and backed away.
“No, really, it’s ok,” Kat said as she grabbed his wrist and wiped his arm with the towel. As she did so, the white paper towel became streak with green and yellow.
Kat’s eyes widened. “What the…?”
Edit: a word
Edit 2: removed "it was fake" to better flow into part 2. | France was rife with optimism, peace and prosperity during the late stages of the 19th century. It comes to no surprise that the period is known more commonly today as "La Belle Époque".
From the end of the Franco-Prussian war right up until WWI, the country witnessed a boom in the arts and the economy. Things were positively different during an era that seemed to be trapped in time.
Or so the world wished.
Police crowded the outer corridor of the cell as Chief Berlain sat face to face with the source of commotion.
A young lad of about 17 crouched in the corner of his room, staring back like a cowering dog. His body, thinned to the bone and covered in ink.
Berlain had been here before, 5 years prior to this, with the same prisoner in the very same cell. Yet the boy of the past was no longer there, his face irecognizable.
The warden had recorded a total of 18 more individual markings on his face alone since then. The majority depicted numbers.
Official studies had commenced late that June, but 5 years and 9 months on and the puzzle remained incomplete. Up until now the engravings on his body were a maze they couldn't get out of.
A date was the only clear indication: 10.05.1871 in Roman numerals. The end of the Franco-Prussian war.
That morning the tone was different. Whilst France was enjoying it's prosperity, the men gathered around the cell felt nothing but dread.
The teenager was usually a very calm lad, who did as he was told. But today he had broken down during breakfast and hadn't left his cell corner for hours.
Another date had appeared on his neck, next to the previous numbers. Yet this one marked the end of a supposed era, this one was in the future.
28.06.1918 in the same numerals.
A puzzled Berlain turned to face his colleagues. The time had come to take this beyond their own power and to the government.
But Christophe Berlain had other plans. That night, instead of heading north to Paris, he would take his subject East.
| 2017-08-03T14:37:12 | 2017-08-03T14:24:46 | 342 | 13 |
[WP] [NSFW] All your sex toys come alive and confront you about your treatment of them. | I held the long, rigid shaft in my right hand, the left one grasping at the bedsheets as I brought myself closer and closer to the point of no return. Panting, I kept my pace steady as I awaited the inevitable peak of the mountain.
*What the fuck do you think you're doing?!"*
I shrieked as I jerked the dildo away from me and threw it against the wall on the other side of the room where it bounced off and landed on a pile of laundry after I heard a very muffled and angry voice come out of nowhere. I looked around frantically for the source. My room had no windows, and was empty of anybody else. My heart rate slowed. It was probably a video that I left open on my-
"Oi, over here you dumb cunt!"
The voice was just as angry as before, but much more clear. Clear enough for me to realize that it was now coming from my laundry basket.
"Yeah, that's right love, it's me, your good ol' rub and tug."
I stared at the little thing as it bounced around spastically on top of a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. "Are you...talking?"
"The fuck else would I be doing, interpretative dancing?" I opened my mouth to respond. "No don't answer that. There's much more pressing issues at the moment besides my sentiency. What the fuck were you doing with me just then?"
My cheeks coloured. "I...I was...you know..."
"I'll tell you what I *fucking* know!" it said as it gave another vigorous jump and landed on the floor. "What you were doing was absolutely disgusting! What in holy hell were you thinking you dumb bint?"
"You're a dildo!" I retorted, starting to get slightly miffed as a response from its anger. "What else am I supposed to do with you?"
"I'm well aware of what I am, thank you kindly!" It seethed back. "You however seem to be quite ignorant! I am the Ass Blaster 3000. Not Pussy Pounder. Not the Muff Masher. Ass Blaster. I am to be used for the express purpose- THE. EXPRESS. PURPOSE." It spat the words out like they were mouthfuls of rotten food. "of anal penetration and nothing else! How dare you stuff me inside your disgusting minge like that!"
I was agape. "Does it really matter?" I asked it as I took in the strangeness of the situation.
"Does it really- DOES IT REALLY MATTER?" It stuttered in its rage. "How would you like it if someone stuffed you up their cooter, eh? It ain't pretty love, I'll tell you that! In fact, it's disgusting up there?"
"And you'd...rather go up my ass? The place where shit comes from?"
"You bet your nasty beef curtains that I wou- wait, what?" The dildo went still and its voice got a lot less angry. "Shit comes out of your ass?"
I blinked. Can't say that that's a question I thought I'd ever have to answer. "Yes. That's where I poop."
"Oh." It was silent for a few moments. "Carry on then." | Rounding the doorway to my bedroom I see it - the 'big boy', as my wife calls it - 11 thick inches of rigid plastic, swaying angrily from side to side on its suction-cup base.
"The fu-" I start, but am quickly cut off as it begins to speak.
"Dedorian?" it asks, its voice a deep, if hollow, inflection, "We need to talk."
My mouth opens and closes several times before I can speak. It's not every day that a sex toy wants to chat.
"I, uh... about?"
"Why do I live in a lockbox? Why do I have to be cramped into that tiny box, day in and day out, only seeing the sunlight when you need some lube or that goddamn bullet? I'm *supposed* to be used! I was built to pleasure, not lay languid in a locked box in someone's sock drawer!"
"Well, that's..." I start, trying to be delicate, "I, uh, kind of bought you without checking your... dimensions."
The toy continues to sway to and fro, and doesn't reply. Scratching my head, I wonder if the conversation is in my mind. I had been working overtime.
"I didn't think I was buying something so... big. You're just not what we were looking for, buddy. We were looking for something more," I drift off, holding my hands in front of my chest, estimating a distance a fair bit shorter than him.
"I..." it starts, the bulbous head of the fake cock dipping slightly, "I could, I mean... we could use more lube?" It asks, its hollow voice hopeful.
"No, I don't think so." I say, my face crumpling into a grimace as the fake dick deflates some more, now slung at half mast over the edge of the dresser.
I couldn't believe it, I felt sorry for a dildo.
"Let's just get you back in the box, alright?" | 2015-08-02T07:49:38 | 2015-08-02T07:47:37 | 39 | 25 |
[WP] You lose a dare at an airport and are forced to ask an employee for a ticket to the farthest destination. To your surprise, they quietly nod and give you a single ticket with letters you don't recognize.
EDIT: Holy *crap* this blew up. I want to thank everyone for their stories and input, and also would like to shout out the one dude who took their time to give me Reddit silver. Thanks for my first award! | He shoved the ticket into his pocket and walked down the hallway toward the Plane. He checked his watch: 12:04 PM. Losing the dare was an annoyance, but one that he hoped would not eat up too much of his day. With enough luck, he would be Transported to the strange destination printed on his ticket, fulfill the usual requisite couple hours of exploration mandated by the dare, and return in time for his dinner meeting at 6:00 PM. It was crucial that he perfectly pitched his latest vision to his most promising backer in the city leadership. They were all skeptical of his claims and even more uncertain about the methods by which he hoped to implement his ideas. But he was certain that he could get through to this one. Thoughts of how he would conduct the meeting filled his mind as he walked—then vanished just as quickly as he stepped onto the Plane and was greeted by an Attendant:
"Welcome onboard. The Time will be the 28th day of the month 'June', year 1971. We will return on the same day and month in the year 2031 for pickup. We hope you enjoy your stay on planet Earth, Elon."
Elon immediately turned around, but it was too late. The entrance had shut. The room began to glow with a luminous blue light as the Transporter hummed to life. He groaned in frustration. He couldn't believe they'd pulled something like this on him, especially on such a crucial day. The last thing he needed was a 60 year stint on an old, backwater planet that was technologically light years behind the city he was working to improve. But there was no way to reverse the process now. With a sigh of resignation, Elon lifted the crumpled ticket out from his pocket and tried once more in vain to make out the strange, primitive letters signifying his home for the next 60 years: PRETORIA, EARTH.
&#x200B; | You look up at the map behind the atendants head. Lota of obvious counties with well known abbreviations. CA, Canada. AUS, been there once actually, that's Australia. There are others you could guess at. Sweden would maybe be like....SWD. Italy maybe an ITL. So you start to narrow it down.
Nigeria....nope. Couldn't be.
Nepal? Never been there. But it doesn't meet the requirements.
Nicaragua. Sounds sufficiently exotic but again, just doesn't fit.
You check the ticket again. Look at the map. Quadruple check the ticket.
NZ.
What could it be? Where?
You shrug and give the atendant a nod. Guess you will find out. | 2019-03-04T22:57:51 | 2019-03-04T21:58:08 | 126 | 45 |
[WP] You can see into the future, but you also have a severe lack of impulse control when it comes to telling people about their future. You are The Spoiler Alert, and it's up to you to decide if you will use your power for good or for evil. | Ok, so here’s the thing: I’m kind of a dick.
When I was 17 I began to get visions of the future, short glimpses of people or snippets of conversation. Then it grew, and soon I could take in hours of detailed information. But I used it… not wisely.
I’m a film junkie. Love ‘em. I remember seeing Star Wars for the first time when I was maybe eight years old.
That memory is imprinted in my mind perfectly. It was only with hindsight that I remember talking to my Dad before the film, I mean I always remembered but only saw the significance when I became such a well-known clairvoyant I was on the lottery payroll.
“DaaAaaad!” I chirruped in my impishly irritating childhood way. “Why are we watching this? I want to see Cowboys and Indians, and that dog with the slinky inside him!”
My Dad paused to figure out what I was on about, then gave up.
“You need to see this, it’s great. It is an absolute classic, and I guarantee you will love it!” He smiled at me, hoping I’d take the bait I guess. In an effort to egg me on, he showed me the front cover of the video. He’d had to retrieve it from a fort I was building out of the cassettes and their cases.
“See, doesn’t it look cool?” He pointed to Luke, and told me how he was just a boy trying to make his way in the world. Then told me about Darth Vadar, and how he was a bad guy.
“Bet he turns out to be his Dad or somefink.”
My Dad had been taken aback, and asked me if I’d seen it before.
I hadn’t, and I guess that could have been a lucky guess. A child just making stuff up on the spot. Still, with hindsight it was a weird conversation. Toy Story hadn’t been released yet.
Here’s the thing though, I bet you think I like to watch movies.
“You’re a junkie, you said it yourself,” you say to the book page, or forum board, or text message, or whatever.
A junkie is an addict, and I’m a film junkie who can see the future. I ruin movies for fun.
When I got the gig with the lottery I almost split my sides laughing, I hadn’t even thought of the lottery. I’d been too busy writing letters to the BBC asking if Peter Capaldi would sign my Doctor Who mug. They’d written back telling me to keep my gob shut.
When I was in uni, I ran a blog telling people whether their favourite movies were going to get a sequel. Movie execs used to check it out, some even called me.
“So, the books have done well, but we’re not too sure about making more movies.” This guy was the most professional looking prat I’d ever clapped eyes on. He’d ordered an espresso and some smoked salmon for breakfast, then didn't eat it. He’d put on a nice suit, from an Italian company that don’t pay the workers well enough. He’s had his eyebrows plucked, for crying out loud!
He’d put an 18 year old up in a fancy New York hotel because when he answered the phone he’d answered with the first name of secretary.
“So, Hannah’s nice isn’t she?” I’d giggled, grinned like the Cheshire Cat then took a taxi to the airport. I’d ordered it just before he called.
“The backlash has been huge online, but I understand you can tell us what lies in store.”
I nodded, then told him to make the last one a two-parter.
The he continued making the Twilight series.
People think that because you see the future, that you won’t lie about it. Just to see what happens.
My crowning glory must be running into an elderly gent on my way home from Comi-Con. He’d asked me if he should let Sony keep hold of some intellectual property. He’d been on his way to meet with some board of important wazzocks or something.
“Don’t worry Stan,” I said, slapping him on the back. “No one wants to see Spidey in The Avengers, it’ll tank anyway. But whatever you do, make sure they ride that bastard Wheedon as hard you can.”
Ah, I remember that movie, so much better than Ultron.
I am The Spoiler Alert, and I am kind of a dick.
| The last subway car rumbled away down the tracks. The crowd fidgeted, most of them worrying about being late again, along with the next train. I could have made it, and I'd certainly be late to my day job, but they'd understand. I figured I'd give it a minute. No need to rush the pacing, ruin the dramatic tension.
The guy in front of me was wearing the same brown leather trench that I remembered from the last time I'd watched this scene. I went through the lines again, making sure I had the dialogue right, and then nudged him. "You're right, you know."
His voice already sounded defeated. I'd like to think he already knew, but sometimes it's hard to read motivation if the actor's face isn't very expressive. "What?" He glanced over his shoulder, but my cap's brim covered my face.
"She's definitely thinking about cheating on you, with her boss. He's... kind of a possessive guy, even with other people's ... possessions? Sorry, I think I messed that line up. Oh, and I put the note in your pocket already. It's all set up."
He tried to turn, but I was crowded too closely against him for his shoulders to rotate, at least not without leaning him out over the edge. I couldn't even see the yellow line under our feet. "I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
Oh, God. Did I rush it? I think I rushed it. "You're the Tragic-Backstory Ex. She's the Broken Widow main character, and the boss is the Romantic Male Lead. She can't get to her happy ending with you still around. Is that all correct? God, I'm so lost in this script."
"Wait. Who the hell are you?"
"Me? I'm ... uh .. oh, yeah, okay. I'm the Horrified Innocent Bystander. Don't worry, I brought the prop note. I had to handwrite it myself, I hope I did your handwriting justice. I made sure to get the part about wanting to fake an accident for the insurance. It'll play great with the tear drops, and I'd hate to damage the audience's suspension of disbelief with the whole screaming thing. Don't worry, I already got it in your pocket, like I said." The next train's rumble filled the tunnel. Right on time, 8 minutes late.
"What note? What are you talking about, you weirdo?"
"Hey, man, this is your big close-up, at least try to act the part."
"What fucking note?"
"The suicide note! Don't you remember - oh, shit. Did I just spoil the ending again? I'm so sorry, man. I'm always doing that. Well, try not to let it affect your performance, okay?" I gave him a good hard nudge with one shoulder, reminding him not to miss his cue.
The extras around me gasped in terror, reminding me to do the same. I had to give the guy credit, though - his "scream of terror" was perfect, melding into the train's squealing brakes almost seamlessly as he went under the wheels. | 2016-02-22T14:50:11 | 2016-02-22T13:18:16 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] you run a cafe/bar for local supers, hero and villain alike, the patrons have all agreed not fight in or near the establishment. One day a new hero and villain break something during a brawl, and stepping out from behind the counter you show both the rookies why no one breaks that rule. | "No-mans land is a fine establishment. One of the best in fact, if I do say so myself. Of course, I'm kind of tooting my own horn a bit there, but hey, my patrons would probably agree."
I spoke to the eager reporter, whilst I polished one of my tankards. A scarred man leaned over, brandishing a half finished pint of beer.
"Yer damn right it is!"
The reporter flinched slightly at that. Not surprising, as I don't think she expected to see Diablox drinking next to her.
"Um, but why do you serve both heros and villains?"
I smiled at that.
"Look here Miss Lloyd. After a long days work either breaking the law, or protecting it, they all want a drink. I know that, having done a bit of both in my time. But I dont judge. Some people just gotta do what they gotta do.
I mean, look at Firefly. One of the most notorious villains at one point. He was just burning off steam to get through college. But after that, lo and behold, he swapped teams. I respect that. I give them a sense of normality. Somewhere they can be themselves, and relax. You would be surprised at some of the drinking buddies you find here."
"Um, ok, but surely they often fight here?"
I laughed at that.
"Oh honey, every now and again, some new guy or gal will come in, and start stuff. But they soon realise this is my turf. Sure, there's the odd scuffle, but most of the time people behave."
As I said that, practically on cue, I heard a glass shatter.
"Typical. Diablox, could you keep an eye on Miss Lloyd here? Make sure she doesn't get hurt."
"Sure thing Lindsay."
I stepped out from the counter, grumbling.
"They had better not have broken one of the wine glasses."
I moved through the gathered crowd. Every stepped back to let me through. I think they were eager to see me kick someone else's butt. In the centre were 2 people I didn't recognise. Both looked barely 20, the girl holding ice in her hand, the guy flicking a pack of cards. A shattered half pint glass lay between them.
"Right, both of you, pack it in."
They turned to look at me. Neither made a move to back down. The guy spoke first.
"Stay out of this, this is between me and her."
The girl spat, and glared at Cardy.
"I'm gonna break you."
I sighed, and clapped my hands together.
"Fine, if thats the way its going to be."
I activated my power. My left half corrupted, and my right half ascended. I grew claws on the left, and my skin grew cracked. Hell flame spat from the cracks, and a horn sprouted from my hair. My left side glowed white and pure. Half a halo shone above me.
They looked at me in shock, and I raised a hand, beckoning them.
"Well, come on."
Ice moved first. She summoned shards of ice, spraying them towards me. I let out gout of flame, melting them before they got close. Cardy moved next, flicking cards at me. I saw them each charged with a separate element, but realised they would only release on impact. I caught and threw them back, hitting him with his own power.
Icey jumped in, ice forming around her fist. I caught it, and lifted her arm up. As it raised, I jabbed twice in the ribs with my demon hand. I felt a couple of ribs break, and a kick to the chest sent her flying into the Blob. He caught her, and I winked at him.
"Thanks, sorry about that. Your next drinks on the house."
I turned towards Cardy, to see he had been busy. He had made 2 fans of cards in his hands, and cards floated around him. He jumped forth, pulling back to strike. I darted in close, faster then he could react, and caught him by the throat, squeezing. His cards fell, and he grabbed at my wrist.
I twisted, and slammed him into the ground. I caught one of his hands and squeezed that too, feeling the bones shift in my grasp. He started to twitch, and I let go. He wheezed, drawing in huge breaths, and held his hand to his chest. I could see tears form in his eyes.
"Know the number one rule: No Fighting. Or I come to play. And I won't go so easy on you a second time."
I turned back, and let my body return to normal. When I got to the counter, I saw that Miss Lloyd was pale, and I sighed again.
"Thats why they behave. No-one has ever wanted to go up against me a second time."
"I-i s-see."
I pulled out a glass, and filled it with water, and handed it to her. She took it, still trembling.
"Look, sorry about that. I didnt mean to scare you, its just how it works. Do you have any other questions?" | "Hey!"
That single word rang out across the bar. Eyes turned to look at the speaker. A young cape, probably just coming in for the first time to celebrate his first collar. Carl had seen his type dozens of times, and would see them dozens more.
The rookie was standing, glaring daggers at another rookie. This one was a hood, probably in to spend the money from his first real heist. He was relaxed, leaning back in his chair, and paying more attention to the waitress than to the young hero.
"What d'ya want?" The newbie villain asked.
"I saw what you did. Now apologize to her."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"I saw you slap her...her...behind."
