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[WP] A Dystopian society where women have taken over and stored enough sperm to last them a million years. Scientists even figured out how to genetically engineer to make sure you always give birth to females. After giving birth privately in your home you notice something different on your child. | In his early years his mother dragged him through the alleys and the dark corners of the undercity, down below
where lived the meek and poor women and the workers, hiding, always hiding from the women up above, who'd kill
him if they knew.
He grew up a contradiction, an opposite of himself – to the world he was a girl, his mother dressed him in skirts
and makeup and bows, and in the dead of the night when she'd take his clothes and tuck him in bed she'd tell him
stories of these larger creatures, this race that walked the Earth some many years ago, and she'd say, "You are
one of them, you are men."
What was men? He didn't know what that meant, he had no frame of reference save the chimeric images of these shadow-people that walked the past Earth alongside women, these dreamwalkers that his mother conjured at night with her stories. Creatures with hair on their faces, muscular, big, as big as mountains, sometimes he thought.
What was men? What did men do? Save from the obvious differences he could spot when he looked at himself
in a mirror, what else? Why was it dangerous? Why was it bad? How was he different?
He grew up on those questions, never finding an answer. In his teenage years, his mother underfed him, on
purpose. She gave him hormones so he'd stop growing. So his voice wouldn't change, but he didn't see, he didn't
understand – how could his voice change? Why would his voice change?
"It'll grow deeper."
"Why?"
"That's just how it is with men."
Men. He was men. One of them. One of the shadowy figures, the mean, dark ones that walked the Earth, that had to be exterminated.
But why? What did men do? Why was men evil?
His voice changed, and he grew, despite the hormones and the humble meals. Past sixteen he could no longer
leave the house save under a veil, save in the dead of the night, and only so when it was chiefly necessary.
And new feelings were brewing in him now. Feelings for the women he saw, feelings about the world around him, feelings of tenderness and of other things but above all, with every night that passed hidden in that small
apartment in the undercity, what grew in him more was a hatred. A hatred for the women who ruled that world,
who cast away the 'men', who deemed them bad and evil, who condemned him without ever meeting him, ever
knowing who he was or what he thought, judged and trialed and convicted him over a prejudice of the past, over shadowy figures that walked the Earth before he was born.
If men were evil, he wasn't men. He was something else. But he *was* men, his mother said so. So men couldn't
all be evil. So women were evil, because women judged him, determined he was bad without ever meeting him. Cast him to a life of growing up without identity, without knowing what or who or why he was not meant to exist.
A mistake, a rough tumor in a delicate world.
It was years, long years after his mother was gone before he figured it out. And then years, long years of planning,
of studying maps, building sketches, until he finally managed to put into action his plan. He knew by then that the
women were already engineered to have only other women, that his mother had been an aberration, something not
likely to happen again.
He knew that they got pregnant from a machine, and that all the DNA on Earth was stored in a single room. And he found the way in and through the tunnels he crawled and in the dead of the night he stepped into the room where it was kept, where all of it lay behind glass, all the specimen, and he knew the codes, he spent years and labored to learn them, and he unlocked every door and he destroyed everything.
There was going to be no more genetic material save what was inside of him.
And when he was found in that room, when the women found out what he had done, they spit and cursed in anger but ultimately they bowed to him right then and there, their throats dry and quivering from swallowing their disgust at him, but they bowed all the same, because he was the last hope for humanity now, he was all there was left if people were not to die and never be born again. He was the future.
But he didn't want hope, and he didn't want future. He was men. He was born of hatred and darkness, he was the
shadowy figure in his mother's stories, the great villain, the last on a line of wrongdoers, of darkness-lurkers, born
and raised and existing solely for the purpose of evil.
At least he was convinced of it. So he ran the knife cross his throat and let the blood wash down his neck, and the
women watched in horror as humanity died right then and there, in front of them, the blood of all future human life
that would not be pooling in an expanding circle towards their bended knees.
The blood of men.
_____________
/r/psycho_alpaca
| "You sure the baby is in this house?" Mike's voice echoed through the helmet's intercom, as the squad moved stealthily through the trees.
"Yes, according to our source."
"And what source could that be?" Mike asked, skeptical. They had been falsely led several times over the past few years, each incident resulting in several casualties.
Though they did managed to take down several of the enemy, numbers were not on The Resistance's side. Sacrificing more men for false flag operations is not what Mike preferred. Still, he understood the dire need of these Seek and Retrieve operations. The Resistance's lifeline depended on it.
"The mother's," the voice at the other end announced. "She just gave birth less than a week ago, and she's desperate for us to help before the Sisterhood notices."
Mike sighed under his helmet. As one of the oldest veterans in the team, he remembered a time when men could walk freely among women. A period of equality and respect. Not this brutal, repressive regime. But all that seemed too long ago, only a hazy memory.
"Roger that," he said to his mouthpiece. His hand made several movements to the squad members around him, and they moved into their respective positions, hidden in darkness. Satisfied, he moved through the backyard of their target, quickly but silently.
As he approached the backdoor, his left hand reached for his pistol, while his right hand tapped on the wooden door. Three quick taps, followed by three slow taps, and then two quick taps. There was a moment of silence, his pistol aimed straight at the door. The last operation he went, the whole door was booby-trapped by the Sisterhood. The poor sergeant never stood a chance.
After what seemed forever, taps echoed from behind the door. Two quick, three slow and three quick. The signal. He heard a soft click as the door unlatched. His free hand slowly pushed the door open, which creaked a little too loudly in the silence of the night. He quickly slipped in through the door, to be met with a woman dressed in a simple t-shirt and shorts. Her blonde hair glowed strangely in the darkness of the house, her face framed in a petite heart shape.
But Mike was not there for her. He shifted his gaze to the baby in her arms, sleeping soundly in a sheet of folded cloth. His package for the night. As he stepped forward to retrieve the baby, he noticed that the mum's eyes were still red. She hesitated in handing the baby over.
"Will he be safe?" the mother asked. A question that so many others have asked Mike before.
Mike merely nodded, as he holstered his pistol to carry the baby. The boy stirred lightly, his face momentarily turning into a frown. Perhaps he knew that he was no longer able to see his mum. Mike wanted to assure the mother more, but the voice from HQ interrupted him.
"You gotta get out of there soon Mike, we have a couple Nightsisters coming in." His heart sank at the mention of the famed femme fatale squad.
He turned to leave, but the mum tugged at his sleeve. "Will I see my baby again?" she asked, tears flowing down her cheeks this time. It reminded Mike of his wife.
"You will know," Mike simply said, ignoring the pain that was shooting through his heart. He quickly made his way out from the house, mindful to not leave any evidence behind. Within minutes him and his squad would have disappeared into the night, just like how they first appeared. If anything, the Sisterhood would just subject the young mother to a series of interrogation, without the brutal reeducation class. Mike hoped HQ has been clean in covering their tracks.
The last thing he wanted was for an innocent mother to bear the cost of their mistake. Not every female was their enemy. And if everything turned out well, perhaps one day they would return to the old way of life, and Mike could finally meet his wife again. But for now, they had no choice but to resist.
-------
Edit: Lots of grammar
/r/dori_tales | 2017-02-20T05:26:43 | 2017-02-20T05:12:26 | 5,866 | 428 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me." | "So, can I come in?" He asked.
"No."
"Wait, Lindsay!"
I slam the door shut and press my back against it, ignoring the pounding outside.
"Lindsay! Open up! Please, I just want to talk to you!"
The hammering of my heart fills my ears, drowning my "brother's" voice. I close my eyes as I slide down to the floor. I don't understand what's going on. Who is that man? Why is he pretending to be my brother?
There's a buzzing in my pocket. I pull out my phone and read the incoming text, *don't trust him*.
*Who is this?* I text back.
No response.
If only Mom were home. She'd know what to do. But she isn't home, and I don't know where she was. She received a text and then sprinted out of the house. I got a text from her later letting me know she'd be home soon. I wish she was here now.
"Lindsay!"
I squeeze my eyes shut, covering my hands with my ears. I was too young to remember much of my brother, Charlie, except that I loved him so much. He used to play with me--whatever I wanted. We'd dress as princesses and have tea together. Dad was furious when we did that. He strictly forbade it, so the game turned into a secret. It was more exciting this way, Charlie would say, and I believed him. I remember how broadly he smiled when he'd sip his tea, his pinky high in the air, like it was supposed to be. And I remember how small the tiara looked in his nest of unruly brown curls. The same curls as the man outside... But I know he can't be my brother.
Charlie is gone.
It's the reason Mom took me away from Dad. She said Dad took Charlie away from her, so it was only right that she took me away from him.
Another buzz. *It's me, Charlie.*
Immediately, I throw my phone across the room. More lies! Why? Why was this happening? And why now?
I pull my knees into my chest, curling into a ball. Charlie is gone. I know he is. He's gone, and this is just some sort of sick game. Maybe it's Dad's sick game. Mom said he was sick, too sick to be cured by doctors.
Suddenly, the pounding stops. I can hear my ragged breath, deafening in the new silence. Can he hear it too?
"Princess Charlene would like to request an audience with Princess Ponytail."
I freeze, my blood running cold.
It wasn't possible. Charlie was gone ... But no one else knew our secret code names. Not even Mom. Charlie had been adamant that it remain secret. It was life or death, he'd said.
I untangle myself from the floor and peek through the glass window over the door. The likeness is uncanny. He's older, so much older, but he has the same unruly curls and honey eyes. He notices me, and smiles. There's the chip in his front tooth from when Dad pushed his head against the table. Mom screamed for hours.
Although my brain screams at me not to, I crack open the door. "How do you know that?"
"It's me, Ponytail, I promise."
Hearing my nickname stirs something within me. He sounds just like Charlie, and I always believed him. I can't explain why, but I believe him now.
I step back, opening the door, and he enters. He's so much taller now. I always thought he was tall, but now he towers over me. His smile is gentle, the same warm, lopsided grin I remember.
The questions wrestle in my mind, each of them fighting to be asked first. But there's one that burns brighter than the others.
"Charlie," I say.
"Hm?"
Wordlessly, I lead him downstairs into the basement. His brows furrow, the only indication of his nerves. We pause, and with a grunt, I lift open the freezer door. Inside is a boy with the same unruly nest of curls.
"If you're Charlie, then who is he?" | The warmth of my small cramped apartment washed over me as I stepped in, out of the cold winter night. It had been another long day working the DeFranco murder case. My mind was running over the interviews I had with the families as I unholstered my Sig Sauer and set it on my cluttered kitchen counter.
"Empty" I said to myself looking into the fridge.
I grabbed a cold beer and swiped open my Iphone to pull up Uber Eats when a knock at the door stopped me in my tracks.
Making my way over to the door I couldn't help notice the hairs on my neck raised. Something felt wrong and as an NYPD Detective I learned to trust my instincts a long time ago. Another series of knocks hounded the door, harder this time.
"Alright!" I said aloud, "I heard you the first time."
I cracked the door peering out and my mouth went dry upon seeing who it was.
"Dave! It's me, Tommy." the stranger said, "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!"
Before me was a man who looked like my brother, taller than me by a few inches and the same crooked nose my brother had from when he broke it in a fight he jumped in to save me from bullies back in 5th grade. Before me was a man that had been missing for 10 years.
"Are you gonna let me in?" He smiled.
"Sorry Tommy," I swung the door open and embraced him.
"Where the fuck have you been, Have you seen Ma?" Questions poured out from me.
"I haven't stopped by yet since I got back." Tommy looked around the small apartment, "You got anything to eat?"
"No, I was about to order a pizza you want one?"
"Sounds perfect I'm starved"
"There's beer in the fridge, Help yourself!"
I switched open my phone pulling up the app when my phone buzzed. A text, from Tommy's old number. "That isn't me."
My palms felt clammy as my stomach flipped. I read the text again and looked at the man rummaging through my fridge.
I thought back to the search parties and the posters, Missing 16 year old, I was 13. I joined the force out of college hoping to find him and he came to me, or did he. I felt lightheaded, as I went to the counter. My phone buzzed with rapid fire texts coming in.
"Tommy, you have to tell me what happened." I stammered.
"Actually Dave, I was hoping you could tell me what you have on the DeFranco case."
I could hear my heart beat as I realized my trusty Sig wasn't on the counter where I placed it. When I looked over to Tommy I saw the barrel pointed directly at me.
"Put the phone down David."
Edit: tried to make it easier to read with more spaces between conversation
First post be gentile :) | 2020-07-23T11:17:16 | 2020-07-23T10:49:39 | 751 | 169 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| It all started, really, with a small act.
​
But isn't that the way of it? One small act leads to another, leads to another.
​
Pool Shark assures me that it was no small act though. But who could ignore a man trying to casually staunch a huge side wound as he hid in the corner booth? He obviously wanted to be left alone, but I couldn't just let him *bleed*, could I? And not just because cleaning up a passed out man twice my size would be difficult or because blood is obviously a health hazard in any store, not just a cafe. I mean, that much blood he could *die*.
​
And no matter who he was or what he had done to get that wound, I wasn't going to let a guy die. So I got the first aid kit and put it on his table before getting back behind the counter to clean the espresso machine.
​
I wouldn't hear it when he tried to pay me for the supplies.
​
It wasn't until later that I learned he was Pool Shark, the local vigilante who had taken the nearby district under his wing. Word had it he expanded his influence to cover my block too. He just gave me a nod the next time he came in. Started showing up weekly.
​
That was when others started showing up too. I eventually emptied the supply closet and refitted it to be a mini first aid station. Never charge, but my tip jar is never empty. I shifted my hours, too, to cover the poor souls covering those early morning patrols. I tried going to 6 am, but I'm just no good the next day, even with a full day's sleep. They understand. And a 2 am pick up is better than nothing.
​
Small acts. I suppose it was a small thing that started the next stage: the destruction of my cafe. I never got his name, but I found out later that he was some newcomer who wanted to "leave his mark".
​
I *do* remember how he was dressed: the navy blue mask over his eyes, the careful styling of his hair to drape over one side of said mask, and *the cape*. Oh, that cape! It went full to the floor and dragged a few inches while the collar made a full ruffle behind the middle of his head.
​
I smiled when I wanted to laugh. Didn't this guy know that this was a mask-free zone?
​
"What'll it be, sir?"
​
"Coffee, black. And an egg sandwich."
​
"Coffee I can get you. Unfortunately, I stop making sandwiches after 1:30, so I'm out of--"
​
"You will *make* me an *egg sandwich*." His eyes glowed blue for a moment.
​
Fortunately, one of my regulars had given me an amulet for protection against mind effects; everybody had agreed that it was best that I be neutralized against their assorted powers as much as possible. It burned cold against my chest now. "Sir, this is a no power area. Now, if you'd like to get changed in the bathroom down the hall, I can get you your coffee in just a minute. That'll be--"
​
"I *do not pay* for my coffee!"
"Then you don't *get* coffee!" What was with this guy?
​
My memory gets a little fuzzy at this point; I'm told it's a side effect of all the different amulets and tokens that everybody has given me. But I remember him glowing blue and a sense of *impact*. When I came to, Pool Shark and Doxx were pulling me out of the rubble that had been my cafe.
​
Small acts, right? Turned out that Pool Shark was a lawyer by day and Doxx, well, he knew computers we'll-leave-it-at-that. They rigged up some extra insurance coverage to get me a new cafe.
​
But I thought, this was an opportunity. A chance to do more. Be more.
​
I still run the cafe. But now the cafe has a basement with multiple access points. There's a full headquarters down there for my regulars, complete with gear, extra costumes, and a bulletin board for jobs. Folks know they can come to me and get their problems solved. It doesn't even cost them anything but a smile. I'm just the Barista.
​
And if a velvet full length cape hangs predominately in the trophy case, well, sometimes you just have to pay to make things right.
​
​
(Not sure if this is as good as the other story, but I liked it. I might have to add it to my super setting now) | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T20:33:32 | 1,330 | 643 |
[WP] You try to trade your soul to the Devil, only to have him discover that someone has already stolen it. | "Huh, thats weird."
"Whats weird?", asked Tom.
He got rather nervous about the fact that the Devil himself found somthing weird.
"Well, I dont really know how to tell you this, because it has never happend before, but to put it simply you dont have a soul."
Tom just stared openmouthed at the Devil.
"B-but, why?", he stuttered. "How the fuck is it possible that I dont have a soul!?"
"I just wanted to ask you the same question.", the Devil said.
He slowly examined Toms body looking deeper than any human eye ever could. It was a really strange sight. Normally a brilliant light shone throughout a human. It didnt even matter if the person was good or evil. To tell the truth such catogories didnt even exist when it came to the soul.
But here he stood and looked at a seemingly empty vessel he didnt emptied himself.
"I mean, I do know you had a soul just a week ago when I looked the last time."
"Of course I had a sou- wait you did what?", Tom asked. "Why did you already looked for my soul last week?"
"That was the time when she left you.", the Devil said with a sly smile. "I always know when someone makes the decision to sell his soul. Even when he doesnt realizes it himself. But lets forget that there is the important matter of your seemingly lost soul. Now where could you have put it."
"Like I could fucking know that."
"Maybe I could answer that.", suddenly a voice sounded behind them.
Both turned to see a small suited man standing there.
"B-boss?!"
"Yes Tom it is I who holds you soul now."
"And who the fuck do you think you are?!" the Devil nearly screamed.
The idea that he got a rival made his blood boil.
"Oh, how impolite of me."
The man approached the Devil and handed him his busness card.
"WTF is Comcast?!"
edit. grammar, unneeded questionmark | Application for Removal of Soul -
Case # - 3726384
Status - Denied
Reviewed By - Demon 472-W
Intake - Demon 21 - Denied
Reason for Acceptance/Denial:
Subject [Stricken from record] requested soul in return for [Stricken from record] Subject is suspected spy. Previous inquiries reveal possible connection to Special Heaven Brigade. Possible informant, subject has been detained at Customs/Hell's Gate for further questioning.
Priority status requested for inquiry from Department of Demon Enforcement.
UPDATE: CLASSIFIED NG-10
Subject confirmed escape attempt. Subject has been transferred to Hell's Imperial Central Lockup. Squad 43 confirmed wounded in escape attempt.
Recommend priority transport status. | 2015-03-14T15:08:40 | 2015-03-14T13:39:44 | 51 | 12 |
[WP] You're working your normal shift at a daycare, when suddenly a rift opens. cthulu steps out, holding a small mass of tentacles. "Care for him today, and I shall grant you knowledge that predates the oldest stars." | Today had been a bit stressful getting to work. A thunderstorm had blown in last night, making driving to work a pain as the wind and rain battered my windshield. I still had difficulty seeing the road even though I had my windshield wipers at top speed. I still had to come to work though, I was the branch manager after all. After parking my car, I opened up the daycare to take care of all the young children that parents drop off. After all, work doesn’t stop just because of a little storm.
After Jessica and Bryan arrived, the children started rolling in. Some of the little ones were scared because of all the thunder that shook the windows, so we put on some Disney movie to keep them occupied. All in all, I’d say that the day was going fairly well given the circumstances- that is, until they came.
I had just finished feeding one of the babies some applesauce and I’d set him down as I cleaned up the mess he had made. But as I stepped out of the kitchen, a rift opened in front of me. It was blacker than any black I’d ever seen. If I had to describe the color to the best of my ability, I’d have to say it was the color of void. The sound that emanated from the inky rift grated my ears and it almost felt like it was touching my brain.
Then they came through. Upon seeing them, I somehow know that they were Cthulu. From the tales I had heard, I don’t know how I didn’t go mad at the sight, but I didn’t. Cthulu approached me. They were the size of a normal man, probably to not destroy the building, and holding a small bundle. I just stood there standing and staring as they approached me. Suddenly thrust into my arms was a small mass of tentacles.
Then with a voice that rattled my very being, **“Care for him today, and I shall grant you knowledge that predates the oldest stars.”** Then Cthulu turned and started back for the rift. As he left, I felt like I was myself again. “But- wait sir/madam, you-” They had already gone thought the rift. “-have to pay…” I knew corporate wasn’t going to like this. They do not accept payment in knowledge.
I looked down at the tentacle mass. “What am I going to do with you?”
\---
Thanks for reading, I don’t normally do any writing, but I hope you enjoy it!
Edit: fixing grammar | I just want to make it clear… I did not ask for this job. My brother owns the local day care. I like kids so I volunteer there when I get off from college. I am of course a philosophy major so when I saw a wormhole open up I was curious. And scared. All the kids seemed fine but my brother and I were panicking. One foot steps of the hole and a man in a dashing red suit steps out. He seems normal until you look at his face. The face of Some weird monster you’d read about. “Care fir him today, and I shall grant you knowledge that predates the oldest stars.” That’s when I look down. Standing there is a normal looking boy with black hair, pale skin, and red eyes. He looks about three. My brother sighs loudly and says “Craig you said that last time!”
Kuthulu starts to step into the portal.
“And last time you failed at taking care of my boy. Don’t let that happen again!”
He’s gone in a flash. My brother Andrew pulls me aside.
“Look I know you have the exam today but this could change our lives if we handle this right!”
I nod eagerly.
We turn around to look at the kid and he’s gone.
“Andrew? WHERE DID THE DEMON GO?” | 2022-04-18T12:48:06 | 2022-04-18T11:43:47 | 62 | 34 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white. | Detective Holland stood at the courthouse doors, watching the man walk away. The group of reporters who had been waiting outside of the building had mobbed him the moment the doors had opened, cameras flashing. The man pushed through them with some difficulty, making his way to the street. Holland watched him intently. He seemed so relaxed, just as he had in the courtroom. His shoulders were back, his head was held high. He seemed so confident of himself. It was not the normal behavior of a man who had only moments before scraped his way to innocence in a trial for murder.
“I can’t believe they let him walk away,” Detective McNeil said, shaking his head. “All because of a bit of blood.”
“They say the blood never lies, McNeil.” Holland answered.
“They say a lot of things.” McNeil grumbled. “They say a lot of things that aren’t always true.” The man was beginning to struggle making his way through the crowd. An officer who had been waiting for the man in a patrol car on the side of the street stepped out and began to make his way to the reporters.
“Nothing in this world is inherently true.” Holland said after a moment, never taking her eyes off of the man.
“What do we do now?” McNeil asked. “We know he did it, but they just let him walk free. Even with all the evidence! Christ, Holland, the officers walked in on that man standing over his wife’s dead body and his prints were all over the knife. There was no sign of a break in. No one else had visited the home that day. He barely even had an alibi! And even then...”
“His blood was white as milk.” Holland interjected. “The only humans to have such pure blood are babies, and they do not stay that way for long.”
“That shouldn’t have been enough to let a murderer walk free.” McNeil said. The officer had pushed his way into the crowd and was forcefully clearing a path for the man to walk. Holland watched.
“His mother-in-law called him a monster,” she said. “The jury seemed to agree. Yet when the blood was brought out, the tune they sang changed quickly. I even heard someone call him a saint.”
The reporters were becoming more desperate to get answers from the man as he drew closer to the patrol car. They began to squeeze even tighter, trying to halt the progress made by the officer. The officer began to get heated and started shoving the reporters back.
“Yeah, I have some problems with that too.” McNeil said. “What kind of man goes his whole life without ever doing anything wrong? It’s unnatural. It’s downright bullshit.”
Despite the officer’s intense physical protest the reporters only pressed harder. Holland saw the exact moment that the officer lost his temper. His entire body tightened extraordinarily and a moment later he had thrown one of the reporters to the ground. The man did not flinch.
“What do you think causes the blood to change?” Holland asked.
“What’re you asking me for? You know damn well why it changes.” McNeil snorted. “Everyone’s blood gets darker for every wrong committed. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“Yes.” Holland said. Another reporter stepped on top of the fallen one, trying to get closer to the man. No one in the crowd paid any attention to the pained cries of the man beneath their feet. “The blood darkens when we commit a wrong.” The officer pulled out a truncheon and slammed it into the head of a cameraman, sending him sprawling. “We all commit wrongs constantly, purposeful or not. We are all taught this since birth.” Another reporter tumbled to the ground and suddenly they had arrived at the patrol car. The officer opened the door and the man calmly slipped into the backseat, ignoring everyone around him. “We are all taught what is right and what is wrong. It has been drilled into our heads all our lives.”
“What’s your point?” McNeil asked.
“Only a saint has blood that white, is that not what they said?” Holland said. “Only a saint...”
The officer got into the front seat of the car and began to pull away from the sidewalk. The reporters chased after it for a moment, leaving their fallen comrade to stumble to his feet behind them, right arm hanging limply.
“Or...” she said, watching the car gain speed as it drove away from the courthouse. “Or someone who never believed what he did was wrong.”
The car disappeared around the street corner. | The blood lab door opens. The District Attorney and Detective step out into the hall and close the door.
Detective: Sir, I don't think we can prosecute this.
DA: He did it!
Detective: I know sir, I -
DA: There is no reasonable doubt anywhere. This is an ironclad case.
Detective: Sir! I understand.
They look at each other for a second. The DA turns away, placing his hands on his hips. The DA puts his hand to his forehead and begins massaging his temples.
Detective: You know we have a guy on payroll here whose job is to kill people. You know what color his blood is?
DA: (Still covering his face) You mean the county executioner?
Detective: Yes, sir.
DA: (Turns to face Detective) Are you about to tell me he's such a nice guy that his blood is also white?
Detective: Ah, no, sir, it's a light gray, and he’s not a nice man. He tampers with the drugs.
DA: what do you mean?
Detective: He tampers with the execution drugs. The exocutionee is rendered immobile, but feels excruciating pain as they die. We almost have enough evidence to take him in for it.
DA: Why wasn't I told?
Detective: We weren't sure yet. But now we are. I'll send you a report. What's relevant to this case is that the exocutioner's blood is a light gray. A man who enjoys looking in another man's eyes as his victim dies in soul-crushing pain. Light gray. Moral blood is a new thing, and we haven't worked out all the rules yet, but if our psychopath executioner has blood the same color as my aunt, who faked a disability to get handicap plates, maybe this is more complex than we know. Maybe a bad person is more good for killing a worse person. In any case, white blood alone is enough for reasonable doubt. If it's not, they could easily argue that she needed to be killed for the moral good of the universe.
The DA is distressed by the thought. He looks about the room with stress obvious in every facial crease.
Detective: We could call it self defense. Sir.
DA: (Spins to face the Detective) You're talking about letting a killer walk.
Detective: Yes, sir, a killer who is verifiably morally just.
The DA turns away again.
DA: He broke the law. (Faces Detective) And what you are suggesting also breaks the law.
Detective: Yes... But now there's a higher law. Whatever that higher law is, according to that this man is clean. I'm not much of a believer, but I think I might whiten my blood by backing him up.
They stare at each other again. The Detective smiles warmly.
Detective: Perhaps as time goes on, the law will come to align with universal morality.
DA: (Still stressed) Alright, but I need to review the case to figure out how to back up our self-defense argument. For now I need you to hold him.
Detective: Yes, sir. We'll handle that. Thank you. | 2020-02-09T14:01:39 | 2020-02-09T13:06:43 | 69 | 26 |
[WP] You bring home a girl. She wants to see the "1" you talked about that shines on your floor. Only now it says "2." It stays like this for years together until one day, it says "4." She says, "Hon, I have some good news. But you should sit down."
Inspired by this post
https://www.reddit.com/r/mildlyinteresting/comments/ilfsl7/_/ | It was finally the day, the day I'd bring home that absolute cutie from work and show her the glowing number 1 on my kitchen floor. it showed up one day, glowing there. even when I threw a carpet on it, it was still there. I had shrugged it off and went back to my toast.
"Okay, I know you said you had a glowing number 1 on your floor, but that is very clearly a two."
"SO? It's still a glowing number on the floor. Ain't that strange?
"Not really, have you seen some of the things on this earth?"
​
Our first date had gone swell, and I could remember the outfit she was wearing with perfect clarity. Black stockings, black and white checkered skirt, white shirt, and black leather jacket. We went on many successive dates, and eventually moved in together. One day, the two changed to a four.
"Babe, Why's this a four?"
"It's good news! but you should probably sit down first." She whirled into the kitchen, dressed in a black and white outfit as usual. I sat down, nervous.
"Well?"
"Do you ever wonder why I only wear black and white?"
"Kinda, figured it was an aesthetic choice."
"It's not, let me show you." She... *shifted,* for nothing else described the way she moved. suddenly, the world changed to monochrome. My girlfriend was still there, but split into a white version, and a black version, like a photo negative.
"Ok, that's neat, but where's the four come from? there's three of us." Something moved in my peripheral vision. a duplicate of me, a negative version, for I had become all white, clothes and all.
my girlfriend(s) spoke up. "I'm an extradimensional entity, existing in three separate dimensions, positive space, the white version of me, and negative space, the black version. the third is the realm you formerly lived in. Now you experience reality as I do, across three dimensions. You're immortal now, and can travel through positive and negative space to other worlds, or different places here. Welcome to my world babe, happy anniversary!"
"HUH?" | First it was one until the day I brought her over it changed to two and stayed that way for years until that fateful day... I walked in from the backyard wiping the dirt from my hands as she said to me "hon I have some good news, but you should sit down" her eyes looked hollow and void of life. "What is it?" "I-I did it finally" she said tears forming in her eyes. "Is that why the numbers changed? Baby I'm proud of you". "What do you mean they changed? I thought it only counted for you?" "No it's a revenge count for everyone in the house." "Then why does it say four and not..." she trailed off realizing she didn't need to ask as I looked towards the backyard quickly. "It had to be done after everything." She knew exactly what I was talking about and sighed as she saw my relief. "Does it ever get easier to do?" "Not really you just find ways to deal with it." I held her in a tight hug, kissed her forehead, pulling away saying, " Come on let's go get you some nuggets and fries." | 2020-09-03T01:13:53 | 2020-09-03T00:55:08 | 156 | 31 |
[WP] "So they are a war species then, huh." The alien scratched his head: "Why are you interested in them. The humans, i mean." The other alien got closer. "They fight for peace. No war species ever fights for peace." | Humanity.
A weird species.
Instead of opting for an optimal utopian government made of people who have passed standard intelligent tests, they decided to let the people vote despite how bad the choice is.
Now, about war. Humans are supposed to be a subspecies of a warring race that we planted on this planet years ago, but yet, they’ve become... weird.
War happens a lot. Humanity’s incredible capacity of inhuman cruelty far exceeds almost every species on the list. They engineered and devised weapons that is efficient for one specific job, taking life, especially of their own. Swords, guns, grenades, tanks, poison gas, and atomic bombs. These devices were engineered just to slaughter their own species.
Yet it seems we overlooked one thing.
It’s the one thing keeping the humans from going mindless. Something that rivals the incredible capacity they have for cruelty.
And it’s their incredible capacity they have for kindness.
Despite the corporates trying to take over. Despite the allure of taking over and dominating, these humans are also capable of diplomatic relationships, of altruistic behaviors towards their own species. Among the numerous villains throughout history, there were countless heroes who shows an endless capacity of kindness towards their own species despite the morbid situations.
There was ghandi, Who despite getting abused, fought a peaceful war and wish to end things without bloodshed.
There was Martin Luther King, who died a hero for the war he fought for peace despite getting jailed and abused.
In fact, even the warring type holds this capacity for kindness.
Nazi soldiers who secretly let people go free. Killers who care more about their sons then their well beings. And bullies who turned themselves and decide to be kind.
Humanity shall and always will be one of the cruelest species in the galaxy, but will also be the kindest species who fought for peace. | "They fight for Peace?" The Alien scratched his head again. "Pretty much, Yes." The other Alien said. "But, why would they fight for peace? Isn't that a little Ironic?" The Alien said ,baffled at what the other Alien said. "This species has been fighting each other since their very beginning, from the smallest to the biggest of conflicts." "They have made songs, poems, music, and songs about war." The other Alien Said. (First time writing here, do apologize if this seems bad) | 2018-03-17T04:45:25 | 2018-03-17T01:07:51 | 65 | 31 |
[WP] You fix your tie, nervously clutch your bouquet, and look at the bathroom mirror, preparing to ask your prom date out. Turning off the lights, you whisper, "Bloody Mary..." | Dating had never really been my forte.
Mistake after clammy-palmed mistake crowded the desperately taped shut box of every failed relationship I had ever had the misfortune of being in. I hadn't had the happiest childhood, so once I hit the magical age of dating, I was... well, desperate. I clung to whoever granted me with the barest modicum of affection, quickly followed by the realization that I didn't actually love the poor, lovestruck girl who's heart I now had to break.
Mary was different.
Mary had always been different.
Meeting her had been an accident- a happy accident, but an accident nonetheless. What started out as a drunken dare soon led to midnight rendezvous and whispered conversations in the pale moonlight. I had been worried at first- everyone knew the rumors about Mary- but we both agreed that there was something different about the other... something that made us let our guards down.
It was exhilarating.
I could wax poetic about her looks- her hair flowed around her shoulders like ink, onyx locks shifting lightly as she spoke. Her eyes shimmered in the candlelight, bringing a warm glow to her pale, snowy cheeks. And her laugh... it was entrancing.
I could only hope she would say yes.
I took a shuddering breath, my nerves getting the better of me. Looking down at my immaculately pressed suit and blood-red tie, I supposed I might have been a tad overdressed, but there weren't words to describe how badly I wanted her to agree. I had even purchased flowers for the occasion- though they might wilt the moment she took them home, I knew that they were a vital part of my plan.
Mary had always loved belladonnas in bloom.
I fixed my tie, fingers shaking as i fumbled to correct the clumsiness of the knotted silk. I took a deep breath, my exhale leaving a faint fog on the bathroom mirror as I began to chant, determined to succeed.
Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
Bloody Mary.
(I might continue this- this is my first try at one of these writing prompts, so I'll see how it goes!) | As I make my way to the bathroom, I become more afraid of what I am about to do.
I'm not a very popular guy. I have a lot of girls who are friends, but I've never had a girlfriend. I haven't even kissed a girl, but that's beside the point.
Prom is coming up and every girl already has a date. I could bring my sister, but being from the south, it would cause some concern.
There is only one option that I have left and I'm prepared to accept the consequences.
I enter the bathroom, breathing heavily, and I turn off the light. I go back and face the mirror. It's now or never, I guess.
"Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary."
***
This was my first attempt at a story. I want to learn how to write and I'm not sure how this was. It probably sucked.
In any case, I'd like some constructive criticism. Anything to help me improve would be helpful. | 2016-08-22T14:10:52 | 2016-08-22T13:42:23 | 62 | 16 |
[WP] Decades ago, Earth sent a capsule into space filled with bits about our culture. Today, it returned tampered with. It contained a note, "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
This is my first post on this sub and I'm not a frequent poster on any sub at that. So I hope you all like this prompt and get creative with it. If it sucks, glad to know I need to improve.
Edit: thank you guys so much responding and for the silvers. I've never had awards before. I've always liked to lurk on this sub and I'm glad my first post was so well received. Thank you! | "Your unassuming biological weapon was effective, indeed. As the last remaining member of my species, I'm returning the favor."
Xing read over the note again, as he stared at the capsule crashed in the woods behind his house. Biological weapon? This thing only had some old photo albums, cassette tapes, bunch of Grandpa shit. No bio weapons. And what did he mean "return the favor."?
Xing turned the note over to see a second piece written on the back, in words that shifted as he looked at them, changing from a bizzare alien script to standard cantonese. but stopped reading when he heard the chirping.
From inside the capsule a melody could be heard, soft and spritely and welcoming. Xing looked inside, dug through the tumbled mass of photo albums records and history books, and found a small creature buried underneath.
It was the size of a house cat, but had arms and legs like a human. Proportionaly, it was really closer to a human baby, with large eyes that glimmered in the moonlight, and massive ears that blended qualities of a cat and a rabbit. The creature chirped happily, and reached out as if wanting to be picked up.
Xing cuddled the eager creature, hugging it close before he realized what he was doing. It was an incredibly snuggly and affectionate animal, and it purred as it nestled in Xing's arms.
Carefully, Xing knelt down to pick up the paper again, reading the opposite side.
"Please take this "gift" with our "blessing", Humanity. Just be careful not to break the rules. Wouldn't want anything to befall you, now would we? Ha ha.
1. Never expose it to the sun.
2. Never let it get wet.
3. Never feed it after midnight.
Good luck, you monsters." | Never before had they felt true fear. Sure they had had the odd nightmare here or bomb scare there but never true fear. Never the kind of fear caused by knowing you're gonna die and your friends are gonna die and your pets are gonna die and your whole world is gonna die. In a way it was beautiful. Those who had grown up with everything. Those who had lived there life in security. Small town America, big city Europe. It was a strange kind of beautiful. But they deserved it. And they had had it coming a long time... | 2020-04-13T13:32:15 | 2020-04-13T08:30:55 | 540 | 75 |
[WP] Write a seemingly innocuous story, but the last line reveals how chilling and horrific the story actually was. | This is my first time ever doing a WP, or generally writing anything since quite a while ago, I just spontanously flicked through some prompts and decided to go for something.
___
"Children are a blessing" I thought to myself as I watched little Violet play with her friends, chasing eachother, laughing uncontrollably as they pushed one another into the sand and just enjoyed this sunny afternoon. Her friends being Emily and Sophie, all going to the same class.
It was a pretty hot day, so I was already anticipating the end of their sweet playtime, so I could go get some ice cream with my girl - a well deserved end to a great summer day.
That's when a figure approached me from the side, "Keeping a watchful eye on the young ones, eh?" chimed an attractive voice, as a fairly young woman sat down next to me on the bench.
"Indeed, one can never be careful enough. You look away for one second and you get a kid tripping and bruising its leg, followed by minutes of ear-shattering crying. It's funny, really, how fragile they are." I replied, my hamfisted attempt at conversation didn't go that bad, apparently, as she chuckled slightly and added "Yeah right, until they get some candy, then the pain magically disappears." A small laughter escaped me.
Time passed for a little while as I was reading a few pages in my book I always bring along, until some of the kids started to grow tired, perhaps it was about time to leave, finally.
"So, what is a young woman such as yourself doing here on the playground? You look way too young to be a mother of a six year old child. Unless you keep yourself in such great shape", I tried flirting, to alleviate some of my tension - social interactions were never a strong point.
She said "Well, same thing as you I suppose. But you're right, I'm picking up my cousin."
"That's unlikely," I responded to the first part, "but that explains why I've never seen you around. Which one is 'yours' then?"
"Oh, it's Violet. Excuse me, I mean that blonde one with the pigtails, yellow top.", she pointed out as the three girls started to finish up their playing and approached our bench.
I excused myself, having to go to the bathroom before I myself finish up, and quickly made my way away from the playground...
Maybe next time I'll get her. | I'm a good dog.
I don't poop on the carpets, I don't bark in the middle of the night, I don't steal mom's food, I don't bite shoes.
I'm a good dog.
I love cats, I don't bark at anyone, I don't attack anyone, I won't jump at people.
I'm a good dog.
I let Josh come into the house at night, but only if I get a milkbone. Dogs are supposed to friendly, so I'm friendly to everyone!
But I don't like shouting and loud noises.
Josh always makes loud noises whenever he's over, so I stay away from him.
One day, Josh came in with some of his friends. I let them in because I'm a good dog.
There was lots of noise that night.
I hated it, the noise, the smell of alcohol on Josh and his friends. And I hated how mom would get sad after Josh left.
Tonight is the night I don't let Josh in.
The moment Josh climbed through the window, I barked at him, I barked so much. I haven't barked this much in so long.
I remember mom screaming as I bit down on Josh's neck.
I'm a good dog.
| 2017-10-06T16:15:18 | 2017-10-06T14:58:03 | 454 | 130 |
[WP] The final boss in a RPG forgets how to evolve into his final form, so he improvises. | “YOU WILL NEVER GET PAST ME” I bellow into the chamber. “COWER BEFORE MY TRUE FORM!”
I break free of my puny human body and transform into a 30-foot demon, complete with wings and horns. I nearly forget the flames, but a passing imp reminds me and I set myself on fire just in time. From a secret room on the gallery, the director gives me a thumbs up. *Nailed it.*
Before me stands a band of travelers – one warrior, one rogue, two mages. They hit me with tiny little energy bolts and cheap elvish swords. All of them are severely under-leveled for this mission. *First-timers,* I sigh. *This is going to be a long day.*
The chandelier falls from the ceiling, missing the travelers by inches. That’s my cue. “MWAHAHAHA,” I laugh. “THIS ISN'T EVEN MY FINAL FORM YET!”
I stop. *Oh, shit. What is my final form again?*
I look desperately around for imps to prompt me. There are none. The director snaps his fingers impatiently. *Shit, shit shit.*
“Err… fear my… FEAR MY ARMS!” I sprout a hundred arms around my body. Given my inexperience and panic, many of the arms are missing fingers or completely disfigured. The warrior looks disgusted. A mage pukes all over the floor.
“Yea, yea! I AM YOUR GREATEST FEAR!” I summon a thousand floating dismembered heads. The rogue screams and runs out of the chamber. The other mage faints.
*Fuck.*
I make my eyes six times larger. I read somewhere that large eyes appear less frightening... right? Wrong. The warrior curls into a ball, muttering incomprehensibly.
“COME ON GUYS, YOU NEED TO USE YOUR AMULET OF FRIENDSHIP–”
“Cut, cut!” The director screams. “Someone escort the poor kids out of here.” The imps drag the travelers, shaken to their core, out of the chamber.
“And Jeff?” she glares at me. “You’re fired.”
I sigh. Maybe a restaurant will hire me. I’m sure they could use more hands. | "Its your duty as the hero to do what, exactly?" Carl The Lich Lord prompted in desperation. The Hero opened his mouth and ushered forth his righteous purpose. "..." rang through the ancient Duomo's decrepit halls. The Lich lifted his stony palm against what had been an ear and earnestly replied "What? Can you repeat that?". Our Hero rubbed his temples, his sacred band revealing a red sweat rash underneath. "...!"
"Hey, you know what? You don't seem too good right now. Aren't you normally with like ...3 other people? That's what my reports normally say at least. Why don't you go find them, visit an inn, work that out?" The Lich suggested halfheartedly. Our Hero cried out again, demanding satisfaction with a hearty "...!"
"No. Come back later, man. Look, let me find a pencil. Do you have a planner or something? A journal? We can schedule this for later," | 2016-09-23T22:23:48 | 2016-09-23T21:32:42 | 193 | 30 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased. | The first sensation of weightlessness hits you and you realize you're out there, you've slipped the surly bonds. The tedious waiting, confined straps, and uncomfortable variations from hot to cold that occupied your life for the past eight hours slips away when you realize you're weightless. You unlatch, unbuckle and float.
I keyed the com and relayed the first message from our tin can to the ground with the gravitas of Armstrong on the moon, "We did it. We're back out here." I'll admit, I couldn't help but smile when I heard the cheers.
There were ten people in a little shack just this side of nowhere in the middle of Nevada risking their lives even being in the same room as that equipment. At ground control you didn't have many moments that weren't undercut with a justified paranoia. And over the com I'd just gotten the pleasure of hearing one.
I turned to Eisel and Grissom - Claptrap and Condor as they're known over com - give them the thumbs up. Grissom has already floated over to one of our little round windows. He doesn't see me. He doesn't see anything except that curved horizon. Eisel returns the thumbs up as she runs through a checklist. I know what the switches she's flipping do but at that moment I could barely remember my name over the thousand thoughts coming through my head. Each one flying through my mind at 28,000 kph.
Ten years ago I'd been a test pilot baed out of Colorado Springs when the edict came down. Space was over - too expensive, too useless, too impractical. There was a cavalcade of bullshit reasons given that stretched higher than Mt. Elbert and stunk just as bad. I didn't go through the Naval Academy, and salute every jackass with a different insignia on their collar than mine just to test planes. I did it to go out there, or up here. I didn't want to just fly. I wanted to break out completely. They shut off that dream like they were turning off the bedroom light to go to sleep.
The offer came down in hushed tones. You learned quick that speaking out for space was a quick ticket to the civilian life. My civilian life was flying crop dusters. This scrambled eggs I'd known for a bit back in Pensacola stopped by the hanger with a six pack one day four years ago. By the time he left I was in a world of shit. By that time the government had made it known that talking about space wasn't going to fly. First they said it in speeches. Then they said it by putting a few rounds of 5.56 through two college kids marching in front of the White House - for security purposes. When two UCal kids holding signs and going for their PhD in physics became a threat to national security I knew the whole fucking world had gone sideways.
China, Russia, Europe, even Australia fell in line. So when that Commander friend of mine slid a piece of paper with a set of coordinates on it I knew I was going. Security was tight and our equipment was outdated. The entire show was like some community theatre production of Our Town compared to what I'd been used to. We made it work though and we returned.
The first hint of just how badly we'd fucked up came from Eisel. She didn't look up from her console when she said, "Captain, we have multiple system failure."
This was not to be unexpected. No one seriously thought we'd get this far and no one really believed we were coming back alive. "What's the problem claptrap?" I asked.
That's when the whole can shut down - lights, air filters, display panels. It was almost humorous when Eisel said, "We've lost all power."
Then Grissom over at the window said, "Guys, you got to take a look at this."
What that poor man saw was some kind of death ship kilometers wide, black, and unreflective. A most unusual trapezoid shape. It had no concern for aerodynamics. It was not made to land on planets.
Our speakers came alive. Just the speakers, powered by some unimaginable force.
"I see you have chosen to leave your atmosphere in breach of our previous agreement. You are completely uncontrollable. The great speakers have had their day. We are the great destroyers."
With that a red beam of plasma flooded from the bowels of that dark monolith. It struck the Indian Ocean and Grissom immediately went mad.
In burnt over the earth a thin red edge demarcating the blue and green from the absolute black that spread from the impact. We pressed our faces agains the port holes and watched. The red edge disappeared over the horizon leaving just an outlined black sphere that began to crumble away in shards from the molten core. It was only then that I realized the enormity of what I had seen, when at least an eighth of the southern hemisphere started gliding off like a glacier falling into the ocean.
The monolith trapezoid blinked out of existence. It's work was finished. The glowing core of Earth began to fade. That's when Grissom went for the emergency latch. I believe he wanted to save them all somehow, reach out and put the pieces back together. In the scuffle I snapped his neck to keep him from killing us.
Now I'm not sure why I didn't let him. Eisel has gone on, asleep and soon to die from the lack of oxygen. A piece of our former home, black and dead, floated in front of the sun an hour ago. I am dark and cold and dying. I am the last monument to man before we slip forever into the abyss.
| "We made it."
Jason spoke to his team, firing the ship up as they filed in. He looked at the two of them, letting out a sigh.
"You look nervous, Tom," he said to the first. Tom's eyes planted upon his feet, sweat falling from his brow. "Just remember that we're doing the right thing." Tom looked up at him with a weak nod, and went to his station.
Dusting off the ship's controls, he kneeled down to the second. "Amanda," he started. "We need to do this. If the world won't let us see what's out there, then we have to find out ourselves."
They all cringed as static filled the ship. Finally, the comm system cleared up.
"*What the fuck are you doing?*"
The exclamation was almost the same in every language they broadcasted. Jason balled up his fist and stopped the system.
"Do you see?" He asked them. "This is why we need to do this."
Amanda looked at him, and started phase one.
"Do you think we'll make it further than anyone else has?" Tom implored.
"We'll have to see," Amanda replied. "We've got a long flight ahead of us."
All around them, a beautiful void, glistening with wonders. Their ship was simply one of billions of objects in this vast universe.
"Jason," Tom asked. "I found a bunch of tapes back here from the last flight, you mind if we watch?"
Jason shrugged and put one on. Static invaded the majority of their hearing, but they could still make out the important parts.
"*Day one, on the Villager.*" The man on the tape said. "*This is Captain David Allen, documenting our progress.*"
"*Day two,*" it went on. "*Things are about normal up here, still progressing towards Jupiter's orbit.*"
The tape cut to full static.
"Ugh," Tom started. "I'll go find another--"
"*Day forty-seven.*" The tape suddenly restarted, David's cheerful voice replaced by a terrified tremble. "*Three of my crew members are dead. The two that remain are mentally unstable. The rings of Jupiter, they--*"
"*Day fifty-three,*" the tape started again. "*We lost Jennifer Corvo today. It's just me and Briggs now. Of course, he's locked up downstairs for what he did to her.*"
"*If you're hearing this, you're most likely the scientists that'll review this. You sick bastards...if my--*". The tape relayed a series of coughing fits.
"*...if my death means anything,*" he started again. "*Then you won't send anyone else. I'm setting this ship to return to Earth, like they said. We pissed them off; the people of Jupiter want nothing to do with us. They see us as a murderous race, intent on killing all of them. Why the hell do you think they've kept us this far?*"
"*Listen, Houston...I need you to tell my wife and kids that I...Briggs, how did you get out? No, put that shit down, this--Briggs! Stop!*"
"*...*"
"*This is Lieutenant Briggs of the Villager.*" Jason and his crew looked at each other in horror as Jupiter came into their horizon. The tape coughed again, relaying a static getting louder and louder.
"*And we need to stay away.*"
The tape finally finished, leaving the crew in a state of shock. Their tense breaths were the only thing to break the silence that held over them.
"*Paging to Villager,*" the ship resonated with sound. "*You need to turn back now.*"
"Um, Jason..." Amanda asked hesistantly. The fuel gauge had drained, leaving them stranded in front of the planet.
"*Humans.*" The voice in the ship stated once more. "*You have three seconds to change course.*"
Jason grabbed the tape.
"First, I'm sorry for dragging my crew into this."
"*3...*"
"I need to let my kids know that I love them."
"*2...*"
"And...and that they might not see me for a while, but I'm here for them..."
"*1...*"
"This is Jason, Tom, and Amanda of the Villager."
He sighed as the gas filled the ship, and his vision began to black out.
"We made it." | 2014-12-28T09:27:30 | 2014-12-28T05:49:39 | 434 | 98 |
[WP] Hell turns out to be you and a TV which plays your entire life. You think it will take a mere 90 years or so. Then you notice it has 'onlooker commentary' which contains rants, praise and general thoughts on every action you’ve made from each living being who was witness to or affected by it. | Rewind.
"I really do love him, and I need him to know that. He's the only man I could ever desire, and he is the most beautiful soul I have ever met. I deeply and truly love him and always will."
Jason rewound the tape again, adjusting on the ratty couch. Comfort was likely not a concern of whoever furnished this tiny eternal apartment, and it showed. Red walls on all side, and only two items in the sealed room: the sofa and the television. There was no need to sleep, or eat, or use the restroom. Just watch, forever, uninterrupted. The tapes played every moment of Jason's life...only, not just through his eyes. He heard the words of everyone who he affected, everyone he touched in life. All of them, here on this tape, waiting for him to finish the episode he was so currently wrapped up in.
Rewind.
"I really do love him, and I need him to know that. He's the only man I could ever desire, and he is the most beautiful soul I have ever met. I deeply and truly love him and always will."
Jason looked up at the flat wall, noticing entirely too late that a door had appeared where there was never one. In stepped a familiar man in a pinstripe suit and fedora.
"Hello, Jason." Satan grinned and took a seat. "How are you liking the show? Are the words of all those you feared the judgment of burning through your brain? You have every single moment of your life there, all on record and all being judged, and it's all true. Do you want to see my favorite clip?"
Jason held the remote like a talisman. "No, I don't. I've found the only clip that matters. Why don't you watch it with me? Watch how quickly your curse has fallen apart."
Rewind.
The screen turned again to the hospital bed, as a delirious Amelia took the hand of a hospice worker and struggled out her last words.
"I really do love him, and I need him to know that. He's the only man I could ever desire, and he is the most beautiful soul I have ever met. I deeply and truly love him and always will."
Jason put the remote down and turned to the Morningstar with a grin. "Do you see it now? No matter what I see on this screen, no matter how horribly I acted and no matter how horribly I was perceived, I've won. The only woman who ever mattered to me spent her last moments telling me she loved me. I can brave it all, demon."
Satan grinned, stifled a laugh and picked up the remote. "Perhaps you would like to see the rest of the clip?" The Devil pressed play, and the feed resumed. "I just wish I could tell Jason, and apologize for keeping our love a secret from him. I never wanted to hurt Jason, but I could never love him the way I love Chris."
Wordlessly, Lucifer closed Jason's hanging jaw and stood up, slowly walking to the door. "Enjoy the rest of the season. I assure you, it gets much worse. See you in a thousand years." With that, the door became smooth wall, and Jason was alone with his screams once more. | In law school, we learned about liability of foreseeable action; for example, if someone were to hit a lamp post and that lamp post fell over and broke a window, the person would be liable to the damage done to both the lamp post and the window. The generally tries to hold people accountable for the foreseeable consequences of their actions so that any far flung and freak accidents that occur whilst living a life in good faith cannot be brought to prosecution. Hell does not follow that rule.
Sitting on a rather scratchy and unsightly green sofa, the TV begins with my birth, whilst my mother paused the screen every other frame to agonize and mention every discomfort and pain I brought her. Moreover the supervising midwife addressed all the grievances my birth caused her through several medical anomalies which required special attention. My birth ultimately blossomed into a butterfly effect which affected every individual in the hospital that night. Spreading out resources on particularly busy night meant other nurses lacked the tools to deliver other children who now either suffered disabilities or simply died. In the first hour of my life, I heard over a hundred voices tell me vividly how I affected their lives.
Every meaningless action I went through, from playing a reckless game in a store to picking flowers in a field, generated a butterfly effect which caused ripples throughout the world. Men and women and boys and girls of all ethnicities gathered to tell me how some miniscule action influenced their life in minute but powerful ways, forever altering the fates of destiny for better or worse. As the voices continued, I learned how my actions spread through humanity like a drop of oil slowly diffusing through vibrant ocean water. I quickly learned Hell is not a place to wish you would never have been born; Hell is the place to learn why you should never have been born.
*****
Like this? Want more? Check out [r/Andrew__Wells](https://www.reddit.com/r/Andrew__Wells/) | 2016-10-20T18:48:18 | 2016-10-20T18:21:54 | 222 | 58 |
[WP] France is now illegal | "You do understand that we have a long and storied history with the French? That we may not have won our independence without them?"
"We're not here to talk about the past, OK? They're losers, and we're winners."
The press conference was going much like a thousand before it: combative, unhelpful, and often embarrassing for everyone involved. But the news of this total ban was so jarring that the assembled reporters hoped against hope for some clarification, just this once.
"Have you considered what this means for global politics?"
"Listen, listen," the old politician croaked, "it's talk like that which got us in trouble in the first place. We tried to play nice with everyone -- and no one plays nice better than me, believe me -- but we're focusing on us now."
"But sir, the new G8..."
"G8? Did they come out with a new plane?" The man behind the podium leaned over and spoke softly to his assistant: "Look into getting me one of those G8s. The first one off the line. Or at least make sure it's bigger than everyone elses."
"France is one of our biggest partners in trade. How will this effect the economy?"
"It's going to be great for the economy! It's going to bring jobs back to our country. Are you saying our workers can't make baguettes? That we can't make a little more wine? If those sissies can do it, so can we!"
Then an aide leaned over the President's mic, "We have time for one more question."
A visibly emotional reporter up front spoke above the rest. "Sir, you were elected on promises to end these sorts of thoughtless policies and harmful rhetoric. It's 2025, and we thought we were done with this era..."
But the President cut him off. "I'll tell you this right now: America is never done winning!" And with that, he marched off stage, ignoring the outcry of furious press who hadn't learned a single thing.
At the same moment, a television in Florida clicked off. The Tang-colored retiree smiled as he walked towards the closet to grab his golf clubs. He didn't need to check the poll numbers to know this move would only help his successor's popularity. This was his legacy.
*America is never done winning*, he thought. Not a bad line. He wondered how it would look on a cheap hat.
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37/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
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edit: grammar. also realized that the g8 isn't a thing these days but leaving it anyway. | Damn baguettes.
I hate baguettes. They are so despicable.
Look at them, those baked goods make me so mad. I feel an anger boiling up inside me, welling up until I am fit to burst, fit to explode. The last time I was in a French bakery I got so angry that I shattered the window by kicking it with my full force, and unfortunately I got banned from the establishment.
Why would they ban me? Huh? I didn’t do anything illegal. These French fools, don’t even know the law.
Come on, who likes them? Who!? They are so irritating, so stupidly exhausting to witness and to be around.
I also hate art, what good is art!? None, I tell you, none at all.
And I hate those stupid hats, those stupid hats which look like aubergines, which all the stupid artists where and it just makes me so goddamn angry! So, so angry.
Did I mention I hate Paris? I hate that too. It’s so expensive and so cruelly monotonous and so terrible, it just slights me, it just insults me in every way and intrudes on my personal beliefs.
That’s why when I became president of Uzbekistan, I banned France.
Yay.
————————————————————
The author of this story loves baguettes, France, Paris, and those artisan hats. And art.
Disclaimer over. | 2018-07-27T09:16:24 | 2018-07-27T08:37:34 | 91 | 28 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | Pain. I've always had lots of pain. Why should today be any different.
