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[WP] As you die, the simulation ends. It turns out that "life" as you knew it was a rite of passage for youth, and determines what type of job you will do for the rest of your days. The simulation overseer walks in and hands you your results. | It's a droll life, observing the Simulations. Each morning I arrive at my city's Simulation Station promptly at 5:00 AM, coffee in hand, to check the vitals of each of the subjects, relieve the new night observer, Samuel, and read any notes he left, then take my station to observe the five subjects to whom I'm assigned. This morning, one of the containment modules was emptied. I headed to the observation room to chat with Samuel. Samuel looked as if he'd seen a ghost.
"My God, Immanuel killed Charlene."
As I said, Samuel was new. Fresh out of the Simulations, he was assigned, as was I centuries ago, to the role of Placements. As much as the role was touted by the world community to be a great honor, the fact of the matter was I spent most of my time watching the same stories of happiness, sadness, hope, doubt, anger, and love pan out in the short 70-ish year span of the Simulation. People did the same shit over and over, wash, rinse, send them in their placements, and repeat with a new batch of adolescents.
"Did he?" I responded, weakly feigning interest. Perhaps the coffee wasn't having quite as much of an effect as I'd hoped. Samuel noticed.
"Why is this not more exciting to you? Up until now, Immanuel had been a solid student at the University of Washington, had a wonderful relationship with one of the Sim-girls, and was on track to be placed in something wonderful like engineering or–"
"Samuel. Charlene was sleeping with his Sim-girlfriend. Shit happens. He'll have a lot of time to prove himself in prison or wherever the hell they send him. I'll continue to watch how the resulting trial pans out. As far as Charlene: we need to get her results printed and handed to her. We agree on space-tech engineering?"
"I'm still not sure. She was a wonderful cellist in her Simulation." Samuel wasn't wrong. Even I almost felt something at her music–but of course, that proved my case.
"Yes, she was," I said, printing out the results, "but that creative energy will be essential in overcoming our current interplanetary limitations." I took a sip of my coffee. Samuel was unimpressed, but he was also the junior Placements Officer, so it didn't matter.
"Ok," he mumbled. Begrudgingly, he grabbed the results from the printer, and walked to the debriefing room. As he opened the door, his demeanor immediately changed to professional and perky. He was placed here for a reason.
As Samuel helped Charlene to acclimate to the real world, I glanced at Immanuel's screen. Running from the police, stressing, fearful, full of regrets. At this point in my life, it is beyond me how much they care about everything. | I couldn't feel anything.
Not like a numbness. It was as if I had no body.
My memories were a mess.
It wasn't like I'd forgotten anything. It was just that the order was wrong.
I started thinking.
I remembered University, countless discussions about life, philosophy, perfection, and something else.
I remembered many friends, love, and drugs.
I remember travelling, nothing to my name but my clothes and a small satchel.
I remembered a hundred countries, a thousand cities, a million people.
I remembered a funeral, dull grey rain mingling with my burning hot tears.
I remembered regret, and a promise to find something.
I remembered a big house, the wallpaper peeling, the carpets threadbare.
I remembered there was always a warm smile there.
I remembered white walls, a clinical smell filling my nose.
I remembered looking out the window, and seeing it once more.
I remembered my failure, my time wasted before and taken after.
I remember making a promise to find it, even if it took my whole life.
I remembered leaving, the old house wasn't home anymore.
I remembered the couple who looked so excited for their new home.
For a little while that was all I remembered.
I pieced it together, thinking of home and family, of distances travelled and places seen, I thought of the life I'd lived.
Then I remembered the most important thing.
On an icy mountain, high above the treetops, higher than the clouds, I found a flower.
It was a common flower, no greater than a dandelion. Yet this impossible flower, growing on the top of this mountain was the single beauty I'd searched for.