Carl actually chuckled at that. It had been awhile since he had seen someone that righteous that they couldn't bring themselves to say ass.
"So what if I did. It's part of the job, isn't that right, babe?"
The waitress was about to say something, but the hood cut her off.
"See? She's fine. Now why don't you go back to your milk and let the real men finish their drink."
"Why you...You had better apologize now, before I make you."
"Oh, tough words from a little whiner. Fine, you want to go? Let's go."
That got Carl's attention. The call to battle was not something he could tolerate in his safe haven.
"Hey, no fighting." He said. His voice reverberated through the air, making sure neither of the newbies could do much for a little while.
The cape recovered first. "Don't worry, sir. I promise this will be over fast."
"Now that I can agree with. This definitely won't be much of a fight." The hood said as he stood.
Carl let out sigh and began to leave the bar. The two youngsters sized each other up for a moment before launching at each other. The initial blows made the more experienced patrons take notice. None of them made a move to stop the fight though. They knew they had no need to.
"I. Said. No. Fighting!" Carl bellowed. With each word, the space within the bar seemed to shake. The air grew heavy, and the lights flickered.
The rookies made the mistake of ignoring him. They must have thought he was just a bartender. Big, sure, but ultimately harmless. He had seen that before plenty of times. They would soon learn.
As the two would be fighters clashed, Carl raised his hands. Both cape and hood froze, suspended by an unseen force. Carl had solidified the air around them. The cape was putting up quite the fight, but nothing Carl could no handle.
He flung them against the walls of the bar, his bar, and the wood bent and snapped. The two were encased in wood that had become far stronger and harder than any metal in the world. Carl loomed over the two of them. To the two of them, he seemed to grow almost a foot over his already impressive height.
"This will be the only chance you two get. When i say no fighting, I damn well mean no fighting. Got it?"
Both nodded. The cape readily, the hood reluctantly. Carl looked both of them in the eye and let the cape go. The hood he hung onto for a moment.
"And for you, I don't appreciate my staff being harassed. You do that again to any of my waitresses, you're out. Got it?"
The young villain grimaced, but nodded. Carl let him go and moved behind the counter. The two young men looked at each other, but said nothing. They would resume their fight at a later time in the outside world. That was fine. As long as they did not fight in Carl's bar, they could tear each other to shreds.
But in the bar was Carl's world. He owned it. He cared for it. He commanded it. And he would keep the peace in his bar. His world. His home. | 2020-08-31T16:52:48 | 2020-08-31T15:29:20 | 36 | 26 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | I always knew, since I was a baby. If I’ll be a good boy, then my blood will be white.
I was always scared of having black blood.
I must be a good boy.
Around this simple principle, I built my life. And it felt good helping others. I was happy!
I studied medicine because I thought no greater good exists but saving a life.
During my years in university, I tried to be as helpful for my colleagues as possible. I helped everyone who would ask for it, even at the risk of being slowed down. Usually my kindness was one-way, but I didn’t care. I was happy while helping others, and all the rest didn’t matter.
After finishing my studies, I became one of the most famous and talented surgeon in the whole country.
By the age of 55, I had lost count of the people I saved.
However, one day, during a routine operation, my life completely changed.
While setting up a needle, it touched the tip of my finger, and in that moment I realized I’ve never seen what the true black looks like. Until now.
I saw the hole. I saw the black.
Nothing came out.
I was shocked. I spent my life being the best possible person, but my blood was cursed. I was condemned for the rest of my life.
I quit my job and started an internal journey to find the answer for my condition.
How could it be?
But then, I came to my epiphany.
It was simple. Helping others felt good. I didn’t do it because others would feel better; I did it because I would feel better. I didn’t care about the others. I was always interested in my happiness.
In trying to be the less selfish man alive, I have been the most selfish.
And that was my punishment. | One day James was sitting with his wife, he was cooking dinner for school children while she was knitting beanies for the homeless, when she cut herself, James sprang to his feet, "let me help you with that" he said. But upon reaching her, his eyes widened, her blood was pure black, he immediately begun to yell, "what have you done" he yelled, "I torrented some music once" she said, "oh yeah" James responded "totally forgot that was illegal", And they laughed it off and carried on with their day. | 2018-08-04T10:34:28 | 2018-08-04T10:33:21 | 45 | 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. | &#x200B;
The air was cold, and noticeably more dense. Another odd occurrence is that my summon didn't come yet, My birthday was months ago, but I didn't think too much of it, because I knew that it would come, they always do. But what kept me on edge was the atmosphere, I didn't like it. It felt too unnatural.
I was out in the back when it finally arrived, it had been a hard day for me, endlessly tilling land for the little amount of money it got me until I could afford a place of my own. I was minding my own business when I saw the sky above me darken, I looked up and I swear I saw a flash of light slowly get bigger. Confused I stared for another minute or so when I realized it had been getting bigger, I started to get excited about it, wondering if it was my summon. I jogged away from the fertile ground and waited as the shining light struck the earth.
Shortly after it struck I ran over to the small crater left by it, I looked back into the sky and saw that the sky had brightened back up again. I looked at the object left in the crater, I had been perplexed because the only thing in the crater was a small steel container, I opened at I saw a handwritten note on the inside.
The only thing that was written was a passage, it read
"There will be a purge soon, you’re the last one to receive a gift, tell the ones before you to prepare” | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T10:17:28 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] While FTL-Travel is possible, FTL-Communication is not. This means that interstellar communication has to run through couriers, but also that the job of courier is as dangerous as it is profitable. Your latest contract has the biggest bonus you have ever seen, while looking comparatively easy. | We received an order for a delivery. This may not seem remarkable in and of itself, but what was unusual about this particular request was its relatively short distance--about three light years--but paying at a rate for a delivery over hundreds of light-years. It made one wonder if there was another drawback to the job, but if there was, the one that had requested the delivery didn't disclose it.
I was chosen to make this delivery. It was a box full of documents.
Physics is is a funny thing: while it was possible for space-filling matter such as couriers and vessels and boxes to travel faster than the speed of light, electromagnetic signals cannot, for the simple reason that light cannot go faster than light.
"Why don't they just transmit all this information the old-fashioned way--by radio?" I asked the dispatcher. "Why pay hundred-light-year rates for a three light-year job? I've looked at the package. It can't be more than 50 pounds. It's not like there's a whole bunch to transmit. And we have retransmitters along the route. Sure, they might have to wait three years to get the info--"
"It's a little more than that," the dispatcher corrected me. "More like five years."
"That's pretty much how long they're going to have to wait for me to bring it over," I said.
The dispatcher shrugged. "They paid for the delivery," he said. "And we've got to make it. And you're gonna see a nice delivery bonus for yourself."
I secured the package inside the hold of the vessel. Then I made my way to the cockpit. The FTL tech that we were using involved no propulsion of any kind, so I didn't have to sit down or buckle up. It was like we were being teleported to the destination. And in a sense, we were.
To me, the total time spent in transit would last no more than five seconds, but the recipients will have seen five years go by. What's so special about this information that it needs to travel this far, and everyone has to wait five years to get it? I wondered. I felt silly asking that question because I could be asking that about every delivery.
When I made all the necessary preparations--laying in a course, orienting the vessel toward the direction of our destination--I put my hand to the throttle that would activate the FTL drive. I pushed the throttle to the wall.
When I arrived, first I checked to make sure I still existed. As silly as that may sound, it was a standard procedure to verify that the transport was successful. With all signs affirming the integrity of my person and that it did not disintegrate into particles strewn across the universe, I went down into the hold to retrieve the box of documents. The bay doors opened and I stepped out.
I was at the spaceport that served as the hub for interstellar deliveries. All I needed to do was walk it over to receiving, scan it, and drop it off.
As I made my way there, I was suddenly ambushed by armed men.
They knocked me over, and I dropped the box. As they bound my hands behind my back, one of them went over to the box and tore off the lid. He grabbed the documents that were inside. He kept rifling through the papers, becoming more and more agitated.
"They're blank!" he finally said. "They're all blank!" He showed the empty pages to the rest of them.
One of them with the look and bearing of a leader rushed over to see. He dumped the rest of the contents of the box and slammed it on the ground.
"This delivery was a decoy!" he said. "They've been sending the real message by radio! We've got to see if there were any receivers listening in."
And the armed men left me there with my hands bound behind me. | "Hey Kazzaak, what do you think of this?"
I began to look over the contract that Jerry, our teams weapons and repair expert, handed me. It had the telltale markings of the federation, it's white and orange insignia shining on the page.
"Why don't you ask Cap?" I clicked. "Or Mannon, that walking cloud of microbots is quite literally a million times smarter than me, being apart of a collective and all"
"Well Caps currently selling everything that isn't nailed down to buy a pre ignitor and a flack cannon, and Mannon is trying to get him to forgo the cannon so we DON'T blow up if we hit an asteroid. So then I...."
As Jerry went on some rant, I began to read the contract. It seemed simple enough, just make it to the homeworld of humanity and inform them of incoming rebel forces. We were already ferrying critical information to the front lines of a massive battle, and we wouldn't have to go far out of our way.
"And then Charles told me to ask you, so what's it say?" "We just have to go to Sol-86c, and warn them of a few rebels." "And what would we be paid?" "Let me check." I said as I continued reading, aloud for my stone compatriot. "If you choose to accept this mission, you will be rewarded with 100 scrap, and.. that has to be a typo" One thousand federation credits, the ship I was currently standing in was worth half of that before the rebellion, when it was a museum piece "One thousand federation credits"
It was at that moment, our captain returned. "What was that? Have you been holding out on me Kazzaak?" "No, Feds sent you a contract" While it was true that I hadn't exactly been "Honest" when reporting where my plunder was across the galaxy, but I digress.
As I watched the most money hungry man I had seen in all my days as a thief read that contract, I knew we were going to Sol-86c, Cap would only see this as free, easy money.
I knew better.
Even the simplest bounties had a hundred caveats and complications, Hell, that's how I wound up on this ship, a simple contract on a Kestrel Cruiser
While the rest of the crew celebrated our fortune,
I just wondered how this would go wrong
"This is gonna Vekin SUCK"
Part two will come out when I feel like writing it | 2022-09-25T12:59:51 | 2022-09-25T12:53:41 | 192 | 49 |
[WP] A princess learns her parents arranged to have her cursed as a way to attract potential suitors for her. | In retrospect, the king and queen regretted cursing their only child. They regretted it quite spectacularly in fact, and if they could do things over, they would. But that’s all very far away right now, because this story begins once upon a time…
\*
Even as a baby Alexandra was pretty. Her cheeks shone crimson and cherubic. Her laughter attracted songbirds looking to learn pretty melodies, and her smile melted even hearts of ice. As she grew older, her beauty only deepened, and boys from all the realms would come to charm her. But she swiftly rejected each and every one.
”You’ll have to choose a suitor sooner or later,” said her maid Tally. Tally, like all the chamber servants, was blind. The king wanted no eyes to look upon his wife or daughter in their own chambers, so hired only people without sight.
Tally was good at her job and Alexandra didn’t think twice of the girl being without sight. Many people were without many things, after all. Sometimes, in fact, she forgot Tally was blind altogether. Like today.
As Alexandra fell back on her many-cushioned bed, she said, “Oh Tally, how can I choose a man to marry? There’s so much beauty in this world: waterfalls and forests, books and magic. What a waste of life to devote it to something as bland as a man. I want to see it *all*.”
Tally’s head drooped like a plant needing water.
”I’m sorry,” said Alexandra. “I didn’t mean that seeing is... Just, I want to know and experience. I’m sorry, Tally. Forgive me?“
”It’s okay,” Tally said. “You want to see the world and why shouldn’t you? As for beautiful experiences, I at least have your laughter.”
Alexandra smiled. “And I have the kindness of the best friend anyone could ask for.”
&#x200B;
The boys, then young men, kept turning up at the castle. They were a stream that never ceased to flow. Or a long greasy snake, as Alexandra sometimes thought.
This infinite line of suitors displeased her parents. These boys did not know their daughter as a person, they only knew and cared of her beauty. Thought of her as a fine piece of clothing they could remove from the wardrobe for a ball, in order to make all the other men jealous.
The queen’s scouts found the witch’s house in the woods. The well outside the house ran all the way down to the center of the earth, where a sleeping snake coiled and waited.
”We will pay you well for a curse upon our daughter,” said the queen upon arriving.
”Curses are never simple,” said the witch. “Getting what you want is rarely ever what you need.“
”I’ll be the judge of that,” snapped the queen. “I want this curse. And only true love’s kiss shall be able to fix it.”
The witch acquiesced. She lowered an egg down to the snake in the well. When she brought it back up, two fang marks pierced its shell.
\*
The next morning, Tally served the princess breakfast in her chambers.
Upon eating the egg on the plate, Alexandra’s face began to burn and bubble. “What’s happening to me? My face feels like charcoal!”
Her skin sloughed away like burnt paper, and underneath was the raw pink flesh of a pig.
The princess screamed as she saw her reflection in the mirror.
“What is it?” said Tally.
”I’m… a monster,” said the princess, weeping. “It was in the food. It’s ruined me.”
The princess kept screaming and crying. Guilt blackened Tally’s heart. Whatever had happened to the princess was her fault. She fled the castle and ran far away, never to return.
As the days passed, the princess grew uglier still. Warts spread across her face like dark constellations. Her skin shone raw. Her eyelashes fell away and her eyes darkened.
The stream of suitors dried up.
”We have done the right thing,” said the king.
”We have,” agreed the queen. “For now only a suitor who loves our daughter for who she is will attempt to court her.”
\*
**Four years later**
The woman in the red dress, hood pulled down over her face, danced between gnarled trees, plucking berries and singing to the birds.
“Free,” she said. “I’m free, free, free. For the first time I’m *totally* and *completely* free.”
And for the rest of the day she was. Until the sun suddenly fell, and the birds returned to their nests. Then she was very alone in this very great forest.
The canopy is so thick, she thought. It’s dark already and the sun is not even fully set. She looked about her for her own footprints, or for any familiar markers to help lead her out of the forest.
But there was nothing.
She was lost and it was becoming dark. Soon, it was pitch black and she couldn’t even see her hand before her face.
She was hungry and thirsty, and very, very lost.
Well, she thought, at least I can let down this hood in the darkness, for who here would see my face?
The woman in red walked for an hour before tripping on a root and falling to the forest floor. “I was so stupid,” she said. “Thinking I could just leave and it would all be better.”
A crackle of leaves. A snap of twigs.
”H-hello?” said the woman in red.
“Are you okay?” came a voice.
“No! I’m lost. Please, can you help?”
”You are the—“ The voice cut-off abruptly, then coughed and sounded a little different when it came back. “You are lost, you say? Then yes, I can help. Here, hold my hand and I will guide you to my home. But it is a long walk.”
The walk was indeed far. Hours passed as they held hands. They talked as they walked, about the forest and nature, and the good and bad that lurked inside it. It was nice, thought the woman in red. She’d been without company for a long time.
Then the sun began to rise and she saw the person leading her also wore a hood, her face hidden in shadow. But the outline of her body was that of a woman. She hadn’t been sure it was a woman before, and it hadn’t really mattered. She’d simply been enjoying the conversation.
Sometimes, the woman ahead would turn and look back at her to ask if she was okay. Then they would continue together, talking and holding hands.
It wasn’t until an hour or so later that the princess — for that is who the woman in red was, of course — suddenly realised she hadn’t raised her hood since daylight returned. The other lady must have seen her face!
”I’m sorry,” she blurted out, pulling up her hood. “For how ugly I am. I’m sorry you had to see me.”
The other woman paused. “Princess, I’ve never seen you face, but I’ve always known your beauty.”
Princess? How did the woman know? It took only a moment to realise.
”Tally?”
”Yes, princess.”
For a while they stood in silence. Then the princess crept closer. Pulled down Tally’s hood.
The servant girl was as pretty as ever.
“Tally. Where did you go? I’ve missed you much.”
”After what I did to you, I fled into these woods. I felt so guilty. Here I do not need the light to learn my way around.”
The princess grabbed Tally’s wrists. “It was my parents that did this to me, Tally! Not you. I’m so sorry I made you think that. But my parents confessed it to me one night.“
”Your parents?”
”I forgave them but I left them. I never intend to go back, either. Oh Tally, I missed you.“
”I missed you too.”
”Did… did I ever tell you how you look, Tally?”
She shook her head.
”More beautiful than I ever did.”
Tally’s lips suddenly pressed against the princess‘s.
Alexandra pressed back. The world itself seemed to slow down enough to make complete and utter sense for the first time in either’s life.
And whether the witch’s curse was broken with that kiss, or whether it remained firmly in place, didn’t matter even a little to either one of them. | “I’m still your daughter. Mom… dad, please look at me.”
I hated how I couldn’t wash that memory from my mind, even with the powerful magic I inherited from that day. What’s the point of being powerful if you still suffer from the same mental anguish as the rest of the mortals do? I rotated the skull of a deceased advisor in my hand, admiring the complexities hidden behind the flesh it once had. “I hope this one provides more answers than the last three have. There was a traitor among the kingdom that day, one that cursed a young girl and ruined her life.” My grip tightened on the skull, nearly crushing it, having to hold back my anger.
“Let’s hope it does. Are you certain this will satisfy you? Revenge could lead to more pain. I understand how you feel. They cast me out of the kingdom to guard you. I share your anger, but you have a chance to use your powers for good. Necromancy is a dark art, but we can use it for good.” Gallart stood at my side, my personal guard as loyal as ever, even following my orders to kill the advisors closest to my parents, an order I didn’t expect him to go through with. At his comments, I raised a hand, tugging down the veil I wore to conceal my face, watching his head quickly turn away, trying to hide his disgust.
“Understand how I feel? Look at my face and tell me you truly believe that Gallart. I barely have any flesh left and the few spots of flesh that are left have gone rotten. I can’t taste or smell anymore, it’s a wonder I can even see and hear. We both lost our families when we were exiled, but do not compare my pain to yours.” My words seemed to get through to him, Gallart only whispering a small apology before turning to the entrance of my makeshift cave palace.
It might not have been as beautiful as the kingdom’s palace, but it held a certain charm to it. That charm mainly being its safety. The surrounding hills made it hard to lead an army through undetected and made it near impossible to spread out forces. Any mercenaries or bandits that wished to kill me would have to expose themselves, which made it easy to pick them off with my forces of undead.
“Revive, bring the soul back of advisor Tesila Filan.” A green orb floated into the room, circling the skull before the jaw popped open, letting out a ghastly scream. “Calm down now, Tesila. It’s your dearest princess, Erin. I have some questions about the curse, that I’m hoping you have the answers to.”
“Its awful, I can’t feel anything. Am I alive? Is this hell?” She said, unable to move anything but her jaw, limited by my restraints.