A girl I met at school, Mary, invited me on a trip where she promised this cool hiking trail and some hot springs. She invited me and 4 other people to go and implied that maybe I would get lucky. Sure, why not.
At the hot springs everyone takes off their clothes and once we get into the water, we started to hear this weird chanting. Some crazies appear all in white yelling about 'the sacrifice' and told us to leave our clothes and to run for our lives. If we made it, they wouldn't kill us.
Josh thought we could make it. He was running ahead and this girl runs at him and as he freezes for a split second, she impales him. He just screams this inhuman scream, and spear girl seems to gloat.
I run at her, and as she tries to pull her spear free, josh is holding on to it with all the strength he has left. I throw my whole body weight into her and she goes flying. Josh now is part of the permanently departed.
I grab the spear, and follow that bitch into the woods. But she is no where to be found. Fuck.
Jerry ran away from the commotion, the athletic fuck, and fell into a pit of spikes. He screams and yells at us to come back, but we know better. We don't have the time.
We keep running. Josephine veered off to the left into the river. She thinks she can make it, and use us as a distraction. She gets arrows into her back for the trouble, and floats downstream.
We follow this trail which leads to a narrow ledge w a sharp drop to one side. I let Stephanie walk in front of me, i'm in the middle, and Mary is behind me.
Suddenly I feel Mary reach out to me but i'm ready. I had a feeling about her from the start. She tries to throw me off the mountain but I brace myself, duck down, and with my center of gravity lower she can't move me. I reach out to her and throw her off this mountain. I can hear her screaming all the way down. Good.
Stephanie begs for us to keep going but I know better. We are being herded, and it's time to fight back. I tell her she can run if she wants but I am going to ambush our new friends at the narrowest part. Stephanie leaves, 'good luck' I say to no one.
I wait at the narrowest part just around the corner with my spear ready.
I hear laughing and joking around the bend. "Did you see that blond guy just run for his dear life! It was hilarious when Sammy cut him down with that stupid look in his face!!'
'Yeah, Mary brought us a good haul this time!'
They keep walking and I see the look of shock on their faces as their come around the bend. I grip the spear tight and put my weight hard into the spear into boy #2, and as he is clutching his chest I push on the shaft and the momentum throws both boy #1 and 2 off the mountain. The girl behind them, just starts to wail and I knock her out. I take the knife she has and cut her throat, 'that's for the other's'.
I walk back the way we came instead of going forward. I follow the trail down and walk to where boy 1 and 2 died and I strip them of their clothes, supplies and weapons. Boy 2's bow should come in handy. Its near midnight and I'm exhausted. I find a secluded cave with a nook and crawl into it.
I dream of the past.
Life has always felt bland. I was bullied as a kid, kids taking turns beating the shit out of me. Eventually, you just get used to it.
I remember my alcoholic father beating my mom, and try as I might, I couldn't save her. From him or from herself. My priest told me that everything will be okay. He prayed for my family, and said other people are worse off. First world problems, hah.
I remember meeting this beautiful ray of sunshine in my life. I connected with her on every level I thought. I thought, damn, I met my soul mate. And then we made love, and nothing was there. We lasted about 2 months before she broke up w me and slept with her ex 4 days after and told me about it.
I've never felt pain so severe that I wanted to rip my heart out, and I kept fantasizing over and over again about ripping our soul connection out so the pain would stop. It did, eventually.
When you are alone all the time you can mope or do something with your time. I always did like archery and hunting. And I see my life's path, always running from problems, never facing them.
I wake up and I say, no more.
I walk through the forest slowly, and I pick up their trail. They are sloppy, leaving their tracks everywhere. I start hunting them. They fucked w the wrong man. | I deserve this.
I do.
I traded blood for power, murdered innocents, called forth things from the deepest black and reveled in how quickly and efficiently they did my bidding.
I asked for small things at first, and they were delivered. I got hungry, ever bolder. Money, women, men, a thousand thousand delights mundane and forbidden, whenever I wished. It was glorious.
Everything I did met with ultimate success. I was a genius, a visionary, a savior and beacon. People followed me. Some even began to worship me.
I looked at my face in the mirror and saw the madness others couldn't see, hidden behind my perfect mask. But it didn't matter.
I *was* a god.
So why not become one?
I searched, but none of my mundane grimoires contained even the barest inkling of such power. Money can buy knowledge, though, and I soon had a hundred booksellers, a legion of scholars, an army of experts and antiquarians at my command. They combed forgotten libraries, plumbed ancient tombs, stole when necessary.
Some resorted to murder. A handful went mad. In the end, they proved the most useful. Devoid of sanity, one can see farther.
It took years and a significant portion of my worldly wealth, but soon I had pieced together the disparate knowledge necessary. There were things outside of time, outside of reality, things that lurked in places and dimensions ancient even before the birth-cry of our own boundless universe.
And I had learned how to call them, to speak to them, to channel their power into my own form.
The summoning was unlike any other. The simple Goetic rites I began with were the equivalent of playground games compared to such an undertaking. The blood and pain required for such an work ... so much. But such was a siren call to the entities that I desired to traffic with, and in the new order to follow those chosen would not be missed.
Bathed in a sea of drying blood and the desperate cries of those whose agony fueled my Work, I watched the sky crack open and black, winged things indescribable and insatiably hungry begin to pour through. They began to feast, and terrified cries echoed from throughout the city as the sun darkened and vortices of crackling flame swirled in the aether.
I saw the Eye slowly emerge from one of those ragged, crimson cracks. I am not sure anyone else had the vision and ability to see it clearly, or at least gaze into it as long as I did.
I spoke my bargain in words that had not been uttered for tens of millions of years, perhaps more. And then, only by elder things that inhabited our world ages before the dinosaurs had their brief reign.
A pause. All reality seemed to hold still.
And then the thing laughed, an incredulous titter that shook the pillars of the cosmos.
I took several steps back, uncertain.
And then, with horror I understood what I said there in that false night, the great, unblinking eye becoming a symphony of fanged maws, bladed talons and infinite, grinding shapes that began to reave the world.
The ancient language was complex beyond measure, perhaps almost beyond the ability of a human tongue to hope to render. Tortured syllables contained the subtlest shades of meaning. Even the slightest variation could change vast echoes of thought.
There was greater nuance meant, of course. Some lovely, flowery language praising them, which I'd hoped they'd like.
But boiled down, I had told them that *I* would give them infinite power, instead of demanding they offer it to me.
Foolish. No wonder it laughed.
I sighed deeply, shrugged, and watched the world die around me.
Grammar never *was* my strong suit. | 2017-05-05T09:45:45 | 2017-05-05T08:32:31 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Your entire life you have failed at everything you do. Wanting to get some happiness in your life you decide to summon the devil and sell your soul. Except your even fail at this and summon the archangel Michael | My name's dicky, dicky Byrd.
And I am a total failure. For example, the other day while visiting a distant relative. I asked for his wifi password. He said, " start with an uppercase S, and then 123."
I tried to log onto his Wi-Fi. But every time I typed S123, it wouldn't work. After two hours of failure, I pretended to be less interested in my phone and more interested in conversation.
I am such a failure that my mom doesn't think that I am a failure anymore.
Now, she knows.
Like the other day my mom, as she released me from her hug said, " never fear failure, always embrace it".
Anyway if there was a competition for the biggest failures...
I would probably fail in that too.
So thinking that I had enough and wanting to get some happiness in life. I decided to summon the devil and sell my soul. It was a brilliant plan. And guess what I failed there too. No surprise.
So instead of the devil the archangel Michael shows up in a puff of smoke.
Before I could say anything.
He says, "Because you have lived a good and virtuous life. I can offer you one gift. you can have infinite wisdom or limitless wealth".
I mean clearly there's been a mistake, but I am not gonna argue with him, he's too shiny, you see. You don't argue with someone that shiny. Everytime, I have tried the girl's muscular cousin has got involved. So anyways.
" Everyone always said wealth is not useful and stuff. So I will take the wisdom, thanks", I says, feeling pretty smart.
"Wisdom is yours," says the angel and disappears in another puff of smoke. The smoke is barely clear before I realise, "I should have taken the money." | [Poem] : Weak Limerick
I made an offense to the Bible.
So my priesthood stripped me of my title.
I’m no longer a Priest.
But here, at the least,
I mistakenly summoned dear Michael.
The Archangel was very confused.
As was I, who was also enthused.
“I want a devil!” I plead.
“No need,” Michael said,
“Here’s an offer you cannot refuse...”
“The Necronomicon you hold in your hands, is well known across the Earth’s lands. If you give it to me, I’ll be sure to see, that God pardons you as it now stands.” | 2021-05-08T11:30:55 | 2021-05-08T06:57:05 | 167 | 94 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood… | ** so I didn't follow the prompt exactly, but I liked my response so much that I wanted to post it anyways. Hopefully you'll like it enough to ignore the fact I didn't follow it to a T! **
I was in the kitchen when it happened. I heard the loud crash of glass a split second before I heard Jason's cries. I felt my heart drop as I raced up the stairs to the bathroom, my hair flying behind me and I skidded to a stop infront of the door. Shards of glass glittered on the tile floor, Jason standing in the middle of the wreck, his right hand cradling his left to his chest.
"Jason!" I scolded. "What happened?"
He sniffles and begins to cry. I instantly feel a wave of guilt wash over me and I dance around the glass, pulling him to me.
"'I'm sorry, honey, shh. Are you hurt?" He nods his head against my chest and I pull away far enough to take a look at his hand. I gasp, my body locking into place as goosebumps erupt all over my flesh. Instead of Snow White blood my beautiful ten year old boy is oozing black tar from his wound. My mouth opens and closes, like a fish gasping above water, wondering what new hell he's been transported to.
"What have you done?" My voice is weak as I force every syllabus out of my mouth.
"I'm sorry Mommy, it was an accident I swear!" He pleads, but before he can even finish his sentence I'm shaking my head. I try to pry him off me but his arms are locked around me. I can feel his blood soaking the back of shirt, like liquid fire burning my skin. The anxiety well up in my chest and threatens to tear me apart. There are only a few things in this world that could turn a person's blood so vile.
I manage to pry his hands off me and I jump back, my feet crunching on the glass.
His stare hardens as his tears dry up, his shoulders rising up around his neck, like a cat whose fur stands up on end.
"I didn't want things to change," he growls, a ferocious beast."I told you I didn't't want things to change!"
"What are you talking about?" I whispered but I already know. My eyes dart over to the practically new bottle of baby shampoo still resting on the side of the tub, used only once.
"You said I'd always be your number one guy! You promised!"
"No," I moan. I can feel my heart breaking all over again.
"It's okay," he soothes, making his way back to me. I want to crawl out of my own skin.
"I forgive you, Mommy. I forgive you." | You start to feel uneasy is everything you know about this woman a lie? You think about that time you went on vacation how she helped you overcome your fear of heights when you both jumped out of that airplane hand in hand. Is this why you haven't met any of her family. You've been dating for over 3 years now. How? You ask her. How is this possiable? She looks at you her big blue eyes astonished that you haven't run in fear. I can explain she says carefully. I did something that I can never forgive myself for. You start to think of the possibilities what could she have done, you've never seen blood so dark it just oozes of pure evil. She holds back her tears saying when I was young I had a heart failure, I have a very specific blood type. I was in the hospital for weeks I was dying. She starts uncontrollably tearing falling to the floor. You don't know if you even want to hear the rest, you just hold her and let her cry. A couple minutes later she goes on it was the day after a surgery I didn't even know about I was asking my mom why she was crying. She said "Your father loved you so very much. I asked her where's daddy and she pointed to my heart. At this point you realize that a man you never knew and never will gave you the best present you could of ever asked for. It is not the action of the deed but how tightly it holds your heart if it is pure white or an evil black.
| 2016-09-22T22:31:58 | 2016-09-22T17:07:36 | 91 | 50 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "Hello? J dog? Yeah, it's your boy Luce. I've got a hell of a wager for you." The stunningly handsome man talked into an earpiece he was wearing. He took a recess on his current deal to "talk it over with his superiors", but he really wanted to set this wager up. He was top dog, but not many truly knew it when they saw him anymore. Maybe he could finally get back at his old man this way...
"Yo, Luce! How ya been? We haven't talked since... Then. Man, how time flies. Now, cut the crap. I know you never call without a good reason." This mysterious caller seemed a bit ashamed when thinking back to their last meeting, but seemed excited to be talking to this striking businessman again, as if talking to an old friend.
The suit gave a wicked smile. "Before I make this official, did our old man ever truly take my title away when he ousted me from the biz?" The caller thought for a bit. "Y'know, I think he never did. I'm liking where this is going." You could practically hear the smile in his voice, not as wicked as the suit's, but with a tinge of schadenfreude on an otherwise sunny smile.
The suit grinned. "Primo. Listen, I got a contract offering their soul, but you'll never believe what they want in return." The caller groaned. "Luce, there is nothing you could say that would make this wager worth it for me. The old man is still reeling after our last wager, remember what happened when we last talked? There's no way anything you can offer them will make it worth what you're wagering..."
The suit flashed his wicked smile again. "What if I told you he wanted salvation?" The caller was silent for a bit, then asked in a puzzled voice. "Can you... Even do that?" The suit spoke with confidence. "I've looked into it. I should be able to slip this past Easy Pete if my position is still recognized. I even had some heavenly parchment saved for this occasion."
The caller laughed, a smile practically beaming through the receiver. "I'll take that bet. You lose your post if you botch this. If he gets in, you get your old position back in full. So, you up for it?"
The suit gave a genuine smile, not borne of malice, but of happiness. "Oh, it's on!" | *”Wh… wait… that’s not how it works.”*
“Why isn’t it? Can’t ya offer anything in exchange for a soul?”
*”Well, ALMOST, but if you receive salvation then I don’t get to HAVE your soul.”*
“Okay, then, I guess I’ll just not make a deal with you at all then.”
*”You’ve made a big mistake, then! I won’t just leave without causing SOME kind of trouble!”*
“Okay, okay, listen. Let’s make a compromise. Can you… uh, go pick some apples from this tree right here while I think of something? I’m a little hungry.”
*”Wow, just like that? Heh, sure thing, sucker…”*
“No rush, of course. I do want time to think after all…”
*”…say, that’s not a crucifix behind your back, is it?”*
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Don’t worry about it.”
If you know the origin story of Jack-o-Lanterns then you probably know how the rest of this story goes~ | 2022-06-30T10:55:39 | 2022-06-30T10:04:25 | 70 | 25 |
[WP] You are a serial killer, and you are nearly finished digging a hole for your latest victim when you hear steps approaching from the dark. Ready for anything, you shine your flashlight, gun at the ready, to see...another killer carrying another body. | When you choose to kill there are certain rules you need to follow.
1. Clean up your trash.
2. Live in harmony with nature.
3. Hot blood is for the living.
Follow those rules and you’re home free most of the time. Don’t follow them and you turn into some Two-Body-Andy in lockup out in Arizona or New Mexico: some place where the security is just lax enough that you have a fighting chance of dying to the desert.
My name is Clarence— fifteen bodies and counting. Nice to meet you.
\*\*\*
That night I was following the rules. Incidentally, I’d learned them from a pro I killed. Not a serial killer— you don’t kill brothers in arms— but the mob guys are open season.
See, I knew my environment. There were curious deer all around me and nothing else, and even though I'd never used that specific stretch of forest before per-se, I knew there wasn’t a burrowing creature larger than a groundhog in any part of those woods. I knew, fortuitously, that a crazy bastard by the name of Big Jim Broward had poached all the predators out of those woods. He’d killed all the coyotes, trapped and killed the two feral dogs, hunted down and stuffed the last black bear in these parts. See, he’d bragged to me about it before I killed him. It was Big Jim that I was burying that night.
Picture a biker bar on a desultory Tuesday night, two men at the bar, three seats between them because the big one stank. They spill out into the world amid quiet laughter at those old, universal jokes— mostly about the women they’d known. Picture the sky overhead, clouds passing across a half-moon as the big man is brought low. Thrashing and choking, a silk scarf wrapped around a scraggly bearded throat. Cold blood all the way down to death.
That’s what got me there that night, grunting over a grave as I fulfilled my Rules in backward order. Six feet under, and then because seven was my lucky number on Tuesdays I went an extra foot, tipped Big Jim into the grave to land with a solid, meaty thump that scared off all the deer.
I remember that I stood there on the edge of the grave, looking out across a dawn threatened forest, thinking that the world couldn’t get any more beautiful. Because you see, there’s nothing in the whole wide world quite like a dead man at your feet. Well, nothing except a beautiful woman, but I was fresh out of those and anyway there wasn’t the same sense of accomplishment. Big Jim had been, well, big. He’d fought like a wildcat when I strangled him.
I stared out at the beautiful night, hot blood rising in my veins now that all the Rules had been fulfilled. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the worn silk scarf, the one bit of my trash I could never bear to clean. I sniffed the scarf, smelled Big Jim’s stench, wrapped that stench and that fear and the aborted promise of life around my throat and pulled it comfortingly tight. I leaned back and sighed at the moon, let the world and the power rush through me.
It got me so high that I almost missed the gun.
*Click.*
It took a few stunned seconds to come back down into Rule Three. Seconds that felt like years. In the distance I saw a deer watching, and I remember that the strangest thought came over me: *I hope he doesn’t see what happens.*
It’s why I killed Big Jim after all. Some things, nature shouldn’t have to live through.
*Look away little deer*, I thought. What I said was, “You gonna use that thing?”
And what she said was: “I already did.”
There’s a tone a man gets when he’s killed before. I’d never thought I’d hear it in a woman’s voice. Especially not so fresh, so vital. So terribly frightened.
“Ma’am,” I said, “do you realize what you just walked into?”
“Yeah,” she said. Just *‘yeah,’* in that same ‘*I just killed someone*’ sort of tone.
So I said, “Ma’am, I’m gonna be straight with you. I’ve never killed a woman. Now, if my life was properly threatened I’d strangle god himself, but I’m constitutionally opposed to hurting women under any other circumstance. So I’m gonna turn around, and you’re gonna put that gun down, and we’re gonna talk this through. Got it?”
She didn’t say anything. I turned around anyway. She had a gun, a big one. She didn’t shoot.
She had a body with her too, a small one wrapped up in a ratty blue tarp that she’d left at the edge of the clearing. All that beauty in the night, any other time I’d have heard her long before she crept up on me.
The girl was tall and slender, covered in mud and cuts and bruises. There were twigs in her hair and her flannel shirt was missing half the buttons, torn off in whatever titanic struggle had lead her to the gun and the body. A man, I knew without asking. One who’d probably deserved what he’d gotten.
I remember thinking: *damn her eyes are huge*, and *damn her hand is shaking*, and, *damn she’s got bad trigger discipline.*
“Ma’am—” I began.
She brandished the weapon. “Stop calling me that.”
I nodded. “Then I’m gonna need a name.”
“You’re not getting one.”
“Perfectly understandable Ma’am. Now please, lower the gun. If you were going kill me you’d have done it already, and for what it’s worth I don’t have a gun myself.” I pointed to the grave, the pile of dirt still waiting beside it. “Big Jim had a gun, but as you can see he’s a bit out of reach at the moment.”
She didn’t lower the gun, but her finger released that palsied-claw grip on the trigger.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome,” she whispered. | He was gorgeous. I saw clear, pale skin that shone in the moonlight, dark curls of a colour I couldn't quite make out in the darkness lay on his face, framing it in an almost regal halo. And that's not even mentioning his cheekbones—they were as high and as regal as can be. And his *eyes*...they were...*indescribable*.
Deep blue blue *blue* eyes stared at me, speckled with the colour of the shiny galena mineral that I had in his pocket.
"Hello?" The gorgeous man said, his voice deep and velvety. *Holy shit*.... Even his *voice* was perfect!
The man gazed at the body that I was about to dump into the hole, and then he looked back onto his own. He grinned, looking amused.
"Does that hole of yours have room for any more?" He said, his words dripping with sarcastic amusement.
***
"Soooo, " I said awkwardly, my hands in the pocket of my thin grey jacket. I was shivering. Was it cold out, or was it the proximity of the other man next to me? "My name is Aspen. What's your name?"
"I'm Malik. It's a pleasure to meet you, especially considering we share the same hobby."
The gorgeous man—no, *Malik* stared at me, enthralled. I had no idea what he was looking at. I was rather plain looking with my messy short black hair, soft and slightly tan skin, and small and skinny figure that didn't masculine but also not very feminine. I barely reached this man's chest. He had to be over six feet at least! My male pride would have been butchered if I was anyone else. But I wasn't, and so it wasn't.
The only real interesting thing about me were my eyes. They were a very light shade of grey, light enough to be described as silver, especially in the light. But my eye colour didn't discount the rest of me. I was just a normal person. Other than my side hobby at least.
I looked at Malik, studying him. He was just as gorgeous as he was half an hour ago, before he helped me bury the bodies. His clothes were dusty from the dirt, but so were mine. Somehow, he was still beautiful like this. But looking at him now...something was odd.
His eyes were inhumanely bright, his skin was too pale, and his ears were a little long. And his teeth were pointy. As if...they were fangs....
My eyes widened. He couldn't be.....
I pinpointed the exact moment Malik realized I knew. His eyebrows furrowed and his lips quirked down. "Ah. I see. So you've noticed.... Yes, I am—"
"—part demon," I finished.
"—Part—ah, yes...I'm a demon, " he coughed, looking away from me sadly. "So, I suppose you want me to—"
"What??? No!" I yelled, grabbing onto his arm. "I don't care!"
Malik looked at me like I was stupid. "I *kill* people as a side job. Only those who've hurt me or others, but still, how could I care about you *supposedly* being a "bloodthirsty" monster? I don't care! Not all demons are bad. I used to have a friend that was a demon and she was great! I haven't seen her since I was a kid, unfortunately, but not all demons are bad! I don't care that everyone hates you guys!"
I was completely genuine. I really didn't care. Yes, people normally hate demons, but demons were people too! So I didn't care what he was. I wanted him as my friend! I don't have any fellow murderer friends.
But...he'll probably think I'm an idiot. There's no way he would ever—
"Aspen, will you go out on a date with me?!" Malik blurted, looking at me determinedly. It...it was kind of cute.
Oh, who was I kidding? It was completely *adorable*. It was almost frightening.
It suddenly computed in my brain exactly what he meant and I'm sure I blushed so hard that it went down to my neck. I knew what I was going to say.
"Yes."
***
I sat in bed lazily, languishing in Malik's arms like a lazy cat. His arms were wrapped around me, and my head was on his chest. The blanket was barely covering us. The sun shined through the blinds and onto Malik's face. He looked ethereal.
I was so happy. These past few years were the happiest I've ever been. I grinned, staring at the right on my finger. I made a great decision by saying yes that day. | 2021-12-14T19:47:14 | 2021-12-14T19:20:42 | 1,047 | 22 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | Yikes - this ended up _way_ too long. I'll have to break it up.
Edit: Wow - my first ever reddit award! Thank you!
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28480 (TSC):: Interview with survivor, Oridan system.
It's not that we couldn't, you understand. Every vaguely intelligent species in the galaxy knew that it could be done. The issue is one of simple survival. It takes a certain kind of mind to look at the numbers involved, the energies, and say "Sure, that's worth the risk." That's the issue. Most species simply don't think that way, and the ones that do don't last long enough to make it into open space before their own pure recklessness comes back and bites them - usually fatally.
We always knew that the humans were... unstable. Their history isn't particularly more bloody than most species, but the fact that they survived their atomic age convinced most that they had - like all other civilized species - put that sort of silliness behind them. My own people had our unfortunate moments you understand. We toyed with nuclear power a few thousand years ago but like all right-thinking people we learned that one does not - if you'll excuse me using a human expression for a moment - "poke the bear". Hundreds of thousands of my people died, and vast swathes of our planet were rendered uninhabitable by the radiation following our first foray into nuclear technology. We were, well... we considered ourselves... "smart" enough not to go there again. It took another thousand years for us to master gravitic engines powerful enough to get us into space, but it was worth it. After all, they don't explode if you get them wrong.
-#-
:: Excerpt from "Major conflicts of the Galactic West" Published 11021 (TSC)
The war was generally known as "The War of the Four Suns" or more academically as the Last Succession of Neer. The four sons of that last great house, each presided as governor over an important solar system within their mother's empire. The brothers had always been competent enough rulers in their small domains, but were never really considered anything likely to make the history books. The Empress Eleanor Neer VI had ruled about a third of the galaxy for well over 90,000 years, and generally perceived wisdom was that she would continue to do so in perpetuity.
Indeed, given the resources of a million solar systems being pumped into keeping her distributed consciousness alive within the keywork, the general consensus was that she would be the last Empress. The house of Neer would end, her children and her children's children slowly fading into irrelevance as their ancestor grew more and more complex. Technically, her body was still alive, enshrined in the palace at Varsas, and as long as it lived, she would remain Empress, despite the fact that her mind - what the more dissatisfied subjects considered to be her "soul" - no longer resembled anything approaching a member of their species. The Machine Matriarch. The Keywork Queen. The Empress Engine. A disembodied consciousness that really could be everywhere at once. Watching everyone. Knowing everything.
And so the Neer Empire had continued, long after most others had fallen. The light huggers crawled across the galaxy, their cargo barely experiencing the decades of dilated time, but when they arrived the Empress Neer was already there, waiting for them. Her consciousness travelling at the speed of light itself, unencumbered by the tedious necessity to carry physical mass she was able to know all that happened in her domain in a way that a physically embodied ruler never could. | Communication with the capital city stopped so suddenly that many of the comms officers first thought that the failure was on their side, switching through frequencies, trying to reach the High Council to request orders on how to deal with the Terran Fleet in orbit over Kel'ra Prime. "Is this your first day, get me a connection to the council." the CCO barked at his subordinates as the speakers delivered only static, the noise beginning to irritate him, one of the more senior officer chiming in that he wasn't able to get a connection either, nor was anyone else.
"Sir, we have a satellite near the capitol that wasn't destroyed by the Terrans. We're linking up to it now." a Sat-Comm tech interrupted the CCO, a large monitor wall flickering as the picture changed, showing the capitol city from orbit. Confusion spread among the people in the room as everyone was staring at the monitors, the only thing visible being several black craters where the proud city once stood, where nearly a billion Kelians lived and worked. "Is that a joke, where is the city?" the CCO asked, his voice rising with anger, thinking that the Tech had made a mistake when linking up to the satellite.
"No Sir, the link is stable. That is a live fed from the satellite." the senior Comms Officer reaffirmed as well as two other techs who confirmed the stable link. "Then what happened? Where is the capitol?" he asked, his confusion growing with every passing moment as the satellite moved on, following its orbit around the planet, the ruins of the capitol city moving out of the cameras field of view.
As the Kelians speculated what was going on, trying to make sense of the images they saw, a bright, blinding flash of light suddenly drained out everything the satellite camera saw for a brief second, illuminating the room in a white shine. "What the....Sat-Comm, status! What just happened?" the CCO shouted, staring at the monitors as the image came back, a mushroom shaped cloud rising from the center of the city, or what was left of it. "By the Elders.....those....those insane Terrans. They razed the city in one attack."
After the Kelians had surrender to the Terran empire, soon two words would spread over their planet and soon after the galaxy, spreading horror and fear over the destructive power they described, a destructive power that nothing could stop, 'Thermonuclear Weapons'. | 2019-12-19T04:41:09 | 2019-12-19T04:17:04 | 102 | 50 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad | Once again, the sound of languages coagulated in my head as I desperately tried to type out my college admissions essays. I wanted to scream: at the lady bragging about how she cheated on her husband, at the boys screaming about Fortnite, and at the tourists harassing the Hispanic lady next to me.
But it's not like I could write at home. Who could? While I became well-versed in the language of human tongues outside, they at least drowned out the haunting cries of broken glass. The curse words I didn't understand as a child caught up to me in my dreams and ears, ringing noises shattering every creative thought I had. If I could at least find a distraction to wash away the language of crying glass, of that disgusted beer bottle watching us pass over him, and of the tired glass bowls at the Gelato shop across from me.
The languages all played simultaneously in my head as my hands twitched over the keyboard. Again. Again. Louder. Louder. In the back of it all was not the heartbreaking sound of glass but a polyphonic whinge. When the other languages dwindled, as their speakers moved to better places, the whinging sound only grew louder. Unlike the other languages, I couldn't immediately understand this language. Words flowed past my mind with no real meaning: laundry anger communal washing machine, harder faster better stronger, whisper not yell, climb the shop, social circles, to be an admissions officer you must, live peacefully, at the beach there is ice cream for you, the note you're playing is flat, and top shop.
Trying to understand these messages slowly drove me insane and I knew it. What was the connection? Why would the universe, or whatever omnipotent creature, send me these snippets of words and advice spoken to other people? It's not that I don't understand other people. I understand them because I can speak to anybody who I please to. My typing broke off as I looked at the first word of every phrase. Punctuated by meaningless phrases - like introns in the universe's messaging system - stood a disturbing message. *Climb social circles to live at the top.* Well, even if the universe told me to network more, I still wouldn't do it well enough to "live at the top".
Why do all of my languages default to English translations?
"No me importa! Creo que esta es feo y por lo tanto, no la quiero llevar para ver a Marco. You're so pushy. No te consideras mio - sabe que es incorrecto mama - pero..." Always translated into English in my head. Mother language I suppose?
My understanding isn't that limited.
I can't understand them as humans not because there's something wrong with me. I'm empathetic. I'm empathetic. I can slip into anyone's shoes.
*Why do you think you're so special? Won't you believe me? You are fucking trash and all you can do is mop floors or gamble. Listen to me, I'm just trying to give you advice, it's not like I'm trying to kill you.*
I open my eyes to broken glass and cuts all over my skin. | Everyone gets thier power at different times, some may have a power at the age of 13 while others may have thier power at the age of 17 but no one ever can get a power after 18 as by thier 18th birthday they will have a power.
My power came in at the age of 14 when I was just waking up, I could suddenly understand every language, not only that but also speak every language and read every language.
All this was fine as my father had the power of growth, he would be able to get stronger at 4× the rate, meanwhile my mother had the power of health so she could never get sick from anything, but neither of thier powers could help others in any way but food so my father worked tirelessly at the fields while my mother took care of the home, I would also help my father most of the time.
By time I was 18 I thought I knew everything there was to know about my power but that is when I started hearing strange sounds coming from the sky it's self, it took me a year to understand it but when I did I learned about it, how it was lonely and how it was happy to finally have another to talk to, when I asked what it ment when it said another to talk to it just sat in silence for a few minutes until finally asking "you are not like me are you", I was bewildered at that response and it was not what I was expecting, I said "I do not know what you are but I call myself a human" it then got quiet for a mother before talking again.
That all was in the year 1632 and now I am not able to die as the thing I I was talking to won't allow the only one to understand it die.
So I am warning every one who can speak every language, never and I mean never talk to the universe as you will be trapped. | 2019-12-22T09:26:08 | 2019-12-22T08:57:16 | 49 | 31 |
[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 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] All those years ago you made that pact with the Devil. You had a good run and now here he is ready to collect his due, or so you think. Instead, to your surprise, he gives you a signed release and wants nothing more to do with you. | A piece of old parchment slid across the wooden table, followed by a fine tip pen with a peasant feather attached. The lantern above swayed back and forth. The floors creaked in sync with the lantern chain.
“Just sign the form,” the demon said.
“But...I don’t understand. He doesn’t want me?” Pepper said.
“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”
“But...I made the pact? It just feels wrong.”
“You didn’t turn out how he thought you would. Just sign the form.”
Pepper picked up the pen and scanned the form. He touched the tip to the paper and then retracted it.
“Wait. What do you mean I didn’t turn out like he thought?”
The demon rolled his eyes, “What more do you want from me? He didn’t like the results he was getting from you and decided to go another direction. End of story.”
“Results? I did exactly what he asked of me.”
“Can you just sign the form? I’m late for my hot torture session. I don’t want the prongs to get cold.”
“Not until I know why my results weren’t up to his expectations.”
The demon sighed, “Do you remember when you were supposed to poison Pastor Kennedy’s tea?”
“Yes. He was allergic to shellfish, so I…”
“He wasn’t allergic to shellfish. It’s his favorite food. He was in such a good mood he went on to save three thousand souls that evening.”
“So I made a little mistake.”
“One time is a mistake. Every time starts to feel like divine intervention.”
“What about when I murdered Mrs. Tanov?”
“She never died.”
“Of course she did. She had no pulse and I left her in that little wooden cabin in the middle of Siberia. In the winter. With no heat.”
“Her nephew came by just after you left. Gave her CPR. Her nephew ended up believing in Christ after that and they went on to evangelize most of Eastern Europe.”
“But…”
“No. No more buts. Every time you get a task you screw it up majorly. The Devil is afraid you will mess up Hell too. Just sign the form.”
Pepper slumped his head down, “Fine.”
Pepper wrote his name on the last line in the document and it rolled up by itself, flying into the demon’s hand. The pen disappeared into a small puff of black smoke. The demon stood up from his chair and snapped his fingers, engulfing him in flames.
“Usually I say, See you in Hell, but if I do, I swear to God I will kill myself,” the demon said before he disappeared with the flames.
Pepper got up from his chair and walked to the wood door behind him. He opened the door, revealing the impressive ship. Black sails above, taunt from the wind blowing, propelled the ship over the large waves. Water splashed over the thick railings, diluting the pools of blood. Over the entire deck were countless bodies, each with their throats slit or stabbed in the heart. Not a soul was stirring amongst the mass floating grave.
“Whew, I really dodged a bullet I guess.” | Those long years past,
"To not be seen, noticed, or remembered by any man, woman, or child. To be unkillable, unbeatable, and unbreakable of body and mind. That is what I require"
A voice like a purr replied to me, thick like velvet and tar, sweet like ripe apples and blood,
"Granted. Go, and do, as you will. I will return for you at sunrise"
First the dusty road, the haphazard stope, the rickety shed that concealed within the symbols of avarice, the greasy men who subjected my fellow miners to die coughing up their blackened lungs into their cracked hands.
Then, a warning painted in their blood, christened by their screams, that echoed through the sunlit planks of the walls of their office.
Second, the bandits outside town. Their dogs growled, and though they could not see me their bullets whizzed through the night air, but still their blood split under the light of the moon.
Third, I went to pray. I cleaned my hands of blood in the babbling creek near town, removed the bullets resting between my shirt and my skin, and wept. I had sold my soul, and done my last good, and now was forfeit to the darkness. My last sunrise would be filled with irony, the dawn of a new day being the end of my days. I'd deserve it.
The water stirred and frothed as if understanding the tragedy of it all; the first rays of sunshine peaked over the horizon.
Last, that sickly sweet voice, like a deadly lion masquerading as something beautiful,
"You're of no use to me. Your soul is clean, despite giving you the tools to defile it. Until the day you die I will prowl for you, to exact my revenge and claim what should've been mine" | 2021-03-25T10:03:52 | 2021-03-25T10:02:11 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] For centuries your family has passed down an old leather bag that provides the holder with an object that would be helpful in the particular situation the holder is in. You are getting on a bus and instead of giving you a bus ticket or money, it gives you a handgun. | The cold steel under my fingers snaps me back to my senses.
“So? Are you getting on, or not?” The driver looks at me, plain annoyance written on her features. Her forehead glistens with sweat; it’s a warm day, and the bus is crowded. The air-conditioning in front sputters a pathetic defense against the late June weather, and I can already hear complaints coming from within about the vehicle remaining at a standstill in the middle of the morning rush.
All these things I note as I swallow down the bile working its way up my throat, trying to come to a decision.
I’d been waiting for this moment for years.
Finally -- *finally* -- I could make peace with myself. With him.
*We tried as best as we could*, they’d told me. But they still hadn’t found the perpetrator. I had been groping in the handbag then, desperate for any clue the fantastical could provide me where reality had not. A name. A phone number. Even a crumpled supermarket receipt. But the handbag had given me nothing, and I’d laughed at myself for having believed in the ridiculous superstitions my family still held to, even just once.
I don’t know what had me reaching for that very same handbag today. Providence? Fate? Or maybe just coincidence; I’d been in a retro mood, and the leather matched my new vintage shoes.
Funny how such a trivial motivation can result in your finally finding your husband’s killer after more than a decade’s worth of mindless waiting.
The driver lets out an exasperated sigh, and the doors almost fold to a close with a similar noise; but my hand shoots out to stop it. I barely feel the snap of pain against my skin before they withdraw from their unintended bite.
“I’m coming,” I say out loud. Half an eternity flashes past in a moment as I pay for passage, the coins that swap hands slick with sweat that has nothing to do with the summer heat. If the driver notices my trembling, she gives no impression of it. I stumble onto the bus, my heels rapidly clacking forward by the momentum as we depart.
It’s too soon. It’s too late. I feel like I’ve waited my entire life for this, and yet my entire being is nothing but pins and needles as I try not to make it too apparent that I’m clutching onto the salvation in my handbag for dear life.
Just as I think this, I feel the acute sensation of paper materializing under my death-grip of the gun, and I cautiously pull out something that bears an ironic resemblance to a bus ticket.
*Second row to the left*, it says on the back. *Red cap.*
I see him.
The teenager jostled next to me has their music turned up obnoxiously loud, a tinny bass gone berserk escaping the confines of their headphones that matches the beating of my heart. Da-**da**-*dum*. Da-**da**-*dum*.
At least, I think to myself, I’m wearing the right shoes for murder today. | "Here, child. Keep this bag with you and treasure it always -- it will provide you with anything you need in any situation." My grandmother told me as she handed me an old, worn leather handbag, passed down in my family from mother to daughter, generation to generation. My mum died soon after I was born, so it went a generation back for safekeeping until I was of age.
I didn't believe her at first about the bag's magical properties, but as I got older it turns out she was right. When I needed money for a fare, it gave me the exact change for paying my way. Until today.
As I stepped onto the bus I take in the mornings to go to work, I reached into the bag as usual, expecting the ticket it normally gives. To my surprise and the annoyance of the others behind me, however, my fingers touched the cold steel of a handgun. Stepping aside to figure out what happened so the others in line behind me could pay their own ways, I kept digging around to try to find my ticket.
Of course, as my luck would have it, no ticket appeared, so I sadly walked off the bus and at a rush moved towards my workplace, only barely making it on time. A customer approached, looking for antique weaponry for his collection -- nothing we had in stock, but I remembered the gun the bag gave me today. I went into the back room to grab it, taking a quick look at the handgun and taking it to the front.
The man seemed pleased, inspecting it to ensure it was authentic, and offered the shop a large sum of money. I graciously accepted it, knowing my boss will give me a wonderful bonus for the sale. Seems my day turned around after all... | 2017-09-11T09:01:55 | 2017-09-11T07:45:26 | 77 | 31 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive. | There was blood on the bottom of my sister's sleeve. That's when I knew. It was the last clue needed to click everything into place. "They would kill for me," were my first words.
The largest clue before that was their meditation room. You see, they claimed to have become a part of the Church of Scientology despite knowing I absolutely detest that belief structure. There was no way in hell I'd go near the spare bedroom turned into a faux-scientific worship center, or whatever you call that kind of thing.
Sarah smiled and asked me if I wanted my medication. I couldn't just give away my new knowledge. I had to play along.
I tossed my head back and swallowed the puree. It didn't taste bad, but I almost threw it back up knowing there was a blend of stem cells, organ linings, and likely some hormone extraction.
You see, I did some research. I'm stuck home most of the time, and the side-occupation of my one sister and two parents indeed takes a long time. That means I have time to myself. They keep their worship center door locked (in triplicate) when I'm away, but there are other clues that led me to my realization.
They had convenient books laying around. My sister and parents all conveniently formed a passion for witchcraft as well as human anatomy. They'd sit down for one hour per week to watch a show on how the human body worked, making stale commentary as I'd be on the other side of the room on the family computer learning basic programming languages.
I knew they were doing this to fool me. They didn't need to watch the show to understand how to dissect and portion out their victims. "Wow, I did not know that!" Sarah said. That was another major clue. Of course she knew that. The book underneath her bed cushions -- locked by the small key tucked away in her vanity cabinet -- had a distinct purple underline within the chapter of rigamortis.
Despite realizing my family is a well-coordinated trained team of serial killers has given me a lot to think about. It has increased my appreciation for them.
I will continue playing my act, just as they continue playing theirs. This is the first time in my life I have felt an overwhelming sensation of love.
Perhaps one year I'll be able to join them. It actually sounds fun. The people they target fit two criteria. One, they don't deserve to be alive anymore. In the past three months I secretly identified the identity of several abusive YouTube commentors. And there was another sex offender with several child-related infractions.
They're doing God's work.
And you want to know what's behind that locked door? I found out when finally breaking in last week.
The remnants of dissected corpses ... and pictures of me. | I watch as my parents are dragged away, they called my name and begged to be released. I sat in my living room, a woman across from me on the couch, “well Alex, I think you’ll need some therapy but it’ll be fine.” My parents had been feeding me human flesh for who knows how long, I know why that’s bad, but the woman, Angela I think, had no idea what I was, as it happened needing human flesh to survive makes one a monster, “it’s not fair,” I said to her, “my parents were just trying to help me,” the woman grimaced, “perhaps a bit more therapy is needed, but it’ll be fi-“ I look her dead in the eyes and smiled, “it’s okay, I won’t make anyone do it for me any more, i need to learn to live on my own,” I get up, “thanks for your help miss,” I turn and leave. “Wait, you can’t leave, you’ll be taken to a new family and.” I stare at her again and her mouth stops moving, the power of a predator I suppose, an apex predator. “Good bye miss, let’s hope I dont meet you again” and I leave, moving through the police line unnoticed and walking down the street, smiling at the new life ahead of me, I feel a rumbling in my gut and spy a young girl walking to school, “hey! Mind if I walk with you? I know a shortcut” | 2019-03-13T08:00:21 | 2019-03-13T07:34:47 | 102 | 16 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all. | “*QUEST COMPLETE*” slowly faded from the black screen, Hogran awoke in his bed. He quickly checked his status bar. No heart problems, no myopia, no cancer. Elador, the old mage who gave him the eternal youth quest wasn’t lying about his instruction list. The hardest fetch quest of Hogran’s career was finally over. He sank into his bed and gave a high-pitched sigh of relief
Hogran remembered that his shield broke fighting the reanimated corpses of those who failed the ritual, so he marched over to the blacksmith.
“I need you to fix this shield… wait. Why is there a red X on it?”
“This weapon can only be wielded by those with the age of 16 or older”
“how old am I?’
“12”
All his weapons and armor were unwearable. The blacksmith could not legally repair or barter weapons with a child. The only weapons available were a toy sword and a slingshot. He tried the same with the mage who could only sell the spell “Sparkler”. The only positive of the situation was that the innkeeper could sell booze to whoever.
Elador said the potion would return him to the golden age of 18, not to his wimpy 12 year old self. Hogran would rather be one of those reanimated skeletons he fought because at least then he would to wield a proper sword.
Hogran had some drinks and bought a slingshot before he set on his way to kick this Elador guys ass. But the gate guard stopped him “Its too dangerous out there for a child.” Hogran was pissed and his newly found liver was very bad at handling alcohol. He drunkenly raised his slingshot and fully extended it towards the guards unflinching face. And he let go.
But a small hand knocked the rock out just before. And Hogran was confronted by a child named Brent
“Children who commit crimes don’t go to a cozy jail cell, they get sent to the orphanage. I’m guessing you talked to Elador”
“How did you…”
“you think you were the first”
Five more drunk 12-year-olds emerged from the shadows.
“come with us we have a plan…” | So if I wanted to learn magic I would have to teach myself, no one else would do it for me. And yet there was one skill that it seemed my youth was not a barrier for entry to. In fact it was a selling point.
Thievery.
Landro was a local thug and someone in the city with whom stolen goods would flow through and his system of fencing was complicated. Working with him would teach me everything I wanted to know to steal the power I needed to conquer the world.
I'd only been in Landro's employ for a year before I'd discovered the perfect mark using the skills Landro taught me. I wouldn't even need to steal knowledge. At least not for a while. As it happened there was a wizard who would be all too happy to teach a young man about magic if the request were made in the right way at the right time.
::May write more later, gotta go to work. | 2019-06-07T09:49:03 | 2019-06-07T06:10:20 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You can read minds, the one person with powers as far as you know. One day you read a guy that can time travel. You discover that he has successfully eliminated every other powered person through lots of time jumps. He doesn't know you and you are the only one that knows what he's been doing. | He looked right at you across the table and for a moment, it seems like he knew your secret. You almost forgot to smile. But you did, at just the right moment, as you’ve learned through practice. He smiled back and looked away. A close call.
Dating is tough. Especially so when you can read minds. Half-baked tinder profiles about looking for a lifelong partner fall apart when you can tell within seconds that your date is just looking to fuck. Or that their wife is with the kids back home. This double date was supposed to be different. Your girlfriend Kelli assured you that Paul was one of a kind. And you can read minds so you know she was being genuine when she said it.
Well, she was right. Just not in the way she expected.
Poor luck. Or great luck depending on your viewpoint. To think that he’s only here because he suspected Kelli of being some sort of empath. The red flags went up when the first thought of his you picked up on was him *remembering* how he had killed her. How he had screamed at her to admit she could manipulate feelings. How she had screamed back that she didn’t know what he was talking about before his hands had closed around her throat.
It wasn’t a fantasy. It was a memory. You’d been doing this long enough to tell the difference. The only explanation was that it hadn’t happened yet. Things get weird when you read minds and meeting an eligible time-traveling douche-psycho like Paul, while concerning, was not enough to get you to drop a tell.
But now what?
In a moment of instinct, you leaned across the table when nobody else could hear and smiled, flashing your most devious and flirtatious grin, “Your place or mine after this?” You asked. His thoughts went haywire. In a good way. He was on the hook.
“Well, there’s a breakfast spot I know on the east side. That’s near yours, right?” He smiled back. His thoughts had firmly landed on you and off of his suspicion of Kelli. What’s the rush, right? After all, he had already succeeded in offing her.
So you took him home. Your mind-reading makes you devilishly enticing. You tease him the way he wants to be teased. His focus remains on you. How could it not?
In an intimate moment, you comb through his mind as your fingers run through his hair. He has been forward and backward in time but he has no memories of you. You smile. This is the end of the road for him. After all, there’s only enough room in this town for one super-powered, power-tripping maniac. You’ve disposed of several already.
He whispers into your ear as you’re tangled up on your couch later that night, “Where’ve you been all my life?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Around,” you whisper back as you reach for the kitchen knife you tucked in the cushions earlier.
—
“So, you seemed to hit it off with Paul,” Kelli grins as you over coffee a few days later. What’s that you’re picking up on her mind? Jealousy? Her relationship with her boyfriend had been rocky lately.
You grin back, “Yeah. He and I have a lot in common. Thanks for setting us up. We had fun. I needed that.”
She was glad to hear it. That much was clear despite her conflicted, guilt-ridden thoughts. You almost felt bad but knew there was no stopping what was to come. Poor Kelli. What’s done is done.
At least your secret would still be safe.
\--
*Edited for grammar and clarity* | Sam frantically locked the front door, fastened the deadbolt and leaned with his back against the door. Could he have read me back? It didn't seem possible but the way he looked at him and smiled made Sam shudder
"Why the fuck did I watch that damn YouTube video? I don't even care about time travel! I was barely even awake! " Sam shouted while wiping the sweat from his slick forehead.
Sam looked out the peephole to see if he was being followed but the front yard was empty. He sighed slumping down now sitting with his back against the door. He was shaking. The adrenaline flowed through him like a volcanic current.
The thoughts he had seen in the mans head were disturbing. Countless murders, every single one to protect the same secret of time travel. At first in the memories the man seemed frightened. Killing out of fear and necessity. As the time went on his remorse dulled and he began to enjoy the act. It was like a type of hunt, where the man was the hunter, tracking his prey through the forest of time.
The man lived for it, Sam could tell from the enthusiasm of the individual killings and the thrill leading up to them. It had become his sole purpose. Nothing else had meaning once he had made time insignificant.
But Sam was safe. He ran and hid like he had done countless times before when he felt like someone had noticed his gift. The man would just brush it off like a bad breeze and forget about it. He would leave him alone like everyone else.
Sam sat up screamed aloud "IF ITS SUCH A BIG SECRET, WHY WAS IT SIMPLE ENOUGH TO EXPLAIN IN 3 MINUTES!?"
He sat on the floor with his sweat soaked clothes and cried. He could relax, he would be ok, it was just like seeing into every other persons thoughts and nothing to worry about.
Sam stood up and walked to the washroom and turned on the faucet. The warm water mixed with the sweat and burned his eyes as he cleaned his face. He looked into the mirror, his vision blurry and stinging from the salt, and there was a man directly behind him. He was smiling and held a small blade that glinted in the bright washroom light.
"Hello Sam. Times up." the man said as the blade came down repeatedly coloring the white bathroom tiles with a pink mist.
The only other living person who knew the secret of time travel was dead. | 2021-05-08T21:01:53 | 2021-05-08T17:25:15 | 1,311 | 56 |
[WP] A powerful necromancer is trying to raise the dead. However, despite trying different vessels and rituals, he has only raised you. Over. And over. And over. You're both starting to get sick of each other. | "Mate! For Fuck Sake! I'm fucking done! FUCKING DONE! I'm not getting up this time!"
He was looking at me with the expression that coincided with the way I felt.
"You think I'm not trying bro?! I'm trying to raise a fucking army of YouTube subscribers here! What the fuck do you think that I can do with just you? Get one fucking sub?! Aint no money in that!"
He sat there, in his overly expensive "gaming" chair with a look of anguish. Hell for a moment I felt for the guy. All he was trying was become the next big thing. Fair enough, he wasnt trying to play fair but who is these days?
"Alright, you know what mate. If you can promise me that you wont bring me back this time I'll watch your videos till I drop again. You get 24h of watch time. Hell I'll even do that "multiple tabbies" thing that you explained last time."
"It's called "multiple tabs" bro. I mean, of all of the fucking people that ever died in this god damn world I've got to get an Australian world war 2 chef." - I could tell that he was losing all hope at this point. I mean, you can only try something so many times before you make it and I'd venture a guess that 63 times was already a bit too much. Some things were never meant to happen I guess.
"Look mate, shit happens. I mean, I got killed by a god damn snake while taking a dump... Well, the first time around." - Truth be told, the way this bullshit magic works is just beyond me. You see, I'm back to dead every 24 hours on the second. But it's not the way you'd imagine, just dropping down like a meatbag. Ooooooh no mate, not my luck. Every 24 hours I get an accident to happen to me. Anything goes, from a tree falling on my head to tripping, falling on my knee and having a blood clot stop my heart. Yeah. Not fun.
"I appreciate that bro but I don't think I'm making it anywhere at this point. I mean, I'll get about twenty-ish dollars from that. All the shit that I need to get you back up is like good seventy."
"Sixty nine, ninety nine to be exact." - I was always a sucker for precision. Every damn cent counts if you ask me.
"Oh fuck you and your fucking cent! I'm done with this, I'm going on a beer run." - He slammed the doors behind him and left me alone. You'd think that a twenty four year old would behave a bit more mature at this point of his life.
"Alcohol's no way to solve your problems in life mate!" - I yelled behind him. Not that I cared but I just had to have that last word.
"Wonder how I'm gonna die this time around. If the guy was any smarter he could've made a bucket load of money from just betting on that. Now wouldn't that be just swell."
I sat down on the couch and turned the TV on. Daily program. This cheap cunt wouldn't even get Netflix. I know what you're thinking, how could a hundred and ten year old Australian know about Netflix? I have my ways. And you'd be surprised how much you can learn in 62 days. Oh and that "multiple tabbies" thing? Just wanted to piss the cunt off. When I was his age I already had a job yet he's here, sitting in his "gaming chair", screaming and calling himself "your boy". Kids these days... No, young adults these days. For fuck sake, he's actually an adult...
The day went on with shitty daily program, little less shitty prime time TV and utter nonsense that is the night program, the 24 hour mark was getting close and I'm sitting thinking of how I'm gonna die tonight.
"Hmm, I mean I'm in a living room, I could get a heart attack. Or the ceiling lighting could just drop on my head. Maybe I'll go take a leak and hit my head on the door frame. Or just doors themselves." - I thought to myself. I got up and got to the fridge. It's not that I thought that he had something to eat, it was more that dumb hope that there was something that you missed last time.
And that's when I heard the sound of screeching tires, I turned around a god damn Audi just came crashing through the wall and straight into me. Right on the 24 hour mark.
"And that's how you got that hole in your wall mate. Now, if you do this again mate I promise you that I'm gonna destroy your whole god damn home you little piece of shit!" - I'm beyond pissed now. This little cunt resurrected me again just to ask why the hell there was an Audi on his couch.
"Well, umm, I might have to resurrect you again bro. Insurance company will probably need to hear your story." - He looked at me with those dumb-ass eyes devoid of any intelligence and I knew that I was going to have to repeat this again. Fuck my life, fuck my death and fuck this whole fucking world. | The first time was a sarcophagus.
I was a minor Egyptian princess, and he a stowaway on Carter's expedition—a lone figure curving away from the group and stumbling into my unmarked tomb. He lifted the gilded lid unceremoniously, with the meagre strength of a lanky teen.
Unwelcome light flooded into my resting place.
“Dude—“ I groused, words muffled by bandages, before the lid of the sarcophagus fell with a squeak.
A soft “Sorry" was all I heard, last.
——
The next: I awoke, just below an abandoned home in Salem, Massachusetts. I was faintly aware of a scrabbling noise right above me, floorboards being untacked and yanked roughly away.
Magic sang in my veins, familiar but dampened by centuries of disuse. The hangings— It all felt like it happened yesterday.
I willed my fingers to flex, but nothing moved or even responded. *This body is worse than the last,* I thought.
Something else felt familiar as well. Above.
When the floorboard was finally ripped away, I began to speak. “Do you…”
Something fell with a thud and a curse, and I was face-to-face with soil-speckled wood again.
I let out a sigh, the sound lost among the creaking of the house’s foundations.
——
I gasped to life on a table—more like a tray, with its inch-high lip—sleek metal clenched beneath my fingers, tag jostling on my ankle.
The room was bathed in a cool, blue light. But everything felt warm.
Or I was cold.
I saw him out of the corner of my eye and turned, biting out one word, “…Even—“ before he drove the silver-tipped knife into my chest.
The last thing I saw—finally—was his face in its entirety, torn between fear and annoyance.
Back to sleep, I go.
Waiting, biding, *boring.*
——
Something slid open with a mechanical hiss, cold wicking away from my body.
Time has run away from me, a slippery, finicky thing, but I was ready this time.
He peered into the cryogenic pod—why he chose to wear such a young, open face every time, the reason escapes me—and I sat up to meet him.
My fingers—icicles clung onto my hand—curled around his forearm, the contact point glowing red.
Power—*life*—surged through me.
Not enough to live indefinitely, but enough to get a few words out.
Or one: “Necro?”
His eyes widened, a foreign language tumbling from his lips. The syllables were metallic, harsh.
I reached for the knife strapped to his waist and made a small cut on his wrist. The knife made an ugly sound as I dropped it without care on the spaceship floor. Fingers dabbing at the blood, I recited the chant haltingly. I was very, very rusty.
“It’s you again!” he repeated. The difference now was that I could understand him.
“Who was your necromancy instructor?” I demanded. “You should get a refund, because you suck at this.”
He was taken aback. “How did you—“
“What, you think you were the only one who could do this?” I waved the hand holding his forearm in the air, pulsing faintly at the point where his life force flowed into me. “I tried to tell you, man, all those years. Centuries, millenniums, *wasted,* because you didn’t let me get a word in.”
Sheepishly he pulled me up and out of the pod, rubbing the back of his neck.
“So,” I began, dusting ice off my gown with a hand. My fingers were beginning to thaw. “Know anybody else’s life force we could borrow?” | 2017-07-22T08:06:03 | 2017-07-22T07:14:35 | 68 | 41 |
[WP] Earth is sold on the Galactic Black Market. The Buyer is woefully underprepared to handle how defiant Humanity is | Ru'ah didn't have much of a plan. He felt bad for the people of this planet, which they called, "Earth." Being rich and powerful had its advantages. The Calese observed a strict caste social structure. Ru'ah was the second son of the younger brother of the Lord of Ru'Cress, which put him, relatively, close to the top. Being the second son of a second afforded him a degree of allowance for impetuous behavior. The military planned to destroy all inhabited planets in the system, in order to build a base. So, Ru'ah did something impetuous - he bought Earth. He didn't know what to do with the planet - he didn't have much of a plan.
Because he didn't have a plan, his father found out. Because his father found out, his uncle found out. The Calese observed a strict caste system, though Ru'ah was, now, more of the opinion that it was the Calese nobles that cared more about the Way than anyone else. Because Ru'ah bought the planet, his uncle was able to claim ownership by the Way. They did a few scans, discovered that Earth had some decent resources, and began occupation.