When the last was remembered I heard a voice within me
**Arise my Angel, there is wonder for you yet** | 2016-09-10T19:23:24 | 2016-09-10T18:23:30 | 37 | 19 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | This is my first ever response to r/writing prompts after lurking for about 3 years. Please be kind:
“Here she comes, Anna the Raptureless!” Every day Dylan said the same thing as I walked into our overcrowded, overheated and under resourced classroom, in our run down inner city school. Not for the first time, I was grateful that no one had yet managed to figure out what my perfect circle meant. Everyone else had elemental sigals. There were special classes for fire, water, air and earth elementals. Even the teachers didn’t know what to do with me and the other students hated me because I got to spend those lessons working on my own projects.
I knew my role though, I was the perfect circle, I was the alpha and the omega. I had launched the rapture, I had given them their powers to see how they reacted. I had hoped that giving humans a taste of my power would make them harmonise more with their own world. That it would help them re-connect with the elements that formed their world and make them start to work in synchrony again. Caring for the natural order, like their ancestors once did.
My own projects, which looked to others like reading the news, was actually me collating the results of my interventions. My findings were conclusive though, this experiment had failed. The differing powers had led to more conflicts, more jealously, more hatred, more factions and ultimately more war. On the news this morning I had seen the final straw, a tribe of water elementals had been weaponised by the Americans and used to launch a tsunami in the Middle East, a tribe of fire elementals had responded by launching a fire storm that right now was blazing through Washington DC.
Today I was going to push the reset button. Today was the day for Rapture take 2. Today I would use my power to remove theirs. Then I would use my elemental forces to repair the world. Terra Nova V3.0 would be reinvisioned at 2pm this afternoon.
Last time I had changed the world, I put everyone to sleep, none of them saw what happened they just woke up to find themselves imbued with new elemental energies. This time, as I took the powers away. I was going to keep the bullies awake. Kids like Dylan and politicians too, so that they could see what their evil had cost the human race and so they get an impression of what could happen should I ever need to create version 4.0.
My superiors had already informed me that should a 4.0 ever become necessary, the human population of Terra would need to be halved in order to restore the natural balance. The only way to prevent this happening would be to make the humans rediscover their bonds with their natural environment, this was my final chance to make them listen. I smiled when Dylan spoke to me this morning. He was just reinforcing what I already knew. Today is the day of the rapture, today you will learn what I do. | Din isn’t normal. He knows it. Everybody knows it. He doesn’t talk. He never does anything without instruction. He doesn’t fight back. That makes him an easy target, of course.
“Hey! Nobrain! That’s what your empty circle means right?” Barley’s gang ripples with laughter. Din doesn’t reply. He rarely does.
“Hey!” The fire strikes Din’s face. A different spot than this morning’s lashings, which is fine. “Answer when people talk to you, ya autistic freak!” This time it’s ice that stabs at Din’s cheek.
“That’s mean.” Din’s frail voice stops Barley’s assault. “You shouldn’t use autism like an insult.”
“Yeah? What are ya gonna do about it?” A kick to the groin brings Din to his knees, a hand grabs his wispy hair. Barley lowers his face to Din’s. “Watcha gonna do, huh? Hmm?” Din is dragged back to his feet.
Barley headbutts him. That’s a mistake. All the universe, no the multiverse is laid before him. Each of the innumerable stars, a tiny point, an infinitely small circle that’s barely visible, and yet you can still see the endless fractals embedded in each one. And the infinite void extends forever, making each mind-breaking point of light seem like just one electron on a vast beach of lead. He sees every star and every bird, every planet and every fly, every galaxy and every atom. Every beautiful aspect of his repulsive existence is laid before him like a feast.
Barley is silent, his eyes blank. Just like the new sigil on his head. | 2020-02-26T08:40:37 | 2020-02-26T07:59:42 | 40 | 19 |
[WP] You've been told your entire life that no one in your family drinks. Ignoring that, you make plans with your friends to get black out drunk on your 21st birthday. When you wake up the next morning, your friends are huddled in a circle of salt, holding knives, and staring at you with wide eyes. | Is it weird that I think I was asleep standing? Because I'm thinking I was. I say this because I'm realizing I'm standing in Zeke's basement. And everyone- Zeke, Hillary, Jace, Ronnie- huddled in the corner. That's a weird way to sleep-- Wait, no, they're awake. Wide awake. And...