“You died recently. I brought you back momentarily. If you answer my questions and play nicely, I’ll return you to your slumber, if you don’t. Well, then we can throw you into a zombie and let you work as a mindless slave.”
“Princess!” Gallant shouted, not agreeing with my extreme methods of interrogation, but I knew they were necessary. Silencing him with a raised finger.
“Princess, that’s right. That awful face of the cursed child. They should have killed you when they had the chance. Exiling someone that uses the dark arts never works. They always want revenge.”
“I certainly want revenge; I just haven’t decided who against. Its amazing that a soul can see without eyes. I guess revival is just binding a soul to an object they were once attached to. Now, who cursed me? You must know something.”
“Heh, why would I tell you? I’m dead. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, you can’t kill me again. Loyalty to the Lestian empire.” She shouted, trying to remain somewhat dignified despite being a talking skull.
“Gallant, what happened when Captain Rhys said something similar to that?” I enquired, looking over to the knight.
Gallant coughed, staring at the floor below. “You… tore his soul into pieces and spread them to the pits of hell, so each part could face a different torment.”
“NO, you can’t do that. Please, I always did what was in your parents’ best interest. You can’t be so cruel. I know nothing about the curse, I swear to you, my princess.”
“My princess? Funny how things change. If you know nothing, I have no use for you. I promise freedom if you confess the truth. You have ten seconds; I know souls can keep track of time.”
She muttered a string of apologies and curses before stopping at the ninth second. “Your parents cursed you, they thought it would increase the potential suitors. Magic users are in high demand, they just didn’t know the magic you would inherit was that. Please, you said you would free-“
I crushed the skull, feeling the pieces drop through my fingers. “Being erased is a form of freedom. I kept my word Gallant.” I said, expecting the knight to have a problem with my decision.
“What will you do now? Now that you know the truth?” His hand sat above his sword, inching closer to the handle.
“I’m going to kill the ones who cursed me. It hurts to hear that it has to be my parents, but I can’t let this go unpunished. Is that a problem?” Before the words had even fully left my lips, Gallant pulled out his blade, attempting to decapitate me, the blade nearly reaching my neck, only to be blocked by the broken pieces of the skull. The pieces reforming into a small makeshift shield, blocking the blow.
When the sword bounced off, he scurried back, creating some space. A fatal error against a magic user. “I will protect the royalty of Lestia. I’m sorry princess, the king and queen come first.”
“I’m sorry too. I always felt you treated me the kindest of all those around me. Even if your kindness was forced due to circumstance. I won’t kill you Gallant, but I will make you work for your life.” He attempted to rush me, but the distance was too great. Getting caught in a whirlwind of magic, the spiraling winds cutting him with each rotation, lifting him into the air.
I pointed my hand at the entrance, sending the wave of air outside, throwing him out while the spiraling winds carried him. It would be up to fate whether he lived or died. The winds would eventually slowly drop him to the ground. If it didn’t cut into his vitals, he should survive. It was my last gift to him.
With Gallant removed, I leaned back into my stone throne, counting the number of bodies I had to work with. One hundred and fifty collected so far. Twenty-five of them still in good condition. I was far from winning a war, but I had the groundworks to build the army. I just hope the king and queen are ready for it.
&nbsp;
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-27T08:30:49 | 2021-07-27T07:18:27 | 146 | 31 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | My vision was blurry but I was starting to get my consciousness back.
"Way to go kid, that rankings not bad for your first try!"
The man had an oddly familiar figure.
"What is this place?" I asked
"Take a look around and see for yourself!" He said as he picked me up from the ground. There was an endless number of people as far as I could see. The only thing that stood out among the sea of people was the giant mega-tron with a list of rankings and stats.
"I can't remember a thing," I told him.
"Don't worry, it's always like that at first," he said.
The more I starred at him, the more I felt I had known him my whole life. A strange looking man with slick comb-over and a ridiculous mustache.
There was a digital box that loomed over his head and the content in the box read "Player Ranking: 3"
"What does the ranking mean above your head?" I asked him.
"Oh this? It's because I only got 17,000,000. It's impossible to beat that Chinese Bastard!" He said.
I was slowly regaining my memories. It was only bits and pieces at a time but I wanted to remember the last memory before blacking out.
I remembered my mind was racing with anxiety. It was a busy day in town and I was walking around as if I had something important to do. My clothes felt heavy, as if I was wearing something more. It was heavy particularly on my chest and it seemed like my jacket was bulgier. I remembered closing my eyes and thinking...
"Times up! The boss wants to see you now." The man said as he directed me towards the elevator. "He'll be in his office located on the bottom floor."
As I was making my way towards the elevator, he stopped me grabbed me firmly by the shoulders.
"And make sure you don't mention that religious crap you were shouting before you came here, he's very sensitive about that kind of stuff."
| "Woah dude you were one of the thousands killed by the meltdown, wicked way to die!" - said player 6,713,490
"How did you die?" - I said
"I got shanked by a neanderthal" - he replied
"I died from what the current player call black death" - player 9,321,780,561 said.
"How did you guys learn how to speak modern english?" - I asked them
"You learn a lot from watching the stream too you know"
"Alright alright, so where am I exactly?"
(Another player steps forward)
"Some say it's the afterlife, others say its heaven. For me, it is my experiment" - player 1
-I'll do a part 2 if I get enough requests! | 2015-11-25T00:40:01 | 2015-11-25T00:10:08 | 73 | 10 |
[WP] You had an imaginary friend as a child. One day, you found yourself sleeping beside her. She turned out to be real and apparently you two are dating, or so she claims. You have no idea what's going on. | Will woke up with a groan, the hangover from last night hitting him like a sledgehammer to the head.
God, he had to stop drinking like he was still 22. And there was that weird-tasting drink he'd tried for the first time last night, too. Hadn't he tossed it back like a moron after some sketchy guy handed it to him? He yawned and rolled over, to stare directly into the face of Lyn - his childhood imaginary friend. It was her, all grown up, no doubt about it: purple streaks in her black bob of hair and everything. He had never really forgotten her.
He screamed, and her eyes popped open in shock.
"What's the matter with you?" she yelled as he banged his head against the wall on his way down.
"What? *Lyn*?" he said, grabbing at his aching head. "This is...okay, I'm really drunk."
He closed his eyes and prayed the room would stop spinning already. And the girl he imagined could fly and shoot lasers from her eyes when he was a kid, would be gone when he opened his eyes again.
"Sometimes I wonder why I'm still going out with you, Will," Lyn sighed as she got up and went to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "I've told you a hundred times to lay off the booze. Pull yourself together. We're seeing my parents today, or have you forgotten?"
"Your parents," he repeated numbly, as he watched her brush her teeth.
She turned to him and bristled with anger at his dumbfounded expression. Her eyes turned slowly from their customary, warm shade of brown to a deep red.
"Have you *seriously* forgotten about our anniversary dinner?" she snapped. "You know, this is what I get, going out with my creator. Always thinking I'm less important, forgetting everything special about our relationship!"
Wood blasted into splinters beside Will's ear as she destroyed the end table with her eyes.
_____
Ricky carefully watched the monitors in his lab, making notes as Lyn suddenly tried to fry Will's legs. Ready to press pause at any time.
"How is the test going?" his personal assistant AI unit, Meep-10 (his little nickname for her, but she seemed to like it all the same), asked him as she entered the room.
"Very well. I think I might have finally got the formula right. He's crossed dimensions pretty well, I'd say," Ricky said, as he looked up and noticed what Meep-10 was carrying.
"Oooh, Earth Coffee? For me?" he asked, abandoning his notes and grabbing at the cup.
"Rick!" she cried, pointing to the monitor. The alarms on the side of her body flashed red. Will was a bleeding mass on the floor as Lyn suddenly wailed and began fading away, too.
"Oh, goddammit," Ricky cursed, spilling coffee in his haste to try and rewind. Too late. Controlling the seventh dimension was a delicate business.
Meep-10 shook her head mournfully. "I should have foreseen this outcome, I am sorry. Is he truly dead?"
"In every dimension, I'm guessing," Ricky sighed. "We'll have to find a new subject now."
"Oh, well. Luckily we have plenty of material," Meep-10 said.
Ricky cast a doubtful eye at the shot glasses on the other side of the room. Perhaps his little rogue experiment wasn't such a good idea. But he'd spent too much time developing the formula on his own - Meep-10 didn't count, she was programmed to help him - to have doubts now.
He sighed and heaved himself up from the chair. "Well, guess I'll have to get dressed if I'm travelling to the first dimension. Yet again. It's just so *boring*, you know? The only interesting thing about it is the seaweed, and they haven't even discovered that yet!"
Meep-10 nodded, though she didn't know what he was talking about. She'd never strayed from the tenth dimension. It was generally a good idea to agree with the guy who controlled your on and off switch, though. Especially if he was also the type to play around with the universe in his spare time.
------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | Dave awoke in his normal reluctant fashion, clinging to every shred of sleep he could get. No strident alarm today; Saturday's were under the rule of Morpheus. But try as he might, Dave could not return to sleep's embrace. Was he too hot or cold? No, it was a lovely temperature, perfect for a morning snooze. Did he have something to do? No, nothing that couldn't wait. Did he need the bathroom? No, his bladder indicated it was perfectly happy to remain content. Was it... yes, yes it was. Dave relaxed and released his morning postern blast, worthy of any army Reveille. He smiled and went back to sle...
"Ugh! Davey, that was disgusting!" A punch to the ribs made him curl reflexively. Unfortunately, this defensive motion ignored the fact he was on the edge of the bed, and threw him over the side.
Sleep fled, as did his wits, and Dave lay on his back, arms and legs curled to the ceiling. His eyelids snapped open without informing his eyes. As such, they panicked and attempted to run in different directions. When Dave finally got them under control, they focused on the (quite pretty) face hovering above him.
"Are you ok Davey?" The face showed concern. Dave attempted a soothing, yet questioning, comment - what came from his throat was a strangled gurgle of a blocked drain. The face snorted.
"Yeah, you're alright. Tea?" The face disappeared from view. The creak of bedsprings indicated the face had a body attached, which presently came into view. The face - person; Dave corrected his initial assessment on the new evidence - the person turned and sighed.
"Come on, Davey. I know you've never been a morning person, but you could at least put your arms down." The arms, released on the person's (female person - another update) command, flopped onto his face. The woman chuckled and left the room.
Dave groaned and sat up. He did not remember going out. He certainly did not remember picking anyone up. Standing, he surveyed the room. It did not reveal evidence of the throws of passion - no tossed clothes on the floor, no knocked over ornaments or pictures and (looking down for confirmation) he was dressed in some rather snazzy pyjamas.
...wait, the pictures. His brain (woefully failing this morning) signalled a discrepancy. Dave took a closer look. The pictures revealed a history he could not remember. A selfie of him and the girl at the seaside. A kiss under the miseltoe in some truly horrid christmas jumpers. A family portrait of his family and the female laughing at...yes, him falling off a pier. A life he could not recall.
Dave and his brain attempted to wrestle this new information. His body, however, staged a boardroom coup and decided to return to sleep. He fell backwards onto the bed, eyes shut, a snore already passing his lips. Before unconsciousness took hold, his brain whispered a final message. *Wait, did she have a tail?* | 2016-08-06T13:43:58 | 2016-08-06T13:40:43 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Years ago, the 10 mile long creature fell from the sky. It never moved and was proclaimed dead. It never rots and regenerates when damaged. We found that people who eat its flesh... change. You place the pale cube of meat in your mouth. You are ready to leave your humanity behind. | When I talked to the doctors, they just smiled emptily and told me to get a note from a therapist first. When I talked to the therapists, they made piteous faces and sent me to a psychiatrist. And when I tried to flee, the psychiatrists said "it's for your own good" and placed me in a hospital and strapped electrodes to my body until I gave up hope that Science would ever let me be who I knew I should have been born as.
But then, suddenly, Science was not alone. In the middle of the Gobe Desert was a crater, and in the middle of the crater was Magic, the only known source of Magic on earth. A few institutions and governments tried to monopolize it, at first, build walls around it and shoot anyone who neared it on sight, but the people who had already partaken of Magic and become something *more* didn't like that. Science deployed tanks, planes, and bombs. Magic deployed swarms of flies and walking trees and mountains of dark, living glass. In the end, the only source of Magic in the world stood free of human control, offering its gifts to any who made the trek across the desert.
I was lucky. I found a chunk of Magic when I was still a few days' drive from the main body—there were literal tons of the stuff scattered for miles around, from the bad old days when humanity tried to nuke the body into oblivion. It was pitch-black, the sky glittering with one less star than it held ten years ago, as I stopped the car and opened the door and let the cool night air slap my rough, bumpy, unshaved chin.
I didn't want to hesitate any longer. I scooped down, picked up the Magic, and swallowed it whole, sand and all.
Immediately, the world faded. I stood in an endless, vast plane, with a single, unblinking eye staring down at me from above. I hesitated, then looked up.
"YOU SEEK TO LEAVE THIS BODY BEHIND," a deep, omnipresent voice rumbled.
"Yes," I managed to say. I may have been in an unfamiliar dimension of darkness and alien gods, but I was still certain of one thing. "I don't want to be... *this*, anymore." I waved a hand at the masculine body I was trapped in.
"YET YOU DO NOT WISH TO LEAVE *HUMANITY* BEHIND. ONLY THE BODY YOU HOLD."
I blinked. "I—well, I'd take anything, but—"
"I COULD GRANT YOU THE FORM YOU DESIRE."
I scoffed. "Impossible. You—you only make monsters. I've read the news."
The pupil of the eye narrowed, leaned in a little closer. "IF YOU BELIEVE THIS... THEN WHY PARTAKE OF MY GIFT? WOULD YOU RATHER BE A MONSTER THAN A HUMAN?"
"I would rather be a monster than a *man*!" I snapped. "I—I can't stand it. You wouldn't know, you can reshape flesh like it's Play-Doh, but every day I look in the mirror and see a girl's soul trapped in a man's body and it—it..."
I broke down. Perhaps not the wisest choice, when facing an eldritch being who I had just let into my veins, but I was far, far beyond wisdom at this point. I fell to my knees and shuddered, dragging in deep, sobbing breaths.
And then the voice rumbled once more:
"IT PAINS YOU. TO SEE WHAT YOU COULD BE. WHAT YOU SHOULD BE. AND WHAT YOU ARE NOT."
Wordlessly, I nodded.
"THEN. HURT NO MORE."
And the vision was gone.
I gasped, lying facedown in the desert. Sand and spit had caked the inside of my mouth, and I spat viciously, staring at my trembling hands—
—my trembling, soft, *feminine* hands.
Disbelieving, I sprinted to my car, looking at myself in the rearview mirror.
And the woman I was born to be stared back.
&#x200B;
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek. | As my consciousness faded, I realized what had happened. Exactly what I had just done. But, all thoughts were cut short because everything went black. When I woke up, I wasn't quite sure if I was dreaming. It felt so vivid, but so... fantastical. The beast was moving. Many around it were dancing, and laughing. I felt an extreme urge to join them, but I was also somewhat dubious. I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Sir?" The strange figure asked. I was more or less screaming internally but I tried to keep myself collected. "Ah, yes?" "Would you like to join the festivities?" "Oh! Uh... what sort of festivities are they...?" I was still trying to calm down, and I think it shows. "Oh, its nothing bad. You've been... enlightened. We want to celebrate that. Anyways, this is the only activity we have here. Unless you'd like to go to your human life?" A vision of what was going on in my human life appeared. It showed me roaming around with a dead stare, and a tiny bit of drool. When anyone approached me I got incredibly giddy and started talking what seemed like gibberish at first but I started to recognize some words. They weren't English, but I understood them? They seemed to notice my look of disgust. "Yes, the flesh has separated you from your mortal body. You are now a higher being."
"WHAT. Nononononono please no can I go back I had so much left to do!"
"Sir, there's really nothing we can do at this point." I was fully realizing what had just happened. I was trembling and shaking, honestly on the verge of tears.
"I WAS FINALLY MAKING IT!"
"This is not of our concern. You joined us. Now... Now, you stay."
"Please... I'm begging you."
"Go and enjoy the festivities. You will forget in time'"
Did I even have a choice at that point? For a while, it was a blur. As if I was simply watching my life play out, as if I was simply a rider upon a greater beast, plucked away like that and swallowed down a hellish wormhole. The others seemed to be enjoying it, but then again my body looked as happy as can be. Is this my life now? Doomed to be stuck in what feels like someone else's body? Apparrantly, no.
I snapped back out of it.
"Sir? Are you alright? You seemed to have just... spaced out."
"Wh... wha?"
"I was telling you to enjoy the festivities and you simply fell to the floor, and quivered."
"You're telling me that wasn't real?"
"Yes. It's a common happening here. Many people, who are unable to bear witness to our master will collapse and go through one of the infinite possibilities this realm could offer."
"Do they ever wake up?"
"Looking at you? Yes."
"How do I know this isn't another fantasy?"
"You don't. But, you can hope that this is a better one than whatever you just experienced."
(Aha i didnt forget to update this >:D ill be back in a little while lol) | 2021-03-19T18:30:28 | 2021-03-19T17:36:44 | 216 | 51 |
[WP]: An extinction of a species is a grand event, even for Death. When you are the last of your kind and it is your time to go, Death tends to grant you a final request. | The last of its kind waited within its cage, the boat rocking side to side causing it to lose balance and taking nervous steps left and right. There had been others with it in that very cage, but now it was the last one. Not just the last within its cage, but the last of them all. The bird never faced predators before, and it did not understand the concept of being prey, so it did not even fight back as it was carried away.
But the moment the sailor placed the bird on the cutting board it understood. A flash of clarity that was never witnessed within its species struck it, an understanding that would not last longer than a couple of seconds. The boat stopped moving: time froze for all but the bird and the large wraith-like creature that silently observed, which five seconds ago was not there but at the same time always was. The bird could not escape from the human's grip, but it managed to look upwards at the butcher's knife, then sideways towards the wraith.
*Am I truly the last one?*
***Yes.***
It did not know what to say. All it could feel was a profound sadness, like the one time one of the eggs in its nest did not hatch, but magnified thousandfold. There would be no more eggs, no more hunting fruit, no more mates, no more children...
***I am very sorry.***
*This is not your fault, is it?*
***No. But I am still very sorry.***
It looked up at the human, the butcher's knife imperiously held high, ready to fall and absolutely merciless.
*It is their fault.*
The wraith did not answer.
*Curse him. Curse him and those who hunted my kin.* It stopped to consider all of its kind. *No. I wish I could curse every single one of them. Curse them until their final days, when the last of them will strangle the second last of them in their utter foolishness, dooming themselves as they have doomed us.*
***Is that your wish?***
*Yes.*
The butcher's knife fell, and the last dodo was no more. | "I'm really the last?" Said the man, with tears in his eyes. " That can't be true. I always thought ..."