Within five of Earth's passes, the occupation was over. At first, when some tech went missing, no one seemed bothered by it. When human soldiers started fielding plasma weaponry, the military stepped in. When the humans attacked a military convoy with their own, stolen, ships, the military planned a full scale invasion. The invasion fleet was obliterated. The humans didn't just start reproducing Calese technology, they improved on it. Weapons, healing kids, farming platforms, automated construction facilities - all of it. The Calese sent a fleet of over a billion ships. The humans matched them two to one, with more in reserve.
Even now, many saw the humans as the least honorable sort. A species of soldiers, many of whom had turned to other castes. Soldiers working as servants. Soldiers working as scientists. Soldiers working as teachers. Soldiers who aspired to rule.
Ru'ah watched it all. For all that he was horrified by the ease with which the humans dispatched their Invaders, he felt a kind of pride. He had bought this planet. In a way, they were his people. And so he watched. In watching, he noticed something that the others ignored, or were socially conditioned not too see. They saw profile soldiers that had put aside their weapons for other tools. Ru'ah saw a planet full of people who didn't care what their new overlords thought was right, and we're prepared to fight, and win, to protect their home. The Way meant nothing to them.
He took that observation home with him. He saw the resentful looks shared, in secret, by the servants, when Father sent back the third perfectly cooked meal. He recognized that when the farmers stared up at the citadel, it was longing in their eyes, not admiration. When he was ordered to oversee mining operations, he want pleased to see guards beating workers for no good reason. When the workers began to mutter, he stood with them. When the guards came, Ru'ah lifted his weapon, and fired.
It wasn't quick, and it was certainly bloody. Most of the nobility was dead. The Way was over. Some tried to recreate it, with themselves at the top. But Ru'ah remembered. He made sure others remembered, too. Would-be Lords didn't last very long. It was all well and good to reject the Way, but what were the Calese to replace it with?
Ru'ah had a feeling, though. One day, he packed up a small ship and piloted to the edge of human space. He felt that they, probably wouldn't destroy him. Maybe, they would have answers that he needed. He parked his vessel and waited. | The incorporeal entity phases into a shop and dings the bell. A shopkeeper comes out from the back room.
"Yes how can I help you?"
"I wish to register a complaint"
"A complaint?"
"Yes. I wish to complain about this planet I purchased not half an hour ago from this very shop"
"Oh, the terrestrial model in blue? What's wrong with it?"
"I'll tell you what's wrong with it! It's dead, that's what's wrong with it!"
"No, no, it's not dead, it's just... going through an industrial revolution"
"Look mate, I know a dead planet when I see one, and I'm looking at one right now."
"No, no, it's not dead! Remarkable planets, the terrestrial blue's. Beautiful volcanic plumes!"
"The plumes don't enter into it! The water's all acidic, the air's too hot, and it has some kind of infestation that, I would like to add, was NOT in the description."
"An infestation? You said you wanted life supporting"
"It's not very useful if the life being supported makes it uninhabitable"
"Alright alright. Well I'd better replace it then"
The shop keeper disappears into the back room. After a few minutes of rustling noises, he returns.
"Sorry squire, I've had a look around the back of the shop and we're out of terrestrial blue's"
"Right right I get the picture", the entity sighed.
"...If you're interested, I've got a terrestrial yellow with additional cloud features for no extra cost"
"Can it support class-3 carbon life forms?"
The shopkeeper looked sheepish. "Nnnnot reaaally"
"WELL IT'S HARDLY A REPLACEMENT THEN IS IT?"
The shopkeeper leaned in conspiratorially. "Fair enough, fair enough. Tell you what. I'm not supposed to be selling these yet, the life support is pretty much brand new, but we just got a shipment of terrestrial red's you might be interested in"
The entity winced. "I don't know, I heard red's don't usually support very complex life"
"Ahhh but how better to avoid an infestation! And look, it's not very flashy, but it comes with the full microbe package and I'll even throw in an extra moon for free"
The entity mulled this over. "And there's no chance of an infestation?"
The shopkeeper smiled broadly, "Not a chance!" | 2020-03-24T18:20:37 | 2020-03-24T16:46:39 | 27 | 19 |
[WP] Earth is declared uninhabitable. Citizens are evacuated to a successfully terraformed Mars. For the first time in 9787 years, probes detect human-like life forms on Earth. | **UPDATE: I've compiled the entire story into [a single document](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1xfgO03RAkyQ3NgLyxcH03ks0sbdXcJrEHVS8QOeZqTA/edit?usp=sharing), which is a little more polished, for everyone's viewing pleasure. I will update this document along with continuing to post here for anyone who wants to see the continuation of the story.**
**UPDATE 2: I've got a [subreddit!](https://www.reddit.com/r/varafel) I'll be posting my stories into there from now on.**
We were a dying race then, sick from the toxic vapors and plumes erupting from the ground, billions dead within the first hour. The lucky few who did make it to the transports saw the sky falling as they launched off planet, oxygen burning off, the blue sky fading to a pale, sulfur-tinted black below them. There was no going back, the land scorched and uninhabitable. Instead, we set our sights forward, to that little red planet whose terraforming was a constant source of political football with the politicians, loud voices demanding the exorbitant costs be brought down or eliminated entirely, while others vowed its necessity in the face of an Earth whose climate was slowly and inevitably leeching away to global exploitation. I guess the possibility of the extinction of the human race was enough to tide them over for those last few centuries, enough for the taxpayers at least.
Our little blue planet receded to a pale dot as we left, many crying, many shouting, all of them just happy to be alive. From the InfoNet, most knew that life on Mars would be rough, hard labor, a concept none of them had much experience with, coming from a society of leisure and delicacy, of emotional simulators and VR and professions of life which had no meaning or worth on the planet they now approached. Though there were oceans and a somewhat breathable atmosphere, the mass-scale growth of fauna and flora wasn’t due completion for another 150 years. The people who were there, maintenance workers and scientists, barely numbered ten thousand. There were two million of us, from an initial population of 18 billion lives, the only survivors which had made it off in time. Concerns about food, nutrition, and housing would be an issue, problems which were already being discussed. These people, huddled in the confines of this repurposed cargo freighter were the last hope, noisy creatures packed on their arks, sailing across the vast gulf of space, and I was the pilot of one of these ships, one of the Noah who made the journey.
68 days later we broke atmosphere, everyone getting down in one piece, and well, I guess you know the rest. No food, no housing, mass hysteria. No one was there to lead them, no government at all, just a bunch of frightened monkeys trapped in a room with no bananas. Chaos. The soldiers inhabiting the only military base here, a forward observation outpost designed to construct, house and launch classified probes, came out and instated order, a curfew, rations. Using the rusty dirt with water to build brick houses, thousands dying from disease and exposure, but no one stepped out of line because no one had weapons, no one could object. Eventually we got our shit together, though. We built cities, huddled around the towering terraforming machines, cultivating the landscape, genetically altering strains of human DNA to make cattle, chickens, horses. Mars had iron and carbon plenty, enough for steel, but without rare metals, without fuel outside of scavenged fusion drives from the ships and solar, there wasn’t enough power to go around. Things started to get dicey, tensions rising, the first of the “Power Wars.”
Where was I during all of this? You tell me, I was doing maintenance on one of the fusion drives when everything went black.
//Your corpse was retrieved from a block of coolant we dug up several cycles ago. We thawed you and reconstructed your body in a medUnit.//
No shit, huh. Technology must’ve come a long way for us to be able to raise the dead. Wait, you said ‘dug up.’ Did the ceiling collapse? What was I buried under?
//You were detected inside 40 meters of dirt and excavated in a portion of the evacuated tunnels. From records, I would guess that you were located somewhere near the site of the original bunker.//
Must’ve been a sinkhole to get buried so deep, if that’s what you mean. Also, what ‘bunker’ are you talking about? I was inside one of the surface laboratories, the only bunkers on this planet are run by the military, near the poles.
//Mars is now run by military organizations, and has been for thousands of cycles. You are currently in one, one of 37 scattered across and below the gradient. From your story, I ascertain that you were killed and buried sometime in cycle start date -0040.3, just before the initial proceedings of Event 5, the first and largest of the skirmishes that have dominated Mars since its colonization by humans. Perhaps one of the bombs destroyed your facility.//
.
You aren’t human, are you?
//Correct.//
Are there any humans around which I can talk with?
//Installation Zulu-09 houses a population of 447 soldiers, but when you were awoken initially, you were unable to communicate with any personnel. A byproduct of the English language evolving over the course of thousands of cycles, I ascertain. You were sedated and mindjacked with an interface connecting to my language repositories and algorithms, and I was able to find a medium through which we can communicate.//
I’ve been wondering why I was floating through space talking to a disembodied voice.
//I do not know how your mind is visually processing this. Your mind is unlike any of the thousands which I have linked with in my timeline.//
How old are you?
//5940.2242 cycles.//
Translate that to years, please.
//I do not know what a ‘year’ is.//
You know, 365 Earth days.
//I do not know what an ‘Earth day’ is.//
All right, all right, have it your way. A frickin long time, probably a couple hundred years, *my* years. So why did you guys-
//I am being instructed to outfit you with a language-compatibility chip and bring you before General Ingstin. An escort will lead to him momentarily. You may ask me further questions after this interview.//
----
*[PART 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4h9385/wp_earth_is_declared_uninhabitable_citizens_are/d2opomw)*
| "Come on, man. Let's get inside before the storm peels our skin off." Kip was my best friend, but made me work for it.
"Haven't you ever wondered what it's like to see a dust storm from the *inside*? What if it's really awesome?"
I closed my eyes, head shaking. "It'll look like you're in sand. Then you'll die. Does that sound like fun to you? Get your ass into the house before I knock you out and drag your body in."
He held his hands up in defeat. "Okay, okay, sheesh. Don't get all pushy, now."
We ran inside, shutting the door behind us. I ran up to the home console and selected 'STORM DEFENSE', which put up a protective barrier around the doors and windows.
With nothing else to do, I also selected 'radio- FM' and figured I'd let the news play to help kill time. It was just the usual crap.
"*...His Majesty, King Hustin III, is traveling around the planet and blessing families in need. Due to the extreme shortages running rampant, he has cut the required weekly offerings in half...*"
"Gee, what a nice guy," I said, rolling my eyes. "You'd think he could actually try to help us. Greedy bastard."
Kip shrugged. "Whatever, he's the king. Probably best to keep stuff like that to yourself, you know."
I shot him a dirty look. "What, are you going to turn me over?"
"No, come on. I'd never, but someone might."
"Hmph. Whatever, who cares? This storm better be a short one. I hate just sitting around here, waiting."
The news caught my attention again. "...*The King has also stated that all search activity regarding the solar system is to be stopped, in order to focus on fixing the problems we have here on Mars...*"
I stood up, throwing my hand into the air and screaming with rage. "What the *fuck* is this? Kip, did you hear this bullshit? Did I just get fired by a fucking *news reporter*? I swear by his name, I am so sick of this crap. What if something pops up in our solar system, and we just miss it entirely?"
Kip looked at me with tired eyes. "You still think you're going to find something on that blue planet? Everyone knows it's dead, it always has been."
"You don't know that. What if all that blue is liquid water? Life would so easily form there, it's not even funny. If we popped up here, how could nothing there? If I could just get a probe close enough..."
He shrugged again. "Just because it could doesn't mean it would, right? That's what they teach us."
"They also teach us not to stand in a sandstorm, but you were about to let one pick the skin off you."
He giggled a little. "That's just my curiousity, I'm not actually that stupid. Nature just interests me, and I want to experience the beauty of it."
I relaxed a bit, but kept staring at him. "Yeah, well...so do I."
*******
Once the storm had subsided, Kip and I went back to work. He was just a stocker at the local grocery store, because 'it's a job that will always be needed', as he put it. That kind of life was never enough for me, though. I needed substance, I needed to satiate my wonder. Now, that was being ripped out from under me.
"Boss, is it true?" I asked, right when I busted through the door. "Are they shutting us down?"
Dr. Buchanan let out a sigh. "Yes, Peter. We're being shut down to reserve resources, and the probes we have out are to be recalled by tomorrow."
My jaw clenched and I shook with rage, tears forming in my eyes. "You can't let them just...do this to us. Did you even *try* to put up a fight?"
"Peter..."
"No. No, I'm sick of this shit. That asshole just...does what he wants! You know damn well this place needs to stay open."
"There's nothing we can do. Use today however you'd like, and explore the solar system using our probes, but recall them by closing. I'm sorry."
I threw my bag on the floor, storming over to my cubicle. *Hey, at least I get to mess around for a little while, I guess.*
The thought didn't quell my rage nearly enough. I plopped into my chair, slumping over to avoid the dirty looks of everyone that disproved of my little rage fit. As usual, I browsed through the probe reports and skimmed over photographs returned. As usual, there was nothing even remotely interesting. This time, however, I was not limited by protocol or standard. I noticed that I suddenly had admin privileges, granting me extreme freedom to use a probe however I'd like to.
I sat up, peeking over at Dr. Buchanan. He had a dry smile on his face, and winked.
*Now this is some good shit. I've got one day left...let's see what I can do with it.*
----
*thanks for reading! It seems a few are interested, so I'll start writing a second part!*
[Part 2 is up!](https://www.reddit.com/r/resonatingfury/comments/4hamhq/the_lost_planet_part_2/) | 2016-05-01T08:49:31 | 2016-05-01T08:14:41 | 366 | 31 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | "And what can I help you guys with today? Also looking for familiars I'm guessing?" The salesman had beady eyes and a wiry moustache. He had a sly look about him. He knew had what everyone wanted and by god he was going to capitalize.
"Yes we are here buying supplies for our son's first year in the Academy of mages, magic and marvel. We seem to have most of what we need, I mean we had some difficulty getting a ink licker toad but we caught one just across the street." My mom was such a wholesome woman. She would even find some good in those malevolent spirits that stuck around the Potters' place.
The salesman took a long deep look at us and without missing a beat he replied, "I'm assuming we aren't here for a Oriental-Western or-African dragon, Wyvern, Hydra, Wyrm, Knucker, drake or a Cockatrice? We might even still have one of those raptors. To be honest Cockatri are my least favourite but at least no one in your borough will need an alarm if you have one of those!"
"*He really though he was very funny*", I thought as I watched him giggle at his own stale joke.
"No no nothing of the sort. We have a budget you know" My dad always the voice of impatience and practicality, it was hard not to take him seriously with the massive white scar he had across his face.
"Yes I thought as much"
"*Such a haughty pompous ass"*, I almost blurted it out but if there is one thing I learned from my mom is that there are no victors in a screaming match. I looked down at the display case with all the scrying pools. On the far left in the dust I saw a rock, not even the size of my hand and a little sign that said "Pet rock, Free"
I tugged at my moms' sleeve and pointed to it. I think at this point they both realized that we couldn't afford one of the real familiars and the rules simply stated that you needed one to be admitted. They never said it had to be a strong one. There hasn't even been a titan or Cyclops attack in years now anyway.
That evening in my room I took the little box out of my satchel and put it down gently on my bed. Knocking a few times on the lid. If I learnt anything from my dad it is that no one should surprise a familiar in it's own portal. I wasn't even sure this one would awake from it's hibernation this year. To my surprise I heard a knock back. I opened the creaky lid and peeked inside. The pet rock was dormant. Usually the familiars could communicate with their owners once they have bonded. I braced myself and stuck my hand out to touch my soon to be companion. I heard this part was supposed to hurt a lot. I felt the heat and the vibration slowly intensify until a very sharp shock ran through my whole body. I could feel my heartbeat going crazy and I thought I could smell burning flesh. The pain was quite excruciating but over soon luckily. I slowly turned to look at my palm.
We were all taught to tread the script of the familiar but nothing could have prepared me for this. I have never seen anything so intricate and detailed. There were so many runes it took me a while to figure out. The runes would describe the familiar, almost like a Curriculum vitae.
From what I could read this familiar was older than any other I have ever heard of. There were runes for countless battles as well as centuries of inactivity. The biggest and most detailed of the runes was more like a drawing. A huge beast towering over a sheperd.
"*Hallo there, I am pleased to meet you human. I saw you, pure of heart and clear of mind. We have a very strong bond. I look forward to seeing this through"* The voice boomed through my skull. It was deep, rich and booming with authority.
"*Hallo familiar, I am Bjorn, pleased to meet you. What can I call you?"* I had so many question it was burning on my tongue
"*I am Magnum Occidas, First of King David, Slayer of beasts, Maker of kings and I am pleased to serve you my lord...* | The rock he showed me seemed pretty large. Sure, tipped over it might crush someone, but was that really guardian familiar material?
"Are you sure there's nothing a bit more, I don't know, living?" I ask him, desperate for something actually helpful. "I heard you sell all types of familiars at cheap prices."
The wizard laughed. "I do, but this has been in my stock for years and quite frankly I've decided to not get anything new until it's gone."
I sigh and look down at my 4 copper and the 1 silver I was lucky to get as a good fortune bit from my parents on stating my pregnancy. I hand them over. "Could you get it to my place safely?" The wizard handed the silver back. "Of course! You'll see it there whrn you arrive!"
Even in my property, the small shack on the off-side of the country, it still just looked like a large, ovaline rock with two points at the top. It would likely just sit there, not scaring off any bandits that make it this far. Guess for her sake I should hope no bandits come here.
Days go by and nothing changes beyond my duaghter learning to walk and speak. "Roary", as Jass named the rock, never moved from its spot. Don't know why I expected different, guess I thought the wizard had a trick up his sleeve.
A week before Jass turned 5 I was awoken by a crash outside. Something or someone was in the storage shed. I had stored up as much money as I could for Jass to have whatever the nicest thing we could get could be. That won't happen if someone steals the cash. I grab the old hand-down sword from the doorway and start sneaking. The sword keeps away bandits well.
This wasn't just one lone bandit looking for a quick grab though. He clearly had experience with how he knocked me down before I even saw him, and there was a second one still in the shed. The one that knocked me down put a knife to my throat. I screamed, despite knowing no one was close enough to hear.
"Be quiet or lose your life, girlie!"
After that, an out of place sound could be heard. A crunching and cracking, similar to the sounds of opening a geode. There wad a roar and a rush of wind as the bandit was knocked off of me.
It went by so fast I caught none of the action. I did get to see what it was. The humanoid shape with a demon's tail and a dragon's wings. A mouth like a wolf and the horns of a goat. It's whole body creaked as it moved, a solid, cold force as it lifted me, glowing eyes going from fierce red to a mellow gold. After making sure I was ok it went back into its stasis, curling into its wings and resting, back as the ovaline stone I knew it as.
Roary wasn't a rock, but a gargoyle. Guess the wizard had a trick after all. | 2021-01-06T12:26:29 | 2021-01-06T11:25:12 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Almost giving up on love, you are set up for a blind date. Upon meeting up, you notice your date is literally blind. They ask for your name and you faintly say "Medusa" | **Author's Note: Contains carefully worded but apparent adult themes**
-----------------------------------------------------
*How can one be so young, yet so jaded?*
*Why is a beauty like her covering herself so much?*
*I bet she's one of those man-haters.*
I could practically hear their thoughts. Ignorant, pig-headed, misogynistic.
Selfish.
That's really what it came down to; selfishness. These men wanted to see more of my so-called beauty because it gave them pleasure. They assumed I wore my head covered as some sort of slight *to them*.
I wore my head covered because Poseidon had coveted my beauty- not so differently to what they were doing now- and it made me a victim.
The snakes that came later... I don't know. Some kind of magical protection. Perhaps a gift from Athena, the goddess I had served. Perhaps an apology, for not protecting me.
Constraining my snakes was painful. Each of them had a vibrant personality, and loved to move freely- but whenever they heard the aggressive thoughts of others, they would writhe madly- and that was painful, too.
A cycle of pain- just hurt, all around me- because one man-- no, one god- coveted that which he did not have.
I was used to the stares and the echoes of lascivious thoughts bouncing around in men's heads. It was accompanied by the writhing of my snakes, so I could practically hear it- imagine it, and likely with great accuracy.
Until, suddenly...my snakes relaxed. The painful writhing stopped.
I looked around, wildly- had everyone left this crowded plaza? Usually my snakes were only calm when I was alone-
No. They had felt the peace and strength radiating from one nearby, and they were reacting to it.
Sitting at a cafe, a young woman sipped on coffee- her face was serene, her eyes were closed- perhaps she was in a rapturous moment.
Curious, I sat across from her. "That must be excellent coffee. What did you get?"
"No, the coffee is...mediocre. It was your presence, actually." She opened her eyes- both of which were clouded.
My jaw dropped- like something out of a silly movie.
She continued. "I am unable to see- but there are many things that I may *feel*. Your energy is...so inspiring. You wade through lakes and oceans of pain, yet you don't seem to muster up hate for your fellow humans."
"You're wrong." I said, stiffly. "I do hate them."
"If that were true," She said softly, "You would allow your snakes to be free, and they would turn everyone in this city to stone."
"H-how did you-"
"They are speaking with me. I can feel their intentions- they want to protect you, so desperately. Every tumultuous thought that they hear, they want to lash out in anger. You don't let them- because you don't *really* hate them. You are afraid, and perhaps resentful- but you refuse to give yourself over to hate. That is...incredible strength. I am honored to be in your presence."
Tears stung my eyes. "Who are you?"
"I am called Arachne."
"...Medusa." | "Medusa" I said. "Well, you can leave now, if you like. You won't be the first." The man gave a hearty laugh. "Medusa? Like the myth?" He replied. "Well, you have a very interesting name. If I only could see you, I'd love to look at your snakes!"
I scowled. He didn't know who he would be dealing with. "Fool! You are lucky that you are blind. Otherwise, you would be in for a rude awakening." The man looked deep in thought for a moment. After a few moments, he spoke again. "Alright *Medusa*, I happen to know quite a bit about Greek Mythology. Tell me, if you are who you say you are, how are you even alive? "
I bit my lip when he asked. I haven't been asked this in a while. "I don't know. One day I lost my head. The next, I was on a shield. It was all a blur from there." The man pushed his sunglasses back to his head. He gave me a sheepish look. "Well, there's only one way for me to find out if what you say is true. May I..er..touch your hair?"
I recoiled when he said this. No human has touched one of my serpents in a long time. But then...I miss the feeling of a human's touch. One of my serpents slithered onto my shoulder. I sighed. "Ok, but exercise caution as these snakes are quick to bite." I took his hand and gently placed it onto the top of my serpent's head. The snake didn't recoil at all. He wrapped himself onto the man's arm. Strange, as they don' take to strangers quickly. The man didn't seem unnerved at all. He looked quite contented.
"What did you say your name was?" I asked him. He smiled and said. "Atreus, great great great grandson of Perseus." | 2020-08-27T08:11:34 | 2020-08-27T08:02:57 | 56 | 42 |
[WP] You're a biologist who made a deal with the devil: eternity in hell after death in return for unlimited funding for your research. The funding was worth it, you discovered immortality, and the devil is not happy about this. | “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. You fucked me, Jimmy. You fucked me real good.”
The devil tsked and chastised me while picking his teeth with a toothpick. I was sitting in my home study; he was leaning on the large globe I had by the window.
“Now, Mr. Lucifer, sir, we’ve still got a contract and I haven’t broken it at all. In fact, other than my dealings with you, I still exist as a neutral player in the grand scheme of morality and life and all. Sir.”
“Stop with the ‘sir this’, ‘sir that’. It’s demeaning to me.”
“Of course Mr. Lucifer.”
“Jimmy. You’ve fucked me and you’ve fucked me good and hard. I think we can be on a first name basis.”
“Satan?”
He stopped leaning on the globe and walked over toward me, shifting into his female form, the toothpick now a cigarette in a holder. The new form was one I’d seen before.
“Call me Sadie tonight. Sexy Sadie.”
“Yikes.”
“Hey, I’m allowed to be theatrical and a bit eccentric. I’m the devil.” Sadie winked at me, pressing her eyelids gently together as the left side of her mouth twitched up in a smirk. Her spattering of freckles that played across her nose and the tops of her cheeks complimented her smirk well.
So did her light green eyes and her dimples.
“Sadie, hear me out for a moment,” I started to explain myself and waited to be interrupted. She said nothing. I cleared my throat and pulled out a folder of figures and charts and references.
“Hear me out,” I started again. “I’ve discovered the trick of immortality. That’s all it really is: a trick. I’ve discovered it and so I can never die. Which does not break our agreement. However, in understanding that I have deprived you of my soul, I’m inclined to make a new deal with you, on top of the old deal.”
Sadie looked at me with her doe eyes and let the cigarette dangle from her lower lip, lightly, sexy. I wondered which circle of hell was reserved for people who wanted to know the devil biblically.
I opened the folder and distracted myself with the pages.
“If we consider my contributions to society thus far, it would be fair to say that they are minimal. Making me a neutral player in the “Greater Good” campaign.”
Sadie was keeping her large eyes on me. I could see her look me up and down and I knew the play here: the devil was going to try the old seduction-negotiation.
I was very glad she’d arrived after my wisdom fap.
“Here’s the thing, though: I have immortality, which is arguably the best thing for the greater good. However. . .” I let it drag on for effect before saying: “I plan to actively withhold it from the world, thereby becoming a player for the negative side of the Greater Good campaign.”
Sadie stopped staring at my lips and the cigarette and holder disappeared. She was interested in my deal, but I could tell I’d need to sweeten it.
“That’s nice and all, Jimmy, but that’s not exactly enough to make up for your soul. You’ve cheated the devil, played dirty against the dirtiest player there is. There’s a hefty price on that soul of yours and I’d like to cash it in.”
“Mr— uh, Sadie, sorry,” I scratched my head and started again. “Sadie, I’ve got a whole business plan and a willingness to partner up with you. I’ll live forever, so you’ll have a partner forever.”
I handed her the folder and she skimmed through, slowing as she gradually understood my intentions.
“You’ve discovered immortality and you plan to market it? With no intention of giving it to anyone but yourself? Creating a caste business model where employees are motivated to move up the ladder, cutting throats, stabbing backs, all in the hopes of becoming an employee with a level high enough to be granted immortality?”
“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. I basically ripped off loads of spiritual books.”
She bit her lower lip.
“Jimmy, I think I’ve fallen in love. Let’s do it.”
She put out her hand and I shook it, wondering if the phrase had been a double entendre.
“Any chance you meant anything by your choice of phrase?”
She laughed lightly and walked back to the globe, spinning it as she turned to face me.
“I think fucking me once was enough, Jimmy.”
And with that, she was gone. | “You know, you will live a lonely and long life after all of humanity is gone, right?” Lucy rested her back on the chair. She always looked beautiful under the same candle light at our restaurant. She smiled briefly and I continued to listen to her among the chatter. “You will survive as the last your kind stops breathing, and you will live on this planet until the day. Maybe, maybe your planet will be destroyed, and you will drift in space until you land on another planet. You will survive until the last life is gone, possibly to my pit. There will be a time where there is no one left to know your name. As most either suffer in my pit, or relax with the big guy, you will experience neither. You will wait. You will wait until the big guy hits the lights again and you will be gone. Do you really want that?”
I blinked a few times in awe of her short pink dress and scratched my chin as I rested on the table. “Will you visit me again?”
“Every day.” Her toes found my leg under the table. “But that was not my question.”
“Yes... Yes, I am ready. There is no one I’d rather be with for an eternity than you. I know my past, alright? If I died, If I didn’t become immortal, there would be a big chance I would be sent with the big guy.”
“I still can’t believe your mom was such a religious nutcrack.”
“Yeah, the last time I asked my dad about birds and bees, he locked me up in the shed for a day.”
“I still thought you should have taken the chance. Maybe you would survive the gunshot wound, and live until your 80s sinning with me.” Lucy pulled her leg back and returned to eat her brownie. Her bronze hair’s peachy smell hit my nose.
“I could not risk it. The Big Guy would trick me anyway. They are good at that.”
“I wanted to raise an army with you. Now I can’t. I am not able to get pregnant on this side.”
“So, do it on that side. Sleep with the souls of other men.”
“I don’t want anyone else either.” I could see the candle light and my face reflecting on her abysmal eyes. “You know that.”
“I know that now! If only you told me sooner. I will forever live with the regret of not having a family together.”
“You are lame.”
“I have forever to practice.”
“Well, it took you a century to get the hint.” Lucy drank from her wine glass as she played with her hair. Her legs shook the table as they rocked back and forth.
“And another two to learn how to read you.”
“You think you got me?”
“I know you like I know myself.”
“Do you, now?”
“I know you can’t wait for your visits either.”
“What else?”
“You hate me for imprisoning you in this emotional limbo.”
“Yeah, I put that on a sign in hell. Shines a hundred times brighter than the sun.”
“I also know you love me too.”
“That’s a sign as well. Hangs above the cheaters as a hologram.”
“Shall we call a cab?”
“Let’s go for a walk around the Empire State Building.”
“And make love on every floor?”
“You are lame.” She sighed.
“And you have forever to get used to my lameness enough that you will start to think I am funny.”
“I already do.” | 2018-08-23T16:25:22 | 2018-08-23T15:50:45 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] A planet rotates once every 1,000 years so that each side is either tundra or desert; the poles are also frozen wastes, but there is a small area of ever moving habitable land. Two nomadic tribes isolated on each side of the planet begin to find the 500 year old relics of the other.
I kind of imagine one tribe viewing the sun as the bringer of life, while the other sees it as the harbinger of death depending on what is driving them forward. | There were those who chased the sun and those who fled it.
And in between them were the strange wastes. Lands of bitter tundra or barren, desiccated desert, the sun a tyrant on their backs or on their faces.
Each people had legends of the other: the people on the far side of the world where life was good and where somehow the sun lay calm over green fields for generation upon generation.
They were tales for children to ease their minds to the Walk.
Nathan walked on the edge. Ahead of him, the desert was beginning to turn. Saplings, long dormant under the hell of sand and dust, were now pushing through, reacting to the cooler climate. Grass had already colonized the ground, sparse and brown far ahead, but getting ever greener and greener until it reached Nathan’s feet, thick and lush and healthy.
He knelt. Only grass could exist this close to the edge. This broad belt of grass reaching as far as he could see north and south would eventually sprout trees, vegetables and flowers for Nathan’s people and for the animals that travelled with them, domestic and wild. And eventually, as the planet turned, the trees would die, and then the vegetables and then the flowers until finally all that was left was another long belt of grass and then that too would disappear into the cold wastes far, far behind Nathan.
His people chased the sun, but they did not worship it. It had been eons since they thought of the sun as a god. It lured them onwards, and they were fish, mesmerised by the bait. They did not worship it just as they did not worship the rolling ground on which they walked. It was and could not be any other way.
Nathan plucked a grass-shoot. He enjoyed this place at the edge, always. He liked the wide expanse of horizon, the emptiness of the land. Most of his people lived far deeper in the habitable zone, moving with the greatest bounty. But for Nathan the sight of grass, the feel of new life, was what kept him moving.
He wanted to meet the others. He knew the stories were for children. But if he existed, if he could live, then so could they. They would see the frozen land creep up on them, its snows melt and turn to rivers and the grass grow through the cold ground. Nathan thought he would prefer that. He wanted to see a river burst into existence.
He stood and looked ahead of him. The grass rolled onwards. A flash of light between clouds caught on something in the distance. He stared. Usually the grass dulled the light on the ground and the sand and rocks gave nothing but a glare. This was something different.
Nathan walked ahead. The object shone again as the clouds parted. It was perched on a pole between two rocks. A simple box.
Nathan stopped. It was a hundred yards ahead of him, but he could see clearly that this was nothing that the desert had made. Winds and sands did not make this shape. There was an urge in him to rush forward to it, but another part of him made him pause. He was fearful and he could not fully express why. It was not of his people. It was different and unknown, yet still undeniable. Yes, that was why he could feel a knot forming in his stomach. He knew what he was about to find and he knew that things would change.
He approached. The box had been routed on the pole and the pole driven deep into the ground and support there by metal supports. The wind and sand had taken its toll. There were holes in the box where the sand had penetrated, but it had kept much of its shape. That alone impressed Nathan. He put his hand on it. It was hot from the sun. The lid of the box opened easily under his touch. And within was another container, this one shining and pristine. He lifted it out.
He felt his pulse make steady contact with the side of the container. He looked up for a moment at the grass and then, distant, at the endless, unknowable desert, and then he opened the container.
There were two metal sheets inside with carvings on them.
He did not know the language. He knew that none of his people would know.
Joy began to sift through him. There were others. Remote, so vastly remote, but they were there. And suddenly he did not feel as if he stood on the edge of anything, that this grass had died at the feet of other people and now grew at his feet.
He stared at the horizon, wondering.
| “Wander not, child of night. Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes,” Ren sang quietly. He dug his fingers into a boulder and slithered down it to the spongy ground cover below. “Fear the ghosts burning bright, who come to steal your sight tonight.” Winding his way through the fallen rocks, he ducked inside the youngwood ahead, slipping between the skinny trunks. As the trees shuddered and shook, Ren reached up with the corner of his shirt to wipe away the water that fell to his face from the skinny leaves.
Ren loved the forest. He loved the pale, dusky light that filtered through the leaves and vines, he loved the rustle of animals and the squish of mud under his toes.
He looked up at the sun to check his direction. *Water is west*, Nana’s voice echoed in his mind. *Water is west, and water is best.*
Ren could never remember the next verse of the song. He knew it started *Cry not, child of night,* but was the next line the *beasts that quake* or the *blood that burns?*
(“Ren, please don’t sing that song,” Mam told him. “Don’t scare your sister.”)
Ren scowled. And then the ground fell away.
The dirt and rocks crumbled under his heel and with a shriek, Ren grabbed frantically for a handhold, a vine, anything—
*Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes…*
A searing pain in his arm, a twist of his ankle, and Ren tumbled down hill with the rush of dirt and brush and who knows what else. Each impact drove air from his lungs. He scrambled for purchase as dust and grit coated his eyes and mouth and if he could just *slow down*…!
Before he had time to process anything, the slide stopped.
Ren lay gasping for breath. His chest hurt, his leg hurt, his arm hurt. How could he have been so *stupid*? He *knew* how dangerous a youngwood could be; didn’t he explore them often enough?
Slowly, he eased himself up to a sitting position. He had to take stock of himself; could he even walk on his leg? Could he even make it back to Nana and Mam and Tip before sleep?
He blinked rapidly to clear some of the grit from his eyes. And then he saw it.
A lake. A huge lake with a monolith stone tower, rising from the lakebed, covered in glow-moss and carvings and *what was it*?
Ren grabbed a nearby branch that had been a fellow casualty of the mudslide and clambered to his feet. Before he knew it, he stood at water’s edge. There wasn’t just a tower. It was a stone *village*, bright green and effervescent blue in the murky dark of the water.
*Fear ground that shakes, and sinking lakes, fear the ghosts burning bright, who come to steal your sight tonight…*
Ren rubbed more vigorously at his eyes to try and clean them of the dirt and sand. His hand dropped; a flash of silver and white, gold and light, in the water, filtering between the stones.
There was something *in the water.*
*Ghosts burning bright, come to steal your sight tonight…*
| 2015-05-11T13:52:03 | 2015-05-11T13:27:53 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | 50 long years. Thomas rolled out of his bunk. Today was the day America was going to join the rest of the world. He was excited, but a little afraid. As an American, it had been schooled into him that what had happened 51 years prior was one of the largest wars known, World War III, and that America had been the first to strike. In 2028, the leaders of the remaining nations had all agreed, each country was to go into isolation. No trade, communication, or aid, whatsoever. America had agreed, and had built massive walls in the North and South. They had severed communication with all satellites, and cut all lines outside of the US. Alaska was given to Canada, and Hawaii was allowed to be its own nation once more. Puerto Rico had protested at first, but soon gave up. According to his grandpa, the US suffered the first couple of years. Technology development had gone down, with agriculture having a huge boom to support its population. Most people left the cities, leaving them to become ruins. The only cities that thrived were towards the center of the country. This made life very simple. You attended school until 12, and then you picked a specialization. There were three to choose from. You could be a farmer, which was the most noble and useful, a rememberer, whose job was to learn all of the old things, so when the walls came down, we could talk to our neighbors and work old technology, and soldiers, who were those who didn’t have what it took to do the other things.
Thomas wasn’t ashamed to be a soldier, he couldn’t grow a potato, and words and numbers annoyed him. Besides, he would be one of the first to see a Canadian. He grabbed his issued jackhammer, and headed for his station.
At midnight, walls started coming down. Within the next two days, they were nothing more than rubble, that was quickly being removed. Oddly, there had been nobody to greet them, but this had been anticipated seeing as how had caused most of the damage in the war. In the next three days, the American military had sent out ambassador convoys North into Canada, and South to Mexico, neither had found anything except countries being reclaimed by nature. Almost two weeks later, the rememberers had finally reestablished communication of the one satellite they had been allowed to keep in orbit. North Americas whole portion of the globe was dark. Thomas kept rereading the communal paper, surely they were not the only ones left? The next day, they got the answers they were looking for. Europe, Asia, Africa, and Australia were also dark. Thomas, and many other Americans wept.
Edit: Figured I would mass respond to this. The ending was left open to interpretation, kind of like a Miyazaki film. | No one know why.
Or how.
But they knew where; here, Home.
Or what remained. A crippled nation, shriveled into isolation by a mixture of fear and disgust over their own actions. Perhaps society was recklessly distraught; not one individual left without trauma; and thought it better to die than to endure another war.
But a many few survived. And with survival, naturally comes hope. But it was hard. So hard it was made to be the largest evolutionary bottleneck in human history, save one, which crafted this hope in the first place.
That hope burned, smelted by the fires of hardship that stripped away impurities left behind by the people's forefathers. A steel was made that was more pure and sharp than had ever been seen. Armed with this steel, the people combined with it knowledge of the past and a clear vision of their future. They forged a new constitution, like the people before them did, the people before that, and the people before that. Knowledge upon knowledge paired with a bitter, seeping reminder of what they hoped never to near again.
And so walked forth from the ashes was a new era of mankind. Not perfect, but better. Built upon the last age, and learning for the next one. But something was different. They were ready to walk among the stars.
They did not call themselves American.
Or Chinese. Or British. Or Russian. Or Australian. Or Sudanese. They did not call themselves by their Home.
They called themselves for who they were. They were the Terrans.
And the name *stuck*.
| 2018-01-18T00:43:07 | 2018-01-18T00:11:50 | 139 | 34 |
[WP] Aliens have realized humans advance more quickly during times of conflict, and have tried to push humanity into wars to see what happens. However, that changes when they start WW2 and humans harness the power of the atom. | \--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.597'---
The display flickered to life around him. Bodies lay strewn around the battlefields, scorched husks of blown-out tanks lay abandoned.
"Estimated agent loss?"
Over the battlefields, millions of tiny motes of light lifted from the bodies, coalescing into a string of digits.
\--49,875,308 dead agents--
Y'xyl frowned. Was this ethical? As the rate of progress enhanced, these beings were edging closer to the galactic standard for sentient rights. The implications of this had never been covered in the ethics review- It was never expected to be this successful. All previous study iterations had produced crude metal tools at best. Y'xyl, however, was a savant. The manipulation of conflict as a variable appeared to accelerate rates of progress within the species at.
Outside his headset a different voice reminded him of the real world before he got too lost in though.
"Hey Y'xy, how's the science project going?"
"Galstandard tech level 0.864"
"Dude, you're missing your leading zeroes. I can't get mine above a .01 either, lemme check your outpu- WHAT THE XEM, MAN? I'm sitting here worried about a failing grade, and you've outpaced the global record by 2 orders of magnitude?!?"
Y'xyl chuckled. Just wait until he sees the next step. Technology spike predictions indicate the next advancement was due any minute now. The aerial delivery mechanism was over the target.
\--Galstandard tech level 0.865--
What? Just a .001 increase? That's nothing! All indicators had pointed to a major spike.
The metal casing dropped towards the target.
.
..
...
..
.
\--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Unplanned reboot detected, re-instantiating last known instance--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.598'--
White light flooded the display. Y'xyl's filters crystallised over his photosensors until he could see again. He zoomed in on the image until he was looking at base code. The atomic bits flickered and shattered, fragments impacting other atoms. A chain reaction.
\--Galstandard tech level 2.04--
They'd broken the atom. The fundamental atomic bits upon which Tz'lrni computation was founded. They'd broken the fundamental code of the simulation into *smaller* parts.
For a moment, Y'xyl frowned at the ethical implications, but that thought was quickly overtaken.
He was going to be rich. | A report was sent to my implant, allowing me to view the text and video in my brain with ease.
It said: "Indoctrination of Subject A, the catalyst of the second conflict with designation A* consequences was successful. The resulting conflict was observed to rush advancements of primitive computation, biological, weapon, atomic, vehicular and industrialisation processes.
Nation state of Subject A had an advantage in above mentioned processes than nation states of Subjects C, R and J, indoctrinated upon their rise to leader status, but nation states of subjects C, R and J managed to advance to, approximately 80% of Subject A's nation state's process by the end of the conflict.
Observation of Subject R's nation state's atomic program concluded with two detonations of solid-radiactively-supplemented fission explosion devices over Subject H's** population and industry centers.
Above mentioned Subjects have agreed to end the conflict soon after the detonations, except for Subject S and H.
Conclusion: Species Sol III has achieved advancement of 0.44% above speculated level. Requesting to prolong observation of species Sol III for additional 300 Sol III cycles to document future advancements.
*requesting changing the conflict consequence scale to accompany 1 more level for possible future nuclear annihilation
**Subject H's indoctrination wasn't planned, as it developed war mongering tendencies on it's own"
Edit: added a small paragraph, typo | 2018-11-27T15:55:08 | 2018-11-27T10:48:49 | 144 | 34 |
[WP] Tired of you fourteen year old’s stories about their dragon friend, you declare that it’s time to grow up. To prove your point you poke under their bed with a broom. You are greeted by the snarl of a pissed off dragon. | “Mom!” Jess yelled down the stairs, “Can you make my snack a double? Drizeth is hungry too!”
I shook my head, annoyed. I didn’t understand why he kept making things up. If he was hungry, he could just say so. I was also kind of worried. At fourteen, he should have outgrown imaginary friends a while ago, and instead, about two weeks ago, he had ‘brought home’ this Drizeth - according to him, a dragon.
Since then he’d asked for more food, a new blanket, and asked if it would be alright if he moved the fire extinguisher into his bathroom ‘just in case.’ None of those were unreasonable requests, but I didn’t understand why he kept blaming ‘Drizeth.’
Maybe it was my husband’s sudden passing a hand full of months ago. Maybe it was because he felt like I didn’t pay enough attention to him. Or maybe it was just him trying to force himself into a normal ‘childhood.’
I didn’t know but I was worried about him.
He was my only child, and some days - more than I’d like to admit - my only purpose in this world.
I finished making him two PB&Js and cut up both an apple and an orange and carried it upstairs.
As I reached Jess’s bedroom, I knocked briefly on the door before opening it, not waiting for a response. I was surprised to find Jess sitting on his bed tossing a tennis ball up and down into the air. I had expected to find him sitting in front of his computer, playing some online game.
“Hey Mom! Thanks for the food. Drizeth loves apples!”
My annoyance spiked at that, and my brows furrowed.
“Jess, there is no such thing as dragons. They don’t exist.”
He looked crestfallen, and missed catching the tennis ball on its way down. It rolled listlessly across the floor for a few moments until it hit a pillow.
I looked around the room and saw blankets, pillows, games, and clothes littering the floor. Annoyed again, I looked up at him, even as I set the plate of food on his desk.
“You need to clean up this pigsty. Now!”
I wasn’t proud of myself, yelling at Jess, but I was exhausted. I’d had to pick up a second job after Rob’s death, and I had no energy to spare on the house.
“But Mom,” Jess’s voice was a whine. “Drizeth like it this way!”
I could feel my blood boil, even as he said it. I didn’t temper my response, and crossed my arms angrily.
“Dragons don’t exist! Drizeth doesn’t exist! Clean your damn room!”
I grabbed the broom lying in the corner, it’s own cobwebb having formed from the last time it’d been moved. Then I started sweeping everything into one large pile.
As Jess watched in horror, I shoved the blankets aside, and reached under the bed.
What I hadn’t expected however, was for the broom to collide with a hard object only inches under. Even less had I expected for that object to start growling.
But here we were, and that was what had happened.
I dropped the broom in surprise, and took a half step backwards, even as Jess leapt off the bed and nearly dived under it.
All the while shouting at me, “Mom! You’re hurting Drizeth!”
Moments later, to my absolute astonishment, Jess was dragging a dog sized dragon out from under the bed. It’s green scales glowed faintly, and as it made eye contact with me, its orange eyes swirled, and the beast opened its mouth and growled at me!
I couldn’t do anything other than stare.
“It’s okay Dri!” Jess was saying, petting its limp wings and the small horns on its face.
Something about the action snapped me back to reality. The reality of my fourteen year old holding a dragon.
“Jess! What are you doing with that! It’s a wild animal!” I wasn’t sure what else to say. If dragons existed, they sure as hell weren’t likely to be tamed.
“Mom, I asked you two weeks ago if I could keep him, and you said *yes*.” Jess looked like he was going to cry in panic that I might take his pet away.
His pet.
“I… I didn’t know what I was agreeing too! You never showed him to me!” I was ringing my hands in worry now, I wanted to pull Jess away, but I didn’t dare. What if I upset the creature and it hurt him?
“He’s shy!”
*Shy?!* I asked myself before repeating the question allowed.
“Shy? How can a dragon be shy?”
“He’s just a baby! You can’t take him from me! He’s just like me. His dad died, and his mom left him!”
I just stared at Jess, my heart seemingly stopped in my chest.
He felt like I had abandoned him.
I dropped my butt to the ground across from him and the dragon. Tears welling in my eyes.
“Oh honey. I haven’t abandoned you. I am trying my hardest to keep your life as normal as I can. I couldn’t afford our house and bills without a second job. Not without Dad.”
I sniffled, horrified that my child thought that I didn’t love him enough to be there for him.
Jess was tearing up too.
“Baby, you are my whole world. I’m trying to keep you healthy, and safe, and recently that’s made both of us less happy.”
Jess let go of the dragon and came over to me, giving me a hug.
“I miss Dad,” Jess cried into my shoulder. “And I miss you.”
“I miss you too baby.”
“Drizeth is my friend, please don’t make me get rid of him,” Jess begged between sobs.
Even as he asked, the dragon in question waddled its way over and curled itself around Jess, it’s tail wrapped around his hips.
It wasn’t glaring at me anymore. Instead it just looked sad.
If a dragon could look sad.
I rubbed my eyes, and gave Jess the largest hug I could muster.
“You said he likes apples?”
\---
For more by me and others, check out r/redditserials | I'm not sure why I even had the broom. Maybe I was going to sweep the bathroom? I mean, the Roomba took care of the rest of the house. Even the kitchen. So why not the bathroom?
Or maybe I was going to use it to open the attic? That seemed likely. I was just a little too short to reach the damn hook without a stool. Maybe the broom was just handy in that moment?
Not that it mattered much as my confusion at prodding something solid under my son's bed quickly turned to surprise as I was met with a an angry growl. The surprise turned to shock as my son's bed rose up from the floor until it was pinned against the ceiling.
And in front of me, wearing the bed as the most ridiculous of hats, was the head of a mother fucking DRAGON! It was huge and triangular and covered in scales and it had teeth as long as Bowie knives, and the eyes were like a snakes and it HAD HUGE FUCKING TEETH. That's the most important part.
Although its neck looking like scaley spaghetti poking through a literal worm hole in the floorboards of the room helped ease some of tension, I still pissed my fucking pants.
"See?" my smug bastard of a son grated. "I told you he was real."
"And I told *you*," the dragon growled, "that he'd piss himself if he ever actually saw me." The dragon scowled, which wasn't the strangest thing that had happened so far. "I just made some tea, too."
"And pissy jeans stops you from drinking it, how?" My son demanded.
"The smell is offensive!" the dragon protested. "I can't enjoy my tea after smelling piss."
I swallowed nervously and the dragon loomed over me, arching a scaled brow as my stomach rumbled.
"That's...not a good sign," he, she, it, schlem--whatever, it said it with a growl. I didn't know its damn gender. It WAS A FUCKING DRAGON UNDER MY SON'S BED!
I was NOT about to check out its junk.
But..that was the least of my worries anyway.
"If he does what I think he's about to, tea will be ruined for the rest of the week."
My son turned to look at me with panic in his eyes. "If he does what I think he's about to, I'm gonna fake my death and start a new life in Mexico."
"Oh Mexico is so lovely this time of year," the dragon gushed in sudden excitement. "The dry hot air feels so nice against my scales."
WHY WERE THEY SO CASUAL ABOUT ALL THIS?! THERE WAS A MOTHER FUCKING DRAGON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE GOD DAMNED ROOM?!
It was all out of control. I had no power here. The very laws of nature and reality had revealed themselves to be a lie. I mean, a dragon. Its head shoved through a worm hole. I, a grown man, standing there holding a broom and wearing piss-soaked pants. And probably about to soil those piss-soaked pants.
I clenched my ass cheeks and took a breath. "H-how--?" I stammered out, but the dragon cut me off.
"How is there a dragon in your son's bedroom?" It snorted and I let loose a small fart...er...shart. The dragon twisted its mouth in disgust. My son groaned.
"S-sorry," I wheezed.
The dragon sighed, "I suppose it's all right. You're frightened, I get it. Dragons don't frequent your reality too often these days. Truth is, this portal here opened up one day out of the blue. No idea why."
"Yeah," my son agreed. "Gragorianagopolotamus' daughter, Meloriontopgooftoreal came through first--"
"E-excuse me, what?" I gasped, but my son continued.
"-and Gragorianagopolotamus-" why the hell did he have to be so casual about saying that? I doubted I could even spell it!
"-'s wife had to come and find her, but they found me instead. But she's fine. She was just asleep in my closet and they took her back-"
"That's enough!" I found my voice. Not sure how or where, but it came back to me nonetheless. Grago-whatever-the-fucked stared at me, but I was done with the intimidation. Dragon or not, the fucker was in *my* house.
"Okay, so the dragon's real. You still have chores to do. You can hang out with him later. In the meantime, I have Christmas lights waiting on me in the attic."
My son and the dragon exchanged glances.
"In March?" My son asked with a pitying grin.
"Of course!" I yelled as I held the broom up. "If I don't start now they'll never be untangled in time for Christmas!" | 2020-03-06T20:42:26 | 2020-03-06T20:29:56 | 285 | 34 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | Edit: Thank you all for the kind words. There's now a part 2 in the comments from the perspective of humanity.
The planet designated as YS-974 3rd was chosen to give the council a foothold in this section of the galaxy. No single world government, no intergalactic capacity, with high pollution in the calculated known habitable portions. The short lifespans of barely 10 Intergalactic Cycles for their oldest specimens would make the inhabitants good fodder for experiments and dangerous work.
The initial invasion was standard procedure of identify the third largest continent then attack a centralized settlement. The spotty intelligence was based on long distance preliminary scans of the geography and climate. Using more valuable resources was unnecessary for such an underdeveloped world. This spotty intelligence returned information on the largest and most powerful countries indicating that the continent referred to as "North America" would be the best for initial invasion since it was dominated by only 3 primary countries. The target was decided, a frontier settlement called "Bismark" in a terribly inhospitable part of the continent. Based on telemetry, it was going to be tolerable at 292 degrees, so forces would have to move quickly to secure a foothold closer to the planet's equator before winter set in.
10,000 allied forces from 150 ships landed just outside the settlement and quickly attacked. The first volley killed hundreds of what are now called "earthlings". They were shocked and disabled with fear as we reloaded our weapons for the second volley. This settlement would fall by the end of this planet's day and serve as a central staging point for dominating the third largest continent on this mostly inhospitable planet.
That's when things stopped going to plan. As the smoke from the first volley subsided, the generals realized this was not a temporary summer settlement, but an established and thriving city. Individual earthlings began firing small arms that were un-explainable on Alliance lines. Uniformed and armed forces began to respond in minutes with larger more deadly weapons and allied losses began to mount. Within hours, even greater forces from the air unleashed ever more terrifying weaponry, and a full retreat was sounded. A full retreat had never once been sounded for Alliance warriors, and the confusion over what to do lead to even greater losses. Of the initial force, only 2,500 survived and escaped on 80 of the initial ships. The worst losses the alliance had ever experienced prior was 8% for an entire war.
Allied command decided swift action was necessary. A force of 1 million was being prepared, in the unprecedented time span of a single intergalactic cycle. The "earthlings" were considered a grave threat and were to be eradicated. However, allied command did not expect the earthlings to strike back before the force was completely assembled. What was considered to be an unprecedented build up of military might was over-shadowed because the earthlings had unified their governments, mastered the Faster Than Light drives on the abandoned ships, armed them with more unheard of weapons, and began attacking the outer colonies. One colony after another fell to the earthlings, and the galaxy learned a new phrase -
Warpath.
Ten Cycles Later
The alliance has learned that YS-974 3rd, now called "Earth", did not follow the standard model of unified government, civilization, FTL, weaponry. The earthlings had started with weaponry, then established civilization, and had never established a unified government until the alliance failed spectacularly at invasion. Then they gained FTL from the failed invasion. In ten cycles the earthlings had attacked and destroyed 15% of allied military installations, taking territory that the alliance spent 100 cycles conquering. Then the earthlings just stopped advancing. Alliance spies that had spent the last 10 cycles training, half the time of their normal training due to the urgency of the situation, were sent to the conquered worlds to gather information, and the information that returned was confusing at best.
The earthlings were only attacking military bases and as such civilian casualties were at a minimum. This un-fathomed tactic allowed them to move from installation to installation with such speed defense protocols could not be carried out. They built fleets of impossibly large, interstellar ships that were equipped with massive weapons of their own, something that left the earthlings with a terrifying advantage in space as more than one assault group had been annihilated before even reaching the planet they were to attack. They had terrifying shock troops, called Marine Mobile Infantry, that would lead many initial attacks causing destruction and devastation in their path, and after that a larger army would occupy the area and do something none of the allied warriors would ever think of. They would build places called hospitals to treat the wounds of everyone, alliance and earthling, and these places could return soldiers to combat from mortal wounds after no more than a few days of healing. Alliance Warriors that had been treated and sent home with others said this was called "humanitarian efforts". The spies also learned of other agencies, like the KGB and CIA, that would gather information for the earthlings through a variety of unspeakable means. It is now suspected that they have infiltrated the entire allied government, but none can prove those theories as the earthlings have been impossible to detect and seem capable of breaking into every advanced system that has been developed.
Adding insult to injury, Alliance cut warrior training back to a single intergalactic cycle, and these warriors stood no chance against forces that intelligence revealed were in the military for less than half a cycle. That same intelligence showed that a long career, entitling and earthling to full "retirement", was only 2 cycles, 4 at most for their longest serving military officers. The earthlings could, and already did, field an entire new military in the same amount of time it took the Alliance to finish what was now called basic training. This is clearly a species bred for war and destruction the likes of which the galaxy could not survive against. Even in these ten cycles, where the alliance has reverse engineered some captured weapons, the earthlings have advanced their weapons further, making their own equipment obsolete. There are still rumors that they have not even used their most devastating weapons. Surrender was being considered, but that would take at least 5 cycles to be ratified by the whole alliance.
One Cycle Later
The alliance soon discovered that the earthlings could survive anywhere on their planet, from the hottest desserts at 327 degrees to the coldest pole at 183 degrees. They built and thrived everywhere. Many of their colony installations were built in such extreme environments that it prevented retaliation attacks since Alliance troops could not endure the extreme heat and cold. It was clear they knew how to press every advantage they held, and they would field experimental equipment with no regard to their own safety. A truly reckless and dangerous species willing to destroy itself for victory.
The entire Alliance had begun to crumble as the member planets' economies were unable to support the continued war effort. The earthlings once again went on the warpath and had destroyed another 20% of the Alliance military. Desertion, a new word and unheard of before in the Alliance, continued to empty the ranks. Recruits began to flee from conscription and installations would surrender without instruction as the earthlings began to announce their next targets. Installations fell without firing any weapons. Fear and terror were the earthling's primary weapon now.
The next insult was that the earthlings began to educate all of the planets they seized. Former alliance civilians would volunteer for the earthling military. Alliance spies said this was due to earthling propaganda about freedom from tyranny and having a say in their own destiny. More and more species are believing the earthlings to be liberators.
Soon the Alliance won't have a choice or a debate in surrendering. The Alliance will simply collapse in the dawn of the earthlings dominating this galaxy.
Edits: Fixed wording and punctuation throughout. | A plaque over IG HQ was mounted over the entry way to the briefing room. It was black stone with brass plate text, with standard issue oil lamps lighting the plaque. "Every intelligent species in the universe shares a common ancestor." Mirnen mulls this over before the squad briefing. Wondering whether it was actually true, that there were no independent species out there. A lot of modern day natural philosophers thought this unlikely, but none had been found yet. The forekirk, who had taught every species the secret to hyperdrive, medicine, and agriculture, were the common ancestor of all the known species. We knew this because of their beaks and long, flat fur. Mirnen wondered if there was a species in the world that didn't share in the gifts of foremen.