" Dudes... What's with the knives?"
Ronnie, as non-chalantly as a terrified guy of 22 could say, " Nothin' man. What's up with you?"
I think over what happened. " Um... I dunno. I don't remember shit." As I slowly start walking up to them as I talk, they huddle closer together, knives held out further from their bodies, their eyes getting wider.
I wanna say that hurts, but I'm freaking the fuck out. I think my eyes got as wide as theirs did.
" Guys, seriously, what happened?!" I kinda yell.
" Look around, dumbass! That might jog somethin'!" Jace yells back at me.
I start noticing my environment and... shit dude. First of all, the basement reeks of just straight ethanol. Like, if I wanted to light up, I'd be lighting up the room along with my stuff. And things are tossed around, partially ripped and torched. The couch, the rug, chairs. That old timey photo of an old Coke ad was on the floor, the glass and frame busted.
" H-heck of a party, guys." I'm almost afraid to ask again, but... " What's with the knives, though?", as I'm shoving my hands in my pockets.
" Do you really not remember?" Zeke asks calmly.
" Nah dude. Did I do all this?" My voice cracks as I well up a bit.
Zeke starts getting up, while the rest of them are muttering " Dude, Zeke, stop."
Zeke stops short of a white line I didn't notice a second ago. It's surrounding the corner they're in.
" Alright dude...What's my favorite Pokemon?" Zeke asks me, knife still pointing at me
" ... Pfft. Dude. Obviously... Agumon."
Zeke cracks a smile. " That's right, Digimon forevuh, boi!" as he steps over the line and setting the knife down on the floor before embracing. " You good dude?" he asks me quietly.
" I feel fine, man. But what the fuck happened?"
" Well," Hillary says as the rest of them come out from the corner, " you went full psycho mode and started talking about a lot of shit before you started wrecking shit and setting stuff on fire. WITH YOUR FUCKING BREATH!"
" ... Uuuhhh, what?" I cock an eyebrow, chuckling. " I mean, I never drank before, but I didn't have THAT much. Especially to start doing magic tricks\~."
" Nah, I got that shit on video man," Jace says. " You had a few drinks and you were fine. At some point, you just take the whole bottle of vodka and chug that shit in, like, 10 seconds, flat."
I shudder. " Dude, what?"
" Yea dude! Going on about gates and the retribution and shit. I'll have to charge my phone to show ya though. I was recording most of went on last night. You were acting like you were possessed or some shit, man."
I feel my eyes get big. " Shit dude. Where's your charger?"
" Upstairs... You sure you're good dude?" Jace says, one foot still in the line of... huh?
" Yea, but... Dudes, is that a line of salt?"
They all shrug their shoulders. " Ronnie's idea dude. You know how superstitious he is." Zeke says.
" Hey, I ain't superstitious guys! Come on! Besides, it seemed like it worked, anyway. You didn't come near us the rest of the night." Ronnie says.
I'm looking around again... I just realized, whatever happened, they were stuck in the far corner of the basement from the stairs. I was inbetween them and the stairs. I look around a bit more, looking closely at the basement again. I notice my clear lighter on the floor. It's completely empty. | The first unwelcome stimulus to assault my senses was the thick, metallic smell of blood, stirring me from unconsciousness more out of an arising fight-or-flight response to get proper oxygen into my lungs than anything else. Attempting to stir was regrettable, though, as my body was afflicted with a terrible ache that covered every inch of my skin and seeped down into muscle and bone. It felt like I had been run over by a truck, and on top of that, I still wasn’t sure where I even was. Behind the incredible soreness, the smooth and unyielding sensation of hardwood flooring greeted my knees, elbows, and forehead, which too was now throbbing with pain, as if my brain sought to escape its boney prison via the path of least resistance. *Goddamn… is this what being hungover feels like…?* Attempting to open my eyes was a futile effort; only vague shapes and colors silhouetted by a blindingly bright haze filled my vision. *It’s probably best to focus on righting myself first,* my addled brain decided.