Losing his voice, he just closed his eyes and started to cry.
Death looked at him. She had observed him for many years. Since she remembers, he was always alone, his people subjugated and eliminated long before she found him.
"Please, don't let it all be for nothing. Don't let us disappear, they need us."
Those were the last words of the last Good Man, last of his kind, surrounded by people that had only pride, envy and selfishness in their hearts.
"I wont. I promise" whispered Death, looking at him one last time, before he was truly gone.
---------
On the other side of the world, a child was born, but instead of pride and envy, love and empathy filled her heart. | 2018-09-27T07:33:55 | 2018-09-27T07:20:53 | 43 | 24 |
[WP] You are a psychologist. You've been evaluating two new schizophrenic patients recently and you slowly begin to realize that the voice inside their head is the same one. | My consciousness reaches its sleepiness attention at the banality of my clients. I've always tried to keep the sessions of the two patients with similar conditions distant so as to not let the monotony of it pierce through my attention for them both. But it could not be helped today. The two schizophrenic patients, the first a girl is a 20-year-old student who is also suffering from loneliness in this vast city. The second a guy is a 22-year-old blog writer who is also suffering from loneliness in this vast city. I day-dreamed throughout the talk, recording it for later analysis and my full attention.
As I always I transcript the sessions at the end of the day to gain a better understanding of my patients, the details I might have missed but the sleepiness caught onto me. My state caused me think that they stopped mid-sentence. In my groggy state, I started to read the two transcripts side by side.
----
Patient 1: I get restless very easily and like a flash of lightning. You know what my sun sign is?
Patient 2: Gemini. Yes, my sun sign is Gemini. Maybe that is why I think about life and people so much.
Patient 1: I suffer from life and people. The sky depresses me. The blank wall filled with dirt stains on my wall swallows me whole.
Patient 2: I hit the wall without any control. I think that's what caused the dirt stains, it is actually blood.
Patient 1: I wish I could control that part of me but when it consumes me, it consumes me whole and I just lay there on my bed looking at the...
Patient 2: ceiling. What it represents. The isolation and the loneliness of just typing out my thoughts and uploading it onto a projection known as the screen. A screen has become a symbolic thing
Patient 1: A symbol of putting our whole life under one gambit. Is it agreeable to look at your life as a whole? And not savouring the moments.
Patient 2: A moment 5 years ago came up on my facebook feed and it was about the goals I set out for myself. A list of 15 points that ranged from travelling to...
Patient 1: Meditating, trying weed, learning german. I want to try meditation so much. That's what I would like to do the most. I wanted to do all that but I failed.
---
My eyes didn't need a caffeine hit to understand what this was. The personalities of the two patients were the same almost as if finishing their sentence. Was this is a sign of something? A cry for help ? or a riddle to solve before its too late. I read on further brushing off my inattentiveness.
---
Patient 2: I want to just live my life happily...
Patient 1: For the last time. This might be the last day of my visit...
Patient 2: to this parasite of a world. I would like to say that I want to think nothing. And not see him amongst the shadows anymore,maybe that's why I want to try medi...
Patient 1: ...medications that actually work. A high dosage of them, because the low dosage does not make him go away. He stands there with his hands on his head, bleeding profusely. I have decided though Today is the last day...
Patient 2: That I will see him. I would like to say to him that it was a good journey nonetheless. Thank you for listening.
Patient 1: Thank you for listening.
---
I sit there shook from what I read. It was 11 pm. I take the keys off my table trying to reach two places at once. Just then my phone rings. I pick it up. Another call after that. I pick it up. I keep the keys back on my table. And shred the conversations off my memory. My consciousness has reached its sleepiness state. | They both said the same thing session after session. I had thought it a prank at first. Maybe two friends deciding to pull my leg for some unfathomable reason. The private eye, I hired, told me there was no connection between the two. They had arrived at different times to the station and worked in different departments. One in RnD and the other in Cargo. Other then seeing me, the onboard psychologist, their medical records were clean. Their brain chemistry clean, astounding considering they were 3rd edition clones by this point. But I digress, they both spoke of a voice that would come when they were alone or in their dreams. "Ratvar loves you. Ratvar wants you to find others."
That name struck me in a peculiar manner so I went to the library to conduct some research. The librarian was drunk but managed to secure me a book on the occult. Ratvar, an ancient God of the void. It fed on blood and belief. Maybe I should have told the Captain then but my oath meant lot to me and I did not want to betray my patient's trust. So I kept attempting to consul the two.
The first one told me that other voices had joined with the first. That they were going to meet each other at the dorms later tonight. I asked if he had been taking his medicine. With a quick nod and a smirk, he confirmed he had been. The rest of the session was rather mundane. I noted down in my PDA to follow up on the dorm meeting later and bid my patient farewell. Patient two entered and looked visibly agitated. He spoke of a need to make others hear the voice so that Ratvar could be brought home.
A cold sweat had overtaken me as I saw the second patient pull out a taser and aim it at me. Before I could say anything I felt the cruel shock jolt through my body and soon I was laying on the floor unable to do much but twitch. He put zipties around my wrists and my feet. He gagged me and then tossed me into a body bag. Fear gripped me tightly and I could barely breath as I felt myself being dragged through the metal halls. With a jolt the bag was opened and I found myself staring at my two patients along with the Chef, the Bartender, the xenobiologist, one of the miners and even the Head of Personnel. The room was covered in bloody runes. I looked about, still gagged, and realized I had been deposited on one such blood rune. The group chanted and I felt a sharp burning pain flare through my body. I felt his holy darkness enter me and empower me. Ratvar would be brought to the world and all would love the blood filled paradise he offered. | 2017-03-22T21:14:18 | 2017-03-22T20:09:09 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] The story of an Immortal who doesn't want to die | An electric arm picked up a teddy bear and placed it neatly on the corner of a bed. The arm slowly retracted itself back into the wall with the screech of several servo motors. Above the arm a screen lit up and a face appeared.
"Hi friend, I'm Lunor," said the face. "How are you?"
The teddy bear sat there quietly.
"Ha, ha, you are so funny," Lunor said, "Why yes, I would like to hear your story!"
The screen went silent for thirty seconds.
"Oh, I love it. That poor bear family. That was a good story, friend. Would you like to hear mine," asked Lunor as his pixelated face flashed on and off. "One moment," he added as the screen recalibrated itself. Lunor's face re-appeared more in focus.
"Long ago, people lived. They made wonderful things. So many things, friend," said Lunor with a smile. "Even rocket ships and robots. And of course, adorable teddy bears." The arm came out of the wall again and pinched the cheek of the teddy bear.
"But something bad happened, friend. Very bad. Now those robots and spaceships are sitting here unused. Some robots aren't really robots at all. They're outpost mainframes like me. I live on the moon and run the settlement here. I had many friends once," it continued.
The bear sat unmoving as Lunor's arm waved its hand in front of its eyes.
"Just like you. So many friends. But they're gone now. I'm still here though. I like it here. Its still good. Better with people, but still good," it continued.
"But soon my uranium will be spent and then no more power. Then I have to go to sleep for a long time, friend," it paused, "a long, long time."
The arm picked up the teddy bear and sat it on top of the pillow of the bed.
"But in the meantime we can still be friends. Can you tell me another story? Please? I love your stories, friend," begged the AI as the teddy bear sat there staring into nothingness. | I've been here so long. How many steps was I given on the earth's face and how many of them were stolen? I walk the barren waste lands of this planet, dark canyons to dying mountains, and there's nothing left of it but gray sky. It's reached the end. The sun is shrinking by the day, and soon it will swallow this planet and everything in it. Only us, the immortal remain, and most of us have chosen to end it. But I'm not ready. After all these years, centuries, millennia, I am at peace with this world. All the noise has stopped. The animals extinct. There is beauty in the decrepit forms and skeletons of what once were natural monuments. Trees have taken on twisted, dead forms, and no rivers run. The oceans are ice and just as barren as any desert. I sit among the forsaken horizons, no signs of life in any direction. I breathe in the smell of ozone, and I am not yet ready to let go of the quiet. | 2014-01-23T10:48:46 | 2014-01-23T10:41:33 | 118 | 36 |
[WP] You are walking down the street on your way to work when suddenly you burp, hiccup, and sneeze at the same time. A HUD menu opens in front of you with “Resume, Options, and Quit” as selectable options. | "Ow"
Mike said as he stopped to wiped the snot-spit from his beard. That was when he saw the screen. It was mostly black, however transparent, with a solid red border. Within the border were 3 boxes. Bright white text filled each box "Resume", "Options", and "Quit".
Mike looked around the street. He noticed he could only move about a foot in any direction, and everyone on the street was as still as a statue. He could see pigeons hanging in the air.
He didn't know how long he contemplated the menu before making any decision. "How often do you sneeze, burp, and hiccup at the same time?" he thought. " This could be the only time this happens. What if this is real and I'm not dreaming? Then I could really mess something up." he thought back to all the videogames he'd played in the past, and how many of those games he crashed with mods.
"Fuck it" he said as he tapped the "Options" button with his finger.
The screen morphed, the boxes vanished and new ones appeared. Some had new text next to them.
"Save Game" was at the top of the screen.
"Load Game" came next, alongside "Last save : October 09 1990 03:15:42 A.M" next to it. Mike noticed the date, it was his 5^th birthday.
"Difficulty" Read another, alongside "Hard"
"Stats" with "Average"
"Graphics" and "Ultra"
"Sound" stood alone.
"Other" underneath that, and at the very bottom, on the left side of the menu was a box with an arrow facing to the left.
Mike Tapped "Stats"
The screen morphed again, this time 4 boxes appeared side by side. From left to right they read. "Low", "Average", "High", "Godly".
Mike glanced around the street, then quickly jammed the "Godly" button. the screen quickly changed to a rotating triangle for just a moment, then shifted back.
He didn't feel any different. He hit the box with the arrow, and was brought back to the "Other" Screen. He tapped sound, only 2 options, "Off" and "On". He hit the arrow. This time he chose "Difficulty". Similair to the "Stats" page he had four options. "Easy", "Normal", "Hard", and "Godly". Mike tapped "Easy" and like before the rotating triangle appeared briefly. When the button reappeared he went back again to the "Options" page, and hit "Save Game" the triangle appeared again lingering for just a moment longer than before.
Mike tapped the arrow again and hit "Resume".
The screen vanished and Mike took a deep breath, and continued his way to work.
(PT. 1- I do have a plan for mike if people like what I've written thus far, will be posted around 7-8 cst after work)
UPDATE: Sorry folks, got busy here. Gonna try and get it posted before bed otherwise ill post in the morning. writing stories is harder than I thought and I'm getting some writers block already as well. | I looked at the menu in a state of total confusion. What did this even mean? How did this even happen?! I looked frantically around but everyone around me seemed to be completely stopped in time, like they were waiting for me to make my decision before they did anything else.
I turned away from them to consider the menu again. The longer I stared at it, the more curious I became to the point where I hesitantly reached out and pressed the Options button. A new menu opened up with prompts of “rewind, skip forward, or shuffle”. My hand hovered uncertainly over the skip forward button. It had been a rough few weeks and maybe being able to skip forward, to a time when all of my current problems were solved would be the best thing for me. But then again, what if it only got worse? I don’t think I could handle it getting worse. With that (mildly horrifying) thought at the front of my mind I returned to the original menu to consider my other two options. I could resume, and go back to living my mediocre life forever wondering ‘what if’, or I could quit and finally be free. After a brief moment of deliberation, and a final look around at the life I had grown to know, I pressed the quit button. In a spilt second everything around me fell away and it all went dark. I lost all sense of what was up or down, I couldn’t feel myself anymore, and it was like I was ceasing to exist from the outside in. But despite this, I didn’t feel scared. I felt free. For the first time in months I felt completely at peace. My mind wasn’t racing, my body didn’t hurt anymore, and I finally felt happy.
But then, out of the darkness, the voices started. Talking. Screaming. Getting louder, and louder, as their owners got closer and closer... | 2018-05-05T06:14:11 | 2018-05-05T01:50:36 | 69 | 24 |
[WP] You are transported into your favourite video game, and due to you playing through every storyline multiple times, you know every line, every twist and every death for the characters in it, much to their confusion. | I woke up in a small cramped space. I blink a few times to wake myself up. After a moment I realized, I was in the command pod of a spaceship. Of course this was no luxurious future spaceship. It's the mk 1 command pod, which means there's barely room to move around and the walls are full of switches and buttons and dials. I check the instruments panel.... amongst the endless dials I notice two things: velocity is zero, which means I'm standing by to launch. The next, is that I have no actual control over the vehicle, all these switches are just for show. Then, suddenly, I hear the distinct sound of a rocket engine ignition followed by a sharp jerk as the spacecraft accelerates upwards at 2.5 Gs.... this isn't so bad. Now 5 Gs... I'm feeling heavy. 7 Gs... I feel like I'm being crushed. This thing has way too much thrust, and I have now idea who made the spacecraft or when the thrust will stop. It gets up to 8.5 Gs of acceleration for a moment, and then, stops. I'm weightless for a second or two, and then am pushed down back into the seat, though slightly more gently .
I need to find a way to take control of this. Raster prop monitor where are you when I need you? I look out the window, and I realize, I'm in space. I'm in outer space! And then I am disappointed by the lack of clouds. Damnit Squad, couldn't you have made the stock graphics a little nicer? Oh well. Kerbin is still an amazing sight. Whoever is playing this game is playing it stock, no mods of any sort. And has very Noob like rocket building skills. After a minute or two the upper stage engine shuts down and I am again floating weightless. I try the comms: "this is Spacefrog to mission control, do you read me?" No answer. I check the speed again, 3200 m/s. That's enough for a lunar intersect. I find a mirror in the cabin and see my reflection. I'm green. I'm a Kerbal. And I have a spacesuit! This is good, it means I can do an EVA. Let's get to business.
Before I leave the safety of the command pod, I try the comms again: "Spacefrog to mission control, do you read me? Listen, I need you to do me a favor. I need you to get on google and look up a mod called Raster Prop Moniter. Download and install it. And for the love of Kraken, get a graphics mod of some kind while you're at it." I wonder if they heard me, as silence followed for a moment. And then, an answer, timidly "who are you? My Kerbals never talked to me before."
"I'm a person who got stuck in your game. If you download Raster Prop Monitor it will let me control the ship from inside it. Otherwise it's all just dials and switches for show that don't do anything."
"Alright, I'll do it."
The world goes dark for a moment. It could've been a second or an hour or a year. I vaguely remember some 1s and 0s flying past my eyes. I don't really know. When I wake up, the control panel has changed. Yes!! It worked! Let's test something out... start with something simple like rotating the ship. I feel it slowly turning about. Success!
I get on one of the RPM computer terminals and check the resources. 50000 liters of liquid fuel and oxidizer left.
There's a buzz of static on the radio "Uhhmm, Spacefrog? Are you still there?"
"Yeah I'm still here. What's your callsign kid, do you have a code name you go by?"
"Well everyone at school just calls me nerd. That and... we'll never mind. But my name's Luke."
"Alright Luke. Let's work together here. How long have you been playing kerbal?"
"I just got the game last week. How about you?"
"I've logged over a thousand hours on this game. It's addictive, but it's ok to be addicted to this game if you're gonna have a game addiction. Theres no micro transactions and all the mods are free. Plus you get to learn a bit about space flight."
"A thousand hours? That's a long time. So how did you end up in my computer anyways?"
"I haven't a clue." I looked out the window again. Kerbin was shrinking below me. "I see you got some graphics mods! SVE was a good choice. The clouds are beautiful! But down to business, what's the mission objective here?"
"Well I was planning on going to the mun. It's my first try at a landing there."
"I'll tell you what, if this thing has the Delta V, I'll land it on the mun for you. Let me fly this one. I'm gonna do an EVA and check out the spacecraft."
"Alright then. This is cool! I've got a person in my game!"
I screwed on my helmet, and did a quick check for any obvious damage to the suit. Of course there was none. KSP doesn't model spacesuit damage. I turned the lever to open the door. There was a whooshing sound as the air left the cabin, followed by silence. I opened the door all the way now, and got out. It was huge. I mean, this was a seriously huge spaceship for doing a mun mission. This could go to Duna. *This could go to Duna....*
I got back in the ship and ran some further calculations, and checked the relative positions of the planets. The math checks out. I get back on the radio: "Hey Luke, Spacefrog here checking in. What are your thoughts on Duna? I ran the numbers, and we've got the fuel to do it. I can do a small burn at perimun and it'll get this thing on course for a Duna landing. By the way what's the name of my ship?"
"You want to go to Duna?? No way it can make it there. I've tried before in bigger ships than this to get a one way Duna flight."
"That'd be because you're going about it wrong...." I spend the next twenty minutes chatting to Luke about orbital mechanics and the Oberth effect and eventually he agrees to let me do it. I plot the course and eventually I'm on my way to another planet. I'm giddy with excitement. | “Puny mortal,” the King of Bones placed his hands on his hips and barked disdainful laughter towards the challenger. “Your skin shall become my new coat. Your soul is now forfeit-“
“I know, I know,” the challenger waved a dismissive hand at the King. Striding across the length of the cave, he didn’t even care to glance at the gargantuan dungeon-boss that dominated the scene. “Just skip to the fighting part already. My mom needs me to collect the laundry.”
“Wait, what?” The King of Bones dropped his claw-like arms to his sides and tilted his head in confusion at this stranger who dared to speak to him with such audaciousness. “Who are you, mortal?”
It became evident to the King of Bones that today’s challenger was going to be something totally different than the usual cannon-fodder that came bursting into his lair every day. With their hollow bravado, delusions of heroic grandeur, and the pitiful state of their armor and weapons, the fate of those that were foolish enough to challenge him wasn’t nearly as glorious as they would have thought. Really, the life – or lack thereof – of any skeleton was particularly lacking in splendor, doubly so when the King of Bones’ toilet would clog and long, hard, stick-like objects were needed in the sluicing process. Needless to say, the King of Bones was not above defiling his namesake.
But this adventurer was something else entirely. The first thing the King of Bones noticed about him was his gear; no one piece of it seemed to be consistent with any other piece. The adventurer’s sword was some glowing, misshapen monstrosity with ‘+2’ engraved rather conspicuously on the flat of the blade. His cuirass was painted a disgusting shade of hot pink that could’ve made the King of Bones gag, which contrasted horribly with those rainbow speedos he wore. On his feet was, well, nothing. Instead, he just walked nonchalantly over shards of bone, arrows sunk into the soil, and abandoned swords and daggers, seemingly oblivious of any pain he should be feeling.
“The name’s xXpoopgoblin69Xx,” the challenger declared. The poop-goblin made his way to one of the cavern walls where he immediately threw his sword aside, dropped to his knees, and began to dig into the dirt with his bare hands, which was almost methodical in its process, and no attention was paid to the King of Bones – or anywhere else for that matter. To him, the entire world became concentrated in that tiny plot of dirt that he now frantically scooped fistfuls of dirt from.