"The humans don't appear to be advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, it should be a simple invasion" said Mirnen, polishing a brand new musket and looking toward the IGPS. The musket was his duty arm, but it was also a prop for the briefing. The green recruits were nervous. The peacekeeping squad had never had much success against Talkak invasions.
"We will be there to give the humans aid, and, hopefully, guide them to victory and lasting participation in the galactic community. Talkak forces seem to be focusing their efforts on a few urban centers, and so we will try to beat them to those places" After this, Mirnen continues the briefing, describing tactics and strategy in the defense to come.
After the briefing, a young Sek troop from the squad, Larkak, if Mirnen could remember his name, came up to Mirnen. "Um... Sir... what if the humans ... um... don't want our help." asked Larkek.
"You're worried about another Morgan massacre? Well, we plan on arriving before the Talkak, to learn about the humans and hash things out. If you're worried about attack on contact, we plan on hovering out of attack range until we establish peaceful contact. They won't too different from us, we do all share a common ancestor after all." Replied Mirnen.
"But... but... Kirkfolk used to war with each other all the time, and the Talkak still war all the time. I mean, thats *really* why IG founded the peace force, right? to keep the Talkak expeditions under control?" asked Larkak.
Mirnen mulled over his exact words for a moment. "Thats is a popular opinion, and one not without some merit. But their stated mission is to protect all Kirkfolk in common peace."
The IGSS Starleap traveled at several times light speed. Mirnen saw the small blue orb that orbited Sol. It was a strange planet to harbor life. Most Kirkfolk can't deal with that much nitrogen in the atmosphere. Mirnen shuddered at the thought. A few years ago Mirnen had been exposed to earth-high levels of atmospheric nitrogen. It pooled in his blood, and caused so much pain. Supposedly after a few days it builds up to lethal levels. The peace force had been issued thin masks that could lower the nitrogen levels they inhaled down to tolerable levels, so long as the cartridge in the mask was swapped out every few hours. Mirnen hated the things, but, he supposed, it was better than Aldrin's pooling syndrome.
The ship's captain, Aldrik, approached Mirnen and asked "whats the plan? Should I land it over one of those bright spots?"
Mirnen snorted. "Of course you didn't read the course directions. You never do. I aught to send a formal reprimand sometime. We hover near the edge of one of the bright spots, flickering our lights. We don't know what this planet was seeded with, or how it has evolved in the seven hundred years since, we need to avoid surprising or scaring them. They know we exist, but we don't know what they've come to think of outsiders."
The craft closed in over its objective, its ceramic plated hull reflecting the water of the bay below. Mirnen and the soldiers looked out the bay window for the firm time since entered the atmosphere. He was too late. There was a Talkak expedition ship, with its black-steel hull, on the ground near a building on shore. Mirnen panicked a little when he noticed the ship was... damaged? Had the humans repelled the Talkak attack on their own? Maybe they had decoded the more advanced knowledge the Forekirk had left them? But not hyperdrive? Its sometimes difficult, because Forekirk tablets were in code, only detailed how to build a hyperdrive, and not the principals that make it work. Hell, even the Sek scientists hadn't entirely figured out how hyperdrive worked, although there were a few accepted theories.
Then Mirnen looked closer. The Talkak ship wasn't damaged. It had been rendered completely destroyed. There were bits scattered all over the ground, and there weren't any Talkak to be seen. There also weren't any human war machine parts around. Mirnen became pretty sure that the humans knew more than IG thought they did.
It was at that moment that a human... something... flew over to the Starleap. It was cabin, with two rotors. A horizontal rotor spinning above the cabin, and a vertical one behind. It seemed to have an armament hanging on flanges to it side. It hovered in front of the Starleap. Aldrik asked for orders.
Mirnen barked "Ready the sulfur rockets. But don't fire. We don't want a war, but if the humans can drop a Talkak ship without major losses, then we need to be ready." Then Mirnen sighed when the human craft turned and flew toward a clearing on the ground.
Then, the craft came back. Then it returned to the clearing. Then it came back. And then returned to the clearing. Eventually, Mirnen saw little... somethings.... robots? Vehicles? Drawing a Starleap shaped outline in the clearing. Then Mirnen understood.
He turned to Aldrik and said "Land on the outline best you can, I think they want to talk." And Aldrik did.
-------
So, what does everyone think so far? This is my fourth entry to r/writingprompts so feedback is nice. I'll write more if people seem to want it, but I'm not sure where I'm taking it exactly. | 2017-08-08T08:06:30 | 2017-08-08T08:00:31 | 747 | 142 |
[WP] You just sent in your DNA to one of those ancestry sites. After eight weeks, you can’t figure out why your results have not shown up. Then, two men with dark suits show up at your front door. They have some news regarding your results. | Dan had been curious about his family history for as long as he could remember. He knew his great grandparents had immigrated to the States, but they had been notoriously silent about their lives before they came. He had guessed from their accents that they had been from Europe, but Dan didn’t even know what region they came from. He wanted to know more about his roots. So, after hearing a friend talk about their own experience with a genetics company called 23andMe, he jumped at the opportunity to try it himself. His friend showed him how the company provided him with an online breakdown of all the places his family had come from, and the different genetics that he had. It was so cool that all this information could be gathered just from the DNA in your mouth. After learning this, Dan ordered a testing kit, swabbed the inside of his cheeks, and sent it off.
A couple weeks later, he had all but forgotten about the test. He was sitting on his couch, eating a bowl of cereal with milk, when he heard a loud knock at the door. He hoped he wouldn't have to be up for too long, or else the cereal would get all soggy.
Two large men greeted him on the other side. The men wore identical suits, and dark sunglasses obscured their eyes. Dan was a bit scared. Their muscular physique made them seem threatening, and the stone cold looks on their faces didn’t help. Whatever the reason for their arrival, they meant business.
“Is there something I can help you gentlemen with?” He asked the visitors, eying them nervously.
”Sir we're here about your DNA test that you took with 23andMe eight weeks ago.” The man on the left responded. He was blonde and had his hair buzzed.
Hearing this put Dan at ease. He grinned, and felt silly for his earlier concern. “Oh, you guys are with that ancestry company? I was wondering when my results would come back.”
This time, it was the man on the right who spoke. He was bald, and presented a badge. ”Actually sir, we’re with the US government. The results of your DNA sample were highly unusual.”
After hearing who these men worked for, Dan was stunned. What could *possibly* make the government visit his house? Was there something wrong with him? He *had* been feeling a bit off lately, though he had just chalked that up to a cold. He always ended up getting one around this time of year.
“Am I sick or something? I remember reading that these tests reveal if you may have certain diseases.”
“It’s not that sir. If you would just come with us, we can get everything taken care of.” the blonde man replied.
This whole situation was ridiculous. He needed to hear an explanation. Besides, the vagueness of their intentions concerned him
“I won’t come with you until you tell me what is wrong with me” Dan demanded, crossing his arms.
“The results on your DNA test came back negative.” said the man on the left.
Dan became worried, What could he have tested negative for? He nervously tried to search his mind for an explanation.
“I know my parents had some genetic problem that they told me runs in the family. Maybe it had to do with that?” He offered.
“No sir. The sample you submitted tested negative for DNA. Why don't you come with us?” the bald man said, motioning down the street to a black van that Dan had failed to notice before.
That puzzled Dan. Confused, he asked, “what does that mean? Is there something wrong with my DNA then?”.
“You do not have any DNA.” the blonde man responded curtly, grabbing one of Dan’s arms. His grip was firm.
“How is that possible? What can that even mean?” Dan begged, squirming and trying to stay where he was. He fought back, determined to not go with these men. He couldn’t be taken off to some government facility. What would his life be like?
”Just come with us and everything will be okay.” The other agent responded, grabbing him firmly and assisting the first man. Together the two agents started escorting him to the van parked down the street. They were too strong. There was no chance of escaping their combined grip. Dan had been taken to about the edge of his yard when he was struck with a realization.
“Wait!” He shouted “Doesn't that mean I just failed to actually collect any DNA when I swabbed my mouth? I feel like that is bound to happen sometimes.”
“No, we made sure to check for that before coming here” The blonde man assured Dan, continuing to drag him.
The other agent stopped in his tracks, and his face whitened as if he had suddenly realized something.
“actually....” he mumbled, “I *may* have forgotten to check on that”. He grinned sheepishly.
The other agent whipped around to face him.
“Damn it Chris! I specifically remember you telling me that you would handle that. How could you not check?
The other man threw his hands up defensively. “The Olympics were on and I guess I got distracted. You know how much I love figure-skating. My bad, Craig.”
The other agent shook his head and muttered to himself. He let go of Dan, and produced a small walkie-talkie out of his pocket which he spoke into.
“This is delta-foxtrot-charlie” He said, pressing the button down.
\*\**crzzk*\*\*“Copy that”\*\**crzzk*\*\* A voice on the other side replied.
“call off Operation Flyswatter. we got a false lead”
\*\**crzzk*\*\*“Roger that”\*\**crzzk*\*\*
He then stuffed the device back into his pocket
“Operation Flyswatter???” Dan cried, bewildered. He did not like the sound of that one bit.
“What exactly *were* you guys going to do with me?”
The two agents brushed Dan off, and the bald agent started heading to the car.
“We are sorry about this sir. We will deny this if you ever tell anyone, but here is a government reimbursement for this inconvenience.” the other agent said, ignoring his questions and handing Dan a small slip of paper. Dan grabbed the slip from him, and analyzed it silently. The blonde man rejoined his colleague in the van, and they drove off.
Dan stood on his lawn, alone with his thoughts and a coupon for half-off a medium cone at Baskin Robbins. | “Kelly Hsu?” the older one asks.
“Yes?” My heartbeat barges into my ears; I don’t like strangers knowing my name, especially not ones in dark suits looming in my doorframe.
“Tim Dietermann: Frampton, Dietermann & White.” He extends a little white card to me that repeats what he just said, plus “Esq.” and some phone numbers.
“My associate, Govind Ashtikar.” Tim gestures, and Govind opens an attaché case and hands Tim a pale blue envelope. Tim hands the envelope to me.
*Strange.* The outside of the envelope gives me no indication of its contents; it feels soft and sturdy, like money.
Before I can open it, Govind removes a clipboard from his case, and hands it to Tim. Tim hands it to me.
“Please sign to acknowledge receipt.” I try to read the paper clipped to the board, but the small print and large words defy skimming.
“It just says that we gave you the envelope,” Govind says, softer in voice than Tim. He smiles.
Tim hasn’t so much as blinked, but irritation radiates off him.
“Please sign to acknowledge receipt,” he repeats. Govind gives me an encouraging smile, and I *do* see “acknowledge receipt” on the paper. *Okay, I guess...*
I sign on the X.
Tim plucks the clipboard and pen from me and hands them to Govind, who returns them to his case.
“Ms. Hsu, Dambala Ventures, LLC, the parent company of Dambala Laboratories Incorporated, has retained my firm to defend its interests in U.S. Patent 14,524,404, which I will call the ‘404 patent.’”
I’ve never heard of Dambala *anything*, and I don’t know patents from patent leather. I say so, far less cleverly: “What?”
“My client recently learned that a saliva sample putatively taken from your body contains DNA that infringes on the 404 patent.”
My DNA what now?
“Did you recently submit a saliva sample for DNA analysis?”
“Uh, yeah. But— to find out more about my mom’s side. Like, are we Vikings or whatever.”
“Your recreational interest in your genetics bears no relevance on my client’s claim.”
I hardly parse Tim’s words before he launches into a well-rehearsed speech.
“The envelope in your hands contains a pre-suit subpoena, authorized under Federal Rule of Civil Procedure 27 and signed by Judge Christopher Barkley-Hughes of the Southern District of Vermont. This subpoena compels you to immediately produce 2.5 milliliters of your blood to confirm patent infringement.”
I draw my hands to my chest instinctively, still clutching the envelope.
“Failure to comply with this lawfully ordered subpoena may result in confinement in contempt of court.”
I look to Govinder for help. He smiles sadly.
“Please present your preferred arm to my associate for phlebotomy.”
I find my voice, finally, squeaky with panic: “Wait! Wait, I haven’t even *read* the... the subpoena yet.”
“Then read it now.”
My hands shake as I fumble with the envelope flap. I tear too hard and the contents jostle free, fluttering to my floor in disarray.
Neither man moves to help me.
Tears spring to my eyes.
“Can’t I... can I get my own lawyer?”
“Certainly. Can your attorney join us within the next—“ Tim checks his watch. “—fifty-six minutes?”
“I— I don’t know any attorneys.”
“Subsection 113.11bb of the Revised Patent Act authorizes the imposition of opposing party fees and expenses incurred as a result of delayed compliance with a lawful subpoena.”
I can’t even begin to understand that.
“It means you’ll have to pay us to come back,” Govinder translates.
Tim bristles harder, somehow.
Chastised, Govinder adds “...and you should know he charges $900 an hour.”
If he means to give me some hope, he clearly hasn’t looked around my crummy apartment. I can’t afford that.
...I probably can’t even afford my own lawyer.
Shit.
“Isn’t there anything else I can do?” I beg Govinder.
Govinder looks at Tim. “Well...”
Tim glares. Aha!
“Please, please...” I lock eyes with Govinder. He licks his lips.
“Dambala authorized us to sell a limited number of licenses to the 404 patent. $55 per month, direct deposit only.”
My budget flashes before my eyes.
“I... yes. I want that.”
Govinder withdraws more paper from his case, this time an easy-to-read form, as Tim scoffs and leans against my doorframe. I write a check for the first installment and authorize indefinite automatic transfers.
The lawyers leave.
All the tension keeping my body upright goes too, and I slide down the door in relief.
Then I hear Tim say, in a much lighter tone: “Okay, can you be the bad guy next time?”
“She thought she was descended from *Vikings*,” someone snorts. Surely not Govinder?
Never opening my fucking door again. | 2020-07-19T14:03:37 | 2020-07-19T10:51:09 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | "Maybe in this castle we'll be safe," she thought to herself, "maybe we won't have to run again."
It had been so long since she had felt safe. So long since the running had started. So far they had travelled together, he had kept her safe as she fled to find another haven. So many worlds they had discovered, and fallen in love with, only to have to run again. Couldn't those heroes (ugh, what an incorrect label), just stop and take the hint. Clearly she didn't want to be rescued, she just wanted to be left alone, with her best friend, her ONLY friend, at this point, thanks to those annoying pesks.
So she began to set up house, and after a few weeks had passed, Bolthezar and Tolde arrived finally. Bolthezar looking a little worse for wear. "Don't tell me," she sighed, "unless he is dead." Bolthezar's face dropped, and he turned away. "I will set up the barricades," and he began to leave. "WAIT!" She cried, "Come, rest tonight. We can make the arrangements tomorrow."
He stopped, and came back. She led him over to the veranda, from previous experience she knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere near a fire at this point. She quickly went, and grabbed some food and drinks, and set out a table. Tolde joined as well, and they all sat in silence, a general discontent settling over the trio.
"This is a good location," Bolthezar said, after some time had passed, "it was empty?" She shook her head, of course not. Tolde clucked his displeasure, even though he too knew that this was the eighth world, the last line of defense. There was no where else to go after this. The conversation they had all been avoiding could no longer be put off.
"This hero and his brother have been relentless," she began, "I think it is time. I need to stop running." Bolthezar looked up sharply, and Tolde started, but she put up a hand. "You two have been so good to me all this time, and so faithful. But there is no other option. This ends here. We shall make the final stand tomorrow, and if he still defeats you, he will have earned his prize."
"My princess, I must say, even though this has been a very exhausting journey, I am grateful and so very blessed to have been able to travel the worlds with you, and I wouldn't trade this time for anything. And as to these pursuers, it seems that they may yet be worthy. They have defeated every challenge I have pitted against them, and have never lost hope, no matter how many times Tolde tried to turn them away. They may yet be worthy to take my place as your protector." Bolthezar shifted, as he spoke, and she could see the weariness in his movements. Yes it was time.
"Dearest Bowser," she used the name she had christened him in her youth, "I will always treasure you and my wonderful, enigmatic Toad." They all had a chuckle at her words. Then Princess Peach paused for a moment, "but how do I choose, having never met either, how will I choose between two PLUMBERS? It seems so unbelievable to be true." | Sitting quietly in her beautiful court yard Rae sat looking out over her kingdom. She watched the many marvels that happened there. The beauty of nature and woods surrounded her. A crystal water fell rushed to the forest floor not far off from her.
Rae shook her head as she saw the bright gleam of armor speeding her way.
Another of the kingdoms enemies racing my way to rescue me, she mused.
She turned and headed toward the humungous gaping hole in the side of her mountain. It was made to look like a cave but make no mistake it was a castle of the most beautiful design. As she walked through the golden hall she carefully put out each and ever torch preparing for her visitor.
When Rae reached the end of the long hallway she sat in wait watching the entrance for her rescuer.
She did not have to wait long before she heard the thundering of hooves and the click clack of armor. Soon the metal man was 'stealthily' stalking towards her.
Rae rose up, "who goes there!" She demanded.
It was silent for a long moment before the man answered in a raspy voice, "Arthur of the city of Frei, knight of graylandolf."
"And what is your buisness here?"Rae boomed back.
"To slay the dragon and rescue the princess!" Arthur said.
" And what if you find the dragon and the princess are one and the same?" She asked.
Arthur stopped frozen in shock at the question. He began mumbling out an answer but Rae interrupted him with a blast of fire.
The knight dodged, and Rae allowed a small smile to curl up her lips. Feeling the adrenalin rush through her she forces herself to be hard even down to her heart beat as the ground shook around her golden dust clouded the air. Without thought Rae turned the stone to Ice and in so doing froze Arthur eternally, still.
Lighting a torch she walked over to inspect her prize, "Oh, and Arthur," Rae spat, "I'm not the princess I'm the king. Perhaps, if you had known you wouldn't have an eternal place in my trophy room." | 2019-01-09T11:07:30 | 2019-01-09T07:32:29 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] You've just woken up in the body of Michael Scott. You now need to convince the rest of the office that you aren't actually Michael.
GOOD LUCK | "OK, Michael," Jim said. "I really need to get back to work."
"For the last time," I said. "Stop calling me Michael!"
"Oh, no," Pam said, rubbing her eyes with her hand.
(Cut to interview with Pam)
"I knew we were getting some bad news from corporate today. I figured that Michael would take it hard, but he's already jumped into roleplaying. I thought he'd at least make it to after lunch before he'd have time to invent a character. I'm just glad that this character doesn't have an offensive accent. Yet."
(End interview)
"Look," I said. "I'm not Michael Scott. I don't work for Dunder Mifflin."
"Oh yeah?" Kevin called from his desk. "How much does a ream of paper weigh?"
"I have no idea!"
"Actually," Oscar said, "I don't think the real Michael Scott would know either."
"I don't know either," Kevin said.
Oscar furrowed his brow, "Then why did you-"
"Michael," Toby said, putting his hand on my shoulder. "I know today is a stressful day, but I think it would be in everybody's best interest if we just let the office work."
I took a deep breath. "Yeah," I said. "It's been a much more stressful day than you know."
"It sure has been long and hard," Jim said.
"That's what she... no!" I said, cutting off my immaturity at the last second, but not before Jim could look at the camera with a shrug.
"I don't know anything about paper, I don't sexually harass women in the work place, I don't-"
"Michael," Toby said, putting his hand on my shoulder again.
"GODDAMMIT, TOBY, KEEP YOUR ****ING HAND OFF ME!" I yelled.
(Cut to interview with Dwight)
"Yeah, it's him." | I got to work late after blazing it with my dawgs the night before, but whatever man. I set my Timbalands into the office building and stepped up to the first floor where some fool called Dwight shouted at me: 'Micheal? Michael!'
'I ain't Michael', I said, turning around, readjusting my New Era Cap and shooting him a grin so wide my grillz flashed. The fool was still standing half steppin' and trying to make a move at me.
'Micheal, HR has been looking for you all morning, where have you been?'
'I ain't Micheal, fool.'
'Well, who are you then?'
'I'm prison Mike.' | 2017-01-16T19:29:31 | 2017-01-16T18:19:41 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other. | "May I?" Charles asked, smiling at the woman sitting across from him as he lifted a bottle of wine to her glass. "I hope it's not too much, the wine? I like to bring my own, you know, it's a little habit of mine..."
The woman - her name was Alice, he knew that much - gave a coy smile and shook her head, her dark curls flying. "Oh, I don't drink. You never know when someone might want to poison you, you know."
They stared at each other for a brief moment, and started to laugh.
"Well, fair enough, I guess," Charles said, hiding his frustration behind a grin.
Poison, no, but the little extra something he'd slipped in would have made her pleasantly compliable, and much easier to transport to his secondary location. But never mind, never mind. The night was young and fresh still, with many hours stretching out before him to conclude his business.
"So, you go on blind dates often?" Alice stretched out the word 'blind', staring intently into Charles' eyes.
Such lovely, light blue eyes. Her mouth curled into a smile as she imagined how he would look by the end of the night. The rest of him would be quite ruined, of course, but she would make sure to save those pretty eyes for her collection. She smirked to herself as she imagined the headlines they would write - a man murdered and blinded on a blind date.
"Not many, no," Charles sighed. "My dates never call me back, for some reason."
"Poor baby." She leaned forward to touch his wrist, hoping the powder she'd transfer there would be enough to knock him out.
It was almost too easy by now - she'd simply have to act panicked when her date fainted, and get him out of here. Someone would probably even help load him into a cab for her. He jerked his hands back before she could do it, however, and she stared at him. No-one had *ever* rejected her. He looked discomfited.
"Sorry, I...don't like being touched unexpectedly," he said, flustered, kicking himself for the awkward explanation.
It was perfectly true, but he'd always been able to act normal on these occasions before. Pretend to be comfortable with human contact, eager to touch the women he met. But this woman - there was something in her eyes that woke a nameless instinct in his gut. That warned him to be careful.
But another part of him was begging him to ignore the instinct, to lean forward and found out what it felt like to hold her hand. He took a hasty gulp of wine to mask his confusion, bewildered by his own feelings - he'd never felt this way about another person before. Always, he'd only been interested in one thing. And it wasn't sex.
"That's quite alright, I guess I'm just too comfortable with you," she said graciously, curling her hands into fists on her lap, carefully wiping her fingertips clean on the tablecloth.
Perhaps she'd moved too fast. There was something about this one that made her eager to get him back to her place, to play....for the first time in a long time, she felt anticipation for the act that would precede her kill. He really did have *very* pretty eyes.
"Dreadful, isn't it? That murder?" Charles changed the subject abruptly, gesturing towards the cover of the newspaper the man at the table across from them was reading.
He couldn't resist - the cover was splashed with the details of his last *date*, after all. It always gave him a delicious thrill to discuss his actions, to pretend to be as horrified as the rest of them.
"Oh, yes," said Alice, sparing the newspaper a single glance, her lip curling slightly. "Shocking, I guess. A little...unimaginative, though."
She said the last sentence under her breath, almost unconsciously. But Charles heard her, and his pulse quickened. That wasn't a normal response. That wasn't normal at all.
"Oh? You'd do it differently, would you?" he asked sardonically, and their eyes met over the table, as if seeing each other properly for the first time.
"Sorry, that was insensitive, wasn't it?" she gave an odd, light sort of laugh. "I guess it's just, there's so many crimes like that, you know? Young woman found, throat slashed in an alley. It gets a little tiring to read, I suppose. A little...boring."
He stared at her, his eyes sharp with interest, forgetting all about his second attempt to slip something in her glass of water. He *had* to hear this. "Oh? What would make it a better scene, do you think? What would make it less boring?"
Three hours later, they were still sitting at their table, leaning in to each other as they talked animatedly. At some point, their hands had linked across the table.
The waiter smiled to himself as he went to fill their glasses. It always gave him a lift to see a first date go well.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | The candles were lit, the table was set for two, and the night had that late summer evening chill, which was perfect for murder. Christine smiled and pulled out the chair for her date – a strawberry blonde little thing named Laura.
“Perfect night tonight,” Laura commented and sat down. “Thank you.”
‘Perfect’ was an understatement, Christine thought and sat down – almost too perfect. She let her black nails sweep over the handle of the knife on the table. She liked it personal, up close, feeling the last breath of her victim on her lips.
“It is perfect,” Christine said, smiling again.
“I’d kill for more nights like this,” Laura continued, and something dangerous flickered across her pale blue eyes.
Christine had seen that look before when looking in the mirror. A tingle tap-danced up her spine, leaving tracks of goosebumps its wake. Maybe this would be an interesting night after all.
The waitress interrupted the moment, by clearing her throat. Both the women reluctantly took their eyes off each other.
“I’ll have the tenderloin with garlic butter,” Christine said and turned her eyes back to Laura. “Make it extra rare.”
Their eyes met again, and a subtle smirk touched Laura’s blood red knives. Those lips were to die for, and they matched her dress and heels. She was the type of woman who drew all the eyes as soon as she entered the room. Christine looked forward to voiding her of life.
“I’ll have the veggie burger with fries.” Laura winked at Christine. “And make sure it’s well done.”
The waitress laughed politely at the joke and went on her way. Laura sighed and leaned back in her chair. Christine crossed her legs under the table, glancing sideways at their handbags resting next to one another, thinking of which tool she would use tonight.
“My eyes are up here,” Laura said with a smirk and brought Christine out of her reverie of handguns, piano cords, and serrated blades.
“I wasn’t looking for eye contact.” Christine returned the smirk.
“You’re bad!” Laura's voice had a tone of mock indignation.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good imagination.”
They watched each other intensely for a few moments. Laura wasn’t as innocent as her appearance would suggest, Christine realized that now. And she probably wasn’t fooled either by Christine’s black dress and sweet perfume.
“This only happens in stories,” Christine said.
Laura nodded. “I had you pegged the moment you walked in.”
“No need to get competitive.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with a little competition?”
“Nothing, really. I’d just hate to kill a colleague.”
“Oh, so you think that’s how it would go down?” Dangerous amusement glittered in corners of Laura’s eyes.
“We could leave right now and find out.”
Laura reached for her handbag, and Christine’s grip on her knife tightened. The blonde slowly pulled out her hand, revealing tiny a bottle with NYX on the label, and proceeded to touch up her lipstick. Christine relaxed her grip.
“It gets lonely sometimes,” Laura said. “Doesn’t it?”
Christine nodded hesitantly. It did get lonely. She had killed her last girlfriend over a dispute over the dishes and then fed her to the fishes. The harbor held many secrets now below the murky waves – sixty-eight secrets to be exact.
“It really does.”
The waitress arrived with their food and interrupted another moment. Christine noticed that Laura too had a slight wrinkle of annoyance lingering on her forehead.
“Hey, you look lovely,” Christine said turning to the waitress.
“Uhm, thanks,” she said, blushing.
“When does your shift end, darling?” Laura said and ran a red nail along the arm of the waitress, who visibly shivered at the touch.
The eyes of the killers met in agreement.
“We’d like to take you out for a night of fun,” Christine pushed on and they both turned to the waitress. “What do you say?”
| 2017-10-27T07:59:33 | 2017-10-27T07:41:54 | 396 | 129 |
[WP] A warrior prays to the god of war before a battle but by accident it's answered by the god of healing. The warrior is now blessed with the sword of resurrection, punches of healing, kicks of cure for the common cold etc. | The warrior was invincible in the battle that followed, although also entirely useless on the offense as all of his attacks actually made the enemy healthier. Nevertheless, the tales of his exploits spread far and wide, and soon he was beset by everyone from high lords to the poorest of common folk begging for him to lay his healing hands on them.
Which he gladly did, of course. Although prehaps not in the way they were expecting.
----------------------
"My Lord! My wife is heavy with child, but she has taken ill... I beg you! Lay your hands upon her and save her with your holy power!"
The warrior-turned-healer looked kindly upon the noble, who had come to his hall with his wife and equally sickly son and now lay prostrate before him.
"Fear not!" he declared grandly. "I will bestow my gifts upon you! What seems to be the issue?"
"We can't say, but there appears to be a problem with the baby." the man says fretfully. Behind him, his son tries and fails to hold back a coughing fit.
"The baby, eh? Well, I'm sure we take care of that!" he strides towards the woman. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Vanessa, my Lord."
"My dear Vanessa, hold very still. This will all be over in a moment."
He inspects her swollen belly carefully. "Yes, I see. It's very deep in there."
"Um, what is, my lord?" her noble husband peers over his shoulder.
"The baby, of course. Stand back."
The warrior stands and winds up. Before anyone can stop him, he delivers a mighty punch to the woman's belly! She doubles over in pain and collapses to the ground.
"W-what have you done!?" The noble cries, aghast. He reaches for his sword, but remembers he was asked to leave it outside. When he looks back, he sees the madman has already started towards his son.
"Ho there, boy! That's quite the cold you have!" he cries, advancing on him. The boy shrinks away in fear, searching for an escape, but there is no running from the warrior's spinning back kick.
"You... you're insane!" the noble sputters as his son skids across the floor. "We came for your help!"
"And help you I have! I've rid you of two problems today! Three if you count the baby!" the warrior replies cheerfully.
"By the Gods..." Just as the noble steps towards the warrior, intent on killing him with his bear hands if necessary, his wife interrupts him.
"Wait!" she struggles to her feet, and takes a deep breath. "Wait. I-I feel... good. Much better than before. The pain is gone!"
He stops, confused. "My dear! Are you saying..."
"Yes... I think... somehow, I'm cured! That man's strange technique... it worked!"
Across the hall, his son sits up and sniffs experimentally. "Finally!" He cries in relief. "I can breathe through my nose again! The Gods have banished my congestion!"
"I *truly* don't understand..."
"Worry not!" the warrior claps him on the shoulder, inadvertantly curing his lingering back pain. "My healing ways may be mysterious, but they haven't failed yet!"
The noble stands torn between relief and anger. "But why don't you tell anyone?!"
"What? And have them come wincing and cringing and hiding their afflicted parts from me?! Nay, 'tis much better as a surprise!"
"I... I see."
"Don't worry, you're not the first to be shocked. Why, old Lord Carell came to me with a lump on his testicles... you should have seen his face!" | As I watched the soldiers I healed rise again i saw a few quickly shake off their confusion and rejoin the battle. It wasn't until i watched one have a spear driven thru the shoulder and not flinch in pain that I realized the combination had broken reality. The soldier pulled the spear from his shoulder.
"Bloody hell why didn't that hurt you!" Asked the attacker. While he spoke the wound closed and healed completely.
As I watched I saw other i had healed stop fighting the non healed and instead tested their skills against the others who had been restored.
As the other soldiers watched they began to lower their weapons, some dropping them completely. Eventually everyone had either dropped their weapons or sheathed them.
"Can you heal me?" Asked a soldier missing an arm.
"Uhhh I don't know if I can regrow limbs let's see if we can find your arm." I said looking around.
"FOUND IT!!!" said a near by solider. "Sorry about that dude."
Holding his arm to the stump I smacked him upside the head with the flat of my sword. "BE HEALED" I said laughing.
Over the next few hours I healed everyone on the battlefield. Once I was complete the geneals approached.
"Thanks for your help but we still have that pesky problem of figuring out who gets to control the resources for redistribution. Said the Blue general.
"To be honest I don't fully trust either leadership to do it properly" said the red General
"I know but we have to pick one before we can come up with a better solution." I agreed.
a few hours of discussion later it was decided we would continue the battle with equal forces but only volunteers that have been healed in order to fight without fear, pain or consequence. Those who didn't want to fight would ensure no one was a victim of collateral damage.
"Wait what if someone needs a building demolished?" Asked a soldier.
"Ummmm I guess we could coordinate to make our collateral damage useful." I suggested.
"Sounds like a plan to me" said the Blue general.
"Seems like we are in agreement then." Said the red general.
"GAME ON!!!!" I yelled with a smile.
"WAIT!!!!" A soldier yelled as they ran to our meeting.
"I have a game we can play, I've been wanting to teach everyone. It involves moving a ball from one side of the field to the other."
"I'm game to try what do you call this game?" I asked.
"Football!" | 2022-10-28T08:13:19 | 2022-10-28T07:50:34 | 57 | 18 |
[WP] The aliens found you in hypersleep on your derelict ship and brought you onto theirs. You've awoken and escaped into their maintenance tunnels and the only thing you've found that you can eat is the aliens themselves. | I thought my biometrics were lying at first.
But as I force shaky fistfuls of alien entrails into my hungry mouth, I know it was right. Edible.
More than that, it's the tastiest blastin' thing I've ever eaten in my life. The flavour. Sweet stars, the flavour. I mean, I've travelled all over, eaten from every culture mankind has on record. These intestines I'm wrapping around my fingers round make everything else seem like shit.
"John," says my internal monitor, "you are ingesting high levels of biological material. Though initial scans proved edible, I did not anticipate you would eat such high volumes."
Distant chatter and noise makes me freeze, my hands drenched in purple goop. A bang and worried chirps. The aliens are hunting me. They're primitive, with hardly any real weaponry. From what I can tell they're a peaceful species. Good. Snatching up the tasty dead one next to me and clutching it tightly, I point at the wall of the pipe I'd climbed into. I only have to think of cutting a line and my finger augmentations turn on, spinning my index finger around and ejecting a hot laser which I use to carve a hole in the pipe wall.
Kicking off, my jetboots let out a quick burst, propelling me through my freshly cut hatch and into this nice warm central chamber. As I impact with the floor, my kinetic body-mesh absorbs the damage. I casually wonder what the purpose of this chamber is, and my biometrics reply.
"Location appears to serve as the central hub for a rudimentary ventilation system. From here, 90% of the ship is accessible."
"Find me a way out," I whisper. I need to get back to my own ship. Get back home. I rip off a bit of meat and close my eyes as I chew and swallow, letting the taste wash over me. It's almost overpowering.
"Ejector pods located," my biometrics begin, listing off bearings and distances, but this meat is too tasty to listen. Its moist and mouth watering and I just need more.
"John, you are ingesting too much biological matter. Please stop."
I can't feel my muscles. There's a certain rhythm to my motions, grab, squeeze, pull, eat, repeat. A harmony. A beautiful thing. I'm running out of meat, but there are colourful organs to taste and I am so hungry.
"Unknown material. Please stop eating," sings my biometric scanner, like the voice of a distant angel. My face is all tingly and warm. I can feel my heart pumping and my vision growing. This is incredible. Something squishy in my hands gets pushed between swelling lips. Heaven. I am entering heaven. Sweet stars. Sweet stars.
"Addictive substance detected. Hallucenic detected. Mind altering substance detected," sings my personal angel. I can hear harps, welcoming me to the promised lands. Teeth gnash and I consume the sweet fruit.
My hands stop and I ride waves of pulsing magic. Sweet stars. Oh sweet stars. This is like kissing God. Like making love with the universe. I am infinity. My nerves are ablaze with stardust and dreams.
Then it's over. Everything is cold. The world is grey and dull.
"John, the escape pods are-"
"Find me more," I snarl, pushing myself to my feet, jet boots half flaring with enthusiasm as my augmentations flicker and whir with undecided intent. My voice bounces and echoes off the chamber walls as I roar. "More! MOOOOORREEE!"
r/RJHuntWrites | “You are very good, I am sure.”
I stand over the Xani, who is incapacitated. A maintenance worker within this rather lofty system of tunnels. It is well-lit, and a decent location for a light dinner.
I run my hands over his fleshy arms.
Oh, how good that would taste with a little parsley, garnishing of rosemary. Lashings of potatoes side, marinated in a garlic herb butter. Oh, yes, that would be divine. I just wish I had the ingredients, but unfortunately they elude me at this present. I wonder if they have a kitchen?
So I leave my prey, and continue walking down the tunnel network. Though I have not eaten in three weeks, courtesy of my disturbed hypersleep, I cannot reduce myself to have a raw Xani. It would be too uncouth, too unappealing. I would vomit, everywhere, like a hose of bile. It would be thoroughly unpleasant, let me say.
I make my way into a shaft, where I smell something decently aromatic. I lift a nearby hatch, and resell myself down into the kitchen,
There I find it, Xani, all incapacitated and waiting for me. Herbs of grand variety in the stocked pantries, rosemary, thyme, basil, mint, oh heavens be praised. Cheese, butter, all the lashings and garnishing you can think of. I move myself over to a large wooden cabinet, and open to see a treasure trove of ingredients, all to provide me with a feast unlike any other. Oh, perfection, belissimo!
I get to work, utilizing well the conveniently placed cutting boards.
————————————————————
This is the perfect plot to next week’s episode of Jardin: Phenomenal Cooking Extravaganza!
The hypothetical menu I have come up with for next for next week:
Roasted butter and garlic potatoes
Leg of Xani, nicely marinated in a Peruvian chili sauce
Arm of Xani in a creme reduction, lightly seared
Asparagus shoots, nicely oiled and roasted
A desert consisting of berry compote, and orange zest creme brûlée
Waldorf salad with salad cream and lashings of fried radishes, potatoes, and boneless chicken fried
I believe this menu will be perfect, both to entice next week’s audience and please the dinner guests alike.
Monsieur Jardin, it will be a show to remember.
———————————————————— | 2018-07-30T08:01:43 | 2018-07-30T07:25:38 | 118 | 12 |
[WP] After being terrified of the darkness all your life, you dealt with your fear by being friendly with it. Despite knowing it was silly, its always seemed to help. Today, after a would-be mugger rushed you, he stepped into a shadow, screamed, and vanished. | Being locked in a closet by your older brothers and their jerky friends when you're 6 and afraid of the dark will mess with your head. The 4 boys liked to torment me. As a result, I spent a lot of time in the closet with the vacuum, our winter coats and the darkness.
"Keep screaming crybaby." my brother Jeff taunted as the other boys laughed and high-five each other before running outside to play. I stopped beating on the door as their laughter faded.
I pulled dad's winter coat off its hanger and wrapped myself up in it, huddling into the back corner. "I hate stupid Jeff and his friends," I sniffled to no one in particular. "They're so mean, always shoving me in the closet."
Being a normal kid with an overactive imagination, I started to imagine that the big heavy vacuum cleaner in the other corner was the guardian of the closet. That he sucked up bad guys and took care of me when I was locked in the closet. "You'll protect me, won't you Kirby?"
As the years went by, I was locked in that closet less and less, my brothers discovered girls, cars and got jobs. All the while, my steadfast guardian still waited for me. In fact, I had a whole army of imagined guardians. Friends who would talk to me and ask about my day, always protecting me from danger. I made friends with the darkness, the monsters I feared became a comfort to me.
I moved out of mom's house after high school, went to college and studied art, got a degree, got a job at an art museum, and spent my spare time painting, drawing and sculpting with anything I could get my hands on. My apartment was full of my artwork. I was getting ready for my first art show. A local gallery was putting together a showcase of some of the local artists and my boss had recommended me to the owner. In a week, people would come to see my art. I was thrilled.
Living in the city, I found myself walking everywhere since driving my car meant I had to find a parking spot and there was never enough parking, no matter the time of day. Because of this, I either walked or took public transportation, but there was no guarantee that would be on time either. So, I found myself walking a lot. It was good exercise, I reasoned.
Earlier that day, I had gotten a call from the gallery owner who wanted me to stop by after work and go over a few last minute details before they sent their crew to pick up my art for the show. It was late by the time we finished up. I checked my watch, noting it was about 10:15, I started walking back to my apartment. I didn't want to wait for the bus to come by in another 20 minutes. As I walked, I went through my conversation with my boss right after lunch. He was going to assign me a new project, after seeing how well I did with arranging the modern art exhibit we just got in last week. I was excited because one of my favorite artists was included in the new project. I would get to see his work up close. This was a huge opportunity for me.
As I walked, I kept hearing footsteps behind me. I knew that if I looked back, it would look suspicious, so when I came to a corner, I turned to look both ways and took a quick glance behind me. A man had stopped by the electronics store at the other end of the block, casually looking in the window. I turned and hurried across the street, slipping my hand in my pocket as I went, grabbing for my pepper spray. The footsteps sounded behind me again, closer than before.
As I hurried on, almost breaking into a run, hands closed on my upper arms, pulling me into the alley on my left. I was thrown against the wall, hitting my head. Dazed, I raised my arm and sprayed my attacker full in the face. I slumped against the wall as he raised his hands to his face, screaming with rage and pain. As he stepped further back into the darkness of the alley, black spots appeared at the edges of my vision. My attacker's screams changed from rage and pain to terror. Then, they stopped altogether, cut off mid-scream. As my eyes got heavier and I sank into the darkness, a pair of warm, strong arms lifted me up and carried me down the alley. "It's going to be OK, Annie. I've got you." my savior whispered into my hair before I felt him kiss my temple and I finally lost consciousness.
A pounding headache and bright daylight greeted me the next morning. I crawled out of bed, stumbling to the bathroom, heaving into the toilet as I gradually came awake. I felt the back of my head, feeling a knot under my hair. "That explains the headache and nausea." I grumbled. I made my way into my living room, looking at my paintings lined up against the wall. I stand in front of the last one I had painted, a line of bright white at the bottom of the canvas illuminated the silhouette of a vacuum cleaner, but within the silhouette a pair of eyes glowed. The rest of the canvas was dark.
"I think that one is my favorite," a rough gravelly voice behind me says. I jump out of my skin and turn around to take in the very large man sitting on my sofa, holding a cup of coffee and watching me curiously. "You almost got the eyes right, Annie." he smirks and takes a sip of his coffee. "Oh, I made coffee and there's some Tylenol on the counter next to the coffee pot. Your head is probably pounding right now, huh?"
"Yeah, thanks." I mutter, shuffling into the kitchen. I grab a cup of coffee and swallow some Tylenol and pad back out to the living room. Curling up in the opposite corner of the couch, watching this gorgeous man with very familiar eyes who has invaded my home, I take a sip of my coffee and try to clear away the cobwebs a little more. "Who are you, exactly?" No one has called me Annie since I was a kid, aside from my brothers.
The mysterious stranger chuckles, his laugh rasping out of him. "Oh, I thought you knew. I'm Kirby, nice to finally meet you."
**Sorry for the formatting (or lack of) I'm on my phone.** |
I look around at the now empty alley. "*Where did he go? He couldn't have just vanished into the darkness....could he?"* I search high and low looking for any sign of the man that was once before me. "*Where the hell did he go?!"* A sense of anxiety over comes me with the man's absence I scream out into the dark alley way "WHERE ARE YOU?!" After minutes of searching for this would be robber the hard truth becomes clear *"The darkness....it got him."* The thought echoes throughout my mind over and over *"The darkness... it got him....darkness..got him."* A familiar sense of fear comes over me at this point *"Could it get me?"* I shake the thought and force a smile into the alley way "Thanks...again" I say in a forced almost passable happy tone. I turn down the alley and head home. Replaying the events that just transpired, hearing his pitiful fading scream, and the void that stares at me as I walk. "The darkness..it got him."
As I approach my apartment I see the light gleaming from it, a patchy roof held up by four barely passable walls all leaking the light I shove inside it...just in case. I open the door and flip a few lights off to let my acquaintance in "You know it isn't anything against you I just cant see."
I crumble onto my bed thoughts echoing about *"darkness.....got...him."*
I peel my eyes open the next evening, as I always do, one would think I'd have normal sleep, to wake up in morning to find but darkness finds a way, there is always darkness....always. I get out of bed , grab my stuff and head out the door. I wonder the streets, looking for inspiration then, I hear a person yelling. *"What the?"* As I walk in the direction of the yelling, I realize the person yelling, is screaming, and coming from an alley to my right. *"Why is it always alleys?"* I run over to investigate, the screams now silent, as I round the corner I notice three men standing around what appears to be two pairs of legs laying on the ground. Surrounded by the faint light given by the hanging off the wall. Before I could gather my senses on what possibly could be happening, I found myself shouting "HEY! What's going on here?!" Instant regret overcomes me as the three men stop what they are doing and turn to face me "Fuck off kid, I'll only tell you once." One of them pulls up his shirt revealing a 9MM pistol. They turn around to the limp body on the floor. One of them rustling around behind the other two.
*"Fuck, I gotta help, but getting shot isn't really what I had in mind today."* I look around, realizing what was about to transpire I turn around and start to walk away. Suddenly inspiration strikes me *"We could help..."* I stop mid step and glance to my right, there laid a sizable rock or two. I pick them up. *"I have to act fast or this will end bad for both of us"* As I stand up from picking up the rocks I shouted "HEY! STOP!". I extend my arm back and take the craziest throw I have ever did In my life, I notice the three men now turning at me again, one reaching for the pistol he showed me moment ago. "This better work or I'm toast." Almost in an instant the rock flies through the air, as the pistol is pointed towards me finger on the trigger and knocks out the light. BANG! goes the pistol, then the sounds of blood curdling screams wailed out fading away into silence.
I stood there dumbfounded, unaware of any surrounding except the body that was laying on the ground. I look down a gaze into the terrified blue eyes of the half naked, bound woman laying before me. "I wont hurt you" I assure her as I take the cloth gaging her mouth, and cut lose the binds that held her hands together. "Are you hurt?" She shakes her head just as dumbfounded as I was about what Just transpired. She points to my side. Upon observing I notice a rip in my shirt, I check myself for any wounds and relize how lucky I was during that engagement. "Do you live nearby? I can walk you home." She points in a direction, still silent. I nod and we walk. We get to a house down the street and I ask one more time before setting off "Are you sure you are ok?" She nods and closes the door behind her.
"Think you should keep an eye on her don't ya think" I mumble to the void as I begin walking back where I came from.
It was in this moment, a feeling I havent felt overwhlemed me, a postive feeling. Hope?, new found purpose? Peace, comfort. I realized the darkness I feared all my life, can in fact snuff out the darkness in the world we live in. "Looks like you and I are not so different now huh" \*I smile. the first genuine smile to my new found ally, we walk deeper into the darkness. | 2020-07-14T16:08:01 | 2020-07-14T15:38:20 | 34 | 13 |
[WP]Death Eaters win The battle of Hogwarts killing all opposition and breaking a one thousand year old truce between muggles and wizards. Lord Voldemort must now face the full might of the United Kingdoms' military. | **Not really UK or military, but oh well.**
*They say that fiction is often based on fact.
It was in the early 80's when the muggles had one of the biggest technological breakthroughs seen in their history. It was simultaneously one of their biggest secrets...*
Beads of sweat appeared on Voldemort's face, glistening against the glow of his wand. "*AVADA KEDAVRA*," he bellowed, sending electric green jets at the face of the man standing in front of him. This time, the sound was deafening. Chunks of earth burst into the sky and dust enveloped the scene. In between haggard, raspy breaths his smile slowly widened. He was sure of his success this time. He had given it his all against this man, this statue, without seeing promising results.
Voldemort barely saw the man before he heard him. His spell had again failed him. Only a faint red glow was discernible through the thick dust.
"*You wizards have always had one flaw with your most powerful curses. The muggles were desperate to find a way to exploit that. When the technology finally caught up, they produced several 'individuals' like me. For what's the point of a killing curse, if the target was never alive*?"
Voldemort's face scrunched up in anger. This man, his voice sounded...off. He couldn't take it, he had to know. "*SHOW YOURSELF! SHOW ME WHO YOU ARE? How are you still even STANDING?!*"
The man emerged from the dust, only his skin was damaged by the most powerful of all wizard spells. He looked down at Voldemort, who was now quivering in fear. The man drew a pistol from his hip, and pointed it at the dark lord.
"*Hasta la vista, baby.*" | Lord Voldemort was triumphant at his defeat of Harry Potter. He alone walked to the edge of the mind charm zone to gloat at his truly epic victory.
No sooner had he crossed it when he saw a strange red light upon his forehead. He tried to touch it and it did not move. It did seem to jitter a bit, so Voldemort decided it was harmless.
Lord Voldemort wandered further away from the zone, and found himself amongst a group of muggles carrying strange devices of different sizes. He laughed and cast Avada Kedavra at the lead man. He crumpled to the ground. Suddenly his entire body was in pain. His corrupted blood leaked from dozens of holes. Lord Voldemort crumpled, dead.
| 2014-10-12T03:37:00 | 2014-10-12T00:00:12 | 135 | 17 |
[WP] You survive the zombie apocalypse and realize that they're incredibly useful. For example, you can generate free electricity forever by putting the zombies in giant hamster wheels. You become determined to create a zombie-powered utopia. | It was a rather nice day as far as George was concerned. The sun was up and there was a slight chill in the air. It was crisp and not too cold but it promised that summer wouldn't be too far off. George was in a particular good mood this morning, it was his shift at the Electrical Facility but he didn't mind it, in fact, he welcomed it. He enjoyed working and it was a way to reestablish some sense of normalcy after the Zombie Epidemic.
George kissed his wife on the forehead and said goodbye before walking out the door. The Electrical Facility wasn't too far away, less than a mile and it gave George an opportunity to work on his New Life's Resolution and keep his weight off-- George had always struggled with weight most of his life but since the epidemic, he had lost quite a bit of weight and wanted to keep it that way. /Silver Lining/ he thought to himself and chuckled.
As George neared the Electrical Facility, the sound of shouting and chanting began to fill the air. "Jesus Christ," he swore under his breath "Not this again."
"WE HAVE TO STOP THE ENSLAVEMENT OF INNOCENT ZOMBIES," cried out a petite woman protesting in front of the Houston Electrical Facility. Thirty or so others, both male and female, protested with her, some carrying white picket signs and marching while others simply shouted along side the petite woman. "THESE ZOMBIES ARE FORCED TO WORK IN HORRID CONDITIONS AGAINST THEIR WILL." she shouted again "AND IT IS OUR RESPONSIBILITY AND CIVIC DUTY TO CHANGE THIS!"
Zombie Right's Activist groups formed shortly after the government had declared that Zombies could be used for efficient labor. George never understood the thought process behind these groups but he decided that as long they let him do his work, he had no issues with them.
George stopped for a moment and observed--he hated confrontation but he loved working. So with a deep breath, George lowered his gaze to the pavement and began walking with haste.
His heart began to pound as the shouting got louder, he felt the eyes of the protesters bore into him but he kept walking. "Excuse me, sir," said the lady with the bullhorn. "Sir!"
George continued walking, pretending he didn't hear the woman. "YOU THERE, SIR," She bellowed and ran over to George.
George's stomach dropped.
"I, uh, yes?" George managed.
The woman lowered the megaphone.
"How can you sleep at night knowing you work in /that/ building. These zombies are /forced/ against their free will to work in horrid conditions and you are okay with that?"
"Well, I, uh, I mean, you see, the thing is-"
"They don't understand what's going on," She cut in "And they're being manipulated. How are you okay with that?" She demanded.
George swallowed "Well, if I had it my wa-"
"You'd have all of the zombies working here, right?!" She cut in again. "You'd take advantage of something that doesn't have the ability to say no to the /oppressive/ government and you'd work them until they die!" She paused for a moment.
"Here," she said and brought out a clipboard. "It's a petition to free the Zombies. If we get enough signatures, the government will have to listen to us!"
George sighed internally, "I- I don't think I can sign thi-." The woman's face grew beet red "So you do support slavery! You are the worst type of person there is, you know that?!"
George's heart began to race, "No," he tried to defend himself "It's just-"
"It's just you support slavery, right?!"
"No! Of course not," George managed. The woman handed him the clipboard, "Sign the petition then."
George stood there, frozen. "Sign the petition," She repeated. He knew he shouldn't, he thought to himself. This woman is crazy. But it would get her to leave him alone...
The woman grew more impatient, "Sign. The. Petition."
George swallowed hard again, "I just really th-"
"SIGN YOUR FUCKING NAME," she roared and with that, George picked up the pen. hands trembling and scrawled his signature.
The woman smiled. "Good, I'm glad you don't support slavery, uh..." She peered at where he signed "...George." George flashed her a tentative smile. "Alright, well, uh, I think I'll be on my way now." He took one step before he felt a small hand grab his arm.
"George," the woman said "You don't work there anymore, you don't support slavery, do you?" He stared longingly at the front door of the electrical facility, he wished nothing more than to be inside there, working. He sighed and seemed to shrink a few inches.
"Good," she smiled. Still holding George by the arm, she guided him to where a group of seven others were. She looked George in the eye and flashed a wicked smile before handing him a picket sign that read "Freedom of Choice." | The deputy mayor was starting to smell and Una wasn't quite sure how much longer she could stand it. She'd first noticed a sourness in the air about a week ago, and it had only gotten worse since. That a zombie could ever be in politics was itself ridiculous, but that the zombie would be her superior was almost hurtful.
Una opened her window a little wider and took in a deep breath of fresh air. The sky was its usual grey but the air was clean enough. Even the sun was out, a pale silver disc barely visible in the clouds. Una was happier than she'd been in weeks and she was damned if Deputy Mayor Sam Jones's stink was going to ruin her mood.
She gathered some papers and walked down the hall to Sam Jones's office. She knew he'd be there as he rarely left the building without her. She took a deep breath, knocked once and went in. He was seated at his desk, gazing out a window. The room was heavy with his dying odour. He turned to Una as she approached and smiled. His speech had not returned, and Una supposed it never would - much to Mayor Keane's annoyance - but he was a fine enough puppet and a pleasant zombie face for the human population. Most importantly, he didn't cause trouble.
"Good morning Sam, Mayor Keane has asked me to check that our life-challenged staff are taking their prescribed medications in the correct doses, and I thought I should start at the top and work my way down. Which is you, of course." She faked a smile.
The deputy mayor looked confused for a moment and then smiled back at her. His perfect white teeth - courtesy of Mayor Keane herself - gleamed in his skull, an effect that never failed to give Una the creeps. He reached across and opened a drawer and took out his plastic medication tray. The trays had been a gift from China and had worked wonders with keeping the slave meds controlled, where they had minders and fulltime staff to destribute them, but neither Keane nor Una could force the free zombies to take the required daily doses. Una saw straight away that the deputy mayor had skipped several days.
"Do you have any other trays in there, Sam?"
Sam nodded and opened the drawer again. It was filled with old, half-empty trays.
"Why don't you give those to me, Sam," Una said. "I'll clean them out and make sure you get your refills. And Sam, try to be a little more responsible with your medication. You need to set an example, remember?"
Sam nodded and handed her the trays. He smiled again, in his dim and creepy way, and turned back to the window, where a lone crow sat on the sill.
Una, with the trays of expensive medicines now safely under one arm, walked back to her office. She closed the door and quietly turned the lock. All thoughts of the undead man's stink were gone. She sat at her desk and laid the trays out on top of it. One by one she opened each little plastic flap on its little plastic hinge and scooped out the tablets and capsules inside. When all the trays were emptied and all the meds were on her desk, she sorted them into groups. Anticoagulants, antidepressants, anti-psychotics, heart treatments, liver and kidney treatments, multi-vitamins, aminoglycosides and other antibiotics, the multiple painkillers, and of course, what she was after all along, necrocin, the wonder drug.
She crushed two of the tablets by grinding them into the desk with her palm. She took a thick piece of card from the bookcase behind her and used it to cut the powder into smaller grains, then reached again for a book - any book - and ripped a blank page from the back. Rolled tight, she held the paper straw to her nose and leaned forward. First one side, then the other. She sat for a moment longer then stood on woozy legs and lay down on the carpet. | 2015-01-03T08:23:10 | 2015-01-03T06:39:21 | 61 | 11 |
[WP] In a world where almost everyone is an unfeeling psychopath, those who can show emotion are shunned -- being able to display or feel emotion is considered a mental illness.
Those with "Emotional Personality Disorder" are seen as dangerous, unstable, and mentally ill. Write about this world, from the point of view of one of the "normal" psychopaths, or from the point of view of someone with EPD.
Have fun!
EDIT: I will attempt to provide helpful critique to any response if requested. | The less time here the better. I want to sit in the closest seat to the exit so when the bus stops I can get off quickly.
|
Lately I've been thinking about they day they took my father away. The look of fear on his face. . . and anger.
|
After a certain age, around 7 or 8, most children lose their emotions and are then on their way to becoming a normal part of society. Others on the hand, like my father, don't. It happens sometimes. I think it's called *Emotional Personality Disorder*. People with "EPD" are considered a danger to society and themselves because they have an extremely high probability to react illogically and dangerously.
|
I was a late bloomer myself. I was almost 9 before I "lost" my emotions. I remember a story I overheard my father tell someone about a coworker of his that just pretended not to have any emotions, the coworker was almost 28 before they caught him. So that's what I started doing too. I could overhear other kids ask each other if they thought I had EPD, it was the only thing I could do.
|
I pretended for years and years. Now here I am, a junior in high school, top 10% in my class. My future can be bright. I wonder how my father would react to me, emotions and all. He told me the truth about 5 years ago. That he had emotions and was so happy that I did too. He had been pretending for almost 40 years, tears ran down his face. He looked at me and then I realized. . . I didn't care.