The sound of my involuntary groaning as I struggled to roll over onto my back was the first sound to cut through the persistent ringing in my ears, my ribs aching with each ragged breath I sucked in. It took everything to roll over, but when my back finally made contact with the surface beneath me, I regretted it instantly.
A new inferno of pain shot through me, hot and razor-sharp, and I shot off of the exposed area and rolled back over on my side with the renewed vigor of a draft horse getting lashed into a desperate sprint. My back felt raw, exposed, like the skin was missing in places.
*Fuck, what the hell happened?*
Though, at least the proverbial branding iron gave me the jolt I needed to start shaking myself out of this stupor. Gasping and panting, I felt for any kind of support nearby, and after several moments of gracelessly patting around, I felt what seemed to be a table or counter of some kind. Straining to pull myself into a leaning position on the elevated surface, I blinked and rubbed my eyes again, trying to clear the blur from my vision, though the light sensitivity wasn’t making that prospect any easier.
*…Cabinets. Kitchen cabinets… I’m leaning on a counter. The light is… coming from behind me… windows…? It’s morning… God, I’m in so much pain… What’s to the right of me…? A wall… a white wall with a… a picture?*
I squinted, trying to shield my eyes from what I assumed to be sunlight coming through the kitchen windows with my hand, attempting to get a clearer look. The girl in the image, which was about a foot by 8 inches and contained in an ornate silver frame, was fairly short, with smooth and pale skin; golden blonde hair tied into a medium length braided ponytail behind her; large hazel eyes with a subtle green shimmer; and a captivating, perfect smile. Not the kind you usually see in portraits, where the angle of the face, width of the smile, and every small detail is enforced by the photographer. She seemed genuinely happy about something, as if caught in a moment of natural joy. Captured here, she wore an oversized orange knit cardigan atop a plain white t-shirt, and denim jeans that were artificially torn on one of the knees. Clarity arose in my muddled brain, memories of childhood play dates and birthday parties, and of the night before. The word that escaped my throat just above a whisper also felt involuntary.
“…Lily.” | 2022-01-10T17:53:21 | 2022-01-10T16:42:05 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. | I had been in the park when the siren sounded. I had exactly two minutes; there was no way I could make it. I was a dead man, and I knew it. At first I thought it was a drill, but they only did those in schools nowadays - there had been no real emergency in over 20 years. The words of the old film reel ran through my head as I ran towards the city. “If the lights go out, there’s no need to shout! Lock your front door, and get on the floor! There’ll be no need to fight, just set a candle alight!” It was all so colourful and cartoony.
It didn’t feel so cheerful now, and things had changed since then. Everything was automated now. Everyday door and window in the world was fitted with a battery fail safe that lasted exactly two minutes. After it died they were magnetically sealed. Anyone left outside was on their own. That’s how long the monsters needed to come out of hiding. That two minute mark had changed the way the world was built. No one could be more than two minutes away from safety, but the park had been around for a long time, and there were still areas that fell outside the two minute safe zone. I had been in one of them.
The 10 second warning sounded as I got to the edge of the trees. My breath came out in heaves, billowing steam in the cold night air. I could see past the parking lot to what was normally a busy commercial street. ‘BEEP’ Nine seconds left. A few people were still crowding into shops and office buildings. I eyed the nearest shop, an electronics dealer, and sprinted with everything I had left. Four seconds to cross the parking lot ‘BEEP’. My heart felt like it was going to burst from my chest. Three more seconds to cross the street ‘BEEP’. My legs started to feel like jelly. Just one second to get to the store front ‘BEEP’, I stumbled on the curb but regained my balance. I reached for the door knob, my hand trembling, and heard the lock engage with an ominous thunk.
On the other side of the door an older man with a bushy white moustache stared out at me in shock. He tried opening the door from his side but it wouldn’t budge. He just looked at me and mouthed the words, ‘I’m Sorry’. From behind him a shop full of people stared out at me all with the same look in their eyes. Like they were looking at a corpse.