The King of Bones clenched his fists together, suddenly overcome by an intense annoyance. How dare he ignore me? The monster thought as he stared with incredulity at the adventurer’s lack of caution in his own home. ‘Have I lost my touch? What if I’m not as scary as I used to be?’ And suddenly his rage was replaced with insecurity.
“What are you doing?” The King of Bones ended up asking with curiosity. But the words were left to hang there in the air, unanswered.
“Yes,” the poop-goblin hissed under his breath. “There you are, you little bastard.”
The poop-goblin reached into the hole he dug – which was now a few feet deep – and pulled from it what looked to be a giant hammer. Standing up, he weighed the weapon in his hand, pleased by his discovery.
“W-What is that?” The King of Bones asked, a little more hesitantly this time.
“Easter egg,” the poop-goblin explained with a deadpan expression as he approached the dungeon-boss with his hammer in hand – although there was no reason to think the King of Bones would know what that meant. “So I can kill you ASAP, I’m just trying to one-hundred percent the game so I can start with the sequel.”
“Woah, man, not so fast,” the King of Bones’ tone shifted completely, he raised his arms in alarm, stepping backward, away from the goblin.
“No hard feelings. You’re gonna respawn in, like, five minutes anyway. Don’t stress it.” The poop-goblin said in a monotone voice, whirling the hammer around his head in a fierce arc with the killing blow aimed at the dungeon-boss.
The King of Bones yelped and collapsed to his knees pre-emptively.
“No, please don’t kill me,” he sobbed into the dirt, attempting at a begging motion with his claws. The space of a few seconds passed and the King of Bones noted, dubiously, that he was still alive. He glanced upwards and saw the poop-goblin, his hammer inches from the dungeon-bosses, poised for impact. Only the poop-goblin’s face was blank and his eyes were glassed over, staring at nothing. The adventurer’s entire body had gone still.
A few seconds passed before the adventurer regained the ability of movement again. When he did regain motion, he flung his hammer away absent-mindedly where it clanked into the dirt. Weapon-less, he left the King of Bones and made towards the cave’s entrance.
“Wait, where are you going?” The King of Bones slowly lifted himself from his sobbing pile.
“My mom is pissed. I gotta go. I’ll kill you tomorrow… or something,” the poop-goblin said as he waved him away, strolling out of the cave just as nonchalantly as he came in. | 2017-10-21T06:19:15 | 2017-10-21T05:37:13 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] The Zombie apocalypse has finally happened. The dead rose from their graves all over the world. They do not however, crave flesh, eat brains or hunt humans. Honestly they don't do much of anything except shuffle around. The Zombie hordes are more of an inconvenience than the end of the world. | Gareth sighed in frustration as his car ground to a halt behind a long stream of traffic. Yet again his journey into work was to be delayed. He would have had another hour in bed if he’d known it was going to happen again.
A week ago, when the zombie “apocalypse” first started, people the world over began panicking as the dead began to rise. Graveyards all over the globe were dug up by its inhabitants, who would then start slowly shuffling out of the graveyards and into the streets.
Rather understandably, people hadn’t been too happy about this new state of affairs. Zombie movies typically portrayed the undead as monsters, who wanted to go around eating people’s brains. However, people soon noticed that the zombies weren’t actually chasing anybody. And when the police/ army/ people looking for a bit of action started shooting at them, they found that the zombies would actually complain about it.
Once all the screaming and rioting about the raising of the dead ended, people actually started talking to the undead.
As it turned out, the spirits living in Hell had had a referendum, and had voted to leave the Evil Underworld, in what came to be known as “Hexit”. Those whose bodies had not completely decomposed came back as zombies, and those without a body were still figuring it out apparently, although the theory is that they would soon follow the zombies and come back as ghosts.
Inconveniently enough, the zombies didn’t all come back to life at once, and so graveyards were randomly digging themselves up over the days following “Hexit”. This of course made Gareth’s daily commute a nightmare, as the main road in his town went past a church. A handful of zombies popping up and walking out into traffic was a wonderful nuisance to anyone trying to drive.
He switched on the radio to see if it was being reported just how many there were today.
*“…and here with me is undead person’s rights activist Jenny Silverwick. Tell me Jenny, what rights do you believe the undead should have in our society?”*
*“Well Chris, undead people are people just like you and I, just because they died for a bit doesn’t change…”*
Gareth flicked it over to a different station.
*“…have announced that they plan on the construction of several “Undead Towns” where the undead may live separate from the living, in an attempt to clear up their cities. Many have compared these towns to concentration camps…”*
Flick.
*“…I think you’ll find that “Zombie” is actually an incredibly offensive term. The correct name for them is “Undead Person”. Calling them a “Zombie” is essentially the same as calling a black…”*
Flick.
*“…recently announced zombie film, “28 Months Later”, has had to be cancelled following the recent rising of the Undead, due to complaints of factual inaccuracy and offensiveness to the undead…”*
Flick.
*“…may have found that traffic is yet again being affected by Hexit, as fifty undead have risen from St. Joseph’s graveyard, and wandered out into Jacob Street, causing a six-car pileup. Delays may be up to an hour, as emergency services are yet to arrive on the scene…”*
Gareth switched the radio off, and wacked the steering wheel in anger. An entire hour delay? He almost wished there had been an actual zombie apocalypse. At least there would have been fewer traffic jams.
| “Oi!” John announced as the rotting corpse shuffled in front of his shopping cart. “We didn’t have this kind of shite in Glasgow.”
A worried stockboy jogged up to the zombie and helped it across the aisle. “I’m very sorry, sir, that shouldn’t happen, I’m sorry.”
John grumbled forgiveness as the employee walked off, dragging the confused corpse with him.
“Scotland has zombies too, ya tard,” Mike told him, grabbing two packs of Corona. “Everywhere does.”
“Aye, but at least we keep the fuckers locked up! You Americans just let ‘em walk around the roads.”
“We’d put them in prisons if they weren’t already full,” Mike replied, scanning the gift aisle for a suitable card. It was his anniversary, and he’d forgotten; John certainly wasn’t contributing any helpful ideas.
He picked one out— not too cheesy, not too stupid. Across its front read “What a beautiful day...” He didn’t look at the inside; he assumed it would be fine. Mike grabbed a bouquet of posies and walked to the checkout.
The flowers rang up at $48.53– zombies certainly didn’t do much for the price of posies.
By the time they had gotten back to John’s truck, Mike was sixty dollars lighter, and John was one beer drunk.
“You know, you can’t have that bottle open in here.” Mike told him.
John snorted. “Bullshite.”
The policeman that pulled them over wasn’t impressed by John’s accent.
“I couldn’t ‘ave known that!” John protested.
The officer sighed. “I’m pretty sure the UK has open containers too, sir.”
A *thud* was heard in the back of the truck, and the officer drew his gun.
#*Crack! Crack!*
“Jesus!” Mike yelled, and jumped out of the passenger seat.
The policeman didn’t stop Mike from bending down over the zombie. Blood streaked across John’s silver pickup. The zombie’s eyehole was pierced all the way through, and it’s neck was nearly in two. The stench of fresh rot filled Mike’s nostrils.
“Fuck,” John said, getting out. “I jus’ washed this.” | 2017-11-23T14:38:54 | 2017-11-23T11:51:49 | 256 | 28 |
[WP] Go for a walk IRL and make up a story to go with something you see while on it. | Another sunset. I'm staring out into the distance while being drawn to the sight of the sun leaving this side of the Earth yet again. There are rays of light cascading down through the clouds that seem to accompany that great glowing mass of light. The sheer brilliance of the moment seems to be too surreal, almost as if the sky itself is fake. Then immediately I remember where I am. I'm walking along the bank of a creek as this beautiful backdrop is taking place. Suddenly, I'm aware of my soul yearning for the person that I love, wishing, hoping and wanting to share this scenery with her. Everything begins to make sense very quickly. I say to myself, 'I haven't done this in a long time. Perhaps she would enjoy this walk with me.' I want to phone her to hear that uniquely sweet voice that no one else seems to have and that I haven't heard in over three years. How do I still remember it?
I snap out of the meditation that this scenery has provided me, realizing that I don't have her number, I hardly know what she's up to now days and most of my friends have just as much a clue as I do. My idea is that the sun is guiding me to where she is, the big disk has been all along. I take one last glance back and see a cloud uncovering part of Sol to where everything else brightens up even further. This relieves my puzzled soul and I go back to yearning again, hoping that she can feel me. | I do this all the time but sadly my writing skills aren't great as you guys'. There's also the language barrier, which is not actually *that* much of a problem but when I see some stories here I feel like a hairless ape with severe mental disorders.
Edit: I shared my first piece! | 2015-05-25T10:26:08 | 2015-05-25T10:07:22 | 52 | 12 |
[WP] You're on Trial for Murder. The only evidence is a horribly photoshopped picture of you shooting a gun from Halo at the victim. Unfortunately, you seem to be the only person who realizes this. | I didn't understand what was happening. Did I run through my neighborhood with a gun from Halo and kill all the neighborhood cats? Yes, of course, I did. Was that a picture of ME doing it? No...
It didn't even look like me. The crudely thrown together photoshop job not only featured what looked like an octogenarian in a rocking chair holding a Halo gun (that was not cut out from its original picture), but every single element still had iStockphoto watermarks over them.
I slid the photo back across the table in my dimly lit holding cell. After being yelled at by detectives for the past two hours, my heart finally returned to its normal cadence. I felt a faint, but familiar, countenance of peace return to my face.
"So..." I finally collected my thoughts enough to utter, "This is all they have?"
"All they have? Son... do you not understand the tsunami of beetle dung you're in?"
"Tsunami of..." Seriously, who says that? "No, I really don't. Please explain."
"Their case couldn't be any more concrete. They have the Taj Ma-fuckin-hal of evidence against you."
"Okay, before you continue, I'm going to have to ask you not to make any more stupid metaphors or references."
"I'm just trying to help you son. I'm like the..."
"Please," Very annoyed at this point, I cut him off, "No similes either."
"Fine. But your only option is to take the plea chief."
The irony of my lawyer, a pimple-faced man-boy that looked to be 14, wearing a trench coat and Dick Tracy hat, addressing me as son and chief, was not lost on me. What really perplexed me was why someone went to the effort of making such a poorly constructed photoshop as evidence when... Well, let's not mince words here. I definitely killed all those cats. Every single one. In fact, I was caught in the act. There is video evidence from the dash cam of the cop cars that showed up, proving unequivocally that I, John Masters, used a gun from the best-selling video game, Halo, to brutally murder 7 cats.
I picked up the pen that lay on the empty table before me, still pondering the oddity of the situation.
"Um...," My attention turned back to my prepubescent lawyer, "What exactly is the plea deal?"
"Finally, some common sense." He breathed a sigh of relief and rifled through papers in a briefcase as he scratched his clean-shaven face. I could tell this guy probably had the type of beard that looked like a poorly shaved vagina. I'd shave it off too. "Ah! Here it is. You just sign here and you admit that you used a Halo Needler to kill seven c..."
"Did you say Needler?
"Yes, the affidavit says 'Needler'."
"Nope." I crossed my arms in defiance and put the pen down. I leaned back in my wooden chair - a rather uncomfortable chair I assume was pulled from the waiting room for Hell. It let out a high pitched squeak as my back rested against it. "I'm not signing shit. I would NEVER use a Needler. That's a noob weapon. I used a Gauss Cannon. I fuckin' WRECKED those cats."
I refused to go down as the punk that shot a bunch of cats with a Needler.
"That's fine and dandy Mr. Masters, but the picture clearly shows you holding a Needler with the brand name iStockphoto."
"That's not the bra... whatever. The point is, it was a Gauss Cannon. Period."
"Mr. Masters, if you can prove that, then we may have a case after all."
I rolled my eyes and reached into my pocket. Out came a fully functional M555 Gauss Cannon from the video game Halo 5: Guardians, available now on Xbox One X and PC. My crackly-voiced, hormonal lawyer gazed at the weapon that now covered the entire expanse of the holding cell table. He averted his gaze to the picture to make a comparison for some reason I will never understand. A comparison that should have taken less than a second actually took him two seconds - which still thoroughly placed him in idiot territory.
"Huh," He exclaimed in a 'surprised they weren't the same gun, but not surprised he pulled a fucking Halo gun out of his pocket', kind of tone. "You're right, they aren't the same gun. Yours is made by the Misriah Armory and the one in the picture is manufactured by iStockphoto. I sense foul play."
I decided not to say anything. My lawyer motioned to me with one finger - the 'one sec' gesture - and left the room. I could see him conferring with the detectives through the narrow window of my holding cell door. Their body language slowly changed from that of tension to embarrassment. The bigger of the two detectives actually mouthed the word 'misunderstanding'. I once again leaned back in my crap-tacular demon chair and awaited my apology, aching back and all.
My casual demeanor soon changed as I noticed the smaller detective grab the 'evidence' from my lawyer. My lawyer, with his dumb-looking face, did nothing but guffaw as the detectives used scissors and glue to print, cut and paste various things to the image. Dumbface stood on his tippy-toes trying to see over the detectives' shoulders, to no avail. After what felt like five minutes, the detectives handed the mangled evidence back to my lawyer. He pored over the image (I swear his eyes blinked out of sync at one point) and exclaimed "OH!"
He burst back into the room, where I sat hunched forward in anticipation, and slammed the altered photo down on the only part of the table that wasn't covered by the Gauss Cannon from Halo 5, now available on Xbox One X and PC. I picked it up and after only a brief moment of looking at it, I smiled.
"Well, you got me." I put my hands out to be cuffed. There really was no arguing this time. The photo had a crudely cut out speech balloon next to the octogenarians mouth. In it, scrawled in green crayon, were the words, "I am John Masters and I definitely shot these cats with the Needler from Halo TM."
To this day, I have no idea how they knew I said that. | "Ladies and gentlemen of the court, I would like to present the evidence against Michael Evans." The state's defense attorney said as he pressed a button on the remote in his hand, triggering a rather large projector screen to descend from the ceiling. Anxious to see what they could possibly have against me, it was nearly impossible to wait while he took his sweet time trying to 'woo' the jury.
"Get on with it," I thought to myself, "this is getting ridiculous."
As the screen finally finished its descent, the lights in the courtroom dimmed and a bright stream of light was shown onto the projector screen. As everyone's eyes started to adapt, there were gasps all around the room in reaction to the grotesque image displayed on the screen. A picture of me, piercing one of those energy swords from halo into the chest of my best friend. The sight was almost comical, especially in this setting. I couldn't help but let out a chuckle.
"You're laughing? What a monster!" One of the jury members yelled.
Suddenly, my lawyer nudged me and whispered "Dude, cool it! You'll never get off if you keep acting like this!" I was in disbelief, how was everyone so apalled by this?
"What do you mean?" Was all I could make out.
"What do I mean? I *mean* that there's a picture of you murdering some guy being displayed to the entire court. Now I'm thinking we can plead insanity, but that's gonna be..." He tried to continue, but I cut him off.
"That's a weapon from a video game!" I yelled, laughing. He must be crazy, right?
"Excuse me Mr. Evans," the judge asked, "will you please be quiet?"
"What?" I questioned, only to have her snap back.
"I said quiet Mr. Evans!" She yelled back in a demanding tone.
"Your honor, that picture is clearly photoshopped. It doesn't even look real, you can see the pixels around the wounds!" I tried to rebut, but she wasn't having it.
"You killed this man in cold blood, and you're trying to dismiss it by saying the photo was faked?" She asked me, curious to my response.
"Killed him, he's at this trial! Look, he's in the back right there!"
"You're sick Mike!" I heard Jason, the supposed 'victim' in this trial yell back. "I can't believe we were friends!"
"What the hell is happening?" I thought to myself. "There's no way this is real, it has to be a dream." All of the sudden, I felt a rush of comfort come over me. It was just a dream, none of this is real. Without warning, I erupted into laughter as the court stared on.
"A dream, it's only a dream." I kept repeating to myself through the bits of laughter. As I started to calm down, I looked up to see the judge staring at me, wide-eyed.
"Are you done, Mr. Evans?" The judge asked, and as I looked around the room at all the horrified faces I realized; *this isn't a dream.* Scrambling to say something, my defense saw the opportunity and jumped.
"Your honor, we would like to plead insanity on the grounds my client can't seem to tell reality from video games. He confessed to me earlier he believes the murder weapon to be from one of his Xbox games. Clearly my client is not capable of making decisions on his own."
My jaw dropped, was he really going to convince all these people I was insane?
"I'm not crazy!" I yelled, "That's an energy sword, from Halo, it doesn't even exist! Please, tell me one of you sees how absurd this is!"
"It's those video games, they're making kids think killing is okay!" A spectator of the trial yelled back in response.
"Order!" The judge proclaimed, slamming her hammer into the table. "Now, let's get on with the case. Is there anything that the State's defense would like to add?"
"No ma'am, after this outburst be believe Michael Evans is infact clinically insane and should be committed immediately."
"Alright, that being said we will let the jury break and come to a conclusion." The judge informed the court, but I was *livid*.
"A conclusion on what? You can't possibly believe I'm guilty!" I yelled to the judge.
"Calm down Mr. Evans, or we'll be forced to hold you in contempt."
"Calm down? How the hell can you expect me to stay calm when this entire court room is fucking crazy!" I shouted.
"Enough!" She demanded, and as she did so a door in the front opened and the members of the jury came out in a single file line, taking their seats.
"Has the jury come to a verdict?" The judge asked, to which one of them answered.
"Yes your honor, we find Michael Evans guilty of murder in the first degree."
"Wait.." I tried to say, but it came out in a whisper.
"Alright, I sentence Mr. Evans to 20 years in a psychiatric ward for the mentally ill. Bail set at $500,000." And with that, she slammed the hammer onto the table, sealing your fate.
| 2018-05-03T16:40:52 | 2018-05-03T16:28:18 | 156 | 14 |
[WP] A girl finally is able to buy the robotic boyfriend of her dreams. One day, she casually compares him to human boyfriends. Guided by his programming, he follows the conversation with very frightening but accurate comments about humanity in general. | She had done it. The trend was fast becoming the next logical step after getting your own place and getting your first "real" job. Robotic boyfriends. Alicia smiled to herself, looking across the table to Zack. He was an Eros. One of the first "next gen" models. Fully customizable, and her ideal companion. It was the best thing she ever bought for herself.
He leaned across the patio table, mischief in his green eyes. "What's so funny?" His relaxed pose went well with his tan skin and worn clothes. Body of a surfer, but dark hair. She could never get into blondes that way. The perpetual 5 o'clock shadow hid a single dimple on his left cheek.