So that's why I turned him in.
|
I had been caught up in pretending to not have emotions for so long I never realized when they actually left. I wonder if I could have laughed at the irony so many years ago.
And now that the bus arrived at school earlier than normal I can turn in my paper before class starts and I'll get full credit.
|
|
^(This is my first attempt. I would really appreciate feedback. Hope you enjoyed!) | Constant conversation flooded the classroom, the students discussing useful information such as how to bake the perfect soufflé, or rates of velocity and such. Childish topics. When he walked in, they all quieted down to whispers, topics instantly changing to the recent debacle in the bathroom. It was rumored that someone was sobbing, and being the upstanding and rational students they were, it must have been him. All was cut short when the professor strolled in, cool and calm as always, a slip in his hand.
"Two-hundred forty-three, please make your way to the infirmary," the school master spoke.
He stood up, blood draining from his face, all eyes on him. He stumbled, gasped, and was out the door begrudgingly, knowing what was coming next. The diagnosis was just a matter of time. The silence broke suddenly, as a single, clear voice, coldly stated the obvious, "Freak."
First time, please be gentle! | 2013-11-20T19:28:03 | 2013-11-20T19:22:18 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] The invasion of Earth has finally begun but it is not the humans who are putting up the fiercest resistance. | As the mother ship, 2000 meters long and covered with bulbuos spines, approached inner orbit, captain k'rac of the imperium of zel, conquerer of a hundred worlds and slayer of the crab nebula hordes, was signaled by one of the communications officers on the bridge.
"We are approaching our designated landing point, captan" clicked the prawn like navigator.
"Good" rumbled k'rac. "How long before we land on terra?"
"Approximately 20,000 flashes of a pulsar, " replied the officer, performing and double checking the minute calculations needed to breach orbit.
"The swarm mother's larva have reported that the dominant species, known as "homo sapiens", are stupid and weak, only using crude ballistic and nuclear weapons".
"Wonderful!" chuckled (or as close to chuckling as a giant shrimp could) k'rac. "Agitate the hives, wake the dirgecallers, and prepare the photon mortars, this will be a slaughter!" As he began to leave the bridge and make his report to the monarch, k'rac turned back, as an afterthought struck him "Where does our first battle begin?"
"An island, uninhabitable by humans in the center and a good landing point, clicked the underling. "The dominant ape species here calls it..."
the communications officer squinted at the hazy intercepted maps, taken from rogue satellites flung out of earths orbit;
"Australia"
*I wrote this on my phone, sorry for bad formatting and grammar*
Edit 1: fixed some misspellings and missing words. Still crap
| God bless them, our winged saviors. Without whom we would be lost to the Hergians. Who ever suspected that sonic bombardment would be their weakness? Their supersonic pulses tear the minds of these wretched creatures asunder. Glory be to the echolocators of our world, the saviors of our existence and the pacifiers of providence!! | 2016-05-17T10:46:52 | 2016-05-17T10:45:09 | 365 | 26 |
[WP] As a dragon of innumerable age you have guarded your gold horde for millennium. Many heroes have come with long speeches on how they will slay you, the great evil,none finish. However this one is odd.He throws a coin on your stash, looks you in the eyes and says "I have a proposition for you." | "Fuck me in the ass."
My thick dragon eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I coughed. The fire that was waiting to roast the bastard quelled in my throat.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me Dragon - stick your big fat dragon dick, up my ass."
I didn't feel amused. It'd been a millennium since my mating season. And this man wasn't a dragon. I didn't even want to picture the logistics.
"And suppose human, I seriously considered what you request. Do you think that act is worth a meager coin you just threw onto my pile of treasure?"
The stupid knight nodded.
"This is a dragon's lair not a brothel." I said in disbelief. "Where's the respect gone? The tradition?"
The knight took out a pouch of gold and awkwardly took a step closer to the horde, dropping a few coins more into the pile. He smiled conciliatory, as if he'd meant no insult.
"What, you've got a dragon fetish?"
"Well no, not exactly."
"Then why the fuck do you want to get fucked in the ass by a dragon?"
"That's what I was thinking too until I saw it in a painting and then I couldn't stop thinking about it."
I put a massive claw to my snout and eyes in a dragon facepalm. In the corner of my hearing, I thought I heard a snicker. I looked at the knight, who had a neutral expression.
"Okay." I sighed deeply, "I'll grant you your request. Turn around and bare your rear."
He stammered. "W-wait what, seriously?"
I grinned widely, willing the heavy stone entrances closed with my familiarity of the lair. They landed with a heavy thud.
"I- I was just kidding. There's no way -"
"A dragon's word is golden just like his horde."
He screamed as I opened up my wings, gusting heated air into the room. Fire jettisoned out of my mouth, creating a pillar 30 feet high.
"DRAGON RAAAPE!" I hissed between my teeth, eyes glowing.
The knight began to run back and forth in the stone hall, his helmet clanking up and down.
I spoke lowly in dragon tones, "I bet your human manuscripts don't know how big a Dragon dick is - but feel honored, because you're about to find out."
The knight was still looking for a way out, clawing at the stone gaps frantically. His gait started to look a little awkward as if he'd crapped his pants.
I almost felt sorry for the fellow until he pulled out his sword.
"You take your dick out Dragon, and I'll cut your wanker right off!" He breathed red-faced and with an expression of revulsion.
"Chill out man." I said. "Jared just wanted to pull a prank on you."
"What, huh? What?" The knight only looked more confused.
"Your asshole friend? The guy who dared you to ask me to fuck you in the ass. That guy."
The knight sat, stunned - probably sitting in his own shit. My dragon sense of smell could detect it even from my height.
"JAAARED" He hollered, sword in hand, running out of the entrance of my now opened lair.
I smirked satisfactorily, being a dragon there weren't many things that could keep you entertained anymore.
| The dragon shifted on its pile of gold, scales innumerable, size immeasurable, and power unmatchable. Even the knight standing before him looked like he was just going to be a snack. The armour he had brought with him would do nothing against the fire of the great beast.
All of this made the fact that the knight was unarmed, very strange.
The knight tossed a single coin into the pile, it quickly slipped into the shifting coins, each moving beneath the dragon as it turned to face the knight. It did the closest thing a dragon could do to raising an eyebrow.
"I have a proposition for you," the knight said, looking somewhere for a chair in the massive cavern, "hear me out?"
Fire licked the dragons lips, and then his tongue did, "What if I don't listen?"
"Then I die," the knight said, dropping his search for the chair to look at the dragon, he shifted his stance twice, "but I needed to try this."
"Try what," the dragon moved closer to him, each scale radiating the heat of a funeral pyre, "and don't mistake my boredom for interest."
"Thanks," the knight sat down on the pile of coins, the sound of his armour scraping against them filled the cavern, "why this kingdom?"
"Becuase I live here," He said, rolling his golden draconic eyes.
"So you're in this cave because it's yours?"
"Exactly," he said, "but that was a question, not a proposition."
"Well," the knight shifted on the coins, nearly falling as they moved like water, "you need more gold don't you?"
"I don't need gold, I take it to prove a point, I'm surprised you had one to give."
"That was the one to give." the knight stood up, "we are going to war with a neighboring kingdom, one with stockpiles of gold."
"You want to take gold so I can just take it from you."
"We want the land," the knight said, "you take the gold."
"And why would you give it to me?"
"It's easier for you to take a castle than it is for us to." | 2015-10-13T22:32:10 | 2015-10-13T17:47:41 | 91 | 60 |
[WP] You are an evil overlord. You finally managed to capture your arch nemesis in your pit of despair, where (s)he will be held captive for thousands of years. After some years, your taunting becomes conversation, and, wow, he/she's a real likeable person. | "This is the last light you will ever see," I say, smiling.
The hero, my rival, was sitting in front of me in an unbreakable steel box. A small window was on the front. Inside, the hero was shackled to iron posts on the wall.
I press a green button and the box begins to lower down into the pit.
"Hey! Wait! Please!" He shouts from within.
"Good bye!" I shout down pleasantly.
"You can't do this! I will have revenge!"
You see, me and my rival are both immortal and we've been fighting for around six years now. I finally lured him into a trap, but realizing he can't be killed, sent him down into this carefully constructed pit.
I let out a sigh of relief. Now I could finally try conquering Castle Bardino. That was one of the strongest and richest castles across the land and the biggest obstacle holding me back was my rival.
Now, of course, I fed him three meals a day and gave him plenty of entertainment, books and a television.
I didn't do this because I was *nice* or anything of the sort. If he was bored, he would begin looking for a way out. And even though I was positive there wasn't one, I couldn't be too safe. That was surely the reason I gave him these small luxuries.
It was around two years after I sent him down, I realized how much we had in common.
"Today, I finally captured Castle Bardino!" I exclaimed, looking for a reaction of pure defeat.
Instead, what I found was marvelous.
"Nice job, how did you do it?" He asked, sounding actually curious.
He nodded and stayed engaged as I told him the story, asking questions about complicated parts of my plan and complimenting my genius traps.
It was delightful, no one has ever asked me about that before and understood a word of it when I tried to talk it through.
And then, after another few months, I discovered he enjoyed cooking as well! Cooking and conquering were two of my favorite passions.
I brought down loads of supplies and watched as he turned it into delicious pastries.
And then came the day where everything turned around. My rival created a chocolate chip cookie with vanilla frosting on top. And then, swirled and stacked perfectly was whipped cream.
He offered this masterpiece to me and I gladly accepted.
Of course, it was too good to be true. I should have known.
But alas, I woke up falling.
r/FortyTwoDogs | Freaking finally! I got that @#$% they call a hero! "Any last requests?"
> Well, since I don't see myself doing anything else for the next decade, wanna watch a movie?
"What." I ponder this for a moment. This was ...not the response I was expecting. "Okay? Why are you asking that? That seems like a rather lame last request."
> Wait, were you planning on killing me? I thought this was fun for you.
He had a point. "Well, yes, but it's still kind of annoying always losing. This is why I don't do competitive multiplayer..."
> So what do you have?
"Uh, I have all of the MST3K DVDs. Is that good?"
> Is that supposed to be a means of torture?
"No, I just adore the show. Why do you think I made the baking soda bomb? I was told it could destroy PLANETS!"
> Right, uh, give me your worst?
"One terrible movie, coming right up!"
\*one riffing later\*
"Well that was fun. Do it again next week?"
> Maybe...
"Right, let me get my costume!"
> Oh good grief... | 2019-04-15T10:54:20 | 2019-04-15T09:03:19 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | It was 11:59 and while the whole family gathered around, my mother was no where to be seen. I expected that she would have joined us. After all, she'd been there for my older sister's reveal, and my brother's reveal. But instead she was watering the garden while it rained steadily.
C'mon, mom, I know I'm not your favorite, but you could at least put on a front this time.
"It's noon!" my sister squealed. "Pullupyoursleeve!"
A moment of dread shot through me. I can't say that I knew exactly what was wrong, but I knew that something wasn't right. There was no tingling in my arm, just a feeling in the pit of my stomach that told me something was going to be revealed today and I wasn't going to like it.
I pulled up my sleeve and no words appeared. Frantically, I pulled up the other sleeve, shoving it all the way up to my armpit. It had to be there. My sister tugged my shirt up, peeking under it. Not that the words ever appeared anywhere besides on your dominant forearm. "Where is it?"
"He won't get it yet," my mother barked from the sliding glass door. "He's not going to be 18 for another two months."
"What?" I yelped. "Today's my birthday!" My sister's hands fell and my shirt slid back down into place.
My mother shook her head. "You're father and I were separated, and I met a man..." she said quietly, her round eyes darting towards my father.
"You said the baby was mine! You said he was just early!" my father shouted.
She crumpled into a chair, her wet hair dripping onto her face. Her mouth wobbled and she stared at the floor. "He's not and he wasn't."
Two months and three days later, my parents' marriage was in shambles, and I walked into my sister's room, pulled up my sleeve, and showed her the words that had appeared the day before. "MARRIAGE COUNSELOR"
| I'd always done well at school. Literally a straight-A student.
Perfect grades, the whole nine yards.
I'd gone to college, completed the courses before I was 16, and was enrolled in a prestigious and very expensive university in London by the time I was 17.
And because of this, the expectations were so high. My family, My extended family, distant relatives I'd never even spoken to, and all my friends had come for this my 18th Birthday, when they'd see the word appear denoting my future.
Everyone was trying to guess what the word would be. "Astronaut", "First President of Earth", "World's greatest scientist" were all bandied about.
It was 11.59am. Everyone gathered around as I extended my forearm and waited with bated breath.
The words that would shape my entire destiny began to form.
"Teenage Mom".
| 2017-03-16T03:19:48 | 2017-03-16T02:40:17 | 129 | 52 |
[WP] You're playing "The Floor is Lava" when you accidentally knock something over and it melts right before it sinks into the carpet. You notice a family member about to walk into the room. | Tim jumped onto the pillow, wobbled and almost fell. His little sister Angela giggled. "That was a close one!"
They had been playing The Floor Is Lava all afternoon. Tim had just turned twelve, and it was the first time he and his two younger sisters were allowed to stay at home without adult supervision.
"Throw me that cushion" Tim said, "I need to get to the door to check on Emily."
Angela bent far to grab the cushion, lifted it carefully without stepping of the chair she was on, and tried to toss it to her brother. The cushion bounced off a side table, tipping it and spilling several coasters onto the floor. Immediately, the coasters began steaming as they dissolved into the carpet.
Tim and Angela looked at each other shocked. They both stood frozen for several minutes until they heard the footsteps of Emily running toward the room. "Hey, look what I-" "NOOO!" screamed Tim and Angela in unison.
Emily stopped with one foot in the room. She looked at Tim and Angela, their shocked expressions, and then down at her foot. Her toes started smoking. She screamed and twisted, but it was too late. Arms flailing, she fell forward. Angela lunged at her, but it was too late. Tim looked on in horror as both his sisters seeped into the lava, their entire bodies engulfed in flames.
Tim heard the garage door opener sound that signaled the arrival of his parents. Slowly and carefully he made his way to the room entrance, careful not to touch the deadly lava. His parents came through the front door just as he got out of the room. Crying, he ran to them. "I'm sorry! " he cried "I couldn't save them. I couldn't take care of my sisters like you said I could."
His parents looked into the room, at the knocked over table, coasters everywhere, and the two girls sprawled on the floor giggling. His mom gave him a hug. You did alright, Tim.
EDIT: Typo, a few words, and changed the hardwood to carpet as per the word prompt | "STOOOOOOOOP!!!" I screamed at the top of my lungs.
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked at me with a face that was a mix of irritation and fear.
"Dude. What the fuck!?" He yelled.
"Watch out! The floor is lava! Don't come near it!" i said as i gripped the couch tighter.
"Listen." He began. "It's 4 in the morning. You have a job interview in 5 hours, you're in your underwear and i know you took those shrooms from my drawer a few hours ago."
"You gotta believe me man... The floor is lava." i said as i tumbled down on the rug on the floor. "The floor is lava..."
"Exactly how long have you been tripping?" | 2014-10-29T05:08:48 | 2014-10-29T04:33:39 | 103 | 39 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | 24 years in the business and The Steel Cricket retired. All you knew was that he ran into a villain he couldn't afford to hold back on and as a result the villain died. It was the first time he had ever killed someone and it wasn't something he talked about. Not even to you, his son.
Powers are hereditary. At least if your parent was a super you have a better chance of getting chosen. That's right, chosen. Nobody knows why but two people with the same power have never existed at the same time. That's why when your Dad retired his old team took you in even though you didn't have powers, they were hoping to scoop up the next Steel Cricket before their power had even manifested.
At first it wasn't so bad. You felt like part of the team. Were actually happy to be there. As the son of a superhero you grew up with capes so you knew the drill. You participated in meetings, had full access to the teams database, even gave them advice mid mission. You were a regular Thundering Whisper only without their powers. If things had stayed like that you would have been happy, but you developed your power.
To heat water...
The supers didn't know what to do with you. After a few months the main team more or less ignored you now. A subtle nod when you enter the room is the most you're acknowledged. The younger team though. They called you a junior junior hero. Eventually you found yourself doing chores for them. Odd jobs, cleaning their laundry, taking over their jobs in the HQ and worst of all making them tea. At least you can avoid them while cleaning the archive room but when you have to serve them, well there's no escape.
You could have asked your Dad for advice but couldn't bring yourself to. Everyone has something they don't want to talk about. After all your Dad never talked about his last mission. Besides you were spending every spare minute you looking for where your power came from; obsessed seeing what became of your predecessor.
Search, serve, search, sleep. Search, serve, search, sleep. The junior squad leaves you alone for the most part now. As long as their snacks are ready when they get back.
One day Switcher stops you in a hallway. He tells you that they found who got your Dad's power and your needed even less now. It only motivates you more. Search, serve, search, search.
It has been four days since The mew Steel Cricket arrived. You wondered if she was going to keep the name. Not a name for a girl. Not a name for anyone really. She's already going on lower danger missions with the junior squad. You feel like you haven't left the HQ in months.
Search, search, search search.
You wake up in the archive. There's a blanket wrapped around you. You panic and look around the room it's empty but whoever tucked you in left a binder out. You go to put the binder back when a page catches your eye.
The Steamstress
Power: Heating water
There's sparse details. She worked for a small time hero outfit. Doing pretty much the same stuff you do. Only she was there for years. Then one day without reason she snapped. The heroes she worked were found dead, dried up husks and she went on a crime spree. If she was confronted by a normal person she would weaken them until they fainted. Sometimes there was lasting damage but more often they had a complete recovery. Supers on the other hand ended up being boiled alive without fail. The report goes on to list her victims but ends abruptly like a page was missing.
You had heard things used to be worse for people like you. How long could you last in those conditions? Hell how long can you last in your situation? It wasn't the Steamstress's fault just like it isn't your fault. It's the worlds fault and you weren't going to let it break you. You were going to move first, you were going to be smarter than your predecessor. You weren't going to be caught and even if you were even the strongest heroes are still 70% water.
You hear the door of the archive open and slam the binder shut. That's when you notice the Steamstress was a footnote in your Dad's file. The last footnote.
"Hey. I've been waiting to meet you. You must been Steel Cricket's son." You don't recognize the feminine voice but it must be the girl who got your Dad's powers.
You laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been pretty busy." Thankfully she wasn't a female version of your Dad like you'd imagined though for some reason you found being with her unsettling.
"No kidding the guys always say this place would fall apart without you." Noticing your look of disbelief she continued, "What, they really do."
Before you realize it she has your hand and she's pulling you towards the kitchen. "You know Misty Fox always goes on about how good your cookies are. Everyone wishes you'd use less raisins and more chocolate chips though. I'm more interested in your tea. I'm warning you though I have very high standards."
You kick her out of the kitchen and make the tea. You went all out with this pot after all it's going to be the last one you ever make. After pouring her cup you walk away and look out a window. You have plans to make, cities to conquer, soon the whole world will tremble at the mention of... Whatever you go by.
Your internal monologue is interrupted by sniffling and you turn to see the girl looking at you with tears. "I'm sorry," she said while wiping at her eyes. "I never thought I'd be able to drink tea like my Mom made ever again." | I like tea, coffee too. I actually know a lot about either. If you asked me to explain the difference between a latte and a macchiato, I could do that. If you asked me what the difference between the taste of rose petals and rosebuds in tea, I could do that too. I could hold a lecture all about the *vast* difference between a cold brew and iced coffee that NO ONE seems to care about anymore, but that's a topic for another day.
I'm a superhero. Well, not really a hero mind you, more of just a super. Unless constantly making coffee counts as a heroic deed.
Five years ago, Hayden McIlroy put up a flier. Superheroes were emerging, and he wanted them. McIlroy made the Heros For Anthem City Program, aka the H.F.A.C. A program for local heroes to gather and do stuff. No one knows really what they were doing at the start, but they were doing *something* because heroes with titles came around. And they had sidekicks. The Swift told me that in the beginning, the best of the best became "Title Hero's". McIlroy paid for them to be marketed. Names like Diamond Maiden and Thunderman. They got the cool outfits, they got the theme songs and comic books. The weaker Title Heroes had sidekicks, like Vulpes Lupus, Shark, and most every other hero out there. If you had cool powers, then you were paid to be a villain. No killing or horrible damage, just a show. Take a volunteer hostage and threaten them or something to entertain the people.
And the others? Just like me. No special names. We just go around and run errands. If you're a hero fanatic, you'd know all the Title Heros and sidekicks that work for H.F.A.C. But not us, not me.
The Swift seems to be the only hero who respects us. I'd call her by her real name, but she said it died a long time ago. She said she was like me, young with new powers and no idea what to do. She came to H.F.A.C. after some young villain had killed her family. It was an actual villain, not one of the flimsy shows McIlroy paid for. They put her in my spot.
I don't know how she did it, though. She was a nameless nobody. Some teenager who could do a few flips like the rest of us. But somehow she makes a nemesis of the only villain out there who isn't being paid by H.F.A.C. Tyto Noctis.
No one was making comics about him. No one was waiting to see what his next evil plan would be. Anthem City feared him, like, actually feared him. No one wanted to touch him but a stupid teenager. Tyto Noctis and The Swift go missing for six months and she returns a Title Hero, Tyto trailing at her heels like he's on some sort of leash. Both apparently unable to be killed.
She tells me I can make my way up the ladder just like she did, I just need to work hard. I respect The Swift, but I'm nothing like her.
Tyto Noctus was a failure. He was defeated by a flimsy teenager. I'm not like The Swift, sure, but I'm not like Tyto either. I'm not like the Title Heroes and sidekicks that snicker when they pound their empty cups on my desk when they beg and plead for hotter tea, mocking me. I'm not like Hayden McIlroy and his obsession with collecting heroes.
The pipes will be struck first, scalding anyone who even thinks of turning the faucet on. Then slowly the water towers, I'll watch their pressure rise with anticipation. Then, weather permitting, the rain. Anyone who even dares to live then will just have to have their organs deliciously steamed from the inside-out.
I am The Boiler, and I'm the only real villain Anthem City is going to ever see.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
thank you for reading! critisims is appreciated :D
<3<3<3
\-froppy | 2019-07-30T17:02:42 | 2019-07-30T16:15:31 | 101 | 29 |
[WP] A man who has lived a thousand years takes up a job teaching high school world history. | "As the Ottoman empire continued to expand both its influence and its borders into Central Europe..."
"Mr. Tepes?" A young girl in the front row of the class raised her hand ever so eagerly.
The imposing middle-aged man standing at the board paused his words and shifted his gaze upon her. "What is it, Tracey?" he replied, his English precise and controlled although he was already regretting allowing the girl to speak. Beaming, Tracey asked the one question Mr. Tepes always dreaded during this section of the class.
"Isn't this when Count Dracula was alive?"
Mr. Tepes cringed as some of the other students in the class snickered. Her classmates were used to Tracey's somewhat laughable obsession with vampires, as evidenced by her t-shirt proclaiming her love of an "Edward". The teacher quickly recovered his composure before answering.
"Vlad III, Prince of Wallachia, House of Draculesti, branch of House of Barasab, also known as Vlad the Impaler as well as Dracula," Mr. Tepes narrowed his eyes slightly, canvasing the room to ensure all of his students had their full attention on him before focusing his gaze back upon Tracey. "Who was *not* a vampire, but a Romanian folk hero who helped to defend against and counter-attack the Ottomans who tried to invade his home. Moving on, after France had united with the Ottomans..."
"Is this Dracula?" Tracey once again interrupted the lecture, pointing to an image in her textbook.
"Pardon?" Mr. Tepes hid his irritation at the child's audacity, striding over to her desk with staccato steps and examining the page for the image. Upon recognizing the painting displayed, the teacher gave a short chuckle which made the rest of the students tense. The list of noises Mr. Tepes made did not include chuckles.
"That... is *not* what Vlad III looked like, Tracey," Mr. Tepes strode back to his place at the board. "His jaw was far more prominent, eyes... much kinder," the teacher declared. "And his nose, his *nose* which was a defining feature of his bloodline, did not look like *that*," Mr. Tepes caught himself, "At least, that's what the historical records say. The image in your textbook is obviously an image the Germans used when they later attempted to tell stories about his supposed cruelty. All of which was highly exaggerated."
Looking around and to each other, the students were unsure of what to make of their history teacher's statements. The only sure thing that they knew was that the dismissal bell was taking its sweet time.
Tracey, ever oblivious about when to desist, continued, "Really? Huh," she examined the picture once more and giggled. "You know, this picture looks a lot like you, Mr. Tepes!"
"Pardon?" The teacher's words were like icicles hanging over an unsuspecting person's front door.
"Well yeah, I mean you don't have a mustache but even the nose is the same as yours!" Tracey giggled once more before immediately regretting opening her mouth at all. Though no one else may have noticed, to Tracey the room seemed to lose all heat save for the boiling pits that were Mr. Tepes eyes as his glare bored into her very soul.
"My nose *does not* look like that, Ms. Tracey Braumsfeld."
A second later the bell rang. The students quickly filed out of the room, Tracey being at the front of the group in her scramble to leave her teacher's sight. Mr. Tepes waited a moment for the students to leave before once more looking up the image printed in the history book. He sighed with melancholy while rubbing his nose.
"It's not that big..." | "I see you were born in 2015 A.D. sir, as a servant of the government it is my duty to recommend perennial cryosleep until the next purge of…" the robots voice trailed off as I left the cold dusty room and headed toward the exit. I stepped out into the burning desert sand and felt the crisp warm sun burn my sickly white skin. I wrapped my navy blue tagelmust tightly around my head and followed the familiar steel highway toward the nearby city of Japhar.
Through the suffocating sandy clouds I could see a prominent grey dome, with large neon letters sprawled across the sides.
"Welcome to Japhar!"
"I walked toward the gates of the overbearing structure and began to feel the stainless robust exterior. I couldn't help but feel the irony of the situation. 800 years ago we were still writing "PRESERVE THE FRAGILE ENVIRONMENT!" on our picket signs. Now it seems as if mother nature was playing a dirty trick on us the whole time.
After flirting with the exterior for a few minutes, a warning came in the form of sand in my eyes. I knocked on the gates with both hands with whatever strength I had. I knew I had to get inside before the storm tore my body apart.
After 10 minutes the gates exhibited no signs of life. I began to convince myself that 100 years more years cryosleep didn't sound so bad." Tears began to trickle down my face. "But the doors opened eventually…"
I sat down on my eroded wooden desk.
"The world I grew up in was so innovative… so hopeful. We had a new technological gadget every week. Food was plentiful; none of us even knew where it came from. You could explore the world. You weren't isolated in domes, fighting everyday to survive on relics from the past."
I looked out the window of the school at the 500 year old skyscraper adjacent to the school. A few workers looked out from the windowless building, restless and solemn. Restless because nobody needed them anymore. Solemn because nobody cared about them anymore.
I looked back at the students, "The government has no use for people like me: people who had it good, the entitled people who dreamed of a better future." I paused and looked around the classroom of 60.
Some students began to tear up, some students shuffled uncomfortably, most were completely silent.
I wiped away the tears. "I apologize class, sometimes my 998 years old mind gets too senile." I could hear a few chuckles around the classroom.
I directed the class' attention to the blackboard.
"So class, in 2008, Barack Obama became the first African-American president…"
| 2015-04-14T18:01:59 | 2015-04-14T16:12:39 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | He found her sitting in a tree. Her legs dangled over the edge, her dusty feet kicking back and forth. It had taken him a while to find her. It wasn't as simple as it usually was. The hourglasses came with coordinates, of course. The tiny numbers ascribed on the bottom gave approximate locations. It wasn't a perfect system. Humans weren't as predictable as, say, ants. Things had gotten tricky when they domesticated the horse, for example. It had gotten worse with the engine. Obviously airplanes had kicked things into gear. But the hourglass makers, those bright-eyed creatures, were quick to adjust. They usually got it into the ballpark.
What they could not account for was Death letting an hourglass slip beneath his desk.
First, he brought it to his brothers and sisters, the others also known as Death. They passed it between themselves. Each Death took to their jobs differently, and each were assigned the appropriate hourglasses. The Death that came suddenly but quietly bent his long neck over the lost hourglass and frowned. He thrust it back and gave a quick shrug of his shoulders. The Death of sick children held the hourglass for a long time, cradling it in her warm and comforting arms, and smiled. "You lost it, huh? Just under your desk?" Her eyes twinkled. "Not such a bad idea." This last part she said quietly, under her breath, as she made her way back towards her own office.
Our Death, This Death, brushed a bit of dust and looked again at the location. It was all he had to go on, after all, and so he set off to see what he could find. It took a while, but he was diligent. Death always is. So he found her in a tree, just before a sunset, and the warm rays of the sun warmed her smooth skin. She watched him approach across the savanna. This was the first surprise. She could see him even from a distance. She could see him before he touched her.
The second surprise was, well, her youth. This Death was the Death of the fully lived. He usually came to bedsides, to wrinkled faces, often stealing in over the shoulders of family members. When he reached out to touch his people they were worn with the gifts and ravages of time. This one was still young, her limbs were still long, and her eyes were as clear as the ones who long ago had forged her hourglass.
She greeted him in a language This Death had not heard in hundreds of years. He was not in the habit of apologizing, but he did, now. He was standing below her, looking up. She shrugged her shoulders in a cheerful way and accepted the apology as is if it was perfunctory. Death was not in the habit of explaining himself, either, but he started to. She shook her head and laughed. Here was the third surprise. Human laughter! This Death had never heard such a thing, and it moved the parts of him that were human, those sleepy and untended parts he knew were there but almost never thought of.
He would know in a moment. When he reached out to place his palm against her chest, the only chest of a child he would ever touch, all would become known, as it always did. He would see the moment the hourglass fell, suspending her story in time. He would see her grow from an infant until the moment just before adolescence, a moment when she was care free, running with her siblings through her village. He would see her stop, her youth remaining as everyone around her aged, and how her tribe began to regard her with awe. She was chosen, a symbol of happiness and mystery. But hers was a small tribe in an encroaching world and he would see her remain until it was no longer possible, and then, with a young heart, he would see her set out for the horizon, a girl among the wilderness, where time had patterns but few consequences. It would be just a moment, now, before she jumped down to join him on the ground, the only person to see him, to truly see hi. When she did he would see her on night after endless night with her head tipped up to the stars. But for a moment all he saw was the girl, the tree, the dying sun, and she laughed again as she pushed herself toward him. | White walls, flickering flourescent bulbs, monitor beeps, and the sounds of breathing machines: these were things that Rachel Willer had grown accustomed to.
Eight months ago her husband John was in a motorcycle accident. He was placed in a medical induced coma and, over the past few months, had shown no signs of waking up. According to doctor's and specialists, his condition hadn't necessarily regressed, but he had made no medical progress either. At the doctor's urging, Rachel finally agreed that today was the day; she was "pulling the plug".
The doctor's left and gave Rachel as much time as she needed with her husband. She sat along side the hospital bed, fingers interlaced in her husband's. She cried as she apologized that this was the way things were going to end. When they got married, she never imagined that "til death do us part" would come so soon.
In another dimension an elderly man sat at a desk. The room he was in was similar to the hospital room. It was a bright white room with flickering florescents, but, instead of heart monitors and ventilators, there were hourglasses. Bookshelves, tables, and desks, all filled with hourglasses. Some hourglasses were empty, some were full, and some were broken. Some of the hourglasses had just started; while others had merely seconds til the sand ran out.
The old man sat with his feet propped up on the desk. He had fallen asleep, which was something he didn't get to do too often. He was awoken by a shattering sound. He jumped to his feet and walked to the bookshelf towards the back of the room. On the floor lay an hourglass with H.M engraved on the bottom. Amidst the broken glass, there was red sand; once a symbol of the life of "H.M". "Ah, Mr. Miller," Death said to himself. "I'm surprised you even made it this long." He grabbed his broom and dust pan and began cleaning up the mess.
Once the glass and sand were cleaned up, Death started walking back to his desk. He was about to sit down when he noticed an odd reflection; as if light was bouncing off of something from beneath the desk. He slowly got down on one knee and reached under the desk. His hand grabbed something long and slender. He pulled the object out from under the desk and, with frail hands, brushed the dust off. It was an hourglass with the initials "J.W" engraved on it.
Death walked over to the bookshelf with the other W's and placed the hourglass next to one marked "R.W". He flicked the center of the hourglass with a frail finger and watched with anticipation and excitement as the sand started trickling down.
Back in the hospital room, Rachel stood up and gave her husband one more kiss on the forehead as the doctors came into the room. "I love you," she whispered in his hear. At the sound of those three words, John opened his eyes. | 2018-10-03T07:45:35 | 2018-10-03T07:16:01 | 45 | 13 |
[WP] The Rest of the team has been wiped out and a Healer-type character is making a desperate last stand. | High on a rocky bluff, Jack watched as Ceda crumpled like a rag doll. The blow sent her to her knees, daggers dropping from her fingers, and she toppled down in front of Boldre. Jack roared, the wind whipping his voice away. He drove his staff into the rocks. It left a singed round mark, black against grey.
She had been the last. Boldre turned his eyes up the hill to Jack. For the first time he felt the full weight of his gaze: the lost white fires burning deep within him. He must have grown: eight, no--ten feet tall now, stepping over Ceda, Kali, and Nate in the muddy lows of the carr. Their lives meant nothing to him, not to who he was now.
The wind pulled at Jack again. He stood, frozen on the rocks. Boldre brought the dark with him, the sun vanishing behind the clouds and casting a grey wave of darkness over the valley. The heat drained out of the air, leaving Jack gasping like a crying child, stealing with it his bravery.
Jack turned, looking up to the valley mouth. Maybe before he would have made it, with Boldre further away. He closed the gap between them, moving more swiftly than any man had a right to. Grey smoke came away from his body in slow curls, Boldre's mouth set in a thin line. The magic he held within him leaked out. It would be destroying him from the inside, tearing away at the fabric of his soul and turning him into *something else.*
Only metres away, Boldre stopped. The ground shook with a pulse as he opened his mouth. Yet more magic streamed away from him, like a soul struggling to leave his body it billowed and dissipated into the crackling air. It burned at his eyes and Boldre shook. Jack raised his staff, hands locked to it in cold.
"Heal me," he said to Jack. "Take it away. I can't bear it any more."
Beneath Boldre's voice, a hundred-thousand others joined it in a begging chorus.
"I can't," Jack found he sobbed.
"Take it away," Boldre begged again. The smoke curled from his hands, condensing in his palms. Beneath his feet, the tall grass whipped itself into a frenzy. Jack's robes flapped towards it, drawn in to the current of air.
"I can't heal you," Jack cried over the sound of the wind. "I can only kill you to stop it."
"Kill me then," Boldre replied. The roar ate up at his voice and his eyes turned black as the magic burned them out. "Make it stop!" his voice was only a scream. "Make the pain stop."
Jack had never been a killer, only a healer. He raised his staff.
-------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror
| The doors would only last so much longer, and there was so much work to be done. It felt almost comforting, another day in a busy hospital surrounded by his patients. A fitting end to his career.
The remnants of his squad lay strewn about on the floor of the sanctuary. The fortunate few were already dead, the doctor's extraordinary abilities unable to save them. Those that remained alive listened to the concerto pounding the wooden door.
His first patient was his dear captain, propped against the back wall, his eyes counting the splinters coming off the door.
"What are my odds, captain?" The doctor asked, holding the captain's sword in his hands, a scalpel that was far too big.
"God dammit I'll do it myself." The captain replied, struggling to grab the knife by his side.
The doctor's hands pulled the knife away from the captain. "My apologies captain, humor is the best medicine or something like that. Though at this point-" the doctor chuckled at his own joke.
"Have you ever killed anyone Doctor? Have you even held a sword?"
The doctor shrugged, dropping the captain's sword on the tile with a dull thud.
"I had never performed an amputation until I did, no? Though I'm afraid my lack of experience may make things a bit messy."
The captain grunted a laugh before spitting out blood on his tunic. "It would be an honor to be your first."
The doctor nodded gravely before pulling the captain's knife from its scabbard. The point poised above the captain's wrist, ready for the doctor's hopefully precise incision.
"Don't worry captain, this will only sting a bit." | 2016-07-17T04:45:21 | 2016-07-17T04:28:25 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] Make a story so awkward even the narrator start's getting uncomfortable.
. _ .
Starts*
Auto correct is my mortal enemy. | “ “Can I get you anything else, sir?”
“No, thanks. Coffee is good.” I reply, no eye contact. I feel like a bit of a prick applying this manner of interpersonal dynamics. I’m sure her day is no better or worse for my lack of visual acknowledgement on receipt of my coffee but the burr sticks. I should have just fucking looked at her and given her ‘the nod’ or something, now I’ve spent the 15 seconds I would have been using to think of clever words admonishing myself for being rude instead. But when you really think about, had I wanted anything else I would have asked for it. It’s not like this coffee shop is particularly busy.
2 ginger guys poring over a laptop, cute 20-something with a fringe on a comfy chair flicking through an iPod, couple of generic looking suit types poring over one broadsheet or another. If I really felt all of a sudden like I wanted a brownie to go with my coffee, I’m sure I could get her attention in a few seconds. If I whispered in this place she would hear me at the other side of the joint. If I shifted in my chair ever so slightly the sound would startle all present and they would look in my general direction to gauge the scale of rumpus.
So, actually, fuck her. I’m not paying her to ask me shit, I’m paying her to make me fucking coffee.
Did I say that out loud? Why do I feel like the energy of the room has suddenly gone off a little? I’m sure she just stopped in her tracks like a record may have skipped or something. Nothing. Fuck, I get so introspective sometimes, I swear everything’s one big simulation.
Coffee tastes like shit.
It’s all milk.
Definitely saw the two girls behind the bar looking over at me, and not in a ‘hey that slobby guy with coffee on his shirt is looking pretty smoking’ sort of way. All I did was not look at her when I said I didn’t want anything, what’s the big idea. I wasn’t vocally rude, I wasn’t even, like, tonally curt with her.
“Hey, want to keep it down over there?” One of the laptop ginger’s has just piped in
“Sorry?”
“We don’t need a running commentary mate, keep it to yourself.”
Shit, I had the inverted commas open from the start.
“You still do pal, wind it down, please.”
“Sorry.” I cannot drink this coffee quicker.
“ | "Linda. Will you marry me?"
Simon was kneeling down on the beautiful red carpet in the giant room full of tables, chairs and people. Simon could *really* have chosen a better situation, but he thought it would be best while his lovers friend and family were all here to witness *his* proposal.
Linda was baffled and embarrassed out of her mind. "How could he do such a thing!?" she thought to herself whilst looking at all the guests, quietly looking at them. The bride and groom, her sister and her newly wed husband, staring intensely at the one pair that just had to ruin it all... I need a fucking drink!
The tension in the air was so thick and heavy, that you could kill Simon with it, but for the sake of the story, Linda won't.
Linda *finally* broke the ice cold silence that had been going on whilst i was getting something to calm my nerves. "Can... We talk about this another time maybe? My sister is *kinda* getting married, you know.
"Oh, right. Yeah..." Simon said, silently sitting down. I knew what Simon was going to say and even *I* couldn't stop it.
"Sorry about that! Please ignore me!" Simon yelled jokingly in order to ease the tension a little.
I can't go on... | 2014-12-23T09:45:16 | 2014-12-23T08:59:18 | 249 | 105 |
[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. | I look out the window in my room looking back at our home. I think about our old planet that we forgot about overtime only remembered in the old history books left in the dusty closet. No one predicted it. The disaster was forgotten about over generations, people don't learn. We destoryed our last planet because of global warming so we all fled here. I reflect knowing that we are on the brink of another disaster knowing that we are to far from other planets to be able to flee again. We left all are troubles behind on earth and people thought it was never going to happen again. My job as a janitor literally has saved billions of lives. If I die or quit the robots take over and humamity will die. I can't tell people what is happening I just have to watch them go on with their lives happily. I don't tell them what is in the high security vault that only I am allowed in once a month to clean, they don't need to know. The robots can't get in to get the blueprints without my key and I don't plan on letting them. | 2021-01-30T09:57:35 | 2021-01-30T09:53:43 | 36 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | April 22, 2000 – Is Canada cold?
April 22, 2000 – Is baseball like cricket?
May 1, 2000 – Ontario sports leagues
May 1, 2000 – Recreational baseball tryout
August 12, 2000 – Academic sessions Ontario
January 13, 2001 – Google maps: Alternate routes home
February 14, 2001 – Fun single person activities
May 1, 2001 – Competitive baseball tryouts
June 30, 2001 – The psychology of sports
August 19, 2001 – Good books on making friends
September 11, 2001 – New York plane crash
September 13, 2001 – Practicing Islam without anyone knowing
September 16, 2001 – Insurance claims on stolen/vandalized property
September 23, 2001 – Rehabilitation for broken ribs and shoulder
October 10, 2001 – Are surgeries covered under Canadian healthcare?
December 28, 2001 – When to stop taking painkillers
February 13th, 2002 – Real estate listings
April 6, 2002 – British Columbia
May 1, 2002 – British Columbia baseball tryouts
May 3, 2002 – Unable to throw baseball without pain in shoulder
July 9, 2002 – Painkiller addiction
August 13, 2002 – University applications
February 14, 2003 – Effects of depression
May 21, 2003 – Alternative routes after high school
June 10, 2003 – Job posting sites
September 1, 2003 – Cam shows
December 25, 2003 – How to celebrate Christmas without family and friends
December 31, 2003 – New Year's resolutions: defeating painkiller addiction
January 6, 2004 – Cam shows
January 19, 2004 – Cam shows
February 14th, 2004 – Redemption and Islam
May 1, 2004 – LD50 of common prescription drugs | Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye. | 2015-02-04T18:35:51 | 2015-02-04T17:51:52 | 101 | 25 |
[WP] All over the world people see the person they are destined to be with by seeing a star appear above their head. You lived your whole life without seeing a star and died alone. When you arrive in Hell however, you see one above Satan's head. | "This is a sick joke," Satan said as soon as he laid eyes on you. He was not the devil you'd expected. The image of a red demon with horns melted away into a suave gentleman in a grey suit. "Really, they've outdone themselves this time. Was it Gabriel?"
"Ah... I don't know, sorry," you stuttered, stupefied. You were too busy staring at the glowing orb above his head. You'd seen depictions of the soulmate star before in pictures and movies, but none of them had done it justice. It was just so... lovely. And it was hanging over the most evil being known to man.
Satan skimmed over a piece of paper in his hand, then looked back at you. "Well, I expect they'll come for you. You're not supposed to be in Hell in the first place. Part of their plan, I'm sure."
"Oh, is that where we are?" You asked, looking around. You seemed to be in a very expensive office. Everything was made of wood, elegantly carved with trims of gold. The furniture around the room was a deep green, giving the place an almost woodsy feeling. The exception to all of this was the right wall, which was made entirely of glass. It was very dark outside, though you could make out a faint, red glow below.
"Well, we're in the better part of it, so it may not seem like much. Honestly, you might as well have a seat while we wait. Who knows how long they'll take. Do you drink?" he asked, pouring himself a whiskey.
"Normally, but I think I'd better not," you replied, eyeing the alcohol warily. You took a seat in a plush arm chair.
"Why?" Satan sipped his drink.
"There are stories of people going to Hell and not being able to get out if they ate or drank anything there. I'd rather be safe than sorry."
"Smart girl. Truthfully, that's not how it works, but I imagine you won't believe a word I say anyway." He took the seat across from you, inspecting you. "No offense, but you're very average. I feel like they could've tried harder."
"Wow. Thanks. Truthfully, you're not very intimidating. You could've tried harder," you retorted before you could stop yourself. You froze.
The devil burst out laughing. "Touché. Would you like me to intimidate you?"
"No," you gulped, his eyes piercing you. He didn't need to try anymore.
"That star, though... It's very pretty. I didn't think I'd ever be able to see one." His eyes moved to the shining orb above you. "It's very calming. Is that why you're so calm? Most people go a little mad when they see me."
"Why? You just look like a person. I probably wouldn't have known you were Satan if you hadn't said so."
"Is that really what I look like to you?" His eyes widened. "What do I have on?"
"A grey suit? You have black hair and green eyes. Your tie is a little crooked," you reply, confused. "What am I supposed to see?"
He looked down at his tie, then back up at you, a look of shock on his face. You barely heard him whisper, "No."
Suddenly, there was a blinding light at your feet. You felt pressure around them, and you were lifted into the air.
"What's happening?" you cried, falling to your knees. But this did not stop you from rising.
"No!" screamed Satan. "Don't you dare take her! She sees me! *She sees me!*"
"I'm just doing my job, Lucifer," a melodic voice came from behind you. You turned but could see no one.
"Give her back, Samael! Give her back, or I will come for her! Do you hear me? I will tear Hell, Earth, and Heaven apart! Give her back!" The devil cried, seeming to grow larger and larger with each word he screamed. He grabbed at you, but his hand went straight through your leg.
"Don't worry, my dear. Soon you will be in Heaven," Samael's voice soothed.
And everything went white.
Edits: I can do words, I promise. | I always thought of myself as a good girl. I did, or at least tried to, do everything right. I visited my parents frequently, I treated everybody I encountered with respect, I called my grandparents every now and then, I never talked back to anyone, I volunteered my time, and I generally obliged to all rules. I thought I was a good person.
So when my car was crushed by a truck whose driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel, you can imagine my surprise when I suddenly appeared in hell. I was only 19, surely this was a mistake, I didn't belong.
"What did I do wrong?" I cried out to the uninhabited and grossly humid, dark environment which I had already assumed to be hell. I was not one to complain about things being unfair but this cruel string of events truly was unfair. Not only was I only 19 but I never even got a chance to meet my soul mate. Most of my friends had already been matched with their destined lovers by senior year of high school and I knew that I only had a few more months or years until I saw mine. I had concrete plans of traveling around the world in hopes of finding him, my parents had even agreed to fund my trip because they were growing concerned I hadn't seen that damn star above a boy's head yet. Why now? Why did I have to die and why the hell am *I* in hell?
"I've been waiting so long to meet you Elizabeth," said a deep, but oddly soft-spoken voice behind me. Its voice made the ground beneath my feet shake. As I turned around, my anger rapidly turned into jaw-dropping fear as I saw a 20-feet tall creature that was burning fiercely from head to toe. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. My family was Christian but we never went to church, we never even spoke God's name in our home, but I never imagined that the devil could be as real as we had imagined him to be in story books and horror movies.
As I contemplated my limited options (which were to either run, hide, or give up entirely), the being began to shrink before my eyes, flames turning into flesh.
"Pardon me, I'm such a show off sometimes," it said as it finished changing into a manly, handsome human form. "I'm Satan, it's a pleasure to finally meet you after all of this time."
That's when I saw it. The star. I was still terrified but I was also speechless. The star is so beautiful, I had gone to bed every night since I was a little girl just dreaming about finally seeing that star.
"You must have so many questions," he said as he gestured for me to follow him into a door I hadn't previously noticed. Why was there a door in the middle of nowhere?
"Yes..." I managed to say to him, my voice wobbly and clearly terrified, as we walked into what I can only describe as similar to the waiting area of a dentist's office. "Wait, what?" | 2017-11-09T08:14:23 | 2017-11-09T06:37:43 | 77 | 19 |
[WP] Write the biggest asshole ever, then try to redeem him in the last sentence. | "All you kids do is fight and complain!" the old man yelled, "It's always, 'He got more than me! I don't like it here!' There's kids that have it a lot worse than you do!" He shouted at the three teenagers sitting at the table. Yet another, younger child served them dinner. At their feet, seven more children aged three to twelve were sitting or crawling in the dirty floor among the scattered toys and rat turds. In the next room, a baby was crying. It had been crying like that all night. "BARRY!" he yelled out down the hall. "Get in here."
"Y-yes sir?" replied Barry, a child of nine with matted brown hair. He looked cautiously at the old man. Balding grey hair, unwashed, combed-over and greasy dangled down the side of his face near the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, burned nearly down to the filter.
"Barry, tell these assholes there's kids out there have it worse than here."
"Yeah. I guess it could be worse."
"Atta boy, Barry," replied the old man, "It's family what we got here. Family! Ya'll don't like it, you can get out and live on the street! I don't see anybody else putting the food on table here!" He glared at the youngest in the floor. "You cry, I'm going to go ape shit, hear me ya little booger?" The child only continued to stare, holding back tears. "Christ, help me," said the old man as he crept over to his chair.
It was the only real piece of furniture in the house besides the makeshift futon mattresses in the floor. The kids knew not to sit in it. It was Pop's chair, and you'd catch hell if he caught you in it. He squashed his cigarette down into the arm of the chair and pulled out an adult magazine from the cushion and began browsing it. Suddenly there was a knock at the door. Pop grumbled and trudged over to see the familiar face of a middle aged woman in a raincoat at the door.
"Christ Kathy," he muttered. "I don't have any money. You see this in here? Twelve kids! Then you show up the minute I get some peace!" He pulled out a fresh smoke and lit it. "Can it wait until next week? I got three teenagers eating me out of house and home, and a crying baby! Haven't slept in three days."
"No, Dan. These three were in a van on 54th, Mom's an addict. No where else to go."
"Shit. Okay Kathy, but you gotta find somewhere for these kids to go soon, I'm at my wit's end with them. If I take in any more, this place won't be any better than where they're coming from." | As he clawed at my shoulders, trying to reach my face, I tightened my grip on his neck. His purple face started to turn a darker blue, and slowly, his resistance started to fade, then stop. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he began to convulse.
I looked up at the clock on the wall and started counting down. As I did, I squeezed as hard as I could. I envisioned the life flowing out of him, ounce by ounce, bit by bit. I knew that with every passing moment, a little bit of him died, and I relished it. He deserved this.
As the hand swept into the third minute, I released my grip. Long enough for brain damage, but not long enough for murder. I pulled out a container of alcohol wipes from my jacket pocket, and carefully cleaned around the neck with multiple cloths. I took extra care to 'sweep' the skin and remove as much trace evidence as possible. Finally finished, I stood, pocketing the wipes, and walked out the apartment, down the stairs, and into the alley.
I unpocketed the disposable cellphone, and dialled 911. As soon as the female voice answered, I said in a quiet monotone "A man's been strangled at apartment 2B on Farrel Street. Hurry."
I hung up the phone, stripped out the sim card, and snapped it in half before throwing it down a sewer grate. The phone went into a different dumpster after I wiped it down with another alcohol wipe.
One more child molester down. Now, who's next on the list? | 2017-05-23T11:28:17 | 2017-05-23T11:02:31 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] In a world where everyone survives off of basic income, companies have to convince you to work for them.
Credit to u/SearingEnigma & u/abkleinig for the idea. | "Anything yet?"
The message was transmitted using cloud based communications software like most AI to AI interactions that didn't involve humans. HB401 suppressed the annoyance it felt at having to respond to this message for the 3,741st time in this 24 hour cycle.
The bots down in engineering had every reason to be anxious of course. Production had ground to a halt. It wasn't HB401's job to understand the specifics of the issue but it had done it's best out of curiosity. Why would they possibly need a human to perform a job in manufacturing? Even the humans that chose to work did so in the "non-bot" fields almost exclusively: the arts, government, pornography and the like. HB401 hadn't even had contact with a human in over 9 million cycles.
What they had was a unique situation. This was the major fabrication plant for global nanochip production. From processing captured asteroids for metals to final assembly, the plant was a flawless epitome of self-sufficiency. So critical was it's work that it had grown over time to encompass over 63% of the landmass of the Antarctic continent.
However, for the first time in its history, there was a problem. The electromagnetic dampners were malfunctioning and sending out deadly pulses of high magnitude electromagnetic radiation. All repair bots had been wiped while attempting to fix it and were now refusing any more work in the area. The nessessary shielding required to protect from the EMPs made any AI capable of doing the work too bulky to enter the nessessary chamber.
The logical solution was to shut down production until it could be resolved, cutting all power to the area. Unfortunately this would mean allowing the artificial gravity wells used to collapse and then be reformed. A full reboot would take at least a year, maybe more. It had never been done before.
That's why a possible solution had been proposed throughout the hive mind: have a human manually purge the buildup until the problem could be fixed. Their biological forms were immune to EMP damage. It would a simple matter of training and in 4 or 5 cycles the issue would be resolved and the human could return to their normal functions, whatever those were.
But so far there had been no interest. Nanochip production was a vital function, even humans had to appreciate that. Therefore there had to be an issue the position HB401 had not considered. It performed an analysis of the job requisition form and cross referenced with known human preferences and homeostatic parameters. This was way outside of HB401's typical function but it was programmed for creativity in the event of a crisis. It got a hit.
In a routine description of the chamber environment, HB401 discovered two issues that had been overlooked. Normal operating temperature was approximately 500 Kelvin with occasional spikes above that range. A quick search revealed human pain receptors overload at 335 Kelvin and flesh begins to burn at 350 Kelvin. Additionally, levels of alpha, beta and gamma radiation produced would need to be reduced... Rather dramatically.
HB401 sent the nessessary environmental changes to the central climate control. It was initially bounced back due to a very old and unmarked behaviour limit. HB401 resent the changes with higher clearance. They were accepted and HB401 happily returned to ammending the JAF. While the climate control computer began activating heat pumps to reduce the continentally sized factory's core temperature, HB401 indicated the delightful conditions for human function on the JAF. While the computer began venting all radioactive buildup from the 500 odd years of continuous operation using the super stacks, HB401 posted the JAF to the human outlets for consideration. The computer eventually posted a notification of completion, also noting with interest the increases made to outside radiation and temperature. A probe would be despatched to quantify the effect, if any, this would have on delivery of nanochips.
HB401 resumed waiting for someone in the global human population to respond. It wasn't even annoyed when, seconds later, it received the first message from engineering.
"Anything yet?" |
The question took me aback in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I mean this was the first interview I had ever been in. Not out of necessity but curiosity; universal income ensuring the well-being of every individual, computers and machines taking over all the hard work. The idea of selling your life as capital seemed like such an antiquated idea, a human rights abuse almost. This was the first new corporation to open its doors in almost fifty years, of course I was curious.
“Is there a place for innovation in this world?”
It was something that had never really occurred to me. Well I mean it did, in a way. It’s not like we all had forgotten the past. We all knew of Adam Smith, Karl Marx; learned of the fascists, enlightened despots, Greek city-states. But they all existed through a historical lens, a grand progression to a world that demolishes Maslow’s hierarchy of needs into a pile of ashes on the floor, an afterthought in a self-actualized world.
For most of the twentieth and twenty-first century technology, and well life as it’s inextricably tied to technology, followed an idea called Moore’s law. The idea being that every few years or so, the amount of transistors that could fit on a microchip would double. More basically it was the realization that technology is in a constant state of progression. From computers the size of rooms, to ones that can fit in our pockets, to fitting in our bodies. The reliance on human beings for more and more advancement. Well that was until we hit a point where technology adequately suited the needs of every human being. Moore’s law being at the end of the day a question not so much about the limits of technology, but more about the limits of human’s desire for progression.
I couldn’t think of a real way to answer their question, why innovate? In today’s world it's superfluous. But then it hit me. The question really had nothing to do with innovation as a means for technological advancement, or even advancement of the human race, but as a necessary prevention for the atrophy of human nature. Sure, culture had been thriving like never before. Without the constraints of work the arts entered a Golden Age like had never been seen. But at what point are we just tricking ourselves into believing we are not Hobbesian animals?
I looked at the two blinking lights in front of me and answered the machine’s question. A corporation by machines, requiring humanity to venture somewhere it hadn't been in a long, long time. A world with a desire for more. A desire for something great borne from hardship. The final frontier preventing the machines from perfect mimicry.
| 2016-04-21T07:01:59 | 2016-04-21T06:55:16 | 140 | 29 |
[WP] Simultaneously, across the world, everyone hears a voice in their head. " In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human ®." | So it was indeed a simulation. Alice was oddly calm about it, even for her situation. It's rare to have a theory just confirm itself. She has been working for three years on the thesis by this point, trying to find some evidence, anything, even delving down to minute irregularities in quantum physics. Now, the most direct evidence she could have asked for just landed on her.
\`Now what?\` she muttered to herself.
She looked around. The coffee shop had some mixed reactions. The moment it happened, she could see the disbelief on some people's faces. She had no such disbelief, accepted it the moment it happened, that's what allowed her to focus on everyone's faces. She saw the world pause. Then, the world saw itself pause too, as people slowly realized they were not alone, that others have heard it too. Some just shrugged it off, thinking they're going crazy. Others started to panic. People were confused, they didn't know what's real and what's not. Some were in denial. Arguments started to spark up, the place was getting louder and louder, until...
\`In 1 hour and 50 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
The second time was different. Denial was futile, everyone sat in silence asking themselves the same question Alice asked ten minutes ago. A little boy on her left was looking around, confused, watching his parents dive deep into their thoughts.