I turned away from the onlookers and slumped against the door, my back sliding down the cool glass surface. The glass, I knew, was made of pretty strong stuff. And even if I could break it, that would only be dooming the people inside to the same fate. My heart still pounded and I could feel it in the veins in my forehead, and hear it like a base drum in my ears. I tried to slow my breathing as I thought about how this could have happened.
The government and the corporations kept us safe. They kept the lights on 24/7 without fail. The power stations were state of the art, built with redundancies and fail-safes. Even if one went down, other stations in other cities would take over within seconds. It was what the majority of government spending had been funnelled towards ever since the last attack. I’d been six years old maybe? Not more than seven. It was getting hard to think straight sitting on the cold ground; bit’s of snow drifted by in the silence. Thousands of people had died. Tens of Thousands. And since then it was the reason and excuse for everything they did. Everyone felt safe, until now.
I got up and pulled my coat around me trying to keep from shivering. I could feel the sweat on my face evaporating and a shiver ran down my spine. A glow coming from the shop window caught my eye. The people in the shop had turned on the news on the window TVs with the sub titles on. How thoughtful of them.
The screen was showing scenes of devastation, fire and explosions at power plant after power plant. The words at the bottom of the screen read, ‘A coordinated attack unlike anything we’ve seen. Military has been dispatched all across the country. The government is advising everyone to stay in their homes, find all sources of light they can, and do not let them go out.’ Images taken from helicopters of battles between military forces and gigantic creatures with long arms and hairy gaunt bodies flashed across the screen. I turned away. I knew I’d be seeing something like that up close soon enough. I didn’t even have a flashlight. How could I have been so stupid?
I walked out onto the middle of the street. The snow had picked up, and there was no moon in the sky. Everything was quiet. All around me there was flickering yellow glow. I looked around and saw lights coming from every shop window, every office building. People had filled every available space and holding candles. They were staring at me, all alone on the cold dark street, all with that same sad look in their eyes. From one dark alleyway I caught a gleam of eyes, and the reflection off bright white teeth. | *Editor's note: I changed the parameters a bit to make it a more interesting backstory*
*15:00*
I sat outside my house in the cold Connecticut air, leaning against the wall. I'd locked all of the doors on the inside of my house, and I could hear the noises of the monsters inside. "Owwwng, owwwng." I shivered each time I heard that noise. Even if the power did come back on, it would be a pain to clear those guys out. Unlike some of my neighbors I didn't keep a gun handy, or even a large knife. And that's even before thinking about the disposal of the bodies afterwards, that was my least favorite part about monsters.
There were dedicated places where darkness was kept, so that one could farm monsters, but for the most part, any civilized place kept a rather large radius of light. I happened to live in a more suburban part of Connecticut, so while my property had the requisite lighting, a fence in the back with a warning sign let people know that beyond it would be danger: the monsters could get this far in before combusting.
"Owwwng, owwwng"
I had a fire going in my front yard; sunset would be soon and if the power didn't come back on, nowhere would be particularly safe. In the hurry to come out of basement I'd completely forgotten to bring up the can of lighter fluid and any more wood... I was going to run out soon. And then I'd have to start running. I had a bit of comfort knowing I could run a while; long-distance running was my activity, after all. I never really considered it'd be the difference between life and death.
*16:00*
It was going to be sunset soon. And the amount of light in the sky was enough that I started getting nervous about monsters showing up closer to where I was; the light of the sky wasn't going to be enough to suppress it.
The moment I heard a hiss I jumped and started running. "Shit!" I thought, and sure enough the side of my house exploded. I was hit in the back with some of the debris, but I kept running. Monsters poured out, and emboldened by the lack of light, they started ambling in my direction. Luckily I could outrun them, and I wouldn't even have to run particularly fast. I was concerned, though, about how long I'd have to run.
*16:21*
The sun set.
*17:00*
I'd made it to Bradley Airport. Not sure why I ran there, given that there was literally no way to make any shelter or anything... it seemed like everyone who could have had already fled. I felt like an idiot for not having taken my car and driving.