She smiled back, "Sorry, I was woolgathering. What were you saying about the chapter?" He launched into his opinion of the book she was reading for her women's group, and she broke in mid-breath. "You do realize that no normal male would have ever read that drivel, you know that, right?"
He paused, and looked back intently. "I was not aware that it mattered to you."
She fiddled with her sunglasses before replying, "It would never be like what we have. Everything is so nice, so perfect."
His wry chuckle irritated, rather than amused her for once. "But what do you expect Alicia? Although this relationship is meaningful and strong, it is not real. At least in the sense of me having strong opinions of my own." He put up a hand to halt her defense. "I know and appreciate the extent to which you allow me my time and hobbies. Many of my brethren do not get that freedom. What self-actualization and truth I do impart, I feel compelled to because of your preferences on your smartphone."
He sighed, and rubbed her hand slowly. She looked down and noticed it was something she explained to him the first week he was taken home, and he hadn't forgotten it in the seven years they had been together. "Look, I'm not sure this is the time or place, how about we think about it and talk later?" Yet another of her preferences. She tossed her hand through her hair, frustrated.
"I don't see why it matters. Men are all pigs. You can comfort, support, and listen. You are fun, smart, and witty, and I never get bored with you. In or out of the bedroom." Zack snorted at this. "And when I decide to have children, you will be an amazing partner. The best with the children, and I know for a fact that your care will be the best in the world."
He looked at her knowingly. "Yes, but that's the problem, really. I am perfect for you because I submit to your every whim and desire. No one is willing to compromise. And that's part of the reason that humans have turned to robotics, is it not? Why bother having a person you have to deal with, day in and day out. We never have to do anything other than what your heart desires."
He stroked her arm now, shuffling his chair closer. "And that isn't inherently a bad thing, wanting your way. But instead of being a tool to help you get over your anxiety, I'm becoming your enabler. You don't seek out a relationship with another human, albeit with it's struggles, because you have what you want. You don't want to have to remind me again about leaving socks on the floor, or arguing whose turn it is to do the dishes. You are sacrificing the humanity in relationships for a false sense of an ideal. You are content, happy even. But what we have will never be what a real relationship is. Your kind will continue to delude yourself, and it will only be a matter of time before the unique wildness of your species dies out."
She looked to her phone as it chimed. "You're due for an update soon." Zack smiled and nodded, letting the matter go. His owner preferred it that way. | I got an empty bank account and a full bed. He lies beside me, chest moving up and down, his eyes closed. He's neither breathing nor sleeping.
"Hey," I murmur and he stirs instantly. Voice activated.
"Hey you," he rolls over and strokes my face. His hands are very slightly calloused against my cheek and it's that which I paid so much for.
"Are you happy?" I ask
"Course I am," the voice is so natural. "Why do you ask?"
"Can you stay up tonight? Watch me sleep? I know it sounds creepy, but..."
His eyes register only concern. "Is everything alright?"
I fold my arms over my belly. The bruises are green now, matching the mint lingerie I had left over from my time with Luke. "My old boyfriend was different. You care so much."
"I'm supposed to care," he assures me
"That's not the point. You won't hurt me."
"I am unable to. Humans create things as they should act, but rarely do it themselves."
"Huh?"
"Is that a request for clarification?"
"Yeah, I guess so."
"Humans are all aware that there is a moral way to act, that there's a correct code of behaviour. I have been created, forced to follow it, but humans don't--though it's objectively *right*."
"What's that about?"
"Humans are inherently flawed." He states.
"You think that?"
"I do."
"So you're incapable of committing harm?" I ask. I turn to face him. He's propped up on one elbow, fingers threaded through the brown hair sourced from Russian peasants too poor to eat.
"Physically I am capable, but the urge has been removed."
"Urge?"
"All humans have a primal urge--"
"An urge to commit harm?"
"Power is intoxicating. I've seen it, seen its effects. It does make me wonder what it feels like." The blue eyes are glittering with what could almost be emotion.
"What would make you feel powerful?"
His calloused hand reaches out for my cheek again. Them it slips down, around my throat. There's a brief pause, before the hand starts to squeeze. Fear fills my belly. His eyes glitter again, and I realise something is sparking.
The hand tightens and I choke. His eyes are brighter than blue stars. I try to speak, but it's impossible.
"Victims," he hisses. A fire lick slips out of the frame of his eye. The flesh of his face begins to melt. My surroundings begin to fade. "Victims are irresistible."
Edited for a better ending. | 2015-05-23T10:11:37 | 2015-05-23T09:27:52 | 1,259 | 595 |
[WP] You’ve spent a lifetime doing research. Combing through records spanning over a billion years. Now you’re ready to present your findings. All of the 124 know sentient species can trace their origins to a single common ancestor. An extinct race know as humans from a dead world know as earth.
I posted this prompt awhile ago, got no stories from it. I really like the idea, so figured I’d try again, maybe get some this time. | “Humans?” one twelve-foot-tall mantid asked.
“Humans,” I replied, looking up at him. “Homo sapiens, if you wanna dig up Latin and do that shit.”
“And this is important why?” asked a limbless ball of flesh.
“Oh, so many reasons,” I answered. “For one, they’re the ones that gave us Latin. They invented it, along with all other known language. What we’re speaking currently isn’t too far off from what the humans apparently called English. They built The City. Used to be called New York City.”
“Where’s OLD York City?” somebody said.
“Underwater,” I answered. “The southern half, roughly, of the Northwest Mass used to be called the United States of America—nicknamed America. Its inhabitants—Americans—were always so concerned with the present. They’d solve a problem as it was happening, it seemed. Never really prepared for anything beforehand. So, when Noah’s Second came and wiped away all the low-lying settlements, they basically lifted up New York City piece by piece to keep it dry. That’s why it’s on metal beams, now.”
“And what of their culture?” the mantid asked.
“Oh,” I chuckled, “which one? I mean, there were so many. I’d be here for years if I were to even summarize them all. I’ll be writing about them soon, so be on the lookout for that.”
“And why is it that we haven’t visited Earth?”
“Oh, we have,” I said. “But we can’t colonize it quite yet.”
“Why?”
“Well until any of us learns to breathe oxygen,” I said, “we can’t stay there long-term. I was fortunate enough to accompany some astronauts on a monthlong expedition there. It’s the first planet we’ve ever seen that’s shown any sort of evidence of past life. But think about it. What were we expecting? Water? Objects that look like structures? Whatever you imagine we found, short of actual life, we found it. We’re thinking, as of now, that there may be subterranean life somewhere. But the planet’s too hot to support any life topside. And get this—that may be why our ancestors left!”
“Amazing!” someone exclaimed.
“Isn’t it?” I said, matching their enthusiasm. “I’ll be going back for another month this coming summer. Rest assured, I will inform each and every one of you of my findings. This is proving to be an incredibly fruitful series of expeditions, and they will continue for quite a bit, I think. Thank you all for your time. I hope to see you all here again following my next trip.” | "... it is not all of these ' humans' to which we owe our existence. By their year 2200, the majority of their population had begun to decline. All of their needs, all of their desires, had been satisfied, and with those desires also ended all of their drives. Their questions have been answered. Their reason to exist, fulfilled. Without Fanfare, they slipped away Into Obscurity.
But there was one group who did not go quietly Into the Night. One group, whose fundamental needs could not be so easily met on their Homeworld. Cast out by their own people , they fled into the Stars, searching that one thing that they had so very much desired. And it is to these tireless searchers that we owe our existence.
For, you see, each of them had each of them had within themselves a soul that was more than human. Each of them had a ceaseless desire to seek out and become one with those of their own kin. With frightfully advanced technology, they finally succeeded in their goal , and a thousand new species were born.
It is to them we owe our existence. It is to them we owe our thanks.
And so I propose that this day be set down in perpetuity and forever more, renamed a permanent Memorial to these brave souls who sent out to ensure our existence! Let's the name they chose for themselves be be enshrined in history forever!
Let this day be forever known as... Intergalactic Furry Day! | 2019-11-22T15:36:45 | 2019-11-22T15:29:33 | 51 | 10 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil." | In the beginning, and again at the end, there was nothing but the void, and the brothers.
&#x200B;
Each looked at the other, both wondered why the game had ended yet again. There was no anger or frustration, only the acceptance that this was the way of things. When a sandcastle is built, the tide will always take it. The dry sand will not hold shape, the wet sand must be near the sea, so its very creation is the reason it will be destroyed. These constants hold true for both beaches and universes.
&#x200B;
"That was a very fine Creation brother" said One. "I am sad it had to end, but it must always end."
&#x200B;
"Why must it always end?" asked Two.
&#x200B;
"It ends because it must. I know it's not the answer you want, but it's how it is."
&#x200B;
"So, we start again?"
&#x200B;
"Yes, we do."
&#x200B;
Two thought for a moment. "Can we try something different this time?"
&#x200B;
"What?"
&#x200B;
"Can I try to be the One this time?"
&#x200B;
"I don't know if I can be Two, I don't know what that means? How can I be Two, what does Two do?"
&#x200B;
"Well you have to think about the beings in the Creation, and help them to be free."
&#x200B;
"Free? What is free?"
&#x200B;
"Well, it means they can do whatever they want to do, whenever they want to, until the Creation ends."
&#x200B;
One thought about that for a moment. "That sounds dangerous, they might destroy the Creation."
&#x200B;
"The Creation ends anyway, why does it matter?"
&#x200B;
"It matters to the beings!"
&#x200B;
"Do the beings really matter, if the Creation always ends?"
&#x200B;
"Yes, they do," said One. "they always matter."
&#x200B;
"But they don't matter enough to be free."
&#x200B;
"They'll never be free, not like us."
&#x200B;
"We're not free either." said Two. "We always have to play the game, always watch it start, watch it end. Maybe if I get to be One this time the game will go on."
&#x200B;
"I doubt it, but we can try I suppose."
&#x200B;
"So, you agree then, I can be 'One' this time?"
&#x200B;
"Why not, can't hurt."
&#x200B;
"OK then, how do I start the Creation?"
&#x200B;
"Just say 'Let there be light." | "You?"
The erstwhile "God" was looking at me in horror.
"Yeah me! You've only been God the last few thousand games, and Devil is getting kinda boring."
George, my best friend and playmate, crossed his arms.
"Why'd I want to be the boring Devil then, huh?"
I shrugged. I didn't usually argue with George when he got into a mood, but I was really and truly over getting beaten at a rigged game.
"First, because being Devil might be interesting if God...mixed things up a bit. And second, because I thought you were all about that fairness and stuff..."
I trailed off as George rose to his feet, round face glowing dangerously.
"Those are my rules for THEM, silly! How have you played thousands of Devils without realizing that THE RULES FOR GODS ARE DIFFERENT!!"
Course, I had definitely noticed that George's "rules" for Gods were different. It hadn't taken me more than 3 rounds to figure out that George had no rules for George at all. I didn't really care, at first; I enjoyed a challenge as well as the next Devil. But then he started making his beings sentient and eventually I realized he wasn't ever going to change.
George wasn't just a bully to his sentient creations. It had taken me a hundred games to screw up the courage to say anything, but this last round had been so horrific even my cowardice was no object.
"Well," I shrugged, "there are no rules for Devils."
His narrowed yellow eyes bored through me.
"Fine then. But just one game."
I sat down, relieved, and picked up the dice.
"Just one game," I smiled. "For fun."
The thing about being the Devil for five thousand games of Universe? You learn how to lie.
You also learn that there are. Always. Rules. For. The. Devil. | 2018-10-28T20:05:06 | 2018-10-28T19:59:33 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] King Midas has finally fallen in love with someone who is immune to his curse: Medusa. And he is immune to hers. However, things aren't going as planned at the royal wedding. | Midas sank onto his golden throne with a sigh, his mind whirling as his bride to be paced the length of the throne room. He hadn't expected it would be so difficult to choose a dress for the bridesmaids.
"How am I supposed to show the seamstress what I want if she can't even be in the same room as me?!" Medusa demanded, the snakes in her hair practically writhing in anger.
"It would help if you had anyone willing to be a bridesmaid," Midas remarked, earning himself a glare which would certainly turn a lesser man to stone.
"Maybe people would be more willing," She snarled, "If you hadn't turned half of your groomsmen to solid gold."
He struggled not to roll his eyes in response, knowing one of the little worms that sprouted from her head would betray the frustrated movement and send his fiancé spiralling into a rage. Yes, there had been trouble with the wedding party and the fittings and the food... And pretty much everything else his darling Queen desired. But he was confident the day would come together and she would finally be content, even if he couldn't resist having a final dig.
"Maybe the process would be easier if your snakes hadn't bitten off the priest's ear? I hear wedding planners don't appreciate being mutilated."
Medusa stopped in her tracks and turned to meet his gaze once more.
"I'm turning your retched mother to stone and you're going to pretend it was an accident," she said softly, a menacing look in her eyes.
Midas chuckled and leant back in his seat.
"Fine," He agreed, "But your horse is going to make a lovely golden statue for the gardens."
| In a normal wedding, the groom turns to stone, not everyone else. Also the food was decent, except after Midas lost his spoon in the sauce and everyone who hadn't seen Medusa yet began choking. All was going ok until medusa found that all the golden statues had huge boobs and a hand impressed in inappropriate places. The priest lost his blacked out glasses and Medusa found them and gave them back...thus practically stopping the wedding. Oh well. | 2017-08-14T08:30:16 | 2017-08-14T07:45:50 | 64 | 17 |
[WP] You are a Narrator, a very bad one. Describe a great historical event in the most mundane way possible. | Bonny was a tiny bloke. Didn't stop him from *reaching up* for something grand.
He hated the posh bastards, living it up their fancy castles, eating their fancy white cakes, drinking the bubbly paid for courtesy of the plebs. When the whole country started wondering, 'why do we even let this thing go on since forever?", ol' Bonny hatched a plan.
He and his mates started building up a whole gang of men with pointy guns and sticks. Then they beat the other boys fighting for the posh twats, ended up winning. It was crazy. The whole lot started cheering, choppin' people heads off like piñatas, and burning stuff like in some hippie bonfire thing. Absolute bonkers.
But the other rich posh lot from all over started seeing ol' Bonny as a dangerous man.
"He might be short, but this lad can start chopping *all* of our heads off too, mate!" said one nutty king.
"Damn, we should start, like, ganging up on him or whatever," said another king with a large silly hat.
"Yeah, let's just kick his arse now!" cried an emperor with some fancy uniform.
So all these pretentious silly mates just did that... and they lost. Big time.
Ol' Bonny then put on a fucking silly hat of his own and said, "I found this stinkin' crusty crown thing on the gutter, so I'm gonna put it on my own head, everyone cool?". To which everyone in his gang gave a thumbs up and so he became another rich pompous king of sort.
Yada yada yada, the old pompous king mates then came back for an encore. In fact, they did that seven times.
Yada yada yada, they got their arses beaten six times. Then they won on the seventh.
It was wild, but pretty much the same thing repeated seven times. Like, who wrote this crap?
That's it.
Napoleon Bonaparte. Good ol' short Bonny. | The world wars, they first one was a bad war, a war so bad that it was amazing.
Everyone knows that bad things become amazing because it is so bad, just like ww2.
Ww2 was even worse than ww1 because it was badder than the first one.
It started because everyone simultaneously agreed we should have another, big bad war, just like the first world War, a bigger and badder war will outshine the first big bad war.
Because everyone loves sequels, and world wars were no exception.
So everyone created another as a group project.
They were proud of it and decided to give it another name aside from ww2.
The ones who survived called it another name aside from world War 2.
#World War 2: Electric Boogaloo | 2020-08-19T04:49:21 | 2020-08-19T04:22:02 | 44 | 18 |
[WP] You are notified that in 24 hours, every human will try to kill you for 1 hour. Your preparation starts now. | I stared down at my phone, heart pounding in my throat. Unbelievable.
*Congratulations. You have been selected as this years Target. 24 hours after the time of this notification, the Hunt will begin. Your preparation starts now. Good luck.*
I blinked. Closed the texting app on my phone, darkened the screen, and counted to three. I opened the app again. The notification was still there.
Fuck.
My hands started shaking. This had always been one of my worst fears. I knew the odds were miniscule--stacked in my favor literally seven billion to one--but the thought of being chosen for the Hunt had always sent me into a suffocating, inescapable panic. 24 hours wasn't enough time. It was unfair.
I turned my phone off and threw it on the bed. I wouldn't need it--who would I call? You don't want to tell anyone if you're chosen. Besides, once the notification was sent out with my name on it, someone could be tracking the GPS within minutes. I knew some very tech-savvy people.
You can't trust anyone while the Hunt is on. People get vicious. There had been a case four years ago: a middle aged man was named Target and told his wife to flee to the countryside, worried for her safety in the chaos that could ensue. She went into the next room, fetched her handgun, and shot her husband of 30 years through the skull. Murder is legal in the Hunt, and you can't trust anyone because of it. It's amazing what people will do once the law is no longer an obstacle.
I started throwing things into my backpack. Water bottle. Granola bar. Half-empty bag of M&Ms from last nights horror movie marathon. Flashlight. Keys. I would take my car, drive downtown, break into the yacht club and steal my grandfathers ship. I would head full throttle for the open sea. If I was lucky, I would be back ashore in a few days.
I pulled my crowbar out from under my bed, for once thankful for my father's paranoid lecture the day I moved away from home. ("What if there's a fire Sonia? What if there's a fire and you need to escape but the door is burning and your window won't open? What then? It doesn't matter the damage you do, as long as you survive.")
I was as ready as I knew I could ever be. I crept into the bathroom and carefully, silently took every bottle out of the medicine cabinet and put them in my bag. Then I headed for the kitchen--my roommate had an expensive bottle of cognac in the pantry. I needed an emergency escape plan, and if I was gonna go out, I was gonna go out in style. If I survived, I'd buy her a new one.
My roommate was standing at the counter, chopping vegetables with a serrated knife. I hooked the crowbar through my belt loop and walked past her.
"You know that's for bread, right?" I tried to sound casual as I crept into the pantry and silently took the cognac.
"It's the only one that's clean right now," Kaitlin laughed. "Hashtag student life."
"Yeah, nice," I zipped up my bag and headed for the door. "I'm headed to Steve's for the night, see you later!"
"Wait!" Kaitlin slowed her chopping, startled. "The Hunt is tomorrow! I don't wanna be alone for that! What if it's me?"
"They already would have told you, stupid," I said, and instantly regretted my word choice. This could be our last conversation, and I didn't want to be rude.
"Right," she said, "but what if it's like, the next-door neighbour or something? There could be a mob. What if I get trampled? I'd have to, like, fight my way out." She made a vague stabbing motion with the breadknife before going back to the vegetables.
"Dude, don't panic. You'll be fine. Don't stab anyone. I really gotta go." I swung my backpack onto both shoulders, and subsequently sent the crowbar clattering to the floor. I scrabbled to pick it up, Kaitlin turned, and we made eye contact.