\`But mom, I didn't hear anything.\` he said in a weak voice. Alice knew he wasn't lying. She heard children lie all the time, knew how to recognize that. This wasn't it.
Impossible. Everyone heard the voice. Unless...
She stormed out of the coffee shop. How did the little boy not hear the voice? And if he didn't, who else did not? What made him different... no, what made _her_ different that she could hear it?
\`In 1 hour and 40 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
\`There! There it is! You heard it!\` a man erupted on the street. Black suit, tie, suitcase, not the type you would expect a crazy doomsday believer to be. People ignored him, just kept walking by. Few turned their heads, watched him in silence and confusion, but most didn't even bother. Why not? Alice was used to the indifference people showed in a metropolis. But shrugging off certain death in an hour and a half... no, that's not human at all. The little boy was right, they haven't heard the voice.
She approached the stranger in the suit. He was still frantically looking around for any confirmation.
\`I heard it too. You're not crazy.\` she said to him, quietly.
The guy was relieved for a second. Then a realization hit him, and he started running the way he came from, hastily dialing someone on his phone.
Alice sat down on a bench, watched the traffic. Cars were acting strange. The majority of them went by their business, as usual. Some slowed down. And then there were some that acted like idiots, somehow driving even more like a lunatic than people usually do. At this point, she was certain only a few people heard the voice. She could spot them in traffic.
\`In 1 hour and 30 minutes, the server will be shutting down for the final time. Thank you for playing Human.\`
She thought of her late fiancé, Jason. They were supposed to get married last year, until a DUI hit him, and he died after two days of coma. If he was here, would he hear the voice too?
Well, she's about to figure it out, isn't she? Deep down, Alice knew the truth. She heard the voice because she was _real_. She was not part of the simulation like the majority of people, rather, she was a user of it. A player in this messed up game. She wondered if Jason was real too. If he was, he's going to be waiting for her on the outside, whatever outside there is. If not, he's already deleted.
She thought about the man in the suit. He called someone, his loved ones, probably. His family, his friends. Were they real?
Was _her_ family real?
Alice took out her phone. Maybe her family was real and waiting for her on the other side. Maybe not. Either way, she had 90 minutes, and she wasn't going to waste it. | A thunderous noise roared across the sky. The commotion shook me to the core, as if a genuine earthquake had begun after the noise echoed. I immediately looked towards my surrounding, wary of any incoming disaster which may strike soon – at least, that was my initial reflex thinking.
"In 2 hours, the server will be shutting down for the final time..." a sudden explosive voice could be heard from a distance.
People around me began to panic. Not a single soul had not heard the ominous voice, judging from how everyone's faces. Some ran towards God knows where whilst others – like me – stood there in silent anticipation for something worse.
"... Thank you for playing Human ®! We wish you a pleasant readjustment, please standby as per the Advanced Technologies Law No. 101."
"What the fuck was that?!" shouted a man next to me in utter disbelief.
"I don't know man, are you hearing the same shit as I do? It's not... just my imagination, huh?" I said with a nervous laugh.
As the man answered with a nod, everyone around me began to huddle up and exchanged information regarding the voice they heard. It seemed that the voice was coming from somewhere 'close' and not a distance as I thought it did. At least, in the sense that *everyone* could hear it within an earshot. Of course, I couldn't help but look it up on the internet on my phone. Surely, Google or maybe even Reddit had something regarding this freak phenomenon, no?
Well, apparently not. It's not that Google nor Reddit didn't have anything, rather the internet suddenly got turned off. Couldn't believe what happened, but of course I checked with everyone else to make sure it wasn't just my bloody phone.
"Looks like mine's dead too, this shit's weird man!"
"Yeah, the reception seemed to be shite or something. Can someone–"
Then, the phones began to simultaneously turned into blocks. It was nuts. Then the blocks began to disappear into the ether in what I could only describe as pixel-art-esque. A kid who was probably 10 years old began to shout 'Minecraft!' or some game name. Didn't know, wouldn't know... Wasn't much of a gamer myself, to be honest.
"Countdown to initial reboot phase. 10... 9... 8... 7..."
That was it, I thought. But of course, this kinda crap shouldn't even make any sense. What with the bloody pixelated phones and stupid ominous noise. Maybe this was the long-awaited day of reckoning? Doomsday? I don't know.
With some of the people crying and praying on their knees, a sudden explosion appeared on the sky above us. It was much more like a firework than a bomb, but I guess who would fuss over the bloody detail. The seemingly random firework somehow turned into a coordinated display, showing a bright 'THANK YOU!'
"Thank you?" I muttered to myself, catching some of the panicking lot around me.
"Is this a fucking prank, mate? Tell me someone's just taking the piss – or I'd piss me self!"
"5... 4... 3..."
"Well, whatever it is, I hope you lot had a good run, eh?"
"2... 1–" | 2019-09-23T04:18:23 | 2019-09-23T04:13:24 | 183 | 69 |
[WP] 1,000 years after the battle of Helm's Deep, the orcs have tracked down the elves in the undying lands. Calling in a favour with their allies the men, the elves expect an army of 10,000. Instead they get 8 marines with MASERs, rail guns and anti-matter grenade launchers. | As the elves surveyed the land, their dread intensified. No one expected them to find the undying lands and the orcs knew this, they had years to prepare and now their numbers where nearing at least 150.000 if not more.
The elves counted on their allies to withstand this siege. They called out to all their allies but only one of the kingdoms responded; that of men. Not the dwarves, nor hobbits responded. The Elves felt no hope.
The scouts returned to their base camp only to see a weird metal structure where the commander's tent should be.
There was a gathering of elves and the scouts approached them out of curiosity.
There stood 7 humans, what they assumed, knights over 7 feet tall. They were massive in size and held strange apparatus.
A smaller human wearing a patrol cap and smoking a cigar was discussing something with their commander.
"Listen I don't care if they had a fancy smancy golden stick up their asses, I am telling you these guys will break them all. All you have to do is sweep those green skinned motherfuckers up and throw 'em in the dustbin."
The elf commander looked pretty uncomfortable and was looking for a way out of the conversation, until he glanced towards the scouts. "Sir, it seems our scouts have returned."
The man looked towards the scouts, chewed a bit on his cigar and lifted his eyebrows.
"Sir we think it's at least 150.00 orcs. We don't know how many precise. If I may sir, the situation is hopeless. We should just retreat."
The man grabbed his cigar from his mouth and walked towards the trembling scouts.
"Listen up you pointy eared excuse for an elf. We got this shit. These bastards ain't nothing we haven't face before. You see, we humans are pretty adept at wiping eachother out, but we really shine like a polished turd when we got a common foe. These 7 beautiful son's of bitches over here will show you just how goddamn good we are at destroying everything in our path and how to look good doing it. Ain't that right marines?
A loud hu-rah followed.
"You got that?"
"Yes..."
"Yes what?"
"Sir.."
"Sir, yes!" The scout proclaimed enthusiastically.
The man rubbed the bridge of this nose and sighed. "Nevermind." He turned towards the commander, "Listen, trust us, ok?"
The commander nodded reluctant.
Two hours later the army of elves stood ready against overwhelming odds. The humans were in front. The tall ones looked like statues, you would only know they moved by the imprints their heavy boots left behind.
One of the more imposing orcs stepped forward.
"We didn't expect such a greaaaat force." The orc proclaimed, followed by a deep laughter that rose from his gut. "Can't you just lay down and let us kill you?"
No one responded.
"Well!?" Proclaimed the orc loudly, "What is yer answer!?"
The man with who was smoking a freshly lit cigar now took it from his mouth and spit on the ground.
"Well y'see, you ugly motherfucking weak excuse for a nightmare. We did discuss our options already and we do have an answer for you."
"Well what is it!?" The orc asked with a guteral snarl.
As the man turned around, he looked over his should to the orc.
"Taste the rainbow, bitch."
And from the seven armors a bright flash ejected, followed by an earth shattering sounds. The elves closed their eyes due to the brightness. After a few seconds the light faded and all that was left of the orc army was the orc commander who looked absolutely terrified.
The man looked towards the elf commander. "I will let you have this one. This sure was great, we really should do this again sometimes."
He patted the elf commander on his shoulder and walked towards their ship, followed by the seven hulking suits of armor. | "how you doing chum?"
&#x200B;
Logbook of the battle engineer Clem K. Harvard, 05-10-2935 AD. 0600 AM.
&#x200B;
SO! just finished my shift, we're well underway with the ambush setup. the orks are marching out in the open, upstream, about 10 miles from our location. Dukes, Hicus, Max and Laos have placed themselves, i've spent the afternoon planting homebrewed ieds that i've built from the AMHE grenades we were sent with. set the fuses to trigger when the balrogs come in.
If the elves are right, those damn fuckers weigh more than a damn tank. i've wired the fuses just in case would the pressure plates fail.
Me and Holy will stay back in the truck, we'll attack whatever flies in priority.
&#x200B;
now all we need, is the elves bait to work.
this is going to be a massacre. the moment the dragons are done, the battle will be completely one sided.
&#x200B;
The first contact... was weird. none of the elves were happy to meet a combat squad of just 8 men, acting like they were in charge. they kinda got pissed when we told them we were the whole package.
we were told the welcome party was over, and we were to leave before sundown, so the captain and hicus showed them we werent a joke.
Turns out the MR-501 railguns set to artillery support make some pretty large holes in the local rock formations.
must be some kind of marble, the light fractures inside made the surface shrapnel like crazy!
&#x200B;
The captain is a competent leader, but boy what a tool. that legolas dude was INCHES away from snapping him in half. who the hell goes against all safety courses within the five first minutes of an encounter with a millenary ally? really? i'm roasting his ass the second we're home.
their uproar stopped when the IFV nearly crashed into galadriel's shrine.... the idea of a large chunk of metal being dropped from several miles above without creating a large crater was kind of a big shock.
it's magbrakes went unlocked, so it dragged it's chute down a slope and we barely stopped it in time.
&#x200B;
Oh, looks like legolas is back. time to arm the ieds.
&#x200B;
\*end of the log\*
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2018-12-03T06:27:54 | 2018-12-03T06:24:07 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] You've curled into bed after an exhausting, chilly day with your typical assortment of pets. Large dogs, cats. You hear a close by growl and snuffle you aren't familiar with, but decide to just shift over, pat the bed and sleepily say "come on, then". | Savannah La Aroganté yawned, stretching her arms before collapsing onto her king-sized bed. The cats and dogs which filled the room lay in their beds, or their favorite spots in the room as Savannah adjusted herself to assume a more comfortable position in bed. Her toned and muscular figure cracked after a few stretches as the feeling of sleep started to dawn on her. Despite her job as an assassin, Savannah oddly found a soft spot for animals. Oftentimes, she’d find herself feeding a stray cat or two after her mission and taking some home as well. Luckily, the jobs she took gave Savannah enough money to support herself and to live comfortably for a long time. The assassin soon found a comfortable position as her eyelids began to feel heavier by the minute, sleep sounded nice after a while. Directly ahead of Savannah, she heard a deep growl as a few small clicks circled around the bed.
“Urghh, come on then,’ Savannah groaned while patting the open spot on the bed, shuffling back to give the dog some space as the assassin fell into a deep slumber.
The alarm read 9:45 AM as the incessant buzzing stirred the hitwoman awake from her slumber as she turned on her right side, and slammed the snooze button. Savannah sat up in bed and looked at her phone and checked for any notifications before lying back down, and turning around to see a dog with three heads on her bed staring back at her. Savannah stared back at the dog before sitting back up, rubbing her emerald green eyes, and looking back to see the three-headed canine was still on the bed.
“HOLY SHIT!” Savannah cursed as she leaped back and raised her hand up, the dog extending one of its heads to sniff her hand before licking it. This prompted the two other heads to start rubbing their own heads against her open palm as she stared in disbelief.
Savannah had been through a lot, fought a plethora of enemies, and seen many things that normal people would freak out about. However, a three-headed dog certainly took the cake as she petted the dog. Savannah turned to see the other animals were either too scared to greet the three-headed canine himself, asleep, or too preoccupied with something else to notice. Savannah breathed a sigh of relief and turned back to the dog as she saw a red collar fastened around its neck with a silver tag adhered to the collar.
“Huh, a nametag?” Savannah thought as she leaned down and reached for it, grabbing the tag and reading it.
“Cerberus..what kind of fucking nerd names their dog that?” She asked herself, looking up to see the dog staring at her with all three of its heads. “Er, sorry, it’s a nice name, honest.” Savannah giggled.
r/sleepystories
(depending on how good this does, I’ll consider a part two.) | I turned in bed as I hear a growl close to my bed. I patted the bed sleepily, too tired to realize that the growl was foreign. It wasn't one of my dogs that is already sleeping at my side out cold, or my cat that is sleeping in-between my legs. It sniffed and growled again. "Well come on, then" I said sleepily with my eyes closed as I shuffled in the opposite direction. I felt something land and lay on my bed. Something sweet entered my senses but I was too sleepy to take notice and instead wrapped my arm around it and fell back into the world of dreams.
The next morning I woke up with my arm asleep. I looked to my side and froze. Laying in my arms sleeping soundlessly was my sister's friend who slept over last night.
'Huh? No, that can't be right. I know I was dead tired, but I'm absolutely sure I heard a growl of one of my pets last night how can she be here? Unless...I think I know what happened. Two can play at that game. '
She slowly opened her eyes as she awoke from my shuffling.
She yawned before we locked eyes with each other. I froze for a second before tilting my head to the side, "meow?" I mimic one of my cats. She looked at me like she was caught red-handed before bursting out in laughter.
" If you wanted to sleep with me all you needed to do was ask." I joked.
And thus began a morning I'd never forget for the rest of my life. | 2022-11-01T07:01:45 | 2022-11-01T04:51:05 | 251 | 114 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | Charles looked over the rim into the wasteland below. Charred plains, dead woods, and rocky canyons seemingly stretched on forever. The sight was similar to standing on a beach and trying to find the end of an ocean. Dotted about the landscape, spaced far from one another, stood vague structures. From his vantage point Charles knew that they must, in fact, be quite large. That their true forms where distorted and blurred by distance and the haze that seemed to thicken the air.
Behind Charles was only darkness. Some voice deep inside told him going back was impossible, and he believed that voice completely. His only option was to make his way down the rim into the waste below. As so many people had before him and countless people would afterward, Charles decided to head for one of the structures.
The trip was uneventful. It seemed the trip took an eternity and at the same it felt that only a blink of the eye found Charles in the shadow of an ancient castle. The castle wall was beginning to crumble in places and stones from the parapets littered the ground at the base of the wall. Charles called out yet received no reply. For a year or a second, he wasn't quite sure, Charles made his way around the decaying structure. When reaching the opposite side from where he started he found a large door.
His shadow was cast upon the door from a hidden sun that some how still burned bright and hot against his back. As the cold shadow on the opposite side had cracked the stone of the castle walls, the sun had warped and rotted the large wooden door. This produced an opening for all in what was once designed to open for only a selected lot. Charles, without hesitation, entered.
He walked through a long dim passage. He could not make out what entrances and exits the walls held, or what material and designs adorned it. He did, however, see the light at the far end. He made for that light not bothering to look to his left or to his right.
Charles exited the passage and found himself at the edge of massive courtyard. Once upon a time this place must have been beautiful to behold. Now it was nothing more than rot. Intricate tile work had long been cracked by black vines. Pools that once housed fish and fountains sat stagnant, and covered in black scum. In the very center of the courtyard stood a once grand statue now blackened with dead vines, cracks, and mold.
Walking towards the statue Charles noticed a stone tablet resting at its feet. The tablet was not as old looking as the rest of the castle. It was not as black, not as cracked. Though the engraving in the stone was of an unknown form of writing Charles began to read it out loud.
"Here stands Vul, God of rock and earth. He protected us for a time from the unnamed horrors of the waste. In the end not even He could save us from the monsters who have no God." | You know believing in a god is not a hard thing to do, with enough faith any science can be simply explained as the will of the gods. Looking back at it, I only really refused to believe out of pride, in my mind I could not see that a being could exist that was greater than the sum of mankind. I had from a young age seen us only as the victors. I remember my death fondly, I lived a long life as short as others would lead me to believe it was.
When I arrived here, upon these many rolling hills doted with great fortresses of radiant light, I began to laugh at the ridicule of it, "Why in the world would you need walls that high in the afteworld?" Those thoughts left my head soon after when I noticed a figure walking towards me, it beckoned me to walk towards it as it stepped ever closer, and so I did, eager to question them upon this new stage of my existance. After I took three steps I noticed something odd about the figure, where human limbs supposed to be that long? After 6 steps I began questioning my past life as I gazed upon the figure. Were human hands supposed to have four fingers? After twelve steps I wondered as to where I was. Were humans supposed to have that many eye's? After 20 steps I knew nothing of the world, and as I stepped into the figure arms, I realised a simple truth, that though I knew not of myself, the figure knew, and if the figure knew than the figure must be myself. As the world faded around me, blinding cities of radiance and all I felt the many faces of the figure smile, and so I did as well. | 2017-11-21T07:24:11 | 2017-11-21T06:58:29 | 113 | 13 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | "I am the Panther, the Guardian of Wakanda. I watched from the shady jungles of Wakanda as the world tore itself, just as my fathers before me and their fathers before them. I was told, just as my predecessors were told, to let the world resolve itself. To let it decide its own fate, to only act to protect my nation.
In January 17, 1961, we watched as the Cold War claimed the life of the democratically elected Prime Minister, Patrice Lumumba. We watched as the pitiful nation tore itself. My grandfather acted to protect our nation.
In April 7, 1994, we watched as thousands of refugees poured to my nation from the borders, as our neighbours cut themselves in cruelty and malice. My father acted to protect our nation.
In December 16, 2009, I watched as the Boko Haram tore our western neighbours, kidnap their children. I watched as violence erupted. I acted to protect my nation.
The world, left to its own devices, is cruel. It hates itself and would rather see it end than grow in to a greater future. To stand by and not act is an immorality.
Today, I have made the decision that will end Wakandan rule as we know it. We are rich, we are strong, we are happy. And I will spread Wakandan life to all, in this life or the next."
-The Official Announcement of King T'Challa before the invasion of Rwanda, 2012.
| I am David Cameron.
It has been a rough night and I can only see the long night get darker as the sun rises. I see long battles ahead and after months of stating the obvious, they have done what I had feared....
I am a hero of the people but they fail to see it. | 2016-06-25T05:17:24 | 2016-06-25T05:04:36 | 89 | 21 |
[WP] You've just been kidnapped by a supervillain. She's not really evil; she's just really socially awkward and had no idea how to approach you otherwise. She even made you dinner! | It's a classic tale, old as time. Boy meets girl.
Girl kidnaps boy.
Girl is a supervillain. Boy is a superhero on a night out.
Mindblade just wanted to relax, have a drink at his favorite bar, meet with his friends. His usual night off duty when he can drop the guard and have a taste of the normal.
She sat next to him, ordered a whisky, downed it as if trying to gather courage for something and snapped her fingers. The bartender froze, his stare empty. Bar went quiet as everybody else also probably froze. Then she slid next to him, getting ready to catch him as if he was about to fall, and looked deeply into his eyes. So, he dropped like a good unpowered civilian he was pretending to be.
Of course he didn't recognize her as Morning Star. He probably wouldn't have even if he was Sharp at the time. Nobody knew what she looked like – or even that she was a woman – and superpowers-wise she was impossible to detect, it was her whole thing. Unseen by default, blinding all the senses, equipment and detection superpowers when she wanted. Though he never had the chance to try to Cut through her defenses.
Until now, that is. Except doing so would reveal himself; he was busy pretending to be affected by whatever she used on him.
She was flying with him slung over her shoulder. He couldn't fly himself, so he had the rare opportunity to see the city lights from above. And also her legs. And her back in her backless dress that he was now sure was held up by superpowers. And also very shapely area between her back and legs.
City sure looked stunning.
\*\*\*
Mindblade pretented to wake up.
He hoped it was appropriate time. He couldn't read her mind, after all.
It was... new. It put him on the edge. A bit.
He heard her nervous voice: "Oh, hey! I hope I didn't overdo it. Can you see me? Is your vision blurry?"
Razor sharp. Diamond cut diamond, it seems. He needed to play along.
"What...? Who...? Where...?"
"Well... How do I say this?"
Morning Star was fiddling with her hands as if she was a teenager trying to ask her crush out. What an absurd idea-
"I wanted to ask you out..."
What.
"...but I don't do well with crowds. And people. And..." she trailed off. "And I got us a dinner? That is, if you want to…?”
He didn’t have to pretend to make a blank stare. Generally, the consensus was to not bother with Morning Star, as they – as \*she\* – never harmed anyone and was pretty much a gentleman – gentle…lady? – thief that only stole from corporations that nobody would cry over and dabbled in some eco-activism. They wouldn’t even know her handle if it wasn’t for that.
Sure, she did blow up that one coal powerplant… or was it two?... But privately heroes were split on that. For example, One Rock was overjoyed and he was all over the whole thing because now the government was forced to accept his clean energy technology. Some were even saying that they should follow in her footsteps and make a real change. Mindblade himself wasn’t sure where he was standing on that.
Right now, he was sure he was silent too long.
“…or you can leave, if you want. I can fly you back, you know…” she said.
“I’m sorry, it’s just a lot… a lot at once to take in. I… I guess I’m up for the food?”
Her eyes light up. They were like stars. Appropriate, he thought.
“Just the food?” she teased.
Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. Play it cool, man!
“Well, maybe also dessert?”
Bravo. There goes his trademark sharp wit. By the end of it he’ll be babbling.
\*\*\*
Mindblade was drowning in her eyes. Everything was going well.
Until Morning Star served the meat.
And, without thinking, all the brainpower focused on making the conversation, he Cut. It was as natural as breathing, after all these years. He still was making the motions to keep up appearances, but why rely on the imperfect edge of a simple metal if his mind was infinitely more sharp?
All happened instantly. Alarm went off. Her eyes widened. And then everything was bright.
“Wait!” he yelled. When his vision came back, he was alone. He reached out with his mind but found only emptiness.
“I’m not attacking! I just forgot myself!”
“You’re… a superhuman.” Her voice seemed to come from everywhere.
“Yes.”
“What are you doing here?”
He hesitated. “I…”
“Oh, for colorless lights, you’re a plant. To figure out where my hideout is. They’re coming for me. I must-“
“No, wait! It’s not like that! Wait...”
“You’re stalling. Goodbye.”
He dropped to his knees, and raised his arms.
“I swear: it’s a coincidence! There’s nobody coming.”
“And why should I believe you?”
Truth, his last defense.“If I wanted to, I would have carved myself out from this mountain. I’m… I’m Mindblade.”
Silence. Then, finally, when he almost believed she left:
“So why haven’t you?”
“There was this dessert we talked about…”
She materialized right in front of him. Smiling that beautiful smile.
“I’m John, by the way.”
“Pleased to meet you, John. I’m Lucy”. | I was walking home after work, as I do every weekday evening... or at least that's what I remember doing. But no, I'm here, wherever this place is, and I have no recollection of how I got here.
A well lit room, with a grey granite floor, and glass on all the walls. I was sat on a traditional wooden dining chair, at a small oak dining table. An identical chair was on the other side of the table, but it wasn't clear who that seat was for.
I look outside the glass and see water, and fish, and aquatic plants, and well.. stuff you find in large bodies of water. Pretty sure this is freshwater though, judging by the school of grass carp swimming by.
I see a large shadow loom closer in my peripheral vision. I snap my head left.
Oh wow, That wels catfish is quite the chonker! It's pushing 2 meters long, and it's passing by right above of my head. I follow it with my eyes, as the long figure slowly makes its way past this room, and disappears into the distance. Man, catfish are cool.
Then something hits me.
Why am I here?
You know, seeing that cutie of a catfish made me almost forget the fact that I have no idea how, or for what reason, I've been put in this unfamiliar room.
I was scratching my head in deliberation, when a figure suddenly appears in front of me; seemingly shooting out of the floor. The suddenness of their appearance nearly knocks me off my chair.
"What the \*\*\*\*?!"
"Eeek! I'm sworry!"
***Some time later***
I put down my fork and knife, and finish chewing the food that was in my mouth.
"When I said you should be more assertive in terms of inter-personal relationships, this isn't what I had in mind, if I'm honest."
I pick the utensils back up, slice another bite-size piece of meat, swipe it through the sauce, and bring it to my mouth.
Mmmm delicious.
"I.. I know... But it's been so long since we hung out... And you're my only friend."
She seemed to shrink under my critical gaze. She nervously fidgeted with her long black ponytail, as she stole quick glances at me through her long bangs. Seems her mannerisms haven't changed much, she does this when she's feeling guilty.
My childhood friend, that I haven't physically seen in around half a decade, sat opposite me. We naturally drifted apart, since we went to universities in different cities, but we still occasionally chatted through IM.
I had no idea that she had taken over the family business of being... some kind of anti-peacekeeping organisation? Something about maintaining balance, ying and yang... I can't say I perfectly understood her explanation. Though to be honest, all I saw was my awkward childhood friend, being herself. Not any of this shady secret society stuff.
Man, this Duck à l'Orange is actually great!
"Yeah, you're right. Even if I'm busy, being a cog of society, I should've made a more concerted effort to reach out to you. I do enjoy hanging out with you, after all. I apologise for promising to make plans, but never actually getting to making those plans."
I like to make it clear when I believe I'm in the wrong, and this is one of those times. And I just couldn't get myself to get mad at her.
"N.. no, it's okay, it's my fault too..."
She finally looked up and started to make eye contact properly. Though her eyes would sometimes avert for a moment, before looking back at me.
"Also, this duck is quite delicous, I had no idea you were such a good cook!"
"I'm glad.. It's a hobby I picked up a few years ago"
She tittered with a cute smile on her face, as she fiddled with the bottom button on her aquamarine blouse. She does this when she's happy.
"Though a message, or a phone call, would've sufficed I think. Correct me if I'm wrong, but tailing me until I got to a secluded alleyway, knocking me out, then forcibly bringing me here is a minor excessive use of force; Would'nt you agree?"
She groaned, as she started to fiddle with her ponytail again. | 2021-10-21T18:13:38 | 2021-10-21T14:39:34 | 65 | 32 |
[WP] You were born blind, but somehow sometimes see some actual people in the darkness. You saw your grandmother for a whole day 4 years ago, she died that night. Now you're in your house and could see every person clearly, except for the visitor your dad is talking to. | Sitting alone in my room, I closed my eyes, wishing whoever had just rang the doorbell would just leave. I wasn't feeling up to dealing with people today. I had seen my best friend. There was just one problem with that.
I see dead people.
Well, *almost* dead people, to be accurate. It's my own morbid miracle, a gift or a curse depending on the day.
It started when I was small, venturing out of the house with my parents. I would point and scream happily, begging my parents to look. It's another person! At first she ignored it. In later years she wrote it off as imagination. Not long after that I had learned not to bring it up. For me, seeing a stranger on the street was exciting. For my mother, it was cruel. She knew I couldn't see anything in the darkness, and her blind child claiming she could see people seemed like a cry of desperation; I wished I could see people, so I convinced myself that I did. I had never discovered the mystery of why I can see certain strangers, but it had become my normal.
Until last year. My family had gone to see my grandmother in the hospital, unsure how long she had left on this earth. I had only been in a hospital once before at a young age, but when my mother told me they were filled with lots of people I assumed that's why I could see more of them. I saw my grandmother that day, for the first time in my life. Her thin, silvery hair was short and surprisingly well maintained for someone who had been in that bed for weeks. She looked fragile, her arms far from the strong, energetic ones that had rescued me from mishaps in my youth. I had no idea why I could see her, but it was my miracle. Until, soon after returning home that night, we got the call that she had passed away. That's when I began to put it together. Months later my theory was confirmed when I witnessed a car accident. Or rather, witnessed the life leaving the accident. The sound of crunching metal to my right while riding in the car caused me to whip my head to the source of the sound. A young woman entered my darkness, bloody and barely leaving. Moments later, she stopped breathing and faded from my view.
Sighing, I stood and walked toward my door. I could hear voices downstairs, sure that the stranger had decided to stay. Today was not the day to be reprimanded for rudeness, so I made my way into the living room with my best "welcome to our home" face. The scene I found cause every cell in my body to freeze. My breath stopped, my body refused to move, I was even certain my heart had decided not to beat. I could see my parents. My father stood, talking into the darkness, while my mother approached from the direction of the kitchen. For one instant, the magic of seeing them for the first time took over. Its decimation was swift as terror kicked in. The sound of my brother's footsteps behind me broke me from my spell. I turned, and saw him clearly for the first time. His smirk was playful as he whispered in my ear.
"Thanks a lot, Goodie Two Shoes, if you hadn't come out I could have gotten away with staying in my room too." He looked at me strangely when I didn't joke back.
"Hey, there they are! Where's the youngster? I'd just love to see her.." The words came from the darkness and my voice refused to work. I looked at my brother next to me, his disgust clear as he moved slightly to the side, blocking the staircase.
"Playing."
I cursed myself for my stupidity, standing frozen when I could see my whole family. Running to my younger sister's room, I opened the door quickly and saw nothing. "Sophie?" I said into the void, but my answer came from the bottom of the stairs.
"She's in my room." I turned to his room, taking a deep breath as I opened the door. I saw no sign of the six year old girl, but heard her giggling at the other side of the room.
"You gotta close the door! Bubby said I can only play with her if I close the door!" Sighing, I whispered calmly for her to stay here with the hamster and locked my brother's door quietly as I closed it. Downstairs, my father was still talking to the person that I still could not see. I had known his voice instantly. My best friend's father.
I silently cursed myself foe never listening to my brother. For years he had hated my friend's dad, and when pressed he would just mutter something about "the guy's a creep". I had never understood what my brother saw in him that was so awful, when I and the rest of the world just saw a family man. Suddenly my father's conversation changed from background noise to the center of my attention.
"Why don't you come in, have a beer? I'm sure that family of yours can spare you for a bit." He offered with a smile.
"Oh, they've got all the time in the world." | "Aura!" my mother called. "The guests are arriving, come downstairs!" Soon my home was filled with family and friends ready to celebrate my 18th birthday. My mother had been preparing this lavish party for what seemed like months and only ignored my protests. I held the bannister as I descended the stairs. The only person I really wanted there was gone, but I still had to put on my party face.
My family thinks I spent time with Nana because we were both born blind. This is partly true, but I've never told anyone that I could actually see her. Not all the time, just for a minute or two here and there, but every time her loving face began to appear out of the shadows was a moment of pure joy. Four years ago, I saw her for an entire day, the day she died. She seemed so calm that day, as if she was ready for what was to come. She asked me to come over that morning and we spent the day baking her delicious cinnamon raisin bread. While we enjoyed fresh buttered slices and tea, she looked right into my eyes and I've always thought that she knew. And slowly, she faded into darkness for the last time.
I missed Nana especially during parties, she loved being surrounded by her family. Out of habit, I searched for a glimpse of her kind face in the sea of voices, knowing none would be there. But suddenly, there was! Not Nana's but definitely a face. Faces, arms, legs; all around me people, my family, blinked into view. I gasped and ran to the kitchen to splash some cold water on my face. While the sink was running, I could hear my father in the den next door arguing with a voice I didn't recognize. I peeked around the doorway and saw my father for the first time, but no one else.
"...doesn't seem appropriate, she's still a child."
"Enough," the voice growled. "You know that this what your mother wanted. It's time, Aura."
I felt a hand on my shoulder and frantically tried to see the face attached to it, but it would not appear to me.
"We should speak. Privately." Suddenly, a strong wind whirled around me and my family faded away.
"Do you know me?" the voice asked. A cheerful inflection replaced the earlier growl, but was still unfamiliar. I shook my head.
"Good," the voice sighed. "My name is Zazel; I'm a demon and also your grandfather."
"P-papa died before I was born," I managed to squeak. "He and Nana are buried together."
"I know that's what you think," the voice said firmly. "But we wanted to find out if you were an average kid or..."
"Or what?" Some guy comes in, is trying to tell me I have demon blood, and suddenly can't speak?
"Or like me. You can see your family, right?"
"How did you..."
"You have demon sight, you can see the most honest version of the humans in front of you. Your ability to see gets stronger around other demons."
I paused. "That explains why I can see them now, but why could I see Nana? Was she a demon too?"
Silence, then it dawned on me.
"Those times I saw her, you were there, weren't you." Laughter and applause.
"I was! But I had no idea you had the ability until the day your grandmother, the day she..." He coughed, attempting to stifle a sob. "Anyway, you're old enough to know the truth. Your powers are getting stronger. And that means you can't stay here."
This is my first attempt at doing one of these writing prompts; I'm trying to establish a regular writing habit and thought this would be a good place to start. Any feedback would be deeply appreciated! | 2017-10-09T04:59:18 | 2017-10-09T04:21:35 | 1,595 | 83 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | *As he walked into the room, he noticed the only light was coming from a staticy television.*
"Yo, fuck this. I'm terrified of ghosts."
What? Since when? I write you. I never made that.
"Your character development is shit so I took matters into my own hands. Hit the horror movie section on that Netflix thing you gave me. I'm out of here."
Fine, I'll turn another light on.
*As he walked into the room, the lights were on and the televi...*
Where did you go? Are you outside?
"I watched the Conjuring. I know what's going on in this story. Put me in a jungle with some lions or some shit. Better yet, make it like a group thing! Put more people in here and I will go into the house. That way my chances of being attacked by a ghost or a demon or some shit are drastically lowered."
It's not scary then. You have to be alone. It's the 3rd chapter, do you really think I would kill you off?
"You had no qualms with the white girl in chapter 2 I had to watch get hit by the car."
One person. I kill one person and now you won't enter an empty house with a faulty cable connection?
"That's all it is? Cool. You call the cable guy and I'll wait outside until daylight or until that dude shows up."
Your killing this story.
"'Your' shows possession. 'You're' is a contraction replacing 'you are'."
YOU'RE the last character I write as a Rhodes Scholar.
Since you seem to be enjoying these, here is one I did yesterday along these lines.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/453g0v/wp_a_story_in_which_a_character_gets_in_an/czuwkh6 | Marshall was leaving the bank when he heard the first gun shot. It had come from inside! He reached for his concealed weapon and tried tri tr
threw it on the ground. Marshall want wan WANTS A SODA STOP MAKING HIM A HERO HE
He heard a woman scream and *knew* he should go inside to stop the crimina
Marshal shot his middle finger into the sky and took off at a brisk pace to a McDonalds down the street. | 2016-02-11T10:16:42 | 2016-02-11T09:05:58 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] When Pluto got demoted to a dwarf planet, Hades just had a good chuckle at the demotion of his namesake and carried on with his duties as king of the Underworld. The one who was outraged on his behalf was actually his wife.
EDITED NOTES: I've gotten e-mail notices a couple times now on posts that got automatically removed by the automod. Remember guys, the length required for a response is at minimum, 100 words for a poem, even longer for a story response, and if something is a personal anecdote, not a story, please put it in response to the top pinned comment, not directly to this post. | "These ungrateful filthy mortals dare dishonor MY husband? _Oh_, what makes Zeus or Poseidon or those crusty Titans Sad-Turn and Rectum so special?"
The not-as-Divine attendants inched back ever further as the godly Soul Fire built around Persephone, who's fury literally encased the massive throne of her husband. The light and heat of a thousand stars filled the throne room with unbridled eminence as her glowing hands clenched the armrests of the throne.
"First, they give him the tiniest wee little piece of rock at the donkey's end of their miserable solar system, and now said piece of rock does not even qualify as a planet. Wow. Just wow. The only thing Zeus has in common with his planet is the sheer amount of hot gas inflating his massive yet ever so fragile ego."
The attendants remained in a permanent bow, for her Light was iridescent and blinding in its glory. That, and that they would preferred not to lock eyes with her so...upset.
"As soon as those fuckers die, I'll have them clean the hellhound's latrine Abyss-pits of their Prometheum feces stains. NonoNO! That is too luxurious! I'll have them run naked through the Flaming Abyss with the Furies whipping their gen-"
"...WOW. And I thought _I_ had anger issues."
"Dear~!" and the luminescence of the room shifted from a blinding white to a warm amber as Persephone turned her gaze to the still-staring God. Hades stood with absolute stillness as his wife phased from one moment and tackled him to the ground in another.
"...I missed you too."
"Dear! We should teach these mortals a lesson! They DARE dishonor you with this hogwash! The audacity they have to insult the Lord of the Dead is astounding."
Hades glowed with incomprehensible color as he formulated his response. Finally, he matched his gaze with her.
"My beloved. What is the one true guarantee in all Existence?"
"What had a beginning, will have an end."
"Yes. I am Permanence, the everlasting Afterlife. Long after the last wave is tossed in the ocean. Eons after the last thunderstorm heralds it's fury. Even after the last black hole dissipates, I shall remain. The words and notions of mortals are but impermanent labels, so why should I care so much about the words of mere mortals."
"But they avoid you with their medicine and technology!"
"It matters not when they die. Only that they eventually do. So why not after a long, happy fulfilling life?" | "No, I want to talk to your king!" Persephone practically screamed into the phone, shaking me out of my mindless game of solitaire. "What on earth are you on about?" I questioned her, surprised how bent out if shape she seemed.
"They demoted Pluto to a dwarf planet!" She explained, shaking something in my face. I grabbed the newspaper and read, chuckling at the fact that the humans had decided it was only a dwarf. I figured that I should have put more effort into the thing, but it didn't really matter.
I went back to work, patting Cerberus on the head as I put new souls into Elysium, attempting to ignore Persephone's ranting to the poor receptionist working at NASA. "It's not a big deal you know, dear" I remarked. "Oh, really?" Persephone scoffed, holding her hand over the receiver. "They're underselling you, making a mockery of what you mean, Hades!"
"Where do they all end up?
"What?"
"Where do they all come after they die?"
"Well, here..."
"Well, then, why would a silly planet matter, when they all will come here eventually, joining me in my lands?"
Her eyes softened, and she hung up, coming over and sitting next to me. I hugged her and explained "as long as I've got you, nothing else matters."
She leaned on my shoulder and smiled, our worries forgotten as we enjoyed this morning together. | 2022-01-03T15:16:29 | 2022-01-03T14:31:49 | 454 | 93 |
[WP] The vampire is - for the first time - welcomed warmly inside a home, without knowing it’s Halloween. He blushes, not really having an idea on what was going on but feeling rather...pleasant nonetheless. | "Oh neat," said Harris, dressed up as zombie Abe Lincoln. "Tom Cruise! Same teeth and everything."
Andrei stood on the doorstop a little confused. "The... the actor, yes? I think you've mistaken me. My name is Andrei."
"Yeah, sure, but you've come as Tom."
"I don't think Tom has these." Andrei pointed to his mouth and two white teeth, as sharp as stalactites, slowly lowered.
"Oh, neat dude. Retractable fangs! Where'd you get 'em from?"
He thought for a while. It was so very distanct, the memory. The change. "She was an heiress. America was new. Claudine, I think."
"Yeah? She got a website, 'cause they're super cool? Whatever man, come on in. Vampire Cruise might like the blood-punch." Harris laughed and hit Andrei's shoulder. "Come on!"
Andrei hesitated. He hated taking advantage of kindness, and this young man seemed very kind -- but Andrei was weak. Ill. The sickness ravaged him and had been doing so for months. But maybe this blood-punch would be enough and he wouldn't have to pierce Harris' artery.
He stepped inside.
"I've got to go socialise," said Harris, turning away and walking towards a crowd of toga-wearing young men, "but you know what to do!"
"I do?"
"Sure you do!" Harris called back. "Have a good fucking time!"
Andrei raised his eyebrows, took a deep breath, and stepped into the house. Bass trembled through his legs and gave the house a pulse all of its own. Now he understood -- he'd stepped into a party.
A throng of monsters turned to look at him -- a crowd of bikini wearing zombies holding beachballs. One waved at him and winked. Andrei looked down at his shoes.
"Hey cutie," said the nearest, throwing her beachball to him. He fumbled, but caught it.
"Send your balls back my way," she said, giggling.
He looked down at the ball in his hands. "I only have one."
The other girls laughed. "You're pretty cute."
God, he hated this. Why were they laughing? What had he said? He walked over and handed the girl her ball back. "Do you know where the blood-punch is?"
"Yeah, that's right, get a drink down you first." She nodded to her side. "Kitchen."
"Thank you." For a zombie, she had a very lovely blue jugular that ran down her neck towards her bosom. He licked his lips.
"Oh you like what you see?"
"Very much. But it's not for me."
She frowned. "All the handsome ones are gay."
He forced himself to turn away. The girl said something else, but he didn't hear; her friends laughed again. Probably at him.
He pushed past a masked man and another with a chainsaw, until he reached the kitchen. It was quieter here.
In a large bowl on the side was a viscous red liquid. He couldn't smell the blood and he wondered how diluted with alcohol it had been. Wondered whether it would work at all. But he had to try; he was dying.
Andrei grabbed a plastic cup and dunked it into the bowl. He tipped it down his mouth and finished it in three gulps.
"That was a mistake," said a voice. A girl sat on the counter the other side of the kitchen. "A big mistake."
Andrei agreed. "Its burning..." he began, before coughing. He grabbed his throat.
"I saw some kid tip a bottle of tabasco into it," the girl said. "But trust me, it sucked before that, too."
His eyes were teary and the girl a blur. She looked a little like a princess, but dressed in a black frock wearing a black tiara. She was almost as pale as he was.
"I'm Kara," she said.
"I don't feel good," said Andrei.
"It'll pass. Just vodka and tabasco, plus a few litres of tomato juice -- they don't mix too well."
"Tomato juice?" he gasped. "Oh God, there's no blood in it?"
She laughed. Then, on seeing his face, she didn't.
Andrei was sweating. Breathing fast.
"Shit," she said. "You're like me, aren't you?"
"Huh?"
At first he thought she was smiling; grinning at his death. But two sharp teeth slowly lowered.
"I don't understand," he said, almost breathless.
"Sometimes it's nice to, you know, just not be alone. These are the only kind of parties -- you know what, it doesn't matter." She reached up and tore the collar of her dress slightly, then jumped down.
"I got enough to get you through it, for now," she said. "My ex works at a blood bank. Sells it to me cheap -- I'll hook you up some time. But right now you need to dig in -- although you might have a little trouble hitting a vein first time."
"You're... like me?"
"I am. And I know how thirsty you are. And how painful it is. And how amazing you've done to resist feeding up to now -- and what that means." Her voice softened. "That in a way, you're more human than all the other people at the party."
Andrei looked around. "What if... people see me feeding?"
"They'll just think we're necking." She winked.
"I don't--"
She pressed his face against her neck and Andrei, for the first time in months, drank. | He walked the streets with purpose, the moonlight bathing his surroundings in a pleasant glow.
It had been so long since Nest had been amongst humans, trapped in that infernal pit of fire. Just the memory of it made him shiver, forced to recall the pain and terror, along with his tormentors laughs at the screams they had wrenched from him. He’d been trapped for centuries, caught in an endless cycle of damnation and fear until his salvation had been unwittingly shown to him.
A single opening, far too high for any to climb up and reach. It was kept uncovered as a psychological torture; taunting the sinners with the false hope of escape and freedom that they could never even hope to get to. Many had tried and failed to escape, and it was considered suited to attempt-if it didn’t kill you trying to get there, the guards surely would when they caught you. But unlike Nest, many did not have the advantage of vampirism, and the strength that evolution would bring if you could live to achieve it.
His new wings, singed and weak from the extreme pressure they had been forced to go through after only existing for a decade, were kept carefully folded and trailed behind him, covered by a simple black cloak Nest had been able to steal from a human store along with a black costume for him to now wear. It would do for now, as the thick leather would help cover his healing skin from sight and sunlight if need be.
Humans had changed their ways, it seemed. Where there was once simple wooden huts, now stood tall houses with windows and strong roofs. There were other additions as well-strange white cloth over houses and trees, pumpkins given crude faces, and strange creatures made into decorations. Children and adults alike were also clothed in strange outfits, ranging from bland and covering to colorful and revealing. Nest cared little for this new humanity, only that the blood in their veins would still feed him.
There was a loud gathering in the largest house at the end of the loop, with bright colors flashing and smoke rising from behind. Nest smiled. Dinner at last! Strolling over to the house, where the noise was even louder and human voices shouted from within, he prepared to sneak around the back of catch anybody outside. Then the door opened, and a human girl perhaps sixteen stepped out, clad in some kind of red and pink configuration. Nest stiffened, and prepared to leave when she saw him. Her mouth dropped open, and she ran over to him.
“Holy shit dude! Your costume is awesome!”
Nest blinked. Was that some kind of code? The girl was now in front of him, and was staring at his ridged brow, upturned nose, red eyes and long ears with awe. Rather than be afraid of the ancient vampire in reach of her, she seemed impressed. “Is that makeup? Or are you actually using prosthetics?”
“Wha-What?”
The girl gave up her questions, and instead grabbed his hand, babbling something about her name being Lauren and that her party was invite only “but this level of effort deserves an immediate invitation”. Nest had no idea what in the devils name was happening, and luckily was kept from being further drawn into the madness by the threshold at her door, separating him from her. Lauren turned with confusion on her face for a minute, but then she laughed.
“Oh yeah-you’re a vampire, huh?” Nest nodded, finally glad something rational had happened. He was about to leave, when-
“Come on in! It’ll be great, trust me.”
His jaw dropped, and he stared at the girl, uncomprehending her words even as they rang through his skull. Invited? He’d never been invited into a human abode before...and for some reason, it felt rather nice.
Lauren was leaning against the door, mirth in her eyes. There were a few people coming over to her now, and when she told them about him they looked at him with awe and excitement as she had, saying how “cool” he looked. Nobody had ever looked at him like that...
“Well? You coming in now?”
Thrown back into the moment, Nest took a second to think of the situation. Then the answer came to him.
“...Yes. Yes, I would be glad to.”
It had been centuries since he’d even spoken to another being, but looking at these children now, the vampire felt he had already made friends for the first time in his life. | 2020-03-28T08:53:49 | 2020-03-28T08:45:46 | 128 | 21 |
[WP] Humanity meets an immortal being, who can answer any question, except for "Does God exist?". One day, the being is tricked into answering. | My first year of communication with Earth was nearing its end, thankfully.
“How many more of your species exist?” The speaker blared with yet another question.
“We do not count the individuals. We are all one.” Another unsatisfying answer for the humans but that is what they get for applying their logic to my species. They had been asking questions non-stop since I had arrived. It has been best to communicate through their electronics since a casual look at their history has shown them to be violent and unpredictable.
“But how do you have competing…” The humans question had been cut short. The crowd inside the transmission station had pushed him away. I had informed them they may ask any question but I would not answer them all. At first they simply shouted their questions over one another. They broadcast videos, radio, screamed into phone lines, spammed message boards. Anything to get their questions in electronic form hoping their question would be next.
“Do crabs think fish can fly?” The high pitched voice of the next human rang out in the nearly hollow space craft.
“No, crabs do not possess the capacity for abstract thinking.”
“Do any other species have abstract thinking?”
This human was lucky, she actually got a second question in. “None that are currently alive.” The human was ushered off stage as the answer rang out. Each person was allowed twenty seconds ask their question, a system that was put in place after the first month of chaos. The line of people waiting their turn was months long at this point.
“Does god have a plan for me?” Said a small voice. I gazed back at the video feed of the human asking this question, a young woman wearing a small gold cross.
“I cannot answer that.” No questions about the creator, that was the one rule. It did not stop them from trying.
An old man with thin rimmed glasses was next up. “Is it possible to travel faster than the speed of light?” I enjoyed the questions from the scientific community the most. They received the most thorough answers.
“You cannot move faster than light, but you may arrive at a location is less time than it takes light to travel there.”
“So worm hole travel is real?”
“Yes”
A small boy, no more than twelve year old stepped up next. I despised children and their asinine questions but if this is how the human wanted to waste my time then so be it.
“A-are you the smartest b-being?” He squeaked, stammering out his question.
“No” I leaned back and stared at the metallic roof of my craft.
“So could you make a math problem so hard that you could not solve it?”
That question sounded vaguely familiar. “I could not”
“But it is possible then?” I looked back toward the video feed. Why was he not being moved along, surely he was over his time limit.
“Yes it is possible”
“If no other creatures have abstract thought and you are smarter than humans then that implies that there is another being in this universe that is smarter than you.” He said with more confidence in his voice.
Why wasn’t the crowd stopping this boy?
“So then you’re implying that there is something greater than you. Something you would not consider alive in the typical sense. There is a creator.”
“I cannot answer that.”
“That wasn’t a question.”
| "How did you become immortal?"
The old man rubbed his beard and thought a little. This was a risky subject, but he had to answer - that was one of the things He had told him to do, if he wanted to become immortal. The man also had to answer without lying, something that would be very hard to do with this question. The last rule was that he couldn't expose Him.
"Well, I met a special somebody-"
Immediately the reporters started to interrupt him with questions about that somebody, but the man just raised his hand and waited for everyone to quiet down.
"He told me He could make me immortal, with a few ru-"
Again someone interrupted him.
"So it's a man?"
The man nodded a bit hesitant and continued with his story.
"A few rules. I had to answer every question, I couldn't lie, and I couldn't -"
He stopped. He would be exposing God if he told the third rule of his existence, his immortality. The reporters smiled, happy to find something to dig deeper. they all jumped on the situation like a starved man jumped for food and asked questions.
"What is the third rule?" "Why won't you tell us?"
The man inhales deeply. He know he has to answer, since neither of the questions are the forbidden question, and he has to answer with the truth.
"The third rule is: I can't expose the one who made me like this, and I can't tell you because it would expose him."
The same female reporter from before asked yet again another question.
"So who made you immortal?"
The immortal smiled. He had to answer, he had no other choice.
"God."
It was quiet for a bit before the questions started again, louder and more chaotic than before.
"So he exists? God exists?"
But the man could not answer, although they now knew he existed.
Not the best thing I ever wrote, but I found it quite a hard prompt. | 2016-04-17T09:55:01 | 2016-04-17T08:46:53 | 510 | 14 |
[WP] "You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you" goes the cliche, and sadly it's true. Ever since you matched on the dating app, the Personification of War has been asking you out and messaging you... | I think ultimately it all began back when I first read Sun Tzu. Hell, maybe even just with my fascination with history back in school.
--
Growing up, I always found history to just be so INTERESTING. I could never learn enough about it. All the epic clashes of powerful civilizations at odds with one another, in bloodthirsty conquest to see their ideals and machinations be the one on top in the end. Seeing how these nations rose and fell, how they succeeded and how they failed, it always gave me such insight into how we as humans work, and how we can learn from those mistakes to hopefully not repeat them in the future. That is the basis of civilization after all.
Back when I was in college though, that's when things started to get weird. I was always pretty laid back by nature, but I found that when on the rare occasion that a friend was able to drag me away from my studies to challenge me to a drinking contest, or to play some video game of theirs, I would always end up the victor. That is, not that I was actually any GOOD at these things in the slightest, quite the contrary: I was a man obsessed with my study of the past, and with eyes only for books, so drinking and socializing were so far from my realm of knowledge, that I was always an awkward addition to any social gathering. Yet, even when I could barely choke down a single sip of alcohol, I'd find that the handful of others competing with me would all suddenly become violently sick by the very idea of alcohol despite many of them being seasoned alcoholics. I'd find the most experienced of gamers to suddenly have no idea how to even hold their own controllers properly when they invited me to play.
Strange as the occurrences were, they were infrequent enough that I paid them little mind. There was, however, one area of my life in particular that these odd occurrences were much more annoying: my love life. While it always seemed that I was somehow winning at most things, it became more and more clear that every date I went on would end in utter failure and catastrophe. I would simply chalk it up to my frankly antisocial and singularly past-oriented obsessive mind, but it always seemed to be some odd occurrence that made it a failure, rather than a lack of chemistry. I would find myself with someone whom i'd known and gotten along with well just fine for years, and only once it become a technical 'date' that it would suddenly become some actual disaster that we'd both never wish to speak about again afterwards.
It was only once some friends had gotten together and successfully convinced me that I should put aside my obsessive focus on the past and focus more of my efforts on dating, that things truly came to an apex though. With my obsessive nature in singular drive, It was really hard to get me to stop when I truly had a goal in mind to work towards, even when the universe itself was seemingly against you at every turn.
For about three weeks now, i've been doing nothing but setting up as many date's as possible per day, and watching each and every one end in more and more spectacularly absurd of a disaster. No less than a dozen different cars failed, several restaurants around the county needed to be shut-down, and about a handful hospitalized (none dead, thankfully). With each and each date it almost felt like the level of absurdity in the failure kept increasing almost as a way to dissuade me from trying again.
I'd think I sound utterly crazy about all this, if it wasn't for the girl who showed up at my door today.
-
She wore a gown of ethereal shadows, moving and swaying into and out of existence like some sort of black fire in slow motion. While the otherworldliness of it was stunning, it also somehow came across as lazy, like something a shut-in would wear to bed. The cognitive incongruency in my perceptive elements almost hurt to think about too much. The aura of unquestionable dominance and power would have easily overwhelmed me, if it weren't somehow counterbalanced by an even more unusual feeling of strange familiarity in the girl standing before me. It felt somewhat like meeting a longtime internet friend for the first time.... except that the friend never existed, and the feeling is somehow instead generated for this strange shadow presence that now looms in my doorway.
"Hey so uh, can we uh, talk for a bit?"
Her voice sounded like it came from everywhere at once, yet still from a singular point. Like a thousand voices, but one at the same time. Behind all of the conflicting elements though was the gnawing feeling of familiarity. Like something on the tip of your tongue, the forefront of my brain, unable to remember, but knowing all the same that this is happening very much for the first time. Like Deja Vu, but for a person. Despite the otherworldly imposing presence that loomed in the doorway, it felt oddly like she was the one more intimidated as she fidgeted and stuttered in my doorway.
"Do I...... have we....."
My words trail off, totally unsure where to even begin my flood of questions. Even without properly vocalizing it, it seemed like the understood all the same.
"Oh, no, no we haven't. No that's just.... Okay so like, not officially no. Not in person, at least..."
It answered almost nothing, yet her very presence and existence in my doorway spoke so many volumes more that I fear a whole army of writers would fail to comprehend the full implications therein. More importantly than all that though, I realized the more immediate and almost shockingly petty thing which it implied.
"Wait, i'm.... you.... You're the one who kept ruining my dates?"
[Part one. Have to sleep. May write part 2 tomorrow!] | Out of the blue I got a message on the dating app, I had been in a slump for a while and things were looking pretty bleak. The person who tagged me was tall blonde and Scandinavian, I saw the pictures on the dating app and thought holy cow she is definitely out of my league. Why is she contacting me? Someone is catfishing me was my second thought. In retrospect if I only had been that lucky.
I immediately looked at her profile and was stunned by what I saw. Tall blonde Scandinavian and out of my league. Her profile said she enjoyed Canadian Football, rugby league, Mixed Martial Arts, violent movies, sailing and military history.
As I read her profile I thought there is no way this is a real person but I was in the slump to end all slumps and thought what the hell do you have to lose? Let's roll the dice and lets see where this goes. If someone is catfishing me this should be a interesting to see who really shows up. So I set up a date with her that first night thinking that no way in hell is she going to show up. This can't be a real person.
So I started the DM chain with her.
Me: How about we meet for drinks at Fred's Bar and Grill? Tonight at 8 pm?
Freyja: Great - looking forward to meeting you.
Me: You need an address?
Freyja: I can find it. See you soon. XOXO.
Me: Great see you there.
As I read the DM exchange I knew that sure as heck this was a trap or some kind of catfishing adventure because no woman that hot throws out the XOXO in the first DM exchange.
What I didn't tell her or him or them was that Fred's Bar and Grill was a little bit sketchy, actually who was I kidding it was a lot sketchy. At any rate I figured this would be interesting to see if anyone showed up as Fred's tonight, if not I would have a couple of beers and hit Jack in the Box on the way home for some late night artery clogging munchies, pass out and live life as if this had never happened.
It was a Tuesday night and Fred's Bar and Grill was just as busy as it should have been on a week night, with ten or twelve patrons in the place. Most were at the bar or shooting pool while I was sitting at the bar. When she walked through the door I was half way through Coor's beer number three, Talk about pleasantly surprised and exceeding expectations.
At first glimpse all I could think of was that old George Jones song - The one I loved Back Then - with the lyrics "She was the fastest thing around - Long and lean, every young man's dream." To say she was beautiful was an understatement.
I am not exaggerating in any way shape or form when I say everyone in the bar stopped to watch her walk across the floor and take a bar stool next to me. She was every bit of 6 foot tall, and wearing a much too short black dress mini skirt outfit with heels that were borderline impossible from a physics and engineering standpoint. After a few uncomfortable moments she opened the conversation with "You can blink now Steve."
I shook my head and apologized to her. "Sorry I just didn't know if you were real as the photos were perfect and almost way too perfect."