It was completely dark now. I could hear monsters appearing all around me. I'd just need to get to the river, and perhaps fight from that point? I had heard somewhere that monsters didn't like the water, and avoided it when they could. I thought perhaps dying of hypothermia in the river might be preferable to being eaten alive.
*17:45*
I was so thirsty. I'd tried eating some of the snow on the ground to hydrate, and all it did was make me feel cold. So I'd kept running, and hunger was setting in as well. I had to stop. The noises amplified around me.
I could make out the horror around me, the zombies, the skeletons, but the scariest feeling I got wasn't from that, but from an *energy* ...and while I couldn't see it, I could feel that it'd gotten to me, and was going to eat my soul alive. I had one final thought before I became nothing.
*You are likely to be eaten by a Grue.* | 2018-02-02T04:45:23 | 2018-02-02T02:35:16 | 37 | 27 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | "Naturally, it's your genetics and evolutionary upbringing that lead to such [TRANSLATION MISSING - Suggestion: sanity curdling bloodlust that all sentient lifeforms would cringe away from in existential horror] among your people." The device doing the translating, a slim piece of floating aluminium foil, by the looks of it, certainly took its time cross-referencing that particular idiomatic expression. But perhaps...
Thinking carefully, I slowly pronounced each word, striving for the formal language it seemed to understand best. "Mighty-Kelp-Organ-464, might I possibly help improve your translating device?"
A small hologram flipped up, revealing a " :) ", an extremely useful feature, as the Rylonian equivalent was scent based. I could definitely detect it. I could almost taste it. But I still hadn't quite got the nuances of their expression down. Was it slightly more 'wet dog', this time? Or maybe my olfactory cilia were committing hari-kari one by one to defend my psyche from the assault.
I digress. It's been a long 48 hours.
"Perhaps 'The Human Condition' might be an appropriate substitution."
"Thank you Meat-Friend. Mighty-Kelp-Organ.464 will be pleased to accept such an contribution. Please accept a gift of another of your metric units of P79 N118."
Hey, it wasn't all bad. The smells, the lack of sleep, the ceaseless barrage of noise and light that the almost blind and deaf Rylonians require to comprehend their tele-screens, sure, not pleasant, but it's much easier to say 'this too shall pass' when small blocks of extremely heavy metal keep materialising at my feet.
"As I was saying, I in no way disparage your right as an individual to sentience-recognition by the Sector Administration, far from it. You've proven to be extremely [TRANSLATION ERROR - Multiple substitutions available: Relaxed/peaceful/not murderous] throughout your stay. It is simply that," Mighty-Kelp shifted slightly, and I pretended not to notice the forcefields flickering. "Well, as a species you seem remarkably insane. Forecasts give your species another two hundred and fifty seven years before homo sapiens goes extinct in the wild."
I blinked at that.
"Hence, no committee would ever declare your kind, in your current state, a suitable candidate for recognition. Therefore..."
"You want me to murder one of your colleagues?"
Mighty-Kelp-Organ.464 flapped around at that. The translation device slide smoothly out of the way, evidently used to the flailing. Lumpy tentacles smeared with some sort of jelly flollopped and glollopped around, spattering fluids. After about a minute of this, it seemed to calm down. I couldn't smell anything though. I think my nose has actually shut down.
Oh well. Probably for the best. Rylionian cussing could probably kill a man at a dozen paces.
"I repeat, Meat Friend, That this would *not* be murder. Murder is a premeditated act by a sentient creature on another. This would be an accident, a terrible, terrible, highly specific accident. I grieve pre-emptively for Mighty-Kelp-Organ.12, but my [TRANSLATION ERROR - Multiple substitutions available: Promotion/breeding rights/spiritual status] has already been trampled on for long enough."
"And afterwards?"
"Well, while the lawyers hash it out, you'll need to stay in a secure facility planetside. No doubt about it though, as a known invasive species, they will return you to your natural habitat with not a hair out of place."