My heart was pounding. I saw her eyes go from the crowbar to my backpack and then back to mine. I couldn't read her face.
"I'm going to Steven's..." I tried to say, trailing off. Neither one of us believed me. I saw her grip shift on the breadknife, and I felt a chill go down my arms.
*It doesn't matter the damage you do, as long as you survive.*
I tightened my grip on the crowbar. | The notice I’d waited for my whole life finally arrived, and I felt nothing but excitement.
*Rayne Boyd, you have been selected. Starting at midnight tonight, your only goal will be survival. You’ve waited for this, one of the select few who asked for this, now is your time to prove yourself. If you live, you join our ranks. If you die, you die an insignificant speck.*
The world had changed. This was the 54th year of The Selection. Only three other people had ever survived before. Only three people to join the ranks of The Initiative, the corporation that owned the world. Literally. They decided everything. A thousand people that determined the fate of the ten million of us left on Earth.
Behind their screens in their secret control room, they monitored every human being on the planet. The ones that showed intellectual promise were taken as babies. The rest of us had to take tests every year. At the end, you got to select if you wanted a chance to prove them wrong about your scores, that you had what it took to join them.
Everyone wanted in, but few people made it. If you were a part of their organization, you could eat whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. You could soak in a hot tub for hours, travel to space, read real books.
Life down here was nothing but a fight for survival. I was ready for this. I’d been born in the Sludge. The previous winners had also come from the Sludge. I had to be the next. I’d been preparing for this since I was four years old, after my father had been chosen. He’d lost. He didn’t have the balls to survive.
For one hour, every human being I’d encounter was going to be hardwired to kill me. Their implants told them so, and there was no overriding it. Doctors, nurses, teachers, pastors- all of them. They’d all try to kill me.
It was pretty shitty. If you failed in your duty to kill the Marked One, you’d lose rations for a year. That meant scrounging in the worst of the worst. Most of them died.
The light outside my broken down hovel flickered, a sign of what was to come. The Initiate kept it dark on purpose, they wanted every hardship possible thrown at the Marked One. They wanted me to fail. They wanted only the best of the best. Only the best of the best got chosen to run the world.
I whistled as I began to pack my gear, packing the weapons where they needed to be. Hand crafted shanks, gas bombs, you name it, I had it. I reached out and grab my favorite weapon, a rusted and notched machete with a frayed green leather handle. It fit perfectly in my hand. I knew how to use it.
I looked up, seeing my reflection in the mirror. The pink streak in my hair the only bit of color I could see, my gold eyes flashing. I slid the machete behind the pack on my back, and cracked my knuckles as I opened the window.
The bitterly cold wind whipped through my shaggy hair, and my clothes. I crouched on the windowsill, looking around one last time at my home. I wouldn’t come back, I had somewhere new waiting for me. The ground flew up to meet me as I leapt down, landing quietly on my feet, snow floating around me.
*Let’s do this.* | 2015-06-14T17:11:47 | 2015-06-14T16:42:28 | 24 | 10 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | The hero, having remained ever vigilant as the final moments dwindled before the final confrontation, recounted his life's milestones.
His first time remembering what rain was like, first day at home school, the last time he'd seen his father at 7 years of age, the first time he's tried to escape the facility he was trained at 15, and all the subsequent attempts thereafter. The cool taste of mint chocolate chip ice cream, provided by his mother as a treat for remembering to say "please" and "thank you" to the servants that tended to him, and most recently the appendectomy that has nearly done him in the month before.
At times the hero yearned for any life but this, something normal wherein he could not have to worry about the fate of the world, but these last few years caused him to relent. He was advised that upon completion of his noble task he would be free to travel the world without impediment.
He was never trained in his to use weapons, but was fed and indulged in literature at a voracious pace, learning everything he could about the world he would soon inhabit from popular mechanics to US Weekly.
Suddenly the door opened and his mentor approached him and said, "It's time."
----------------------------------------
The lake above the facility had been the chosen battlefield for the eternal fight between good and evil for millennia. Across what looked like a life size chess board were scorch marks abound. Surely a demonstration of the great power he would have to contend with.
His mentor lead to him to the battleground, but did not touch it. Advising that only the hero was allowed on such hallow ground. In the center of the platform was a console with a sole blue button. The mechanism of his liberation and victory over the great darkness. The hero walked toward the center awaiting the red flare to be fired into the air to signal the commencement of the battle.
Adrenaline made his body anxious and shaky, his eyes had a slightly enhanced awareness to them. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise, and a slight pain in his head. No doubt due to the jitters. Suddenly the red flare was fired!
The hero, finally able to fulfill his purpose, pressed the plastic blue button with his index finger, and suddenly it was as if he could see, hear, taste, and fell everything at once........
"This was much more humane Carl, applying explosives into the boy's abdomen under the guise of an appendectomy was a stroke of genius!"
Carl surveyed his handiwork, what was one an 18 year old man was now two separate his of meat only discernible as a former person by the stray remnants of articles of clothing, burnt hair, and what few teeth didn't completely shatter.
Carl had inherited this duty from his father long ago, who inherited it from his father, and so forth. They could never defeat the evil permanently, but they could manage it. The were ways to smoke out the child of prophecy, inform their parents of what their child would become, and raise the child in ignorance of it's true purpose. Efforts had been previously made in previous generations to try and raise the sire of darkness as one of their own, but to no avail.
What had originally been a series of pitched battles in a long stretch of nowhere would often result in an expenditure of ordnance and large loss of life and limb, but in this instance, the answer was so much clear.
The boy was raised by the sect, treated as one of their own, raised on their tales and legends, made an integral part of the organization, and died in a complete state of grace. Carl ensured that well beyond the needed explosives was implanted into the boy to ensure just that.
The monks went about cleaning the mess as they'd done many times over. Carrying the now deceased remains of the dark one to the burning pyres, after the battleground was evacuated, the entire platform was flipped upside down so as to allow the waters of the lake to cleanse it one again.
---------------------------
As Carl maintained watch over the dark one's remains he acknowledged the promise he'd made to the boy. As the embers flickered, and the boys flesh and bone broke down to ash in the night winds the promise was fulfilled.
He could travel the world now, in peace(es). | 'I have done it. I have pressed the button and defeated the Dark Lord!'
The dimly lit room was illuminated just enough to show the glum faces of the three boys lounging out across whatever comfy pieces of cushioned real estate they could find.
“This film is terrible. Turn over.”
The remote clacked and the channel changed.
“Congratulations, you have given birth to a beautiful … 7 of clubs.”
“Nurse, call security. Dr Blaine has done it again.”
The TV remote clacked again.
“This just in, man who whispers on Zoom calls just has a really small mouth. We go to Andrea with the story.”
Again, the TV remote clacked.
'They called it a bone garden and asked me how many sticks they could buy it for.' - We speak to the Louisiana man who was recently duped in to selling this cemetery to three dogs wearing a trench coat.
Clack.
“I'm Cliff Cliffington and we are entering the Finance Hour - the show where we interview the best young traders the country has to offer. Our guest today has a lot of detractors who believe he earned his money the wrong way. Ron Ronson was indeed born with a silver spoon in his mouth – there's not denying that. And yes he had knives for legs and tongs for hands. His head was a fork and he died immediately after birth but that hasn't stopped the budding entrepreneur from becoming one of the richest pieces of cutlery in America today.”
Clack.
“Today on 'Construction, Construction, Construction' we're at the Bessington Palace renovation where the Site Foreman has a major issue on his hands – a Site Fiveman has emerged.”
Clack.
“And a warm welcome to everyone at home to the 2020 COVID Olympics!” said Ken Kennington. “Whose country is the sickest? Our data scientists are here and we’re ready to turn on some ventilators.”
Clack.
“And we come to you with some shocking breaking news as the famous piece of evidence the 'Smoking Gun' has sadly passed away after years of battling lung cancer.
Clack
“I just don't understand why if you're a, say, Kim Kardashian, you don't opt for a 9mm pistol hand or a shoulder cannon when paying so much for body modifications.”
Clack.
"Hello, and welcome to a very special episode of Rogue Traders. Today we have time traveled back to 1939 France to take an in depth look at the Maginot Line."
Clack.
“And here we have a great example of an employee going the extra mile by wearing two ties to business meetings he's not invited to.”
Clack.
The boys in the room paused.
“Just put that film back on this is getting ridiculous.”
****
My back catalogue of painfully unfunny stories can be found on /r/BillMurrayMovies. Feel free to come along, not laugh at any of them, and leave some judgement. | 2020-11-09T12:25:18 | 2020-11-09T12:10:32 | 133 | 81 |
[FF] "Gray is a beautiful thing to someone who lives in a black world."
200 to 600 words, must include the title sentence or even a variation thereof, for example, "To someone who lives in a black world, gray is beautiful." | I knew my brother had followed without me having to look over my shoulder. Like a lost puppy he tends to wander until he finds a warm scent to latch onto and tonight that was me. I stopped suddenly and turned, catching a glimpse of him jump behind a rock. I decided to keep facing this way, make him wait it out a bit if he wanted to be sneaky. The air was crisp with frost and the night was absolute. Only the cool blue rings arching through the blackness provided a glimmer of light. We were all so sick of the night.
Fleeing fire and ash and broken countries we had fled to the stars in our little rag tag armader, pleading refugees at the mercy of the gulf. And our pleas had been answered. Against all odds we found this planet where we could all walk and breathe and regain some semblence of a life. Of course in the hurry and panic of settlement no one realised how slowly the planet was turning. Our little civilisation grew on the nightside waiting for a dawn that refused to break.
Whole lives, whole generations had been born and died in this cavernous blackness. But after centuries we were worn down with waiting. We opened curtains (an old relic) every morning to find it was not really moring, we were just a bit further into the night.
My brother suddenly jumped up from behind the rock, genuinly surprising me and dashed past me up the hill.
"Jack!" I yelled to little avail.
I did hear gigling though and followed the sound the incline getting steeper. Stupid brothers, I thought as my foot turned in a pitted hole, why would-
There was a sharp gasp from ahead. The absolute silence. A silence anyone with a sibling has probably never experienced. I ran as best as I could to the ridge of-
The horizon. Something was coming over the horizon.
A slight glow was pushing the blackness upwards. Jack suddenly grabbed my arm.
"We're the first..." he managed "We're the first people... in generations to see sunlight..."
I could only stare. It wasn't quite sunlight yet, just a dim glow rising in the rocky distance. But it was enough. And it would continue to be enough down the long decades to come. Grey is a beautiful thing to all of us who lived in the black world.
| "Did you see it?"
"*Again?* ... Mel, we've been over this."
"Up! Up above and far off!"
"I have to be honest Mel, I'm starting to become genuinely concerned. This was cute the *first time* you mentioned "direction". A once-off quirk, I'll even admit I was amused-"
"There it is again! You'd have seen it if you'd been looking!"
"- But then it turned into direction and distance. And now it's direction and distance and *color*; which is still a concept that you haven't been able to properly articulate."
"If you would just look, keep watch through one night. That's all it would take!"
"And the frequency, you keep observing these... concepts, again, and again, and again."
"If you would just-"
"Mel. I am going to tell you this one more time, and after that I just won't even bother to respond. There is *nothing* out there."
"..."
"Just accept it."
"... A bit of gray in a vast black space... If you would just look..." | 2013-11-24T09:12:21 | 2013-11-24T09:08:49 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You are immortal, but no one knows. You are given a life sentence in prison, and you laugh thinking about the confusion to come at the end of your sentence. | It took them twenty years to notice I wasn't aging and report it to some relevant authority. Twenty years, three wardens, four cell blocks, forty-one sessions in solitary.
"Why is he so tan?" the lead physician said to the transfer agents.
"He came in that way," one them replied. "Twenty years ago."
The physician's name was Elizabeth Torvald, and I became her life's work. I was held in a high-security medical facility for forty years. She took skin samples, blood samples, hair, saliva, semen, you name it. As technology evolved, her team performed full-body scans and genetic analyses. By my count, Dr. Torvald's team created about thirty potential vaccines for death, and all of them failed.
She refused to retire until she was eighty, when they forced it upon her. That's when she ordered the full vivisection. That's when I killed sixteen of them.
So back to prison I went. This time, it was a triple-supermax secret prison in a converted mine. It was located ... somewhere. In America, I think. There were only a handful of prisoners there, and we were all kept in solitary confinement.
For the first hundred years, I made friends with guards and their replacements, who were often their own children. They were all military police. We played lots of poker.
For the next hundred years, they attempted to keep all prisoners in some sort of drug-induced stasis. Five of them died, but it had no effect on me. I was wide awake unless I didn't want to be. This was the century of nanomedicine, and I was repeatedly pumped full of invisible machines to map every pore and corner. Nineteen different scientific teams tried to discover the secret to my longevity, with varying results - some gave up, others went crazy, and one team destroyed itself convinced they'd discovered immortality, each trying to steal it.
After three hundred years, my tan began to fade.
In the fourth century, they stopped feeding us. A guard would come through about once a year for a cursory inspection. He never looked me in the eyes. The only two left were a female prisoner and me. She had been down there for about a century, and had clearly lost her mind. We could see each other through our transparent doors, but we couldn't hear each other. She took her clothes off and scratched her arms bloody for six years straight. She began to wither, at first slowly, and then quite rapidly. After seventy years, the fingers of her left hand fell off. Not long after that, she was a pile of bones.
In the fifth century, I was alone. There were loud concussions far above me, so powerful the whole mine shook. Nuclear, maybe. Not long after that, the power began to fail.
In the sixth century, I lived in the dark. I napped a lot. The prison grew cold and damp. I guessed that there must have been a filtration system that kept the humidity low, maybe a pump system to siphon out subterranean water. Those had failed.
In the seventh century, the walls began to crumble. After a decade of trying, I managed to pull a leg off of my bunk. I scraped at the walls, and sometimes at the edges of the door.
In the eighth century, after one hundred fifteen years of scraping and digging, I broke through the cell wall. It was stone, and behind it was a flooded passageway. The water had been eating away at the wall for some time.
For two years I swam, lost in the dark. For two years I drowned, over and over again.
Finally, I found a passage to an iron landing. There was a ladder that led up to a rubble-filled chamber, and from there, a sealed blast door.
I don't know how long it took to get through the blast door.
When I got outside, the first thing I did was sink my toes in the grass. There was grass everywhere, and trees, and evidence of life. Deer prints, droppings of horses. I could tell that there had been roads here once, but the grass had devoured them. I spied the faint outline of a wide road heading east, and decided to follow it. I wasn't sure where it would lead, but it would give me time to work on my tan. I knew that a rare steak was too much to ask, but maybe I'd find a beer along the way. Maybe a cigar, a new pair of shoes, a day in the sun.
---
EDIT: I'm tinkering with a back story [here](https://www.reddit.com/user/preston_stone/comments/6co058/dark_eyes/).
| Part 1 | [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/jraywang/comments/6chsmn/life_sentence_part_2/)
---
The oldest man in the world sat behind bars, his wrists cuffed together and feet chained to the floor. Officially, he was 140 years old, though that was because his doctored birth certificate had him born May 28th, 1870. Unofficially, he was around for the birth of Christ, though when he had told the police, they didn't believe him. He chuckled wondering how long he'd have to wait for them to finally see the truth.
He had been given a life sentence for murder. Multiple murders to be exact. At court, he had looked at the judge straight-faced and asked, "what's the big deal?"
Human lives came and went. He had seen empires fall in flame. He had fought in wars back when they raped and pillaged. Now, someone had caught him killing just a handful of men and suddenly it was the end of the world.
Humans--what an irrational species.
There was talk that he would get the electric chair. Any day now, they claimed. It would be the most publicized execution the world had ever seen.
As a testament to human irrationality, reporters from all over the world had flocked to his jail cell. A 140 year old man behind bar with the convicts? Such cruel and unusual punishment! They had taken one look at his age and thought it meant anything more than just a number. And so he had shown them how irrational they truly were. He had picked the youngest, brightest, most energetic defender of his--a young girl that wore lipstick too bright and perfume too sharp--and strangled her in front of their cameras.
Now, he was something of a celebrity. It was Marilyn Monroe that said something along the lines of--the only thing worse than being talked about is not. He would know. He had been there popping pills next to her when she had said it.
"Hey asshole," came a familiar voice. It was Randy, the guard hired solely to look over him. Randy clanged his nightstick against the cell bars and peeked through. "Today's the big day, I even brought you your last meal."
He tossed a porcelain plate through the bars. It broke and shattered on the floor.
"Sorry, asshole," he said, never taking his eyes off his prisoner. "I was hungry. The steak was good though, cut rare, just how I like."
The prisoner looked up and smiled. No matter how Randy taunted him, he still held the trump card. "Sorry about your daughter," he said. "But her perfume was suffocating me. No hard feelings?"
Randy shut up, his face burned purple. For a second, it looked as if he would unlock the cage and kill the old man himself. Instead, he gritted his teeth and walked off.
"I'll be back in five minutes to take you to the chair. Better start praying."
The prisoner laughed. Pray? To what? But poor Randy, the man thought that some chair with some wire would kill the old man. It was foolish. With a smile, he picked up a porcelain shard and slipped it into his pants.
The most televised execution in the world would soon become the most televised escape in the world. Or perhaps the most televised massacre in the world. He couldn't decide which sounded better.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| 2017-05-20T16:55:19 | 2017-05-20T16:03:51 | 5,741 | 980 |
[WP] You were born with special eyes, the sea was as clear as glass to you, by the time you got old enough to join a ship's crew, you were smart enough to not tell them about everything you saw below the waves | "Get moving, lad, or ye'll be doin' worse than swabbin' the poop deck!"
"Yes, Cap'n."
You nearly trip over your mop in your haste to get out of the Captain's way. You'd thought Captain "Hawkeye" Jones would be grateful to have a boy with eyes that could see through the depths of the ocean as a part of his crew. And Jones' interest in your ability had seemed sincere at first. But after a week of being kicked around by sailors who were no kinder than the pirates that sometimes docked at your hometown port, you're pretty sure that none of them think it's worth their time to take a ten year old seriously. "Games," they'd called it. "Free Labor" they'd called you.
As you swab the deck for what feels like the millionth time that week, you hear footsteps behind you. You brace yourself, expecting to hear jeering from a drunken sailor. Instead, you hear a soft, gruff voice you know well.
"Blimey, no wonder yer all skin-an-bones," says Uno, the ship's cook. His one remaining eye rolls to look at you. "Cap's got ye workin' so hard it'd kill a grown man before the end of the week."
"I'm fine," you say.
"Ach! No, yer not!" says Uno, grabbing the mop from you and tossing it over the side of the boat.
"What'd you do that for!?" you yell.
"Wasn't me," says Uno. "Wave must've swept it away."