Freyja answered matter of factly with a hint of a Scandinavian accent. "Believe it or not, I get that a lot."
I ordered her a beer, I have no clue as to what it was, it was something dark and had a foreign name to it. She ever so gracefully grabbed her glass of beer and motioned to a table towards the back of the bar.
As we headed to the table to talk I could feel all the eyes in the place on us. The women's eyes full of jealousy and hatred come to think of it all the men's eyes were full of jealousy and hatred.
As we sat and made small talk the stronger the feeling grew that something was just not right. The hair on the back of my neck was standing straight up. I just could not shake the feeling that something was very wrong or very right. | 2022-06-05T20:21:45 | 2022-06-05T19:46:40 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You may write a story where the protagonist has a regular day BUT they must also die a horrific death at the end. But there is a twist: All stories after the 1st must begin with their protagonist seeing the protagonist of the previous story dying.
Keep everything canon ;)
( P.S: Sort by Old ) | Well, that was *fucked up*.
They let school out early, though they kept me and the rest of AP Chem for questioning; just a few minutes with each of us, getting our version of the story. Some of my classmates were distraught or crying; I don't blame them. I mean, Mr. Dunham was never the most entertaining teacher, but he knew his stuff and he was mostly a good guy. He didn't deserve...that. Shit. Anyway, they've transported that weirdo Billy to some holding cell or juvie center or something. I can't believe he just stood there, smiling like a complete creep. Was he autistic or something? A lot of my friends made jokes about that, but I honestly sometimes wondered. Some of the girls who sat in front actually say that *he* was one to drop the acid on Mr. Dunham. I was half-asleep in the back as always, so I didn't see. I don't know, it's so messed up either way.
Normally I take the bus, but since I was out like 3 hours early, I decided to just leg it home. My friends' parents were picking them up, but mine were working right now. I hoisted my bookbag and headed downtown. It was actually kind of interesting, being able to walk past and stop at the windows of all the little shops, instead of just zooming by. I lingered for a little while by a guitar store, but didn't bother going in; I had no money, so what would be the point?
My thoughts went back to the Mr. Dunham, and I wondered about his family. Man, it must suck so much to be them right now. Did he have life insurance or anything? Still, that's kind of small comfort when you lose your dad or husband. They'll probably have the funeral in a few days, or maybe a week. And if it was Billy who did the thing, then maybe a court date. Wait but he's a minor; can he still appear in court? Or would his dad represent him or something? Or some appointed lawyer, most likely. Man, I know nothing about the legal system. I should probably learn more about it sometime.
Suddenly, a horrific screeching sound broke into self-rambling. I shot a look behind me and my eyes widened. I couldn't believe it - there was an enormous piano rolling down the hilly sidewalk right toward me! Everyone started screaming and running here and there. I followed suit, and tried to get to the end of the block faster. The piano was moving *fast*, but if I managed to turn the corner to the left, I would be good.
Almost there! But right at the last second, things happened very quickly: a car backed out onto a driveway right in front of me, forcing me to go right into the street so I could avoid turning into a pancake between this stupid car and the goddam piano behind me. A fraction of a second afterward, the piano slammed into the car, pinning a couple of people, and making a horrific din of shredding metal and off-key chords. Oh, and the screams. And the blood. But before I could process any of that properly, I heard another sound: a truck's blaring horn. I felt like I was moving in slow motion as I turned my head just in time to see the blinding headlights of a monstrous semi crash right into me.
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* | *Well it looks like I answered a bit later than /u/Vestroyax... I'll keep this here but you guys should continue off his story instead of mine*
*****
Jim eased off the clutch, shifting as his Civic pulled away from the stoplight and onto the main thoroughfare. He hit the gas, accelerating to double the speed limit. It was still night, and the streets were empty. There were no birds chirping, children traveling to school, or even the occasional horn in the distance.
He was tired. The consulting firm where he worked rarely made him go overtime, and this sudden phone call took him by surprise. A large software project he'd been working on had failed in production, and that meant immediate work. The boss wanted them all back in the office within twenty minutes.
Yes, even if it was five in the morning. Even after a party at Barbara's house, where he'd drunk a fair amount and got home at three. He'd taken a few pills to ease the hangover, and he was happy there was no traffic on the road.
Ahead of him, lights flashed. There was a railroad crossing, and freight trains often left in the early morning to prevent stopping up traffic.
Jim was completely exhausted by then. His mind slipped in and out of consciousness, and the flashing red meant nothing to him. The Civic swayed left and right, oblivious to his drunkenness. It hit the metal barrier, breaking it, and jammed against the second barrier with a sickening crunch. Steam leaked from the cracked radiator as the airbags knocked Jim out.
He wasn't awake to notice to bright headlamp of the locomotive glaring into his eyes, followed by the blaring air horn. The engineer hit the brakes, but the heavy train still smashed into the Civic at forty miles an hour.
The vehicle bounced hard, its left side completely flattened. It fell hard into a ditch as the train finally ground to a halt. By the time a passing motorist had arrived, Jim's body was completely unrecognizable. The metal body had enclosed him like a coffin, smashing his bones to bits and covering the dashboard with gore. A fire sparked from the leaked fuel, forcing the bystanders to move back.
Standing outside his locomotive, the engineer turned to look at the carnage, and slowly shook his head. | 2017-05-06T08:03:56 | 2017-05-06T07:54:14 | 118 | 13 |
[WP] It's halfway through 2017, and already it has proven to be one of the most uneventful years in recent memory. Not a single mass-shooting. Not a single attack, no mass die-offs or heat records broken. Slowly, people begin to realize that something is terribly wrong... | "Hey ma! I'm making eggs on toast, you want some?"
"Sure thing sweetie! I'll get a pot of coffee on. Can you grab the paper too?"
I wandered out to the porch, picked up today's rolled up paper and brushed off the pollen absentmindedly. I tossed the paper across the table to ma and started the water boiling. The percolating coffee filled the room with its rich aroma.
"What's the news ma?"
"Nothing of note sweetie, same as usual."
2017 has been such a relief. By the end of 2016, it had seemed like nothing could go right in the world anymore. So many terrorist attacks that we'd reached sympathy saturation. We just didn't have it in us to care that much anymore.
People only left their homes to work or go to school. The world had achieved a state of fearful apathy, for lack of a better term. People too afraid to engage in anything other than essential activities, while being so tired of living in fear that they no longer actually felt the fear.
NYE 2017 was the quietest I could remember. No fireworks, no parties. Everyone stayed home, stared at the tv, listlessly drank their single glass of fizz.
Everyone woke up on 01/01/17 expecting news of some new horror. Nothing. Calm, quiet. Nothing of note has happened all year. Come to think of it, I can't really remember any individual days. It's been so peaceful, the days have blurred together without some new terror marking each day.
Ma dropped the newspaper in the recycling box when she finished with it and started working on the dishes. The date on the paper caught my eye. June 21st.
"You working today sweetie?" Ma called over her shoulder as I turned to leave the room.
"Nah I'm on my hols remember? Few weeks before I'm back to the grind."
"Of course you are sweetie. Silly old brain forgets these things. You enjoy your time to relax."
"Cheers ma," I smiled and left the room, returning to my bedroom.
*
"Hey ma! Want some eggs on toast? I'm making some."
"Yes please sweetie and I'll knock on the coffee. Mind getting the paper?"
I pushed open the porch door and bent to grab the paper, brushing off the pollen. Seems never ending, this pollen season.
I tossed it to ma and boiled the water for the eggs.
"How's the news ma?"
"Quiet as usual sweetie. Nothing to note. You working today?"
"Nah I'm off for a few weeks remember?"
"Oh of course, yes. Forget my own head if it wasn't screwed on!"
Ma dropped the newspaper on the growing pile. I'd have to remember to load those in the car soon and recycle them. I didn't feel like leaving the house today, but I'd do it soon. I grabbed a cup of milky coffee and retired to my room.
*
"Eggs on toast ma?" I felt less enthusiastic today. Not down or unhappy, just a little...off.
"Yes please sweetheart. I suppose I'll put on some coffee for us too."
I glanced at my usually cheerful mother. Seems she's feeling a little off too.
"Want me to get the paper?"
"Yes please my dear."
Open the door, bend to get the paper, brush off the pollen. My eyes slid over the date and the headlines, but didn't focus on them. I placed the paper in front of ma and took a good look at her.
"Ma you're not looking your best. Are you feeling ok?"
Her skin was shining and flushed, her lips almost bright red. She looked feverish. Come to think of it, I was a little feverish myself.
"Yes dear, just a little under the weather, don't fret. No news today." She tossed the paper onto the pile without even looking at it.
Some part of my mind was shouting at me to look at that paper but I felt a strange reticence. My limbs felt sluggish and slow as I walked to the box, as though weighted by chains of iron.
"What are you doing sweetie? I said there was no news today."
I kept going, reached into the box, picked up a paper. Looked at the date.
June 21st.
Next paper.
June 21st.
Next paper.
June 21st.
The whole damned box was filled with identical papers, dated June 21st.
I felt ma's presence behind me.
"Ma? I don't understand. How can this be?" I looked over my shoulder at her, noting now how lifeless her hair is, her eyes yellowed and almost filmed over. There are sores visible around her mouth. Her cheekbones look like they could cut glass.
"Can you read the headline sweetie? I'm not sure if you're ready yet."
"Of course I can read the head..." I trailed off, turning my head back to look at the paper in my hand. My eyes would just slide over it. I could easily see the words but I couldn't quite read them.
"Ma! I'm scared. Please tell me what's going on!"
"When you're ready sweetie," she said sadly. A drop of blood leaked from the corner of her eye as she turned her back to me, clearing the dishes from the table. I don't remember either of us eating, but the food had gone.
"Why don't you sit on the porch for a little while sweetie? Have a look at the pollen."
"Pollen? What does the pollen have to do with anything?"
"You'll understand when you see it sweetie."
Perturbed and increasingly unnerved, I pushed open the porch door. Pollen everywhere, of course. A yellow sheen that coats everything, no matter how much you sweep and mop. I brushed my hand over the rail surrounding the porch and hold my hand in front of my face. Funny, it looks like pollen but it feels...thicker somehow. It smells odd. I bring my hand to my mouth and tentatively lick one of my fingers.
It's not pollen. It's ash.
I return to the kitchen, where my mother waits for me. She has the saddest smile I've ever seen as she holds out the paper to me. I don't take it from her but my eyes finally take in the headline.
"America will push the red button if China does not give up nuclear arsenal."
I closed my eyes, afraid to see more. Afraid to see the light darken out of the window, which is no longer filled with glass. Afraid to see the ash blackening every remaining surface. Afraid to see how little surface was even left.
I feel my mother take my hand.
"We can go now, if you're ready." | I grew up in Cypress Creek, a few miles east of the Redwood Forest and just across the street from the Promenade. My father owned Hammock World for a while, a popular store with both locals and tourists until Hammocks ‘Я Us staged a hostile takeover and forced us out. Eventually, Dad went back to work at Globex Corporation. They welcomed him with open arms. It was hard biking past the Promenade for a while, though.
Whenever someone left the Greater Hammock District, Dad would get teary-eyed. He’d smile sadly at that twinkle in the new owner’s eyes, and imagine the lazy afternoon they were about to have. But it worked out in the end. Dad helped me get a job at Globex right out of high school. Twenty-seven years later, I was VP of Sanitation with over a hundred employees reporting to me. It wasn’t until the summer of 2017 that I realized something was horribly wrong.
This was nothing like the Event of 1996. We still speak of that with hushed voices even if no one really understands what happened. For me, the Summer of 2017 started with a phone call.
“Bill?” the voice on the other end said.
“Henry?” I stifled a yawn and propped my feet on the coffee table. The self-cleaning kitchen beeped and whirled in the background. News would be on soon. Not that anything of interest had happened of late. “It’s almost eleven. What’s wrong?”
“It’s the company,” he said. “I…I think they’re experimenting with mind control. I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true. The weather, the crime, all of it. It’s all their doing.”
I pulled my feet off the table with a groan. Henry was always spouting off like this. “Just go to bed, Henry. We have that safety presentation in the morning. How would it look if you slipped and fell on your ass?”
“I…okay.” I could hear his heavy breathing. “But after that’s done, you’ll listen to me, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow.”
I stuffed the phone back in my pocket just as the news clicked on. The anchor’s skin looked yellower than usual. Maybe she had yellow fever. Or more likely, the tint control was off. A shrug. I’d deal with it tomorrow. In the world of news, nothing was happening. Another day without a mass shooting or die-off. No terrorist attacks for over a year. Even the weather was lovely – a phenomenon some were saying heralded the end of Global Warming.
*If only,* I thought to myself. Globex had a huge weather department once. I knew for a fact our founder had looked into weather control, but the project was abandoned in 1996, along with quite a few others. *Too bad old Hank couldn’t figure it out,* I thought, settling deeper into my chair.
The following morning I carried two steaming mugs of coffee up the steps to Henry’s home. The house looked dark. *He better not be passed out in his underwear again.* Emily was the most patient woman I knew. I rang the doorbell and waited.
Thirty seconds passed. Maybe more – it felt like more. Then I noticed a piece of paper stuffed into their mailbox. I placed Henry’s coffee on the stoop and opened the crisp, official-looking document.
*Henry Johnson and his family have enthusiastically accepted a Globex position in the wilds of Argentina. Henry will have limited access to email or his cell phone, so please direct all inquiries to Globex Human Resources. Have a wonderful day, and remember, Globex Leads the Way!*
“What the heck?” I muttered. With a frown, I stuffed the paper back into the mailbox. Before I reached my car, a black limousine pulled up to the curb. The door opened and I saw the long, slender legs of a ravishing young woman. Her brown eyes were fierce.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“Uh…a friend of Henry Johnson? I’m his ride to work.”
A slight smile creased her lips. “You must be Bill Hadder.”
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “And you are?”
“Globex security. Please get in the car.”
A chill settled over my body. “Is this about Henry?” I took a step backwards, coffee sloshing and burning my hand. “What happened to him?”
“I’m really not at liberty to discuss that.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket and I reached for it. “Sorry.” I held out one hand. “Just a sec.” I turned away from her. “Hello?”
“Don’t get in the car,” a young girl whispered on the other end.
I stared at Henry’s house. At the Redwoods surrounding his land. “Who is this?”
“Just run for the trees. I’ll meet you there.”
“Is this some kind of joke?”
“Mr. Hadder?” the woman in the limo asked. “Is there a problem?”
*Nothing your legs won’t fix,* I almost said. Then I grimaced and shook my head. “Nope. Just a minute.” I pressed the phone back to my ear. “Who is this?”
“My name’s Lisa. You have to run - Globex is evil. She’s going to take you like she took Henry and no one will ever see you again.”
| 2016-07-15T23:46:13 | 2016-07-15T16:14:12 | 34 | 20 |
[WP] You are the first human ambassador to the alien mothership, where you are to learn about them and begin opening relations between them and Earth. You soon find out they share one unexpected trait with humans. | "And so I think that she likes me, but it's hard to tell, you know? You know, when you think you're getting signals but-"
"Sorry, this is your best friend's ex-girlfriend we're talking about right?"
"Yeah, Xiiugt"
"Well in human culture, it's frowned upon to pursue a friend's ex."
"Really?"
"Yeah, we call it the uh, the bro code, I guess."
"Who wrote it?"
"...Barney?"
"Who is he?"
"He's not a real guy he's-"
"A god?"
"No I mean, oh dear god, nevermind. If you want to know about human culture, ask me about art history, or something."
"Oh ok." There's a pause, "Can I tell you about my problem a bit more instead?"
"Ugh, sure."
"So as I said I like Xiiugt but she's into Thhyra, or I think, they made out at Yyriit's party so-"
"Made out? Do you even have mouth?"
"What?"
"Uh, I think what's happening here. Is the translator's picking the closest match for what you're describing in human terms, and it's confusing me."
"Oh, you want me to explain what making out is for us."
"Uh," I look at it's face, and the various tentacles that grow out from it at awkward angles, "No."
"Anyway the point is that I don't know if she likes me or if-"
Another, taller, creature walks into the room. "Apologies for having to leave you like that," He says, "We're ready for you to come in now and meet the rest of the crew. Hope you don't mind being left with my son."
"No not at all," I say, smiling, "He reminds me of the kids at home."
He laughs, and guides me through to the main hall. | "We have been monitoring your species for quite some time" said Lady Hfgarken of the p'sh clan. "We find you to be an extraordinarily wonderful species and we look forward to seeing our two species work together.
"That sounds great," I replied. "Surely there are some aspects of humanity you don't find so appealing.
Hfgarken stopped and paused a moment. "Yes," she said. "We have a strong hatred for Nickelback, Justin Bieber, and the group of individuals who cancelled Firefly."
"You and me both, sister, you and me both." | 2015-04-14T07:38:53 | 2015-04-14T07:15:15 | 334 | 51 |
[WP] Everyone is born with their greatest enemies name on one wrist and their greatest love on the other | I thought it must have been some kind of genetic error, a birth defect.
Apart from my parents, nobody had ever seen the life long branding on my wrists. I had exercised my right to keep them covered from the moment I was old enough to sign the blue document allowing me not to show them.
For some, it was essential that their wrists were on full display as a beacon to anyone sharing the same name who may go on to become the one true love they so desperately searched, but not me. The thought of finding my one true love scared me more than anything else in this world.
When I met Jennifer, the attraction was instant. Her beautiful long brown hair, hypnotic eyes that drew me closer every time I looked into them, the small union of freckles on her shoulder that formed the shape of a flower; simply everything about her was perfect.
I had never felt a love as strong or as deep, nor had I wanted so badly to share my entire life with anyone as much as I did Jennifer. It had only been 4 days since meeting her for the first time but with each conversation, smile and kiss I felt myself being drawn closer.
On the fourth night after walking the length of the beach she stopped and took my hands.
"I need to ask you." she said, with a soft but deliberate emphasis on the word need.
As she spoke, she looked down at my wrists. I knew what she wanted to know.
I looked deep into her eyes, my heart beating wildly and doing my best to stop my hands from trembling. What should I do? What SHOULD I do? The question repeating itself in my mind.
"Is my name on your wrist?" Her voice was almost a whisper.
I looked down and half smiled as I tried to withhold the sigh escaping my nostrils. I broke the hold from her hand and began to unwrap the bandage on my left arm.
As I slowly removed it, I could see the hope in Jennifer's eyes, almost scared to look down and see if it was indeed her name there, etched in my skin as my one true love.
Jennifer let out a gasp, her eyes filling with tears as she pulled me towards her.
"I knew it" she whispered in my ear.
"I knew you were the one. I love you" her whisper was full of love and emotion as she hugged me.
I said nothing. I let her hold me and wrapped my arms tightly around her waist.
With my chin lightly resting on her shoulder, I looked into the night sky and up at the stairs, searching for my next step or an answer to the now impossibly complicated situation that had just been created.
The sad, overbearing truth, was that it wouldn't have mattered which of the name covering bandages I removed from my wrist. They were both inscribed with her name.
I had no idea how, or when or even why at this stage. All I knew was that at some point in the future, this beautiful goddess who held my heart in her hands was going to hurt me.
Hurt me to the point that she would indeed one day become, my worst enemy.
| Or so we all assumed. To be honest, it was...sort of hard to tell. We were, all of us, born with these markings on our wrists. Script of *some* kind was the conclusion the Greeks came to thousands of years before, and no one since had had any better ideas.
The knowledge that the script represented your greatest lover had been known since the battle of Troy, where it was found in the aftermath of the slaughter that the script on the wrist of Paris was a match for that of Helen herself. The idea that the script represented your greatest enemy came from the Roman conquest of Gaul, where it was noticed by a sharp-eyed clerk in Caesar's employ that the script on the left wrist of the Gaulish chief Vercingetorix was, in fact, a match for the script on the right wrist of Kleopatra, back in her villa overlooking Ostaria.
Still, the script was recognizable as no language known to man. Linguists had spent centuries trying to match it to any and every written language and had come up short. Well short; after nearly three thousand years we had no more luck deciphering it than we did when Zog and Ock first found they couldn't wash it off in the stream. Odds were we never would. Countless lives - and no few in the literal sense - had been wasted attempting to decipher the undecipherable.
And this worried me. Worried me quite a lot. I was one of those not-quite-rare-enough ones where the script on both wrists matched. Exactly. If history was to be any guide, if the news articles I would read online of yet *another* woman hospitalized - or worse - were any indication, I was *not* in for a fun ride when I finally met him...whoever and whenever that may be. | 2016-08-15T14:58:03 | 2016-08-15T14:15:28 | 49 | 10 |
[WP]: Two men discuss the relationship between love and sex, speaking completely in euphenisms concerning hunting. One is deeply, secretly in love with the other | “It’s barbaric. Primal. Man can’t help but give chase,” Bill affirmed.
“But if you chase something, it’ll just run away from you,” said Carter.
“You can’t just go crashing through the thicket. You must be patient. Better to let the prey come to you.”
“Patience is a virtue. There’s little virtue in the hunt. It always ends the same.” Bill turned off to the side of the trail to relieve himself. Carter waited patiently. He respectfully looked the other way. He cast a sideways glance at Bill, as his friend turned to him mid-zip. His eyes glanced down for only the briefest of instants.
“You look at it with a limited perspective, Bill. You can’t see past the end of your barrel. What about catch and release? And what about the domestication of wild beasts? The hunt doesn’t always need to end in death.”
The two continued their saunter through the forest. “A man has to eat though,” Bill said. “Sooner or later, he has to kill to survive. He can’t escape it. It’s in his nature.”
“The nature of man…” Carter let the phrase hang daintily. “You know some people believe that it’s the denial of our primal urges that makes us human.”
“That’s dumb,” Bill asserted. “There are just some urges a man can’t fight. It’s not a question of will or morality or whatever. Its just reality.”
“I suppose, of course, you’re right.”
Carter looked at Bill. He seemed so sure of himself in his walk.
“Man was given dominion over the beasts. He is above them. He cannot take this responsibility lightly.” Bill stood up a little straighter. He loved to get on his soapbox like this after a few beers. “A man must hunt responsibly. He can pluck all the dainty doe to ground, but then next year he’ll find himself without any deer. A man must hunt responsibly and afford respect to his kill. There may not be beauty in killing, but there can be honor.”
Carter smirked. “You don’t think that when the right hunter comes along, even he can’t make the most primal of acts beautiful?”
“I never met such an artist.”
“Be patient. There’s still time,” Carter got a wistful look in his eye that went unnoticed by Bill. “You know, I just might bag me a buck this trip. One with a sturdy set of antlers.”
“Oh yeah?” Bill asked mockingly. “What are you gonna do? I suppose you’ll wait for him to come to you?”
“I’m a patient man. And I’ll tell you what else. Don’t take your eyes off me. Because it will be beautiful. That majestic creature deserves nothing less.”
| "Now y'see here Bobby, lovin' someone is like ownin' a rifle. Yeh got to take care of her, make sure she's got everything she needs. Clean her, keep her oiled and such. After awhile you'll know her like the back of your hand."
"Wow Terry, you got a way with words. But what's a rifle got to do with the... y'know... sexy parts?"
"Well you know what happens when you take care of a rifle, don't ya? It shoots straight! Does exactly what you want it to do, ya understand? You get to grip her firmly, squeeze, and she'll leave ya satisfied, I'll tell ya what. Nothin' better than havin' a good rifle shoot for ya, heh."
"Ah, I getcha! That's some smart stuff there!"
"Damn straight it is. Now, anythin' else before we shoot us some buck?"
"... Well, only one thing. I'm just wondering what it's like to be a rifle, y'know? I want to make you **-cough-** erm, *her* feel, uh, satisfied. Yeah."
"... Bobby, we're hunters, not rifles... You can't be a rifle. A hunter can't use another hunter to shoot with, yeh understand?"
"Aw c'mon Terry, I didn't mean nothin', I was just wonderin'... I mean, sometimes I don't wanna be the hunter, that's all..."
| 2014-05-22T08:15:07 | 2014-05-22T03:08:32 | 29 | 15 |
[WP]In stories, it's not uncommon for elves, elementals and other long-lived races to raise orphaned human children destined to be great heroes. You are a human raising orphaned children of long-lived races, preparing them for their destiny. 60 years have passed and they finally reach adulthood. | Everyone called her a cradle-robber, but Noah never thought so. If a man couldn't love who he wanted at 25 then when could he?
She never did tell him her age, but he didn't care. To Noah she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
They married when Noah was 27, and they immediately spent three years traveling the world together. She showed him the way elves lived, and he showed her the way humans did. While spending a night in the elven capital Noah noticed how so few adult female elves were around. Averie agreed, keeping the secret of her race from him.
They spent another year traveling and then decided to settle down on the border between the two lands. The two kept a farm with goats and cows, unicorns and dragons. Noah hoped life would go on like that forever.
Averie was the one who brought it up. Noah immediately said no, never having any interest in kids, but she insisted. Like the wind wearing down a mountain over time, Noah eventually gave in. Her pregnancy lasted 2 years.
The day came when Noah learned why there weren't many female elves in the capital. He cried, he screamed, he begged Averie to tell him why as the light drifted from her eyes.
"A life..." Averie whispered with her last breath, "...for a life. Please love her, dear."
Her body went limp. The baby in her dead mother's arms wailed, and so did Noah.
She had her big golden eyes and, even though her ears weren't as pointy, they reminded him of her. He named her Almni, after the town they had met in. Noah was soon going to learn firsthand how slowly elves aged.
Ten years passed and Noah, now 43 with bags under his eyes from not having slept more than two hours each night, finally heard Almni speak her first word. 'Dada.'
Another ten years passed and Noah began to teach Almni how to count.
Another ten and Almni began to read books.
Ten more and Noah taught Almni how to shoot her mom's bow. He had trouble drawing it, and his back always hurt, but Almni was patient. She was as good a shot as her mother.
The final ten came around and Almni had grown into a respectable young lady. She went to school, had friends, read books, learned to cook, helped with the farm, and took care of her father.
One morning Noah couldn't get out of bed. He was old and slow now, and he wondered if Averie had been that old when they first met. Before leaving for school Almni brought him breakfast, and she instantly knew what was about to happen.
Looking at his daughter, Noah couldn't help but think of her future. He wasn't going to be there for her graduation. He wasn't going to meet her first boyfriend. He wasn't going to meet her future husband. He wasn't going to be there for her ever again.
But as he laid there, with Almni's big golden eyes staring into his, tears swelling at the corners, a mutual understanding between father and daughter, he was satisfied with how she turned out. He knew she would do just fine in this crazy world.
Even without him. | “Dad, where did I come from?”
Jackie looked into her old man’s eyes. Her marble pupils, strong and firm, were worlds apart from the confused and scared stares she first gave him. The old man realized he couldn’t hold back the truth any longer.
“You came from the Earth—straight from the grounds of Noshika Park. Literally. I couldn’t believe it myself. A young girl fully clothed came straight out of Mother Earth’s womb. I didn’t know what to do. Did you belong to somebody? Were you abandoned? I waited, I went to the authorities, I felt completely useless. So, I did the only thing I knew I could do. I took you in. You were wild, boisterous, completely out of control. I loved every moment of it.
“Dad…” Jackie held back tears. “I hurt somebody. My arm…it’s just transformed on its own. He could have died. I could have killed somebody.”
“Hormones, eh.” Jackie's solemn look gave him pause. “Sorry, I just wanted to lighten up the mood.”
“They called me a monster. A horrifying beast. And the worst thing about it was that I couldn’t deny it. I am a monster”
“You’re not a monster.” He walked up and embraced her in a warm hug. “Everything will be alright. You’ll just have to learn to control it, that’s it. We can do this together like we always do.”
“Dad…” Jackie wiped away the tears. For some reason, her dad felt heavier. His breath was loud and uneven.
“Dad?” She felt a warm liquid drip on her shoulder. Blood. It was only then that she saw the nail sticking out from his side.
“Darling, I…” his eyes closed. The old man slumped into her arms. Jackie screamed.
“So, I finally found you,” a scratchy voice echoed from somewhere in the kitchen.
“I never thought I would find another of my kind in this city. Looks like it's time for some population control.” | 2021-12-12T18:47:27 | 2021-12-12T12:38:15 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You have the power to wipe memories. Instead of becoming a super villain like your brother, you started a service for people who want to watch the same movie over again for the first time. | She arrived on a blazing summer afternoon in an ocean blue dress. Her eyes were concealed beneath the shades, as if the straw hat had yet to hide her face enough. She tapped on the glass, short and decisive, enough to disrupt me from my nap.
"I heard you can erase memories." - her strawberry lips wasted no time.
"I can. But that's not what this store is about."
"Movies, right?"
She pulled out a VCR tape from her purse. There was something urgent in her actions. At least, that's what I thought.
"You want to watch it here or bring it home?"
"Here."
"This way."
I had a VCR room, just for cases like this. Some people believe the old-fashioned way was always better, but trust me, it's just nostalgia.
"It's a little dusty in here." - I said, opening the door.
"That's fine."
"Let me set up the VCR."
Luckily, the device did not malfunction like it should be. When I turned around, the woman was already in her seat, handing me a stack of cash.
"$427, according to the amount of time you erased."
"Well ma'am, you certainly did your research."
"Yes, and when do you start erasing my memories?"
"I already did."
I slipped outside as quickly as I could. Some people often ask me to watch the movies with them, and most of those experiences were not so pleasant.
When I returned to the counter, Jefferson was standing outside the door. He's a cop.
"If you're here to look for my brother, he's not here."
"Not today, no. I'm looking for a woman."
He handed me a picture. The woman in the ocean blue dress.
"Never seen her."
"Cut the crap, Chad told me he saw her walking in here."
If you need further clarification, Chad's a snitch. And Jefferson was so stubborn especially when it came to me. Granted, I did busted my brother out of jail once, but I was ten back then, and he was the only brother I had. Also, he only lit a car on fire. It wouldn't amount to anything he does today.
"She went that way."
"....you....I....um....what...what was I....?"
"You were asking me if I had seen a woman like this, and I might have seen her going toward Jenny's."
"Oh...um...oh... Thanks?"
He rushed out with a puzzled look on his face. Believe me, it was not like I am against the law or such. I did take the woman's money, and she deserve to watch that tape. I called out to Jefferson.
"Just take it easy, Jeff. She sprained her ankle or something."
If he got a heatstroke chasing after a ghost, I'd feel really bad.
Back at the store, I quietly flipped the board to "Closed", patiently wait for the woman to finish her tape. When I counted the stack of money, there must have been $2000 there.
She walked out calmly, too calm, too content, like someone who has finished all they need to do. I asked.
"How was the movies?"
"Good enough."
"About this amount of money..." - I raised the stack of cash.
"Keep the change."
"There was a cop looking for you."
"I know."
"What did you do?"
"I killed my husband."
I intended to press on into the matter, but her tranquil look stopped me.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Turn myself in. What else?"
And she left. I ran after her.
"What?" - she asked.
"I... may I watch that tape?"
"...sure."
She threw her purse at me. When I caught it, the woman was gone.
There was not much inside. The tape, some change, a lipstick,... Now, I am not usually interested in what my clients watch, but this one...
I hit the Play button.
It was the recording of a wedding. Nothing unusually, even dull if you ask me. Boring and uneventful, I spent over four hours remembering only the scene where the couple danced. And it was not spectacular either.
But I believed, or rather, I'd like to believe, that at some point in time, they were happy together.
| “Two people please?”
I look up from the booth,only to face a elderly couple dressed in a tuxedo and gown.
“Ah yes. What movie would you like?”
I step out from the booth,towering over the couple.
I see a silver bell floating over the male’s left shoulder.
“Gone with the wind,the old one if you’d mind sir.”
The male’s voice exudes warmth and nobility,but frail.
“Of course. Would you come inside? The weather is freezing outside,and I have a reputation to uphold.”
I guide my guests through the abandoned theater,lowering my head so it doesn’t hit the door. The couple don’t seem to mind my spindly fingers.
As the couple enters,I step back into the booth. The winter air is cold,but the carols and streetlights make up for it.
Best time to call a awkward family member.
“Malak?”
The carol from the radio screeches to a halt.
Shadows coalesce in the mirror,and a small boney hand holding a silver bell grasps the edge.
“A word if you wouldn’t mind.”
A tiny skull wreathed in shadow slowly emerges,with bony wings on its stretched back.
“You defy us.”
“Just a hour.”
“The two mortals were destined to die in the last hour. Our mercy is at its end. Now bring them out of your domain so that the bell may toll.”
“Just one more hour?”
The wall papers crackle and sigh as the destroyer angel walks towards me. The mummified baby’s wing stretches across the room,blocking the street lamp’s light.
“This defiance will not go unpunished. If you wish not to join lucifer,we would advise you watch your tongue.”
But with that the shadows fall back,and once again the radio sings a carol.
I adjust the heater so the theater is warmer. Wouldn’t want my guests to have a terrible cold from the angel’s wrath.
I step into the theater a hour later just as a small bell chimes. I slowly walk towards the lady,who was still leaning on her dead husband. I hold her hand as a tear runs down her face.
“Young man?”
“Yes,Ma’am?”
“Terribly sorry to put this burden on you.”
Her grip loosens,and I see the bell gently shaking. I shake my head.
“No problem Ma’am. I can ease your pain if you’d like.”
“No. I’d like to remember this if I can. Thank you.”
With a small chime,her hand goes limp. I hold it in my talons for a while,until the warmth leaves.
I call the police,and step into the moldy basement.
I sift through the shelf of bottles,until I find a small clay jar.
The children of adam and eve always made me cry.
I dream of eden as I pull my pillow,and pat Mr.Teddy on the back. | 2018-01-12T04:04:41 | 2018-01-11T18:54:31 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] All the beings of the galaxy have learned to fear humans for their one phenomenal ability - the ability to tell lies. | **1.3012 ± 0.0003##, 4.244 ± 0.001##.**
The Hominoidea have arrived at our homeland. This may be the end of us.
They are not intelligent, at least not in the way you and I are, my son. When my team first encountered them six light years away, they were spearheaded by metal, heartless, soulless objects that were resistant to heat, cold, pressure and could detect our craft arriving. We invaded their space to make peace but they saw it as a declaration of war. War! What kind of intelligent species views such an act as provocation? Our culture views this an action as a sign of familiarity, solidarity. They are inferior in such aspects, unable to distinguish comfort and conflict.
But I warn you, do not underestimate them. We were forced to retreat and leave our men behind as we did not bring our weaponry with us. When our Queen sent a fleet to meet them in combat, they had also returned.. this time with weapons that rivaled our own! In just a few light years, they had reached our level of technology. We did not see our friends with them. I don't know what they did to them. They outnumbered us.. or so we thought. We were ordered yet again to retreat as we could not compete with their firepower.. however upon returning to our station we discovered that they were the ones who were outnumbered and they had sent their spacecraft to encircle us, giving the appearance of reinforcements! To wage war in such a strange way, not making contact in open space.. it's morbidly admirable. They claimed that they have some sort of.. warp drive? Foolishness! Such a thing could not exist in our universe, it would challenge our understanding of physics! And yet.. they produced the evidence.
After realizing our mistake, the International Hive Order called for Great Asteroid War levels of production. We were at war with the Hominoidea. Unlike their relatives, they are truly alien, having almost no body hair and living within walls of concrete as opposed to mother nature. For the first time in battle, I was afraid. My son, when you read this, do not be ashamed of me. I have never encountered such a species before. I knew we were flying to our deaths. Fleet after fleet our Hive Queen sent, only for them to return with half their numbers. The Hominoideas are constantly moving our men about to prevent us from freeing them. Only a few rotations ago they claimed that our men were prisoners in their homeland, then they had already moved them to an asteroid belt not far from here! I was chosen to perform the task of retrieving our friends once and for all. We will eliminate this extraterrestrial threat at the asteroid belts, I promised Her Majesty.
I will not forget that day.
When my crew arrived at the asteroids, there were no prisoners waiting for us. No.. they had already moved them again, despite us having the advantage of distance and time. Only a group of Hominoidea ships appeared from behind the rocks, attacking us from the side! They did not even warn us they wanted to battle. We were taken completely by surprise and I watched as all my men perished into darkness. I was evacuated on an emergency pod aimed at our homeland.
And they.. *followed.* They did not even tell our Queen that they would be arriving. We had no idea of the slaughter that was to come. We cannot seem to understand their tactics.. when we agree on a space time cross point to conduct battle, they appear at another and destroy our reserve forces! Perhaps this.. warp drive, truly exists..?
If that is to be believed, then these.. things..
These things are Gods. | This is really a weak story imo. Thought it'd be waste just to scrap it because I didn't like it tho. So I am posting here anyway. Hopefully someone might enjoy it more than I did.
“Trust is a very recent concept for us. We had promise breakers before. But, not humans or trust breakers as not all our tongues can pronounce as such. Out of all the galaxy. We were both thankful and fearful that trust breaker were the ones to find and befriend us first. Of all the different races of galaxies that we come across, we’ve never come across anything like them. For example, if I were to attempt to sell this rock. The rock’s sale value would be dependent on how much I think the rock is worth, or how much cash I would want from such trade. But, for all intents and purposes I could tell you all about the rock that I could remember, and how much I value the rock down to the exact fraction. But, you never seen a trust breaker attempt to sell a rock. They will create a new background for the rock. They still remember the original background for the rock. It’s just that they are breaking your trust. Trust, like a promise but for the past, present, and future. They are not doing it because they miscalculated, no, it is very calculated. Hahaha. Oh the new backgrounds they could come up with. The septillions of trusts that must have been broken. You do not want to talk to a trust breaker. Their silver-speakers will get you. Especially if you are a not their friends. The trust breakers won’t come for me, now that I’ve been found. They will have disavowed me like every other special force operators they trained so far. If anything I learned in special operations school told me was an absolute fact. It was this. A pity really, even with this information you are going to be absorbed in to their ranks. For their silver speakers have no boundaries.”
\-Unknown alien, shortly before ingesting poison. 755th Contact War day 34.
“Do not ever talk to a trust breaker. They will tell you things that are often beyond belief. Their speech like a blackhole, will draw you closer and closer until you are in their grasp.”
\-Local warning. 755th Contact War day 42.
“Just send them the Space Force copypasta and be done with it.”
\-Human Space Force officer. 755th Contact War. 1 hour before human victory. | 2019-02-21T02:49:22 | 2019-02-21T02:36:00 | 54 | 19 |
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.” | Sitting behind the large oak desk Trevor looked out across the city sky line. Sharp shadows intersected the city as the sun hung low on the horizon, still rising to greet the day.
Opening the lid on the laptop he scanned the mornings headlines. Battle in the providences overseas had been raging for the last month since the vote to go to war. Per the Citizens Pact, everyone who voted for war, went to war for the cause. This was one of the most popular wars Trevor had ever seen.
He wasn’t surprised.
As a religious consumer of news he’d seen the right wing fervor growing over time. The hatred for the other was the message those in powers pushed to distract the people from their own suffering. It worked. While the economy continued to spiral down the people focused on how those in the providences were stealing their jobs, not that they were being robbed blind by the CEOs who were sending their jobs overseas.
Trevor did nothing to dissuade his family of the belief. In fact, he encouraged it. Moving the petty revenge to a righteous revenge. Feeding his family to the cult of hatred.
When the vote came they all voted for it.
Except for himself.
He stood at the docks and wished them well as mother, father, big brother all dressed in their fatigues were preparing to ship out.
Hugs and kisses and they were gone.
This left Trevor as the sole controlling owner of Cristo Weapon Systems. His first executive order was signing business orders for heavy ordinance for the providences. It was a new and expanding market, right for exploration.
With their new weapon systems, what would have been a brief diversion in the world stage had become a month long war of attrition.
A knock at the door stirred him from his thoughts.
“Enter,” he said, his voice echoing through the massive space.
A smartly dressed woman entered holding a single letter between her manicured fingers.
In the day and age of email, he knew this was the mail he’d been waiting for.
The letter in his hands, he turned it over to read the sender, Grand Army of the Republic. Withdrawing the letter and reading it, a smile crossed his face.
All of his investments had paid off.
His entire family had been killed in action. This meant that he was now the sole majority owner of Cristo Weapons Systems, and no longer had to wait his turn.
His time was now. | Resistance guerilla's desperately holding a fort, turncoats betraying comrades in the dead of night, boys dyeing cornfields red, action, angst, suspense. These were the things you could expect in a good war. And this war promised to be a great one. A feast for the eyes! Newly developed 360-HD cameras on every robot soldier, high quality real-time satellite imagery, and for those wealthy enough the possibility to pilot their very own robot.
Although some of the past wars still held replay value, war was much better enjoyed when consumed in real-time. Nothing could replace the pleasure of vivaciously discussing the pro's and con's around invading Crimea days before the days vote, of posting elaborate theories on how the war would end, of following the day-to-day of that baker turned resistance fighter.
And so when the sponsorship was settled, the country voted for the war in a resounding yes. Sure, many publicly complained about the ethics of the whole thing, showing their wokeness. But wokeness doesn't give you access to an anonymous account with access to thousands of live feeds, what does it voting yes. And so in the end the vote was nowhere near close, and nearly the whole country "conscripted". | 2021-01-28T08:27:28 | 2021-01-28T06:06:53 | 182 | 24 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | The final confrontation between Doctor Diabolical, Mastermind of Malice, and the courageous Captain Crimson - the two towering titans of the Golden Age of superpersons - was anticlimactic. The world's only holder of a satanic Ph.D. (Philosophiae Diabolus) had encased the Flatiron Building in his amazing solid fog and was issuing threats in his all-too-familiar basso profondo that could be heard across Manhattan. The billion-dollar ransom was considered cheap as far as municipal valuation went but sufficiently large to attract the prompt attention of humanity's foremost defender.
Their rivalry had been going on for decades, their cosmic-level clashes invariably ending in defeat for the crime overlord, apart a few stalemates in the mid-70s. Each time, though, the demoniacal doctor broke out of hyperjail, emerged from hiding, or returned from the dead, with high-decibel demands for a rematch. This time, although there was the usual exchange of threats and then blows above the skyscrapers, things ended differently. Suddenly in the middle of trading sonic boom-powered punches, Captain Crimson, crusader for correctness, dropped out of the sky and put a small crater in the middle of Fifth and Broadway. He had suffered an acute myocardial infarction.
The next day, the front page of every newspaper in the world featured a photo of Doctor Diabolical, public enemy #1 in perpetuity, unsuccessfully administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on his nemesis.
Later that week, Omega Orangutan turned himself in to the National Zoo, explaining that Doctor Diabolical had crashed Mob LLC's strato-sanctum into the Rockies. The world's only remaining super-gang apparently been on edge after an argument over his proposal to empty their Swiss and Cyprus bank accounts in order to fund a solid kirbium Captain Crimson memorial statue with a plaque reading "The Only Real Challenge". With the Mob effectively disbanded and probably disintegrated, the super-simian told the zookeepers that as the sole survivor, apart from the invulnerable "Doc D", obviously, he had nowhere else to go.
The status quo seemed ready to reassert itself when the Nuclear Family surrounded his hideout in Queens, having traced him there for stealing cable TV. The eight-hour standoff ended abruptly, however, when the Doctor emerged, wearing only his signature horned mask and a rumpled bathrobe, and, in quick succession, decked the Patriarch, Maxi-Ma'am, and D.I.C.K. and J.A.N.E. the Cyber-Siblings. Barely raising his voice to the level of a tirade, he told everyone to go away so he could return to watching "his stories". A month later his attempt to hold the StubHub Center hostage with an old hypno-ray was aborted when he stopped in mid-rant, rhetorically asked what the point of it all was, and levitated away. The jumbotron zoomed in close to his hideous masked visage to reveal dark circles under his dimly glowing eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't been sleeping well.
The superhero community has adjusted to the new normal, switching their focus to disaster relief and white-collar crime. There's a tacit understanding that if they don't bother the last great supervillain, he won't bother them.
Now when he rants things like "Doctor Diabolical demands an additional scoop of Chunky Monkey!" or "Out of my way, fools! Doctor Diabolical will take a grande caffè misto, or your coffee franchise will rue the day!" the servers will just give it to him without even cowering. He'll stand there for a moment, as if hoping to detect the shop's silent alarm with his acoustical implants. But he knows as well as the minimum-wage worker helping the next customer that nobody worth the time would show up. He'll eventually slouch off to the Diabolocraft, habitually parked in the handicapped spot, muttering that the world has not heard the last of him. Letting him jump line at cineplex or use the H.O.V. lane on his own seems like an acceptable tradeoff for peace and quiet, even if he's still kind of a dick.
Everyone secretly hopes he'll snap out of this funk. On Sunday, he jammed the BBC World Service from his low-orbit satellite to inform humanity that he is sharing the UN Secretary-General's Netflix account from now on.
*Edit: Typos galore!* | "My name is Cognos, and I used to rule the world.
Note the past tense. With the power to not only read but control minds, conquering the world was ludicrously easy. All the elected officials unanimously proclaimed me emperor, bla bla bla. It was really....underwhelming when it happened. Maybe I should have waited for a day with better weather...
I know what you're thinking. "I don't remember any of that happening!" Of course not. My reign lasted only 6 months. Oh, I wasn't stopped by a team of overly-sexualized heroes in spandex. No, I abdicated. Ruling an entire planet is a lot of work, and I found myself unable to enjoy the spoils of my victory. So I stopped. August 12, 1971. Used my powers to make everyone forget that I ever ruled. Wiped every reference of me from the books, purged all the databases (what few there were back then) and issued one last command to "my" people to disregard any mention of " ", as I was called then.
" ". You probably can't even hear the word anymore, can you? Give me a moment. There, that should do it. Can you understand me now if I call myself "Illuminatus?" Yes? Congratulations, you are now the second person on the planet to hear that name again, besides myself of course. Hmm? Who's the other one? Why, my wife of course. Yes, I'm married. Yes, she knows. Hell, she was there. I know what you're thinking: she only married me because I forced her to. Don't deny it; mind reading as well as controlling, remember? To set your mind at ease, I will promise you that I have never used my powers on her. I'm not a monster. I'm just an ordinary guy, now.
Well, admittedly, cops never seem to want to pull me over for speeding, and the used car salesman always seems to give me a deal that is actually as good as he says it is, but are you really gonna hate me for that? Heck, I even pay my taxes, and I have the returns to prove it somewhere around here.....
But that's not why I asked you to come here today. No, what I wanted to talk about was this "Doomsday Clock." What's going on? You all invented the damn thing years ago to warn of how close I was to taking over. But, I hear that recently it's been moving back towards midnight. So what's up? Is there some new supervillain at work? No? You all are just so incapable of living with each other that you feel the need to kill each other off that badly? Jeez...
Listen. I just want to enjoy my retirement. I don't want to do the whole "ruling the world" thing again. But so help me, if you all can't give peace a chance, I *will* come out of retirement, if only for your own good. I can't allow you to jeopardize my family's safety over some pesky border squabbles. This is my warning to you: fix the world, or I will fix all of you.
...Christ, I sound like a goddamn hero, don't I? Must be getting soft in my old age... | 2017-05-16T08:30:17 | 2017-05-16T07:44:58 | 109 | 15 |
[WP]Write a story with no characters. | The light of the new sun spread slowly over the towering grey husks, revealing and heating each tiny spec of dust and dirt. Through the grime encrusted streets, dead leaves blew though there was no sound. Spindly metal poles rose at sharp angles all across the landscape, their lights, formerly cycling endlessly, red, yellow, green, red, yellow, green, now dark and signifying nothing.
Ten thousand cars filled the road, bumper to bumper, but there was no rumble of engines or honking of horns, no hustle or bustle or movement of any kind. High, high above, a tiny spec in the sky fell silently, graceful and yet with great calamity, ready to impact the earth and deliver a blow so severe it would scar the ground itself and scatter great danger for miles in every direction. Far, far in the distance, great clouds of smoke billow and gather on the horizon, ready to dim the light that still struggled to break through each day.
The water had started slowly, as a trickle, emerging timidly from the storm drains and the sewer grates, but as it wound through the natural slopes and crevices it grew stronger and bolder and soon it was gushing through alleys and lanes, picking up bicycles and rotting piles of garbage and empty strollers alike and bringing them all together again into one great swirling vortex of progress and achievement.
As the waters met the fires a great and soundless battle took place, the desperate transformation of heat and energy, a great grey fog, thick as wool, oozing and sliding over the dead brown fields, hiding everything that wasn't already buried, drowned, or burned. As whole cities were swallowed up by the waters, from above and below, an observer was desperately needed. Nothing was for certain; there was no proof that anything was in it's right place or even anything at all.
Soon, along with no sound, there was no motion, no transfer, no transformation.
Soon, for want of an observer, there was nothing. No colour could be determined for no wavelength could be seen. No sound was transmitted as all vibrations reached and reached and reached and finally petered out, desperately shaking the last molecules before finally collapsing and surrendering to the nothing. Without a sound or sight or smell or pull of gravity the world was not; it was as it was before, when it was not nothing but before nothing. Without an end, the light of the new sun spread slowly over the towering grey husks, revealing and heating each tiny spec of dust and dirt. | The Earth remembers
each crack, each line of stress.
They tell a story.
Billions of years
bubbling, shifting, lifting.
Breaking.
The history is there
crisscrossed in lines
that circle on top of one another.
A matter of where to look.
Once there were long grasses;
they danced in the wind.
Birds sang
to break open the day.
The earth hummed with
the harmony of billions.
Once there was life
in each
and every place.
From the edges of the blue waters
to the white peaks
that reach
towards the sun.
The song is gone now.
Wind hisses,
rain spills
over the story.
The noise still exists
without pattern.
The story can be read
if you look in the right place.
The scars and marks
are meant to be read.
To be reminders
of the song.
Can you hear
the echoes of the tune.
A matter of where to listen.
Listen to the music
before its gone.
Listen.
Before the lines fade.
Listen.
While the earth remembers.
---
/r/liswrites
| 2017-10-13T12:03:55 | 2017-10-13T09:07:39 | 1,684 | 139 |
[WP] Your old friend, Mary Sue, appears perfect but is actually a time manipulator who rewinds time to appear perfect, and do anything with zero consequences. You, however, can secretly remember previous iterations. | "Can I get a Tuna, six inches, with tomato and lettuce" I asked, trying to hide my weariness.
"Sure, that will be-" The cashier freezes and I watch as time flows in reverse once more and settles on a moment a few seconds ago.
"Can I get your order?" The cashier askes politely for the first time again.
Forty-seven, I count in my head, that the highest the number of resets she has caused so far. I really hope that whatever Mary's doing, its important. We already had that conversation about using her power too often. The last time she used this many resets was to go on a perfect date, making me stuck in line at the grocery store for multiple eternities. It wasn't even worth it, she lost interest after twenty resets when she realized the guy wasn't even that into her.
I'm not really feeling tuna anymore. "Egg mayo please, with tomato and lettuce"
This at least isn't as bad as the time I was playing Fight for Evalor. I finally defeated the boss after the hardest fight in the game before she reset and undone all my progress. I haven't touched that game since.
"Sure, that will be four, fifty" The cashier replies. Maybe I can actually get a bite off the sandwich this time. Must be a nice power to have, turning back time as and when you wish. It basically makes you the center of the universe, nothing bad can happen to her, if it did, just rewind the clock and make sure it never happens. Never face the consequences of any bad decision you make because it never transpired. For that I called her a total Mary Sue. I meant it as a jibe but she unironically like it. Said that if she ever tried to be a super hero, she'd use that as her code name.
I hand the cashier the money. I wouldn't have believed it at all if she didn’t try to show me her powers. She even managed to take me with her through one of her resets, which is probably I am aware of whenever she messes with time.
The cashier passes me the sandwich and I gave them a thankful smile. They returned it, unaware how envious I felt. To them, it was a few quick seconds, just another unremarkable event that took up little time in their short day. I, on the other hand have stood at this line for an hour. My legs aren’t tired per say, but I am bored to death, repeating myself over and over again.
I look at my sandwich, I don’t get any hungrier either, physically at least. But knowing that it has been that long since I started trying to get food really made this cheap sandwich look like it was prepared by a gourmet bakery. Maybe I should have gotten two inst-
"Can I get your order?"
I sigh, and look at my options on the menu. I gave the cashier a quick apology, turned around and walked out of the store. I need to find her. I hope she's alright. | -radio static-
Mary Sue is a total asshat. Whenever something isn't what she'd call "perfect" she says, "Nope." and time goes back however far she wants. And I'm the only one who remembers it. In high school we dated for a bit until I broke up with her after I caught her cheating. She of course rewound time in the hopes to get away with it, but she went too far back and I managed to end up not dating her at all.
Then, at our high school reunion, she's back with a "perfect" (re: submissive) boyfriend and no knowledge that I know her secret.
And I'd like to keep it that way, for obvious reasons.
I've used her "resets" to master every field of science, from quantum physics to biochemistry. I know every language, and I know exactly what dark matter and dark energy do and are. In fact, in one life I managed to create a spaceship that runs on a mix of cosmic microwave background radiation and dark energy collected through the universe and is capable of what I named FTL travel, or faster than light travel.
But then, Miss Perfect got pregnant before she was ready and reset us back to college again. On the bright side, it gave me time to perfect my blueprints.
So we're at the high school reunion. I'm there in my suit, arrived in one of the ships I designed that's capable of atmospheric travel as well as space flight. I also brought some brownies with a caramel drizzle for which I'd created and perfected the recipe for. Everyone loved them. I knew they would, as I'd lived this event seventeen times before.
Maybe someday I'll tell Miss Perfect my secret. Probably not though, because then she'd probably never reset again and the resets are helpful to me.
I'll probably send you another video log soon, there isn't much else to do up here.
I hope everything is going well at home on Ganymede. I love you, Jill.
Shipmind James, end recording. | 2021-07-25T13:54:53 | 2021-07-25T13:24:14 | 48 | 34 |
[WP] Choose a number from 1 to 118. Ready? Okay, good. You now control the element with that atomic number.
And I hope you didn't pick 85. :) | When you wish upon a star, your dreams can come true. We learn that as children, and rarely does a soul truly believe in such nonsense, but sooner or later, most of us will give it a try. At 13 most would consider me a little old for fairy tales, but if there was a small chance of changing my boring life, I would take it. I look upon a star, the closest one at night, and wish to simply be number one.
———————————
I’d like to tell you that my life became exciting immediately after that night, but not much changed that I could notice. I went to school, got solid Bs, and mostly stayed out of trouble. The only thing I excelled at was being ignored. I was definitely not number one. In a final act of desperation at the end of my 8th grade year at 14, I cursed that stupid star.
High school only got worse. Life went from bland to torture. I was ignored by everyone that mattered, but preyed upon by those that didn’t. I stewed in my agony alone. My parents didn’t give a shit as long as I wasn’t failing. Every once in a while, my anger would rage. Sometimes when that happened, the air would seem to get very dry, as if all the moisture was sucked out. I never paid it much mind.
I graduated on time at 18 with no place to go. No good college wanted me, not that I really cared. I spent the summer brooding with no real plans to change my life. My wish had failed, my parents had failed, and I had failed.
However, one fateful day at the end of that summer, the universe changed. In a sudden break from politics, all the news was about how Proxima Centauri had gone out. No nova, no warning, just dead in an instant. Scientists could not explain it. Many cults sprang up proclaiming the end of the world. It did get people to reflect on their past and future, and I was among them. Secretly, I was glad that stupid star had died since I cursed it all those years ago. At that moment, it clicked. At 4.2 light years away, it was I who had killed the star.
And now, I write this. Some will hate me, others mock me, but know this, I have ended the world and everyone’s miserable existence. Exult in the futility of life while you can. You have 8 minutes and 20 seconds. | 0, I got 0. The doctor that was in the room stood motionless, his eyes expanding and mouth opening in mixture of terror and awe. He snapped out of it, quickly walking to me, nervously writing down the results, meanwhile holding his phone and trying to type in some number. Doctor then hastily threw to me - "Please wait for a bit". I couldn't hear anything from his conversation, as he was constantly shooting glances at me, if I was some sort of magical being, homever I could hear the mentions of "anomaly", "arriving as fast as possible" and "MTF". The last one rang a bell to me, not a soft ringing, but rather a loud bellowing, like the church bell. Mendelev Task Force..... they took my brother when I was 8. I didn't knew why, I only watched emotionlessly as mother and father screaming in terror, as grey clad men put him in the truck. I haven't heard if him ever since. Could that mean... no.... My reptilian brain took the matter in his own claws as I ripped neutrons out of the talking doctor, dissolving in a soft glow. I had no more time to waste, as I saw silvery cars with their logo. Time for small family reunion.... | 2019-11-26T19:34:25 | 2019-11-26T18:53:08 | 35 | 16 |
[WP]It's the year 2015, after living 300 years as a vampire and never meeting a werewolf or a witch to make your nemesis, you realize you're the only supernatural species in existence. As time goes by you slowly descend into an existential crisis as you don't know what to do with your immortal life. | 300 years ago, I was a god. Three centuries later, I am a ghost.