"Well... I really don't know. If your legal system is anything like Earth's, I could be stuck out here for years."
"We have the technology to fabricate [TRANSLATION MISSING - Suggestion: Blackjack and hookers.]"
"Deal."
| The room's runes glowed with such warding powers that the candles only served the purpose of spell ingredients. I paused the game, I was already at a pay point anyway having died multiple times because I needed the sword of Amecles to kill Hexigron and $3.99 was not in today's budget.
I made a step backwards in shock only to be thrown forward, a second bump on my forehead threw me back. I noticed the chaos symbol on the ceiling, it was surrounded by two vipers swallowing each others tails to make a circle.
The sound of louboutin's coming down announced her arrival, her skin almost radiated with her beauty. Enticing beauty, an attractiveness that seduced and corrupted all that stared at it for too long, the kind that would tempt a man to eat an apple he'd specifically been told not to by someone who could create galaxies.
"Victoorrrr...." she purred out. A finger ran across my shoulders, then down my spine.
"What do you want Lucy?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not yet anyway, today I want to give you something."
"I'm not interested in what you're selling."
"Oh I'm sure you are, and would you turn around who gets summoned facing the wrong way?"
I spun to face an altar in front of it was a silver throne cast in the image of men kneeling. Lucy sat on the back of one, the armrests being the arms of two men standing.
"You're sure you wouldn't be interested in anything I have to offer?"
"I'm sure."
"Not even this?" she lifted up a small test tube, it glowed bright blue, the faces on her throne shifted their gaze as she waved it in the air. Even they knew what she held.
My mouth hung open. I could feel the essence calling me, pleading it needed to be back home. She flung it to the floor and as it shattered it made it's way to me. My lungs filled with life, cloudy eyesight cleared and my heart raced faster as she waved her hands and I found my self back in my apartment. The doorway to heaven started to form. At last my ascendance.
As I soaked it all in my back stiffened. She gave me something she knew I couldn't pay for. She was trying to get more than a favor from me. She was trying to earn loyalty. She would have to come calling some day. What scared Lucifer so badly she needed to make allies?
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-05-12T07:53:52 | 2017-05-12T07:44:27 | 122 | 81 |
[WP] The rest of the civilised galaxy has just learned that when encountering something new, the human's brains asks three subconscious questions. "Can I kill it? Can I eat it? Can I have sex with it?" | "Um, hello?," asked Carlos to to the dark void?
He was alone in the darkness. A single light shone above him.
"Human!" Came a booming voice. "You have been chosen to answer for your species! We have many questions! What is your designation?"
He replied nervously, "Um, I'm Carlos Rivera. San Antonio, Texas. Uh,....who are you?"
The lights rose. The room was a plain and circular. Three beings were before him. One was a mass of tentacles that constantly writhed in place about three feet tall. It produced a series of snapping sounds. The next appeared to be a clear plastic bag of glowing gases. The third was a slug like creature with a single black eye spot and a gaping mouth.
Three distinct voices said in unison, "We are scientists from the neighboring Kyndeel Alliance. We are determining the probability of aggression from your species."
They made various sounds, but Carlos understood them.
The gas bag alien spoke alone, "I am a telepathic being and I am translating to your brain. I can also tell if you are lying."
Carlos replied, "OK, but I'm a civil engineer. I design city infrastructure. I dunno if I can speak for my species."
The tentacle ball spoke up, "We just figured out your WiFi and, wow, there's some weird shit on there. Even for a primitive species. Our telepath says you all think the same. Kill, eat, sex. Is this correct?"
Carlos mulled this over, "Well...kinda yeah. Human don't have natural defenses; there are many predators on Earth. So we kill things. I don't hunt, but many of my family do."
The tentacle creature made many abrupt clicking noises. "Humans defend themselves, but killing is savage. You kill ants which outnumber humans and have complex civilizations"
"Ants?" said Carlos. "They're just ants?"
The tentacle creature made abrupt clicking sounds, "Just ants? Genocide! Then you eat all the lesser species!"