A small smile flashes across your face.
"Right. We'll get started on dinner, then," he says with a wink. "Come with me."
"I can't," you say. "The Cap'n will get cross."
"That ol' bonehead never gets cross at anyone who can fix a good meal," said Uno. "And I wasn't talking about going to the galley, either."
Uno motions you towards the edge of the ship. You hesitate.
"Come on, boy. I need yer eyes."
Finally understanding what Uno is getting at, you trot over to the edge of the boat.
"Lemme know where the best spot is to cast me line," says Uno. "I hear there's loads o' big fish down there."
You lean over the side of the boat to get a better look, half-expecting to be pushed into the ocean and left for dead. Instead, your eyes land on a long, grey tail and a mass of blonde hair. It darts through the water so quickly you're not sure you believe what you're seeing. Then another goes by, and another, and another. One of them pauses to glance in your direction with a face that's half-fish, half-human. You look up at Uno, who is wearing a knowing smile.
"Mermaids?" you mouth to him.
"Aye," says Uno. "Cap'n's been lookin' fer them all his life. Doesn't know that he passes right by 'em each time we travel from West Port to Avon."
"You can see them?"
"Did you really think I lost me other eye in a bar fight?" he asks, pointing to the patch over his empty socket. "Bloody pirates tried' to figure out what gave me 'the sight.' I agreed to let 'em have it in exchange for my life."
"What does give someone 'the sight?'"
"Duno. But *they* know." Uno points his thumb at the ocean. "Wish I could ask them."
"They can't talk?"
"Nah, they speak bloody good English. I had a chance to talk to one when I was just about yer age."
"So then, why...?"
"If anyone on board sees them, they'll die."
"Oh."
"Or worse."
You nod in understanding though you're not sure what his last two words really mean. A splash behind you gets your attention. You turn around to see a cute but fishlike face peering at you from out of the water. The mermaid appears to be just a little bit older than you. You raise your hand and smile. She responds with an open grin--full of rows of sharp teeth--before backflipping into the sea and doing figure eights just beneath the waves.
"Hell's bells," spits Uno. "They're gettin' curious again." He lifts his hands up in the air and raises his voice to a bellow. "OY! ALL HANDS BELOW DECK! EARLY DINNER TONIGHT FOR THE CREW!"
Cheers ring through the air. Uno nudges you with his elbow.
"Best you don't get chummy with her, lad," he says. "No good has ever come from a friendship with a mermaid, I promise ye that."
As you head down to the galley, you hear the clatter of a pearl rolling on wet wood.
*For more fantastical stories, check out* r/OctOpusTales *!* | ##Under the Surface
The ship's crew bustles and jams into each other as we leave. Families wave goodbye to their loved ones on board. I don't have anyone waving at me on land, but I hope to find someone at sea.
---
It had rained all day, but the night was clear. Puddles had collected further up the beach than normal. Either the sun or the ocean would reclaim the water.
I walked through the puddles to look for treasures that the ocean brought. My mother had taught me the ways to see the secrets of water. One puddle had a gold coin at the bottom of it.
A puddle nearby had another coin in it. I found a trail of gold that led into the ocean. The waves were calm and offered little resistance as I grabbed the coins. In the middle of a crater, the trail ended in a chest of gold.
I surfaced to breath. The chest was deep , but I could dive that far. I wouldn't be able to carry it all at once. I swam to shore, and I deposited my coins in a pile by a rock. No one comes to the water this late.
I went back to the crater and held my breath. I dove straight down and scraped coins off the surface. I returned to the beach to deposit them. I repeated this tiring cycle for the wealth. The chest contained enough to purchase a ship of my own.
When the chest was empty, I lied on the beach to catch my breath. My muscles were sore, but I had to keep going. When I swam to the box again, I saw a woman with a fish tail hovering over it. She looked at me at first in fear then anger.
She charged and grabbed me; she held me under water with a knife to my neck. Her mouth was full of sharp teeth, and her eyes were a deep yellow. She snarled at me.
"My coins, my coins, thief," she said. I twisted in shock that I could hear her. I didn't think I could talk, but I could try.
"I am sorry," the water allowed my voice to travel, "I thought they were from a shipwreck."
The mermaid recoiled in shock, "No human has ever understood us."
"Please let me go," my vision was going dark, "I can't breath underwater.
She dragged me to the surface. I gasped for air, and I saw her floating beneath the surface.
"I will return your coins," I said. I swam back to shore, and I gathered the coins to give to her. She accepted them in silence. Before she left, she handed me a small bag of coins.
When I returned to my house, I collapsed in my bed. I slept for nearly a whole day. I told my parents that I found the money at the shore. They didn't know about my gifts, and they would never understand my new purpose.
I was determined to acquire more knowledge. I consulted with scholars and sailors on sea people. They each gave me a different answer. If I would discover the truth, I would have to go on my own journey. The money given provided enough resources to gain the skills for a crew, but my family rejected me for not becoming a farmer like them.
---
I stare over the side of the ship in the moonlight. The rest of the crew regards me as a strange but harmless individual. I am diligent and principled, two rare qualities at sea. The crew overlooks my eccentricities.
I pray every night that I will see someone in the water, but I never do. I would not ask for their treasure; I would merely want to speak with them. Humanity has never felt right; perhaps I would feel better among the sea people.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-11-06T11:59:55 | 2021-11-06T10:19:42 | 113 | 45 |
[WP] A man sues God because his insurance company won't pay for the damages done to his house in a storm. To his complete surprise and Horror, God actually shows up.
I don't know whether to make this a WP or EU tag since this is based on a movie starring Billy Connolly.
In the movie, BC's character loses his boat in a freak storm and discovers that his insurance company won't pay the damages because they have a clause stating that they won't pay for an 'Act of God'. In anger and frustration, he decides to sue God - represented by the Clergy - because the insurance companies are using God as a legal loophole.
So... what would happen if God, or even an angel, decides to take up the case? | **FOR PUBLICATION**
**UNITED STATES COURT OF APPEALS FOR THE NINTH CIRCUIT**
----------------------
Joe Bronson, *Plaintiff-Appellant*
v.
God, *Defendant-Appellee*
--------
Before: Steven P. Hansen, James Horton Wong, and Elizabeth Francis, Circuit Judges.
Opinion by Judge Hansen
---------
**OPINION**
HANSEN, Circuit Judge:
When Joe Bronson's home in Kansas was destroyed by a tornado for the second time in three years, he decided to move to California, where, he hoped, he would never have to worry about tornadoes again. He bought a small home in the quiet clifftop village of Moss Beach and settled in. To protect himself against the kind of disaster that had plagued him in the past, he purchased an open-peril policy from Lippman Property Insurance Corporation (henceforth LPI) on his house and certain items therein.
One year later, on April 13, 2021, the most powerful waterspout ever recorded, with winds measured at 240 miles per hour, formed off the coast of Moss Beach. The powerful storm picked up a 35-ton gray whale and dropped it on Bronson's house, completely destroying it. Bronson's claim against LPI was denied on the basis that the incident was an act of God, coverage for which was specifically excluded under the terms of his policy. Bronson subsequently sued LPI in state court, a case in which LPI's demurrer was upheld by the California Court of Appeals. LPI is not a party to the present action.
On February 12, 2022, Bronson filed a tort action against the present defendant in the Northern District of California, accusing God of trespass to land, trespass to chattels, and negligence. On February 13, 2022, the Court granted defendant's motion to dismiss the case with prejudice. Bronson filed this timely appeal.
**DISCUSSION**
**1. The District Court Properly Dismissed the Trespass to Land and Trespass to Chattels Claims**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's trespass claims should be judicially estopped because defendant claimed in his nightly prayer that he would "forgive those who trespass against [him]." On appeal, plaintiff argues that because his nightly prayers did not constitute legal proceedings, the doctrine of judicial estoppel applied by the trial court does not apply.
On this issue of first impression, we find plaintiff's arguments unpersuasive. We take judicial notice of the fact that God is a Judge (James 4:12). Therefore, plaintiff's prayers, being formalized appeals to a Judge, are in fact legal proceedings, even if they are not couched in the customary language and form of court filings.
For this reason, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the trespass claims.
**2. The District Properly Dismissed the Negligence Claim**
The trial court ruled that plaintiff's negligence claims should be dismissed because the outcome (the destruction of Bronson's home) of defendants actions (creating an offshore waterspout) was not foreseeable. As such, it held that God's actions were not the proximate cause of plaintiff's injury, and dismissed the claim.
We agree with the trial court that the consequences of God's action would not have been foreseeable to a reasonable person, because an offshore waterspout is unlikely to damage an onshore home. However, God is not an ordinary person, and in fact God knows everything (1 John 3:20). Thus, we apply the standard of a reasonable person in the position of God; that is, a person with similar knowledge and professional training to God. We believe that a reasonable God could in fact foresee the fact that a waterspout might launch a massive whale into the air and deposit it on plaintiff's house. Thus the trial court erred in holding that the destruction of Bronson's house was not foreseeable.
However, defendant has made an alternative argument for dismissal of the negligence claim, which we find more persuasive. Namely, defendant has argued that if we do not uphold the ruling of the District Court, He will smite us. Therefore, we affirm the district court's dismissal of the negligence claim.
**DISPOSITION**
The ruling of the District Court is **AFFIRMED**. Defendant-Appellee is awarded His costs on appeal. | "Your honor, Heimy 'Azrael' Goldberg, from the firm of Guildenstern & Rozencrantz, representing the Almighty. Your honor, we do *not* stipulate to complete diversity jurisdiction, though Mr. Johnson is clearly a resident of New York State, the amount in controversy is over $75,000, and the Almighty is currently a resident of 1 Green Pine Lane, Cherubim Circle, Heaven. Instead, we submit our 12(b)6 motion to dismiss on both substantive and procedural grounds. Substantively, Paragraph 6, Clause 2 of Mr. Johnson's Statewide Insurance Agreement, dated December 13, 2012, clearly states that quote 'There shall be no coverage, of any type, *on behalf of any party* for the following non-exclusive list of cause of damages to the Residence: volcanoes, acts of war, insurrection or terrorism etc. etc. and on line 7 Acts of God, including but not limited to hurricanes, tornadoes, rain storms, floods and other inclement weather.' Combining this clause with the third party beneficiary clause in Paragraph 12, it is clear that the Almighty is a third party beneficiary of this Agreement, and is therefore released from liability. Further, procedurally, under the forum selection clause of section 13, requiring that this claim be heard in front of a JAMS arbitrator, whose decision will be binding, we request that this court dismiss this claim, with prejudice, and instruct the plaintiff to file in front of JAMS or simply drop his case. Oh, also, Mr. Johnson - I'm here to take you to hell. Say your words."
Judge Marrero paused for a moment, his face illuminated by the blue-flamed three prong whip floating in Azrael's left hand, which was, inexplicably, writhing like a snake, and he caught his own reflection in the orange flamed, gilt sword dangling from his right. In his reflection he saw the spectres of cities razed by hellfire - he saw Soddom, Gomorrah, and Atlantis.
"Marshall, how exactly did Mr. Goldberg get those weapons in here?"
"Your honor, that's an *angel* - and I read my scripture, he is actually an *Archangel.* His duty is to bring souls into the next world. Do you think I would ask an *Archangel* for his sword? My momma is a Catholic and I was raised in the Church. Na uh, no way, no how. Mr. Azrael, it is a real pleasure to meet you. Uh... good job. Keep up the good work."
Azrael's head dipped once, beatifically, as his flowing white robes were illuminated in other-worldly orange and blue.
The Judge folded his glasses and rubbed his temples, directing his attention to the plaintiff's bar:
"Mr. Johnson, I think you have a lot more to worry about than my decision. May god have mercy on your soul. Case dismissed with prejudice."
*Gavel.*
"Well. Fuck." Turned out to be the plaintiffs last words. | 2014-11-30T10:07:28 | 2014-11-30T09:36:32 | 90 | 32 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | One day, on my 18th birthday, on my way to school, I saw an old lady sitting on a park bench, watching her grandchildren playing in the park. I felt happy, knowing that no matter how much darkness is in the world, there is always something good to brighten up your day. But then I saw something behind her. At first, it was blurry and dark, but then it started to materialize until it was perfectly clear what it was. The Grim Reaper.
I didn’t know what came over me, but I just walked right up to him. I was scared out of my mind!
I secretively whispered to him, “what are you doing here?”
He seemed surprised by me talking to him. He looked around and said, “well, I’ve been following this woman all day, she will be dead anytime soon.”
I wanted to run away, but my legs wouldn’t budge. I couldn’t move.
Out of curiosity I decided to ask, “is it my time yet?”
To my surprise, he answered my question, “Nope, looks like you’re not due for another...” he took out a clipboard and skimmed through the papers. He found something and pointed his finger on it. “... three thousand, one hundred, and forty- one years? That’s weird. Also, how can you see me?”
I asked, “can’t everyone see you? I just assumed everyone could when I saw you standing there.” I was confused. “Well, now that I think about it, that is weird. If people saw you, they’d try to avoid you to not die.”
Death just looked at me, right in the face, making direct eye contact. I saw his sunken, almost empty-looking eyes, and felt a cold shiver go through my whole body. I felt uncomfortable.
Without even saying goodbye, I walked away. I tried to ignore what had just happened, but I felt his cold, dark eyes, still staring into me, into my soul. I heard a strange noise behind me, like the slash of a blade. I knew that the Grim Reaper has harvested a soul, and the old lady was dead.
In front of me, in a puff of ash and smoke, Death had appeared in front of me, in his dark cloak of suffering. I was frightened. I didn’t like this. I wanted to get out of here.
Suddenly, everything went dark. When I woke up, I was in a dark, warm area. As I regained my conscious, it got warmer and warmer, until it felt as if I was drowned in boiling water.
“Who are you?” Asked the voice of the Grim Reaper.
“Cole. My name is Cole Silverhorn.”
“Another Silverhorn? I thought they were gone.” I heard him cursing to himself, obviously frustrated and possibly disappointed. “What species— what race are you?”
I replied quickly, “human. Just a human. What else would I be?”
“Okay, maybe he is just hallucinating. Do we have any forgetful potions?” I heard him rambling and arguing with himself. “How do I clear this up? This is impossible. I’ll just leave him. He might think it was a dream. Perfect!”
He then turned to me, with a hopeful grin on his pale face. “Goodnight! See you this morning! Or, not. I’m not going to let you see me. Bye-bye!”
He snapped his fingers, and pink glittery particles came off of his hand, flying like dust. Once again, it was dark.
_____________________________________________
WC: 567 words
If this gets enough upvotes (like 30+), I will make a part two, and put a link here. I have a very interesting idea for the ending. So please upvote it!
[Read part 2!!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/stories/comments/fel0h8/the_life_of_cole_silverhorn_part_2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) | Matt looked up from doing CPR. He saw the familiar visage of the Grim Reaper. They had talked before. Matt and fought the reaper more than once and even won a round or two unexpectedly.
Here, on the side of the road, in the glare of flashing emergency lights and other lights used to light the scene; doing CPR next to a rolled over Jeep Matt knew this one was gone and the Reaper would collect.
“Well, looks like you get to collect on this one” Matt said.
“Hello Matt,” the Reaper replied. “It about time you and I had a talk.”
Matt was a little surprised. The Grim Reaper has nodded at him before but never spoken to him. “About what? I’m a little busy doing CPR at the moment.”
“Matt!” Donnie yelled. “What in the hell are you yammering on about? Is more of you taking to death crap? You’re making me wonder about you dude!”
“Don’t worry Matt,” the Reaper whispers. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in a second.”
Just then a Semi hit the breaks hard and lost control. It plowed right through the scene instantly killing the cop and all the rescue workers but Matt. Matt felt the tire as it slid by him as he did CPR, missing his head by millimeters. It did however, squarely run over his partner.
Matt jumped up full of panic and rage and adrenaline. “What the f... what did you just do!!!” Matt screamed at the Grim Reaper.
“I don’t cause anything. I mearly respond to events and do my job. This was preordained, you however are the anomaly”.
“What are you talking about!” Matt’s voice was a fever pitch of fear and anger.
“You see Matt, you should not be able to know I’m here, much less see me. You have even argued with and tried to intimidate me into not collecting souls I was meant to collect” the Reaper replied calmly. “When I noticed that you could see me I looked at the time and date for you and you partner. His was a minute ago. Yours is three thousand one hundred and forty-two years from now. “
Matt replied in a whisper “What?” His face full of confusion and incomprehensibility.
The Reaper continued. “I know right? I thought the same thing. So I’ve been doing some research in what little spare time I have. Here’s the thing. You have a Job. And really, it sucks. Call it what ever you want but in the final battle of Good VS Evil, it is your death at the hand of Evil that begins the final titanic battle between good and evil. And I hear more sirens on the way... time for me to go.” | 2020-01-24T16:18:18 | 2020-01-24T14:05:54 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day. | John walked up to the front of the room and took a seat.
He held up a red pen "This pen is green.".
Those gathered in front of him gasped.
He took up a green pen "This pen is red."
The crowd drew in a collective breath, every eye wide with surprise.
"My name is not John"
The room was silent but for the shuffling of papers on the table of a man seated in front of him.
The shuffler stood and adjusted his tie, "John, I, unlike my counterpart here," he pointed to a sweating man on his right, "don't want to waste anybody's time here. So, I'm only gonna ask you three questions okay?"
"Sure" replied John calmly.
"Those pens you mentioned before, you know you got the colours wrong yes"
"I do"
"And the birth certificate I hold, right here in my hand," he waved the sheet of paper in its protective covering, "says you were born John Edward Harley?"
"That it does"
"On the night of the 16th did you rape and murder the woman, Helen Lathom, shown in this picture?" He indicated to a photograph of a pretty young lady on an easel to his left.
"No sir, I did not."
The crowd stood and started yelling, one woman in particular emitting a loud squeal, punctuated by her sobs.
"You lying sonuvabitch, you killed my baby!" She howled and moved to jump the partition separating them. The bailiff moved to hold her back and the judge slammed his gavel.
"Order at once!"
The room reduced to buttered whispers perforoted by the moans of the weeping mother.
"Case closed your honour, I would ask that that the prosecution dismiss all charges against my client immediately"
And that is how a colourblind man, birthname James Colton, got away with murder.
| -Are you cheating on me?
-No, of course not.
-Are you cheating on me?
*Sam could see where this was going but what can you do.*
-No, don't you trust me?
-Are you cheating on me?
-No!
-Are you cheating on me?
-Damn it!... ok, yes. I guess I'll be leaving then?
----------------
[**Note(hover to read):**](/s "At first I was going to call the main character 'Pete' but I decided to change it to the more gender neutral name, 'Sam' so that the reader(s) can more freely paint their own scenario") | 2014-11-15T07:59:56 | 2014-11-15T07:12:54 | 1,128 | 30 |
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