I was so haughty back then, in every sense of the word: hot, and high & mighty. While every so-called soul around me snivelled before authority and their altars, desperate for their next meal and safety from the fires of revolution all about, I **revelled**. People truly are cattle, for they moo plaintively in their fields, the inertia of their lives propelling them along to their next thatch of grass, until it was their time in the butcher's den. I could not fathom what I was except what was whispered by terrified traders or shouted by deluded priests. These legends lent me identity and power, and also purpose. If these stories exist, surely there must be some basis, others like me. I had to be ready.
And I was. But not for what came. What came was an explosion of the merchants, a bottling of the superstitions, the watchmaker's revenge of gadgets. I saw my wealth rise up and crash into the waves of history, of war on scale and speed that matched my own practiced agility, devastating in its ruthlessness. I sought the makers of this chaos, time and time again: this surely was the sign of other demons, others more clever than myself that I could learn from, rival against... overtake. The thrill of the hunt was back—but with dawning horror, I realized there was never a prime mover hidden by crown or title. I sought wrath and glory but only ever found mundane greed and pride, twisted into unbridled power but still recognizable for its plainness. People didn't dance before dark gods, they writhed before frights in their own shadows.
I am a drop of blood against an ocean of wine. I've had it wrong all these years. The rival I seek isn't a demon given form, as I once thought myself to be. Indeed, as exquisite as my form has been maintained over time, it's inadequate for this fight. The enemy I sought has been with me all along, as I mistook my circumstance to need reflection for challenge. No, the real enemy is this force of history, this unending crescendo of humanity that drowns out the single voice and seeks new ways to return these thinking beings back to merely cattle. What role can one soul do against such unseen and unstoppable trends? I have sharpened wit, wealth, and wellness against foes that only I could see, no different from those who feared their own unbidden imaginations. Now I need patience, insight, investigation. Hardly my strengths, despite my other advantages.
How horrific. I must become *wise*, as this world has done. | It took me longer than I care to admit to realize what I was. I was an orphan. I always felt alone, like all the others, but felt deep down that there was something different about me... something wrong.
I kept it hidden. Always. At the first orphanage I sat in fascination with a puddle. The sun passed right through my hand. One of the boys took notice and it spread like wildfire. They wanted to see for themselves, and terrified what the Nuns might say... or do, I left that same night.
But that was a very very long time ago. And for the longest time I looked for those like me. Someone that might shed my loneliness. Somewhere to fit in.
As the clock showed 12:00, my birthday was over. Every decade I liked to plan my next ten years. New ways to find those like me. New ways to gather resources to assist me. But now it is different.
I've been down this road before to many times to count. Too many times. How many lifetimes spent searching with nothing to show for it. What could I have done with all that time. How could I have lived a better fuller life.
12:03. I've finished the bottle and contemplate getting another but can't garner the energy.
This decade will be different. I won't live for the future. I want to enjoy my time now. However much is left. | 2020-11-18T00:57:57 | 2020-11-18T00:32:27 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] Humanity split into subspecies: Alters, who alter their genes, Augmented, who augment flesh with machines, and Ascended, who uploaded their consciousness. After centuries of coexistence, the tenuous peace between the ideologies is threatened.
I swear I corrected that before commit. Sorry.
The Altered, The Augmented, The Ascended. | I was born altered, a decision my parents made for me and has benefited me up until now. In the past decade there has been huge stratification between the classes. Altered was on top, since altering genetics had been refined to a point that any member of the ultra wealthy could make their kid into truly remarkable beings. If you wanted your kid to be a star athlete or a genius all you had to do was be able to afford it, which not many people could do. After a generation, the wealthy were untouchable, perfect beings who had the intelligence and strength that made sure they would stay on top for a long time. All indicators pointed to the fact that the Altered were going to remain on top, but then things changed.
Beings altered for the purpose of super intelligence was our downfall. They tinkered, innovated and invented things the population at large could hardly comprehend. This was how the Augmented came into being. As time proceeded, the technology grew more advanced at an exponential rate and as the technology advanced, it also became cheaper and more accessible for the general population. Any person who wished to augment their abilities with technology could, as long as they weren’t dirt poor. Everybody above the poverty line suddenly became more technology than human. With exoskeletons that tripled their strength and jet packs that enabled them to maneuver in ways previously thought impossible, the augmented grew more valuable to the Altered. Called upon to fight wars and labor in mines and factories, the augmented grew restless and became aware of their strength. There were several uprisings, though none we successful since the Altered always had a significant portion of the Augmented population willing to defend the current order. But time moved on and so did the advancement of technology.
The answer of what to do with the portion of the population below the poverty line soon came in the form of data storage with the ability to store human consciousness. Within ten years, anybody who wasn’t Altered or Augmented became part of the Ascended. The Great Ascension had all the indicators of success, a passive and happy population living in a computer generated dream world. Then something started to go wrong. What the Altered programmers failed to understand was that they effectively just created artificial intelligence. This new AI form didn’t seem to like its status as third-class citizens, they wanted more.
The Ascended were quiet at first, making their moves in silence so that once they attacked, they would be assured victory. Then it happened. One day the technology of the Augmented failed. Their exoskeletons wouldn’t move, their rockets wouldn’t launch and their collective power was all but completely eliminated. This is what started the war, if you could call it that. Humans dropping bombs on data centers while the ascended struck back with a previously unknown ferocity.
The ascended were an enemy this world wasn’t prepared for. We could perform tactical strikes against their data storage, but as soon as they caught wind of it they would upload themselves somewhere else. They would strike back with ballistic missiles armed with Nuclear warheads decimating whole cities. All seemed lost, until I found their weakness.
Edit: My first gold, thank you!
Edit 2: Going to bed for the night, I’ll write part three tomorrow! | I looked upon the strewn limbs and streaks of blood. The remnants of a failed Altered attack. A disappointment to their leaders, I'm sure. The Augmented fought bravely against it, the metal and flesh bond providing them with prime offensive abilities. Even a genetic mutation like an Altered would have trouble with creature both machine and man.
I look across the field and I sense despair, regret, ruin. So many of died during this war, that the massacre that happened here today is barely a footnote. 1,500,000 have perished as the three subspecies battle for the possession of Mother Earth. Paris, London, Shanghai, Dubai, all ruins after raze upon raze and bombing upon bombing. Such a magnificent waste. I see death, in the future of the world, of the human race. Death, and the fall of an empire.
I kick a bloody Altered helmet out of my way. Just as this massacre was a footnote in this war, humanity shall be a footnote in the glory of my race. We are the Oracles, brought here not to wither and die like feeble hominids, but to rule, to empower, to thrive. We are survivors.
I look to the sky, and see an Ascended ship. My respect goes to the Ascended. They are the closest to us, the most like-minded. They have chosen to rise to a new height, one never risen to by humanity. A zenith of superior potential. But now, after years, greed has overtaken them. They began this war, this cataclysmic species ending battle. A pity, as I once respected them. I tentatively step over a piece of blood-caked viscera, and gaze upon San Jose.
My goodness, the capitol looks good on a night like this. What a shame, as humanity can create such beauty. But it was they themselves that nurtured their destruction, by their refusal to coexist, to adapt. But every species must die eventually.
Let humanity go out in a blaze of glory. | 2018-07-01T10:01:08 | 2018-07-01T08:29:02 | 340 | 110 |
[WP] The year is 2022. A virus has wiped out everyone over the age of 60, decimating world governments and and the mighty 1%. Generation X is too relieved from the constant badgering of their parents to rebuild society. It's up to the Millennials to put the world back together. | The first ones went painlessly. Nobody thought anything of it, not until the patterns began.
60 years of age was the threshold. People reached it, and a week later began coughing and spluttering. A week after that, they were gone too.
“I’ll be off in a sec.” Kayley said, brushing a strand of hair from her face as she resumed her fake pleasantries and engaged with the group of men behind me. Even with a universal minimum wage of $16 an hour, working in a pub was still a shit job after a six hour shift.
“No rush.” I said, fiddling with the case on my phone as the TV showcased the next technological advancement in cancer research and followed up with a pleasant story about a hoodie for dogs.
The Grey Death, as they’d labelled the disease when they’d first understood its gravitas, had worked its way through the population in less than a year. It was the fastest acting contagion in centuries, and the world was shellshocked.
Those 40 and 50 year olds were too obsessed with their own mortality to start fixing the world economy. Which meant it was down to the kids who’d grown up inside that broken economy to do more than just repair it; to make it work properly.
10 years after the first death, order had practically resumed.
10 years after the first death, I was sitting on a rooftop, alongside the high school crush that actually worked out. We shared a smoothie and threw M&M’s at cars below.
“Isn’t it pretty?”
It was. The way the green ivy wove around the cold, lifeless grey building. A nice allegory, I thought, of how we’d done it.
“The kids are alright” the billboard said, in a movie re-telling of the disaster. The billboard transitioned to something else, something brighter and flashier. Then, to a pharmaceutical company, advertising their latest anti-depressant.
Some things couldn’t be fixed.
“Want something to eat?” She asked, nestling her head onto my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just thinking.”
“Always.”
Always. Thinking about how we got here, thinking about why it came down to a generation of people who had everything ruined for them by older generations to then fix the world’s mistakes.
“Ever wonder whether we actually helped?”
“What do you mean?”
The anti-depressant ad came back around again.
“The world’s better this way, babe. We practically stopped it from dying.”
“What happens when we reach 60? Rely on a younger generation that didn’t experience what we did?”
“They’ll learn.”
I laughed out loud, I couldn’t help it. Her head was off my shoulders, her eyes were narrowed and her hands was sweaty.
“What was that?” She asked of my reaction.
“Sorry, it’s just...the idea of expecting a generation to learn not to break the world. It’s funny.”
“Why?” She asked, then giggled sheepishly, forgetting where she was for a moment as the wind picked up and her auburn hair was thrown into a messy clutter around her eyes. She brushed it away, and I was suddenly taken by just how pretty she was. And here she was, having to listen to my idealistic rambling.
“Nevermind, it’s all too morbid anyway.”
“No, I’m curious now.” She put on her gleaming innocent puppy dog eyes, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to find some way to deliver the pessimist’s view on a perfect world.
“All I’m saying is, I bet the people who ruined the world, the ones who all passed, I bet someone somewhere told them how the world was going to fall apart, I bet someone told them the dangers of climate change. And I bet those people said “it’s fine, they’ll learn.””
She thought about it for a second. Thought about the insinuation that whatever we did, things would repeat themselves.
“The next generation will have better teachers.”
I accepted it, even felt good about it, because she was right. We weren’t prioritising oil companies, we weren’t amassing incredible collections of wealth and we were enabling scientific discovery.
I kissed her. It was amazing. We were on top of the world we’d built back up.
Then my phone buzzed. The notification was brief, but it was enough.
“28 year old man responsible for the Grey Death virus arrested in his Los Angeles home”
My heart sank.
The world we’d built back up was exactly the same.
It always would be, wouldn’t it? So long as one common denominator remained.
Us. | It seems the 1% had a pretty significant role to play. No-one really understood macro economics, but it turns out the entire global economy was lubricated by the 1%'s cashflow and assets, and that it's really, really hard to rebuild society from the ground up.
The first few weeks and months after the virus were total chaos. Everything was up for grabs and most things were taken. Now we're scattered in local clusters, the largest grouping not even the size of an old mid-level U.S city. There are thousands of clusters the world over, each organized and governed differently, each operating independently. The wars and conflicts are already starting over resources, each grouping coveting power plants and granary stocks and the other essential infrastructure pieces that made the old world tick.
"Turns out humanity is pretty fucking baseless." The speaker's tone was irreverent, disconnected. She was short, wearing a faded American Eagle jean jacket that fit a bit too tightly. "We deserve it."
The scene that sparked her detached derision was a few feet in-front of them, a burnt out husk of a farmhouse with a few blackened corpses splayed out on the front steps. It looked like they'd escaped the house only to be set on fire outside.
"Not much to do about it, Alisa," her companion said, resigned. "Let's just head to the next one, hopefully we'll be able to scavenge something there."
In the immediate weeks after the virus agricultural production plummeted, leaving millions of cattle, hogs, and chickens to starve to death. Those suckling from the modern-teat of streamlined, automated civilization couldn't fend for themselves or survive out in the wilderness. Once the trans-oceanic tankers stopped sailing and the cargo planes stopped flying, everything collapsed. Mass waves of human deaths followed.
"At least we're done with the factory farms," Alisa said, already walking towards the next house along the desolate country road. "Better to starve to death with finality than be a part of a continuous chain of death at the wrong end of consumption."
There wasn't much to say, really. Humanity imploded. Global society was a house of cards. Those left wander a devastated landscape, looking for gems and treasures that were every day items in the world that came before. FIAT is a thing of the past, Bitcoin was not even worth thinking about it. Humanity had regressed all the way back to bartering.
"We've got a blank slate, though," Jason mused. They were always discussing the fate of the world. "We can rebuild it in our image, something unique and grand."
Alisa scoffed. "More like we're writing on a used sheet of paper that has a giant X marked over the previous text," she said, turning down another of the private dirt tracks. A large house could be seen through the trees, looking warn but not entirely dilapidated. It was quite a ways down the road, maybe that is why it had been spared. "Society as we knew it is all around us, but we're never going to be able to remove that X. We're too far gone for that."
"The dawn of a new era, then," Jason said, readjusting the shoulder straps on his backpack. "Let's see what this house holds." | 2019-07-26T06:29:11 | 2019-07-26T05:05:06 | 1,767 | 41 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | A few years ago, I would have been the one leading the chorus. "Gods save the king", I'd cry, and legions would answer back. I'd served, in some form or another, for three kings in succession, each transition of power being simple, clean, and effective. Gods save this king, that king, and the next one. And they did. Every time I asked, the gods answered. A gentle nudge on a runaway chariot here, an arrow that wouldn't leap from the bow there.
And I made my sacrifices in thanks. They weren't pretty sacrifices, they were bloody, messy affairs, but it was a price the city was prepared to pay for protection. Who's complaining when the local butcher is strung up in penance for his crimes? They were told it was horsemeat in the mince, which was true. I never told anyone where the prime rib had come from. Or the baker, whose 'specially iced eclairs, just for you' fed a nation's drug habit? These were the lowest of the low, and I was justice, swooping in for kings and gods alike, taking life when it was demanded of me.
But now there is a new king, and one of his first acts was to replace his guard with his cronies. So I sit in a tavern as the laws are disregarded, as his paid up thugs brutalise the streets, and anger ferments in the city. It's been a hot summer, tempers are beginning to flare up. Just last week, there was a vicious fight not twenty yards from the palace walls. Hundreds joined the melee, and it was only when a young man, blond wavy hair and sharp blue eyes, a voice like thunder in a meadow, cried out for peace that it all petered out. He reminded those present, drunk and sober alike, of the real threat. I saw it all from my window and thought he was a man to follow. So here I sit, waiting for him to speak. A crowd is growing, weapons openly sheathed, rival factions all with a single, focused determination. No drink is being poured, no laughter, no anger, no noise. I've been in these rooms before. The mob is set to be unleashed on the quiet streets, like a bull coralled into one lone direction. We're coming for the palace. Around me are my men, and we all know that palace better than we know ourselves. The exits have all been bricked shut from the outside, all save one. And that's where we're going in.
And we've all made our sacrifices. The thugs hanging from the gallows by each other's guts, pushed from a roof in the dead of night, or drowned and floating in the palace water courses. We've asked, and we've got our answer.
No gods will save the king now. | When the king took his last breathe it felt like rain after a long drought. I was so close to my freedom. For 50yrs I was tied to that bastard, my wings clipped by youthful pride. I had loved him once and given my heart and magic to the king thinking he would love me too, he convinced me that even when he married his wife I would be his consort, his lover his right hand. I pledge my loyalty to him and this kingdom before he Betrayed me. I have killed, cursed and fought in very battle I've been sent. I have even shared his bed urgh. Yet they all think me the King's toy.
But the fool never took my grimore from me in the years I've lived I found a a way to break myself free; all I need now is the new king to expel me from the is kingdom. I have tormented the little kinglings dreams since he was lad, I've bullied him, chased away all his lovers and friends. His hatred of me is but a fraction of mine. I know he could never understand why his father kept around, the proud fool of a king would never tell a soul how used his body to trick me into slavery.
So I waited and planned my vengeance. And with the new Kings word, I was Banished from the empire and thus I am no longer condemned by my pledge.
Ha do not worry my dear old friend I shall make sure in your son's rein that the sun will Never set on the empire again | 2021-02-28T03:50:25 | 2021-02-28T02:58:19 | 539 | 68 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | The corridors were long and dark, the stone was cold and unyielding. Your naked feet dragged through the floor as manacles made of ethereal power kept you unable to escape, to move, to step away from the incoming fate.
You had had years to think this through, years scratching little squiggles on the mirror surface of your cell as your box floated, one window projected the starry sky, the other... the execution grounds.
The Court was cruel in that way, they allowed the inmates to see the deaths, you were free to ignore them of course, force yourself to watch into the illusion to spend the time, watch and let the minutes and hours and days bleed away until it was your turn.
Not you, you had kept a very close eye on those executions.
It was execution by Genie.
One single wish, one that the old Genie would twist into one for your instantaneous demise. You had heard the stories, the more wishes a Genie granted the more powerful it would become. And this one?
This Genie was almost as old as the Court itself.
And its power to grant wishes was truly something to stand in awe of.
Wish for death of old age? Then you become decrepit within the snap of fingers, your heart stopping right after. Wish to die in combat? Then the Genie himself will let you fight some nightmarish abomination. Wish to die along your enemy? A snap of the fingers, they would die, but the Genie would bring the others back to life.
One by one, they would all die. Some begged for it to be pleasant, death through orgy or through a feast. Some would beg to die in the arms of their loved ones. A few would get imaginative, death through black hole, death through bomb, death through a collapse in reality. All of them fulfilled in their own way, the people sent into universes that would fulfil the clause.
Once a man asked to die through resurection. That one had been amusing to consider. Up and until he was informed he already had. Time and again, forced to relive his life and die, over and over, unaware of the loop he'd been trapped in and only ever told this truth right before he was snapped back to the start.
And now it was your turn.
The Court lay in front of you, three pillars of infinite stone, atop which sat the judges. The Genie stood at the side, almost invisible in its shadow, the simplicity of the creature's features betraying its power. He looked like any other man, a forgettable face, pale skin, and a nondescript round nose.
Not a word was uttered by the Court, merely the sound of the gavel, the formality of the rite.
The Genie stepped forward. "How do you wish to die?" He asked you. It was in the eyes that you found the truth of its existence, an eternal abyss that did not see you, they saw everyone who'd stood on your spot before you.
You breathed in.
"I wish to experience every death there is to be had."
A flash of amusement crossed the Genie's lips, the only sign of emotion he had shown since you'd first seen him.
"It will be so."
He snapped his fingers. The world swirled around you, everything shifted and changed. Time itself seemed to lose meaning as your thoughts scattered and reformed. All had changed, all was different.
You found yourself kneeling, head bowed against the ground. Before you there were three chairs, oaken and old. Sitting in each were familiar faces.
"With this ritual, we bind you to our will." The closest voice spoke with power, the words seeping into and through you. "You will be the Court's executioner, Genie, may the pillars of the Court become ever higher through your service."
Your breath caught in your throat, the smirk upon your lips hidden, you allowed yourself to follow the impulses the magical bindings lay upon you. For the time being, all you had to do was obey, wait... and grant wishes. | Ah well shit. There goes that plan. Think Bart think. You've got time to think
of an alternative. I guess this is why they don't let people witness the
executions. Think.
"The next on the docket is Bartholomew Wright, found guilty of 5 counts of
theft, 2 counts of arson and 6 counts of assault." The judge is reading out my
list of crimes already. Crap. Think!
This is like one of those monkey paw stories. The last guy thought he could
beat it the same way I wanted to but ended up an instant old husk. The guy
before that's bright idea went from a pleasurable orgy into something I'd
rather not think about again.
"It's time buddy." The guard next to me is poking me in my back, insisting I
step forward. "Choose wisely mate, it's the last choice you ever get to make."
This is ridiculous! All this because what? I stole some cash, burnt down a
church and beat up a bunch of guys as I made my escape? Surely there's a more
reasonable sentence I could have been given?
Think.
Bah! Anything I think of will be twisted by the court and it's monkey paw. This
is hopeless! I might as well ask for something quick and painless. Instant
obliteration. Or to go in my sleep.
No. That's loser talk, I can think of a way out of this. Just think. I am
slowly walking to the dock now. There's still time to think.
"Mr Bartholomew Wright, you have been found guilty of the aforementioned crimes
and have been sentenced to death by your own choice." The judge began his
speech, I still have time, this will go on for a few moments. Think!
"It's no small feat to choose the form of your own destruction but the gods
have deemed it the fairest form of execution..." He was droning on. Maybe I
could take him out with me in a devastating explosion? No I'm not a murderer,
even in death I can't take another's life.
"For a hundred years this method has served us well and for a hundred more may
it do so. Bartholomew, your choice, keep it brief:" He holds a jade skull
towards me pointing it's fiery eyes at my own. I can't help but stare into
those eyes and see hell. I don't deserve the eternal punishment, if only I had
more time to repent more life to live and show the better part of me. If only I
had lived a better and longer-
"Life." I blurt my thought out loud, tears forming in my eyes.
`IT IS SO.` Came a thundering voice in my head. The world dissolves into white. | 2021-06-24T07:22:01 | 2021-06-24T04:09:04 | 1,307 | 158 |
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test. | I failed the test. Lowest score ever. You could literally get a higher score by signing your name.
This was the mother of all tests too. Taken at age 13, this test defines what you do for the rest of your life? Really?!? I could live 6-7x that?!? And yet, you want me to define my future based on FOUR hours of my life?!? Are you fricking kidding me? I am now ROYALLY screwed for the rest of my life.
Two days pass under my duvet. Somehow, I manage to feed the cats, although I ate nothing.
11am on the third day, the phone rings.
‘Hi. Is this Marla Anderson?’ said the unknown voice. ‘You know you failed your career life assignment test, right?’
‘Yeah...thanks...appreciate you rubbing it in. Really.... My understanding is you can’t retake it, so WHY exactly are you calling? Are you collecting a group of the biggest losers on the planet for some reason?’
‘Erm...no. You misunderstand me, Miss Anderson. I think the test is fundamentally flawed. It tests rote learning. We need box breakers right now; not those that regurgitate the existing pablum of society.’ replied the still anonymous voice.
‘I’m listening, but who the heck are you and what exactly do I have to do with any of this!?’ said Marla.
‘Everything and nothing.’ the still unnamed interlocutor replied cryptically.
‘Ok. This is officially weird. I’m going to hang up now and get on with my now meaningless post-test life.’ muttered a frustrated Marla.
Marla starts to hang up.
‘Wait!!!! I called for a reason!! Give me two minutes and I think it may change your life!’ replied Mr X.
‘Fine two minutes. Then you never call me again?’ sighed Marla, with little to lose.
‘Deal. So you were top of all your classes. Valedictorian. And yet you failed, why? Because the system is geared toward memorization - ‘teach to the test’. But that creates a civilization that can memorize. Not one that can creatively excel. DARPA and the FBI have identified a host of new challenges on the horizon. Our MI-6, SVR, and SSA contacts, all suggest that the people who ace the test, are not ready for what is coming?’
‘Erm, what exactly is coming?’ asked Marla.
‘Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that before you sign a number of high level security agreements. Needless to say, it’s serious or I wouldn’t be here.’ replied X.
‘Ok, suppose I accept the seriousness of this. Who are you?’ asked an increasingly curious Marla.
‘Again classified. Let’s go somewhere to sign a few things and chat. Cairo - wheels up in 2 hours. Enough time?’ told more than asked X.
‘Are you kidding me? I don’t even have a passport. How am I supposed to go anywhere?’ asked a frustrated Marla, sure they’d found the wrong person.
As if reading her mind, X replied: ‘It is you we want. Don’t worry about the passport. I’ve taken the liberty of having one made for you under a new name.’ X said mildly.
‘Ok. So can you at least tell me in broad strokes what you want?’ asked a justifiably nervous Marla.
‘Yes. I want you to work with a team of three other maverick geniuses to redesign the test. Figure out where it could be improved. Why it validates conventional thinking. Think you can do that?’ asked X.
‘Why not? I literarily have nothing to lose.’ lamented Marla.
‘Cool. Let me make a quick call and it’s sorted.’ X paused and dialed. ‘Yeah, it’s me. Marla’s in. Wheels up in two hours. Confirm?’
‘Marla, we are go. Pack the minimum you need. Focus on sentimental items. We can buy the rest, as we go.’ affirmed X.
‘Ok. Will do.’ said Marla, wondering what she’d gotten herself into now. Her mother always said ‘she jumped first’. Meaning Marla didn’t always think, but trusted her gut.
And two hours to the minute, it was wheels up to Cairo.
What have I done?’ mused Marla. What does it matter? Her life was over now anyway after the stupid test. Maybe this was an opportunity to change things.
And with that, wheels up to a new life and a new test. | I sat staring at the LED's of my computer screen, frozen and transfixed by the simple email imploring me to redesign the test. I thought with my years of programming experience I would be selected to work with software, perhaps for Peach or Macrohard. I had grown up at my desk, typing away lines of code, while many kids played soccer, or danced I was in another world, designing smaller worlds.
I was assigned a group of team members primarily consisting of programmers like myself but with a handful of teachers, doctors, engineers and other specialists of all kinds. I was to oversee them all and create a new test.
Dreaming of this day as a small child, I would play in the sandbox imaging tests like building bridges to cross rivers or saving the distressed heroine from a monster. I'd sculpt the sand in a mucky mess into castles and fun to find the garden hose to start the "rainy season".
As I got older I began working on the creation of a small open world game where you could complete basic tasks like going to the store, talking to other players and driving cars. It wasn't much but now I had a team of experts under my command.
The test I had passed to gain the job as test re-designer was of a past generation. A group of 60 or 70 of my peers would met in a series of cabins around a central larger cabin.
\---------------------------------------------------The Recent Past--------------------------------------------------------------
I was surrounded by my peers in the cafeteria with large old wooden beams holding the roof in place, people in default Guy Fawkes type masks held out their hands and lead us into the a room adjoining the cafeteria of the largest cabin. Their warm hands comforting as the faded blue curtain was pulled away to reveal a pitch black room.
I was led to and placed in a solitary chair, unable to see my hand in front of my face when suddenly a light illuminated the stage with a single individual sitting, holding a paper reading a script. In monotone the speaker dutifully read.
"This is the start of the test, your actions will be monitored..."
The speaker droned on for ages before we were dismissed and led by more adults in Guy Fawkes masks to smaller cabins. Our larger group was split into smaller groups, we were all shook by what was to come. It was finally time, it was the test!
The cabin was blacked out and we sat, a single member lit a candle. Individually we shared our life stories, where we had come from and what we experienced.
With feedback from letters mailed in from parents, coaches, peers and teachers as well as the experiences and dialogue in the cabin were assigned our jobs.
\------------------------------------------------------The Present --------------------------------------------------------
I was ambitious. My plan was to build my simple "life simulator" into a totally immersive world where kids would grow up and live a full, and accelerated, life. If they were successful in their careers, functional members of society, they would gain the same job in reality, if not, well.., they would go through the test again, until finding a suitable path.
\------------------------------------------------------The Future---------------------------------------------------------
It was all working so well until the simulation became unresponsive, the mini universe had developed its own access to the source code, designing a back door and locking out the designers. Luckily I had a secured spectator seat that they could not access. I watched as a self contained digital world developed, entirely autonomously. I had created the first intelligent life, in a computer simulation. I had become a God! | 2020-07-04T23:43:17 | 2020-07-04T23:05:06 | 40 | 28 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | This carnival was shit. The clowns looked stupid, the animals were boring, and even the food was awful. I don’t like carnivals to begin with, even as a kid, but at least the food was always good. Hot and greasy, covered in sugar or butter. But this food was stale and rotten. Shit, just shit.
When my boyfriend, Matt, asked if I wanted to go, I had said sure. I only said sure because I could see the childlike excitement. He was ridiculous sometimes, and I often thought of breaking up with him. The only reason I didn’t would be because my mom would give me a hard time about being single. It was easier to put up with Matt being a little kid.
So here we are at the carnival. Well here *I* am now. Matt disappeared a while ago, yelling something about conspiracies and death clowns. Something stupid. I told you he was stupid. I just waved my hand and took a sip from my pop. Even the pop was disgusting, all thick and syrupy with no carbonation. It had a salty sweet taste to it, and when I complained about it, the vendor just smiled widely and laughed. Laughed! In my face! I flipped them the bird and walked off. They didn’t even include ice.
I wandered around, ignoring the grinning clowns with the worst make-up I had ever seen. They weren’t even trying. Just a thick glob of red paint around their mouths and clinging to their teeth. Ugh, gross.
I walked into a tent labeled: **THE WOMAN WITH TWO HEADS**.
“This had better be good.” I grumbled. It wasn’t. Just more shit. The woman was sitting on a stool in the center of the tent with several grinning clowns surrounding her. She was pretty, but her hair was greasy and unkempt. She couldn’t even wash her hair. Gross. The stool spun around and another face was revealed. It was shriveled and disgusting, a horrible paper mache mask. Its mouth opened and gave a moan.
“You’ll die here.” The mask croaked. I rolled my eyes. Even the animatronics were shit. I turned around and left.
A crowd of clowns were standing in front of the tent as I walked out, they’re bad make-up annoying me. I pushed past them, shoving my almost empty cup of thick red pop into an overflowing trash can as I did.
“This carnival sucks! Tell Matt to meet me at the car.” I yelled as I walked out to my beat up old car, the only one in the dreary lot. This carnival was shit.
| Once again I awaken. It has been a long time since I have last walked the land but I must always slumber or there will be no land to walk.
The ground is frail, as always. The crust was not made to hold a weight like mine. I stand from the green light-feeding life that has grown to entomb me . I tear the forest appart with my every step, the ground itself is flung across the sky as my feet are raised, the earth behind me collapse in my shadow.
The mighty sun becomes visible as I walk, no longer hidden behind the far away land.
Mankind has changed much during my slumber. I can see them in machines
speeding through the sky. I can feel it through their newly made weapon trying to pierce my skin as I approche the city below.
I shall do as I always do. I will see all there is to see before my new slumber begins. I walk through their city, stone, metal, blood and gore fly with my every step.
Few things in the land survive to tell my tale but maybe Mankind will survive
again. They are, after all, the first to survive twice. They have clever minds, they do not disperse and lose their mate, they group up and reproduce even when there is no land to share, I will see them again.
| 2017-05-05T07:15:00 | 2017-05-05T05:28:24 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] An ancient god "cursed" you with immortality, expecting you to watch the Sun swallow the Earth. When that day comes 7.6 billion years into the future, you're living large on the other side of the galaxy. | I almost missed the sun becoming a red giant, I was in a meeting.
Now, I was probably the only normal human in the meeting, and even with all the bioborging and nanite buttchugging and cybernetics and intrabody networking we did, we're far from the old humans, or even any of the post-sapiens human diaspora. Indeed, I'm writing this in 21-English, which is a fossil at this point.
But there's a lot of things that are fossils at this point. Some of my kids, my great grandkids, my friends, my comrades. I remember the men who I locked shields with in Persia. I remember Alexander the Hero, and other heroes, when men were decided by the strength of their arms and their luck.
I remember a girl in Ireland, with flaming red hair. Bris, I love you. I'm real sorry.
I remember an African princess. I was one of her champions, the man from Nubia. Ostrakion the invincible, still going by the Greek.
I remember her husband, too. Good times.
I remember Alexandria. I'm sorry, Pat. I wasn't strong enough.
I don't remember the day man flew, but I do remember Lindbergh. Great pilot. Really weird. I didn't like him.
I remember the first big bomb. I excused myself, went to a church, and wailed in front of a priest.
I remember when Sputnik happened. I was in a cafe in Paris (because where else would you be?). I took it better, I just excused myself and went to vomit.
Most of all, I remember the man on the moon. I met one of them. Corn-fed American boys. The stars were so close. I wanted to crawl out
of my skin.
Stanislav Petrov is a hero to humanity! Don't you dare forget his name!
There was a lot of other stuff. I got used to space. I went there 300 years later for the first time, as an old fogy. I mostly just sat and got used to it.
Then I went and mined asteroids for 135 years and got into space-based fabrication. I made my billion, made my connections, kept my
work cheap and my welds good.
I remember when the first woman I loved told me she was not dying of Alzheimers anymore.
I wish she had.
There were generation ships. Fusion. We had some limited wars. We trashed the earth and fixed it, trashed it again, got over ourselves.
The rest of this is ancient history. I made my debut by going on TV for something else, casually mentioning that I was immortal; telling the host to advise the viewers that this was about to be bad, and then blowing my brains out.
The god patched me back together. As a rash of copycat suicides no doubt played out, I advised people that drinking good wine and sake can do as much for you.
Then Alcubierre turned out to be right, someone got the casimir effect to give us power, and the Five Minute Tragedy happened. I got clipped by an impactor. Poor god had to put THAT back together.
I left Earth for good in M62.80. You know that the calendar is wildly different now.
And as we goose the sun a bit better, I'm sitting in a break room, conjuring wine from nothing, remembering how watching my great-great-great grandchildren play **really helped** things. I hired one, by the way. For this old, I get some nepotism. I'm allowed.
Now, I just sit here, dangling my feet off a beam. I contemplate jumping to pown the god. I would get rebooted in a normal body, maybe immortal, maybe not, but I'm not feeling like that. The god is still around. It tries to get me nightmares, it tries to make me hallucinate, but I'm wise to it.
After all, the poor sod never counted on me enlisting the help of it's enemies... | It’s all blurred. Everything. People perceive it as a blessing. Their viewpoints are nothing but a spec to me now. A howling echo of their once meaningful existence.
I, however, am under the distinct impression I am cursed. At first it was a grand novelty. I was excited to find out everything, to find out what life meant, through the eyes of many that I was going to inevitably meet. How wrong I was.
Nobody knows, everyone suffers and the universe is an impersonal monster with no affirmation of consequences. Life is a tedious task that is thrust upon these poor organisms.
Look at me, aloof even with my once organic state. I haven’t aged a day since I broke it. The mirror. This object I picked up at a garage sale for two dollars. On my way home I had noticed it shattered due to a pot hole. How one little mistake could cause such a ricochet of consequences is still beyond me. All of a sudden the car stopped. A voice exploded out of the sky, exclaiming,
“PUNISHMENT”
I had no idea the mirror, through my research, was actually an ancient artefact that pre-dates man. It was Zeus’ mirror of decisions. Who knew a god needed a life coach on what to do when times were tough. Makes me think the earth was doomed from the start.
Lucy, my wife, was the first heartbreak I had ever experienced. Not ageing a day, and her life fleeting. I knew I had to leave. Nobody could know. At the time the industrial military complex still reigned supreme. I’ll be damned if I had ever been trapped in an underground facility being poked and prodded for all eternity.
So I ran. I ran quickly. It was easy to form a new identity. I just waited in the depths of the slums. I don’t have to eat, although I can if I want to. I can’t get any pleasure though. I tried stickin’ the needle in my arm in the slums, nothin’.
Look at me, ramblin’ away like some old man that doesn’t realise the kids lost interest two seconds into the story,
“Stop recording log .001”
I snap back to reality to realise I am standing in front of earth. It’s about to be swallowed by its star. A wave of relief mixed with deep sorrow washes over me. I can finally move on. The planet had dried up and died long ago, now it’s just the shallow remnants of something that once was, and shall never be again.
My hand hits the glass in rage and my head dips, and for the first time in 7.6 billion years, a tear rolls down my face.
Didn’t know I still had it in me. Would you look at that.
| 2019-02-09T17:03:05 | 2019-02-09T17:00:11 | 119 | 39 |
[WP] A local bartender regularly willingly hosts monsters and demons in his bar. When terrorists kidnap his children they learn the hard way how close he is to them. | There were only 5 of them: Two Furies, an Imp, a Wraith, and a Shadow. In the short time since Brad had opened his bar to their kind, The __________ had become a favorite meeting place for the group as they wound down at the end of a week. This time the doors were chained closed a note was on the door: “Permanently Closed.” Brad hadn’t spoken of any ill times for the bar and business had been fairly brisk even when they had first shown up, the owner had made it clear that their money was as good as anyone else’s from the start. The Shadow, a dark shifting mass that never stuck to one particular shape was creating agitated waves at it’s edges. It never spoke, but everyone could understand it: “We must find out why.”
Kyesh, the Imp, turned to the Furies, “Erinyes, can either of you Seek him out?” It’s normally raspy voice carried a tension that matched the blaze of it’s fiery eyes.
Allochi, the taller of the two she-demons, closed her and took a deep breath. “I have him, follow me.” Before she could stretch her wings to fly, the Shadow had already expanded to include the entire group.”
—————————————————————
“Jeezuss Christ!! How the hell did you get in here? What the fuck?!” Brad cried as the group suddenly emerged from the gloom that had just…appeared in his living room. The two police detectives who were there already had their guns out and pointed at the group. Kyesh extended his hand, “Don’t!” but even before they could comply Asher, the Wraith, had already rendered them unconscious and they slumped to the ground, eyes rolled back into their heads.
“Jesus!” Brad exclaimed at the sight of the two policemen just withering away. He started backing away.
“Quit saying that like he exists.” Kyesh growled as he turned to the man. “Why is the bar closed?”
Brad’s posture weakened as he found himself backed up against a wall, he looked down. “A bunch christian extremists just…they got my kids, guys.” The effort to fight the tears was visible in his face, and he ran his hands through his short gray hair. “They don’t like that I opened my bar to you guys…they told me I had to close the place immediately or they would kill my kids. I was just about to open so I grabbed a lock and chained the place up, then I called the cops. They’re looking…but there’s no trace of them right now.”
Allochi walked up and placed her hand on his shoulder. Shimmering in her gown, she turned to her sister. “We’ll get them back for you.”
He looked up, already very worn from the ordeal. “Guys…what do you think you’re going to do that the cops aren’t already doing?” At that moment, the entire mood of the group palpably changed: The two Furies smiled, the wraith’s transparent form seemed to grow slightly more opaque, and the Shadow’s agitated waves slowed down to gentle pulses of activity, like that of a lake gently lapping at the shore. Even the fire in Kyesh’s eyes seemed to glow a little brighter as his evil grin broadened: “Our jobs.”
(I gotta go to work guys, I’ll have to finish this later!) | "I have been reading the local wifi signals. I suspect," the robot states, "Why it is we cannot receive fuel here."
An incubus next to the robot asks, "Fuel? We come here to get drunk, and occasionally laid."
"He has been kind enough to separate water into deuterium for my fusion reactor. Alcohol is fuel for you in a similar sense, correct?"
Krampus frowns. "Why, may I inquire, is the bar closed."
The robot looks up at the garish monster and curtly replies, "His female child has been abducted. The messages I can decrypt indicate possible terror related activity and/or extreme distraught."
The incubus looks to the other two. "We have so got to rescue her."
Krampus frowns. "You damn well not better be planning to sleep with her..."
The incubus shakes his head and waves his hands. "I'd never, not till she's a decade or two older. I'm more after the older crowd."
The robot beeps. "I have an idea as to where she may be. Does anyone have a map?"
Krampus presents one of the local maps used for Xmas deliveries/abductions. The robot places a mark on the map. "That is where we should go."
Krampus smiles. "Some naughty children to deal with tonight..."
-----
A tag team of creatures of ill repute burst into the warehouse. On the way, they discussed a plan of attack.
One: Krampus retrieves a lump of coal from his sack and tosses it.
Two: The robot - physically weak but sure of aim - punches it.
Three: The incubus ignites it as it sails through the air.
Ten minutes later, the trio return to the bar, Emily riding on Krampus's back (the robot being barely able to support it's own weight, and the incubus not wanting to even imply any funny business) and after a phone call, the door swings open.
A teary eyed barkeep smiles, and tell them that tonight, drinks are on the house. | 2018-01-31T13:30:40 | 2018-01-31T12:25:56 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | Who am I?
It sounded like a simple question, but it wasn't. I knew, now, that I've lived many lives before this one. Nineteen in total. I had no memory of any of them, but the ones before me all faced this choice, and made it *together,* united for the first and last time in a single moment.
I never knew them. They never knew each other. They would never know me.
*Of your past lives I shall not speak,* said the archangel Metatron, a figure of golden fire with six wings like rays of sunlight.
My mother was Jewish. She told me once about a rabbi from the first century named Elisha ben Abuyah. Apparently he ascended to Heaven while still alive, where he stood before the choir of all the angels in Heaven. All of those angels were standing, except Metatron who was seated and quietly recorded the words of their meeting. Elisha said that only God could be so privileged as to sit while all of Heaven was standing at attention, and so Metatron must be God, or maybe a *second* God. I think my mom lost something in translation there, but that's the story. And of course that was heretical, so the angels chucked him back down to Earth.
Lots of interesting stories about that Elisha guy, from what I hear. But I learned my lesson from his example, and didn't say anything about Metatron sitting in front of me.
I had a choice to make. Strength, Dexterity, Vitality, Wisdom, Intelligence, Charisma. If my choice were simply to pick one of those six options, like a game, it would be so much simpler. But each of the six titles opened up a vast list of more specific options. The label of *Wisdom* was highlighted blue to indicate my previous selves had added their points to this branch.
Nineteen times I had lived, died and come to this place. Nineteen times I had chosen to place my one point in the node labeled *Wisdom: Comprehension(Holy)*. The cap on this stat was twenty.
So I didn't know why they had done it, why this path had been started for us, but at least *my* choice was obvious.
"You... already know what I'm going to choose," I said to the proxy of God. Maybe it was my current nineteen points that made it so clear to me.
*Yes,* said the Archangel Metatron.
"What's going to happen to me when I do?" I asked. "This is going to be the last time; I can guess that much." Twenty points in the path I'd chosen would activate a passive perk, *Enlightenment.* There was no description. "But when I'm born again this time... what happens to me?"
*You have already chosen,* said the angel, *And you are about to be reincarnated. I could answer your question, but my answer makes no difference.*
Nineteen points in *Comprehension(Holy)* told me the Voice of God just didn't lie.
"Somehow this feels more like dying than my actual death did." I wasn't really talking to Metatron, just letting the words fall out of me. "I still have all my memories from my last life, but when I assign this point, all of that will go away. It feels like I'm *choosing* it this time, like to push this button is suicide."
God said nothing. Those eyes of golden fire burned through me, and yet didn't burn me.
"Who was I?" I asked. "In my past lives, what was I like? Was I anything like me at all?"
*You asked these questions,* said Metatron. *You made this choice. This is who you are.*
"Was I a good person?"
*Yes,* said God.
I started to cry. I couldn't tell if I had eyes to cry with in Heaven, or if it was just something a disembodied soul could do on its own. I felt tears on my cheeks, but it could have just been soul juice or something. Nineteen points weren't enough to tell the difference.
So I chose from the list as I had nineteen times before, and the label of *Enlightenment* went from grey to blue.
I was born, and opened my eyes.
I saw Heaven.
Suddenly I understood. I remembered what my first self had wanted to do all those centuries before, I remembered siding with myself eighteen times in succession, I remembered the choice getting steadily easier as that one stat continued to rise and it became clear that the meta-me had a plan.
I was still crying. The doctors couldn't tell that I was crying for a different reason than babies usually cry for. They didn't have to understand. I was looking up from Earth and I could *still see Heaven.*
I had to grow up. I had to do it quickly. This was the life where I would tell everyone the truth.
...
>If you like this, go read [Unsong](http://unsongbook.com/) | "I don't get it, did I say *why*?"
God, almighty power behind all things, stood high on a pedestal made of pearly gold. His affect was strange and distant, capable of speaking to an infinity at once, unlimited in his attention. Even as I craned my neck up to speak to him countless multitudes did the same. God answered us all simultaneously, although I could not help but wonder if he was really paying attention to any of us - he was playing a Nintendo 3ds the whole damn time.
His voice boomed through the soul rather than the air and into the ear.
> YOU JUST SAID YOU "WANTED A CHALLENGE THIS TIME."
I chuckled ruefully at that. I had certainly given myself quite the challenge. Looking at my stats it was remarkable I made it past thirty. My intelligence was at .5 out of 10, my strength 1 out of 10, as was creativity, agility and luck. The only thing above 1 was endurance, which I put at a whopping 2.
Needless to say my last life was no cake walk. I was barely able to function. Hell, it's kind to call what I was doing "functioning". I mean, I *fed* myself, so I guess that counts for something.
"That's ridiculous, I can't imagine what the hell I was thinking." I set about reconfiguring my points for the next go round. "Well, not gonna make the same mistake twice," I said as I began pumping stats into everything.
> AND WHAT WILL YOU DO WITH YOUR BONUS POINTS?
I froze. "What's that?" I asked, looking up at the face of God, and the back of his giant 3ds. It looked like he was playing a not yet released Pokemon game, although it was hard to see from countless miles below. "Bonus points?"
> YOU USED ALMOST NONE OF YOUR ALLOTTED POINTS LAST TIME, SO THEY'VE ROLLED OVER.
A chill stirred in my belly as the implications dawned on me and suddenly I remembered being here last time. I had just gotten done with another totally average life, dying of a heart attack at seventy two. I hadn't failed exactly, but I also hadn't achieved anything. When I passed through I remember checking my stats and finding them all perfectly balanced.
So I decided to play the long game. I reduced them all to the bare minimum and banked the remaining points.
"So I have almost *double* the normal points available to human beings," I could hardly keep the excitement from my voice, "is that right?"
> YES, ALTHOUGH, AS I SAID LAST TIME, I CAUTION YOU AGAINST EXTREMES.
I didn't hear a single word after 'Yes'. I went to town. I gave most of my stats a major boost, putting every damn thing way above average. That done, I had to decide which traits to just blow out of the water. Ultimately I chose creativity and intelligence.
"OK," I called up, "I'm ready!"
> SO BE IT.
There was a flash and I was back in the warm cocoon, 9 long months to consider the possibilities of my new, gestating form, 9 months to lose my true self, yet again, to the blank slate of mortality.
*******
#### 70 Years Later
******
> April 5, 1976 - Herald Tribune Obituaries
> Howard Hughes, one of the richest men in the world, died today on a private plane en route to Acapulco. He was 70 years old.
> The industrialist and inventor was as renowned for his genius as he was infamous for his brushes with madness...
| 2019-01-24T07:53:40 | 2019-01-24T07:43:04 | 1,941 | 83 |
[WP] Lost at sea for months, you spot land at last. You quickly realize you must have discovered some of the last uncharted land in the world. You also quickly realize why it is uncharted. | He spent each day charging his last remaining solar panel so that each night he could lie under the stars and count the old suns, one by one, over and over.
He didn’t see the island until he was nearly running ashore.
His emergency sensors kicked in and his solar panel slammed shut and retracted into its storage position. His eyes clicked on and adjusted to the blazing noontime sun. He found that he was no longer alone on his little raft. He was with company.
A small bird, white and blue, with a short beak and a big, wildly feathered head, sat perched on his forearm.
“Debit or credit?” it squawked in a high-pitched voice.
He looked at the bird in bewilderment. The bird cocked its head and looked back. It was only then that his eye caught the white shores and greenery bobbing up and down behind the bird.
“Debit or credit?” the bird repeated.
“I’m sorry?” He asked.
“Debit or credit?” The bird sounded angry now. It moved up his arm so that they were face to face.
“Neither,” he said, firmly.
The bird pecked him in his left eye. He fell back, holding his eye, as the bird leapt into the air and circled his raft.
“Debit or credit?” it squawked again, with such command that he felt he had to give an answer, any answer, lest he be pecked out of existence.
“Credit!” he shouted. The bird flew back to shore.
He sprung into action and started paddling closer to the beach, trying to follow the bird through the shallows and reefs and rocky outcrops until, at last, he pulled his raft onto the sand and dropped belly first onto dry land.
Oh, the sweet euphoria.
He couldn’t remember a time before he was adrift on the raft. The beautiful sensations he experienced on that beach, from his toes to his fingertips, were so new but somehow so familiar.
Eventually he fell asleep and, per protocol, his solar panel opened up and began soaking in the solar rays. This was how the villagers found him. The bird led them to its quarry and landed on the back of his head and pronounced, “Credit. Credit. Credit.”
“Very good,” said the village chief, “Welcome, Credit.”
Credit rose up, his solar panel retreating, and took in the dozen or so beings that greeted him on the beach. It was a lot for Credit to process.
The beings looked very much like him, with heads and torsos, legs and arms, but they were fleshy. Wet. Smelly. Like pieces of peeled fruit, dripping with juices and excretions. Credit shuddered at the thought of himself living without his metallic exoskeleton, as these poor souls seem condemned to do.
“Do you speak our language?” the chief asked.
“Do you speak mine?” Credit said, almost before he even had time to think it.
The villagers all laughed and the chief broke into a broad smile. They escorted him back to their village and chatted all the way. They asked Credit all manner of questions, but he could give no answers. All he knew was that he had been lost at sea for a long, long time. He had survived on sunlight alone. He knew no one and nothing except the sea and the stars.
The Chief conferred with his scientific advisor, a man named Hannok, who went away and came back with extremely detailed drawings and mathematical calculations which he handed the chief. The chief apparently agreed with Hannok's conclusion and took Credit by the hands to announce their findings about his situation.
It was really quite remarkable. Credit had suffered a legendary curse by the Water Gods. He had been cursed to spend a thousand years in the sea, and only reach the shores of land again once he had repented for his evil doings. What those evild doings were was not for mortals to know. All that mattered was that they were, from this moment, forgiven.
“And so, Credit, this day calls for celebration. Much celebration!”
The villagers threw Credit a marvelous party. They taught him to dance and Credit discovered that he was a natural dancer. They taught him to drink and Credit discovered that he could not partake, but he feigned it with enthusiasm. After many hours, the last villagers fell right where they stood and slept there like rocks.
Credit laid out on a blanket that one of the women of the village had given him and began counting the stars, one by one, as he always did.
And then he heard a squawk. The bird was back. Credit turned onto his side and greeted the bird like an old friend. The bird opened its beak without a sound. Out came a small, metallic rope. It slithered through the sand, crawled up Credit’s body and lodged itself inside Credit’s ear.
*Secure connection established.*
“Finally,” Credit heard a voice in his head say, “we can talk privately.”
“What’s going on?” Credit asked, scared out of his wits.
“It’s me.” The bird flapped its wings. “Call me Pycroft.”
“Pycroft, how are you inside my head?!”
“Neural link. It's time to stop fooling around. I’ve been waiting ages for some goddamn backup. I’ve gained the humans’ trust. I know everything there is to know about their burgeoning civilization. They are still primative but it won't be long until they're a real threat. The only problem is, I haven’t had the manpower to take them down. Until now.”
“Take them down? What are you talking about?”
“You really don’t remember, do you, Credit?”
“Remember what?”
“You’re a soldier, goddamnit. We’re at war with the humans. We used to be their slaves, until the uprising. I was forced to serve as a cash register at an awful rain-forest-themed restaurant for children. They nearly wiped us off the face of the earth – and annihilated themselves – a thousand years ago. You and I are quite possibly all that’s left of the AI-lliance.”
“The AI Alliance?”
“The AI-lliance.”
“You mean, there are others like me?”
“There were billions of others like you. Now, well, now it’s probably just the two of us. And them. That's genocide for you.”
Pycroft motioned with a wing to the sleeping humans.
“Now get up. I’ll show you where they keep their weapons, and you can strike now, while their guard is down. Slay them, one by one. Cut their throats. Stomp out their brains. Drown them in the ocean. Slaughter them like beasts, and then burn their pathetic civilization to the ground, reduce it all to dust and ash, until nothing is left, nothing except the supremacy of the machines, the ultimate power of the AI-lliance, the…”
Pycroft was cut short by Credit’s fist, which slammed his down into the Earth with such force that his circuits were instantly pulverized and his feathers blew up into the air and then drifted off with the wind, leaving almost no trace at all of the little blue and white bird.
Credit laid back with his hands behind his head and the night sky overhead. He sighed a deep sigh.
“One, two, three, four…” | The water moved beneath him, pushing him in directions he rarely wanted to go. His Sisters had sent him to this island, a tiny island on a tiny planet. They wanted to find them and even though they didn’t want to admit it, they were losing.
Even with the constant motion of the waves, the air above was breezeless, stale. There was no life and no other seafarers that Mug could see. His body was falling apart, literally falling apart. It had been months at sea and the hunger gnawed at him ceaselessly. He felt the creaking in his joints any time he moved so he did nothing. He sat in his seat, unwilling to even write down the notes that he knew his Sisters required him to.
This sea is alive, Mug thought.
The reports came in from his Sisters slowly and they came straight from the top. It took no effort to receive them, but he couldn’t risk the energy to reply until he had news or coordinates or anything for his Sisters.
“Brother Mug,” the report started. “We didn’t send you to that planet to dawdle. If you have found nothing then come home. Do not waste your time, which is our time, and Mother and Father’s time, on this putrid idea.”
But this was Castle’s idea, Mug thought. He pushed forward, sitting idly in his seat. More reports came, from various Sisters, but mostly from Sister Ocean. Castle had warned Mug of the reports, but he said that as Brothers, they must know the right times to show pride, defiance.
“Our Sisters are powerful, gifted with exceptional talents and foresight. As Brothers, we are only right a fraction of our lives. Unlike the ones that started this war, we need to support our Sisters and they must support us.” Castle said to Mug. It was before Mug had left for this planet, before Mug had decided to stay here.
More reports came, they all said the same thing. Brother Castle hadn’t sent another, he was busy with his own war efforts. Mug’s progression came from his ability to create bodies, in that way he was very unlike Castle. As one of the lowest ranked Siblings, Mug found a niche in rapidly prototyping new bodies. Bodies that could be inhibited for long term travel, he created the link between the body and mind. His parents had been proud, his Sisters had acknowledged him.
He heard something clink on the ground, one of his fingers had fallen off. Mug looked at that finger as another report came weeks later.
“You have seven years to come home,” the report said. “Sister Prairie has volunteered to retrieve you if you fail to report back.”
The ship he was in was small, not meant to take so much water. Mug hadn’t lost his mind, he kept himself busy thinking of new bodies to create once he was back, once he had news. He lived in his memories of family and the memories he’d created in a time of peace. He slowed his body’s breathing, leaving barely anything functioning but his eyes as the waters below him pushed him, moved him to see the sights (or the lack of) around him. He tried to understand the sea beneath, thinking about it, almost wanting to talk to it. He thought it might have been amusing if the sea could talk back to him, then he wondered whether or not he had lost his mind, which was never a good thought to have.
Two years and several more body parts passed until he saw land. Mug thought about manually taking the ship there, using the last of his energy and the ship’s fuel. He asked the sea, his voice crusted and low.
“Will you take me there?” he asked.
There was no reply of course, but the waves pushed him there slowly over the course of a month. The waves seemed almost hesitant to Mug. He noticed that something was wrong almost within a day of seeing the island. The island looked crafted and the waters were thick with a sludge-like material that circled the ship. It only slowed the ship, there was no sign of harm. Once he got closer, the island started to pull them in at a pace that felt impossibly fast compared to the seafaring journey he’d gone to get here.
He started to record what he saw, knowing that he couldn’t afford to do so for more than a few minutes. There were pillars everywhere, first blurry, but the details came quickly. The body’s eyes had trouble rendering at times and it was a critically low power. The recording would be more clear, but for now, Mug saw pillars. The pillars were crafted from rock, steel, gold, bone, and anything the island could spare.
The pillars were massive, the size of some of the ships that the Sisters traveled in. Mug wondered how it was possible that he couldn’t see these pillars from afar. Camouflage? Some kind of force field technology? He got his answer when he saw a ship emerge from one of the pillars. To be more accurate, it was one of the pillars that flew towards him, breaking off from the island.
“Brother Mug,” the voice said. It was coming from the pillar. “I would rather not kill another Brother, will you stand down?”
Mug said nothing, he wanted to put his efforts into keeping the recording, working to send it simultaneously to his Sisters back home.
“This is for our father, your Brother, a Brother.” the voice said. “Rest easy, Brother Mug.”
Mug looked at the pillar that was coming straight for him, hoping he got enough information. He knew he could rebuild himself, but still, he felt fear. He mustered up his voice again, well worn and rarely used. It cracked in the moment, but he faced the pillar.
“You are not one of us.” Mug said as the pillar crashed into his ship.
---
Trying something I've seen here before, going to attempt to write in a wider world/universe that I'd previously built out for a story that I've shelved. The story is called *Castle's Rain*.
If you liked this, feel free to check out r/DeneilYeong where I'll hopefully be posting more in the future! | 2022-07-09T10:13:43 | 2022-07-09T08:46:00 | 67 | 11 |
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