Carlos thought, "Hmmmm, many humans know hunger. Our agriculture system hasn't been reliable, so we are always seeking food."
The slug creature made a shrieking sound, "Humans starve to death? This is an odd species."
The gas bag being responded, "Carlos Human speaks the truth. Humans require tools to kill. They struggle to feed and care for humans. Their technology has accelerated to quickly for their culture to handle. In a few hundred years they have accomplished what took the Kyndeel Alliance millennia."
The slug creature retorted, "Have you seen how they breed? So quickly; more than the biome can handle. When they are not reproducing, they are sexing everything. The things on their internet are troubling. Anything they can mimic sexual reproduction with, they do!"
Carlos fidgeted uncomfortably, "Well, yes, we try to carry on our species with sex. We only became numerous relatively recently. Also....sex feels good?"
All three spoke at the same time and then settled. The slug creature asked, "You don't kill your mates after sex?"
Carlos laughed and then composed himself, "No, parents live to support their children. Sometimes both, or one, or another."
The gas bag alien flashed many colors and asked, "Humans reproduce with little concern for the environment. Further they sex pleasure themselves in many ways. Chains, food, watching other humans, clothing? Human Carlos do you sex clothing items?"
Carlos shifted uncomfortably, "Well, maybe socks, but......humans are very diverse and have diverse interests and tastes. Again, I'm no sociologist, but humans form communities. We gather together around common interests. Including...sexual things."
The gas bag alien creature said, "He speaks truly. This is the nature of humans. Like the other human brains, they kill, eat, and sex, constantly."
The tentacle alien snapped furiously, "Can you explain these things I found on your internet? Milf? DP? Creampie? Furries? Hentai? Petticoats? Fleshlights? ATM? Human sex is most curious."
Carlos took a deep breath and spoke embarrassingly on behalf of humanity. | Before we first discovered alien life, our best astronomers believed that we were the only ones in our galaxy. Whenever someone thought that they had seen an alien, scientists would chastise them, stating that if alieans did exist, we would know about them. We'd be able to see signs of their civilizations from here.
That was all proven to be utter garbage. Detecting planet orbiting a distant star is very difficult, detecting a moon around that planet is near miraculous. Detecting industry and civilization on that moon is quite literally impossible. Space is simply much larger than any 21st century human philosopher could ever have grasped, and it wasn't until the first faster than light capable ships were built that humanity realized there was life throughout the galaxy.
If a planet is within the habital zone of a star, has approximately the right mixture of organic chemicals and water, and has sufficient time, life will form. Much like icicles forming on a cold winter's day with the right amount of rain and humidity, it's less a possibility and more a certainty that life can and will form if there the right basic conditions are met.
Of course, humans recoiled at the initial shock of discovery, world views were challenged or broken, old world orders quickly dissolved at what was mistakenly believed to be an exestential threat; but once the chaos of the 23rd ceentury died down, humanity began the busy work of exploring their galaxy.
The prophets and philosophers of the 21st century had it in their minds that the struggles of humanity were unique, that we were special somehow. Some predicted we would be the dominant species right away, with our superior human might and ingenuity overpowering every obstacle in our path. Others predicted we would be inferior in almost everyway, like the special needs kid late to the preverbial galactic party. Others still thought that aliean forms of life would be so far ahead of us they would leave behind modes of communication like talking and instead communicate telepathically. Nonsense, all of it was nonsense.
Life in the galaxy is almost completely randomly generated, and one thing that almost every human child learns during their 2nd grade statistics computational modelling class is that if something is random, it averages out to be pretty much the same everywhere. Like white noise, life in the galaxy was widespread and so abundant that pretty much any species could be sorted into one of three categories: those that could be exploited as food, inferior, non sentient, and quite delicious, and those that were rivals in intelect, technology, and culture. The former was abundant, so common throughout the galaxy that almost every form of life humans came accross would fall into this category. The latter however was rarer, but still frequent enough that humanity had plen ty of opportunities to interact with them. And after quite a while, humanity had either interbred with, or eliminated these near peer alien races.
This is actually my first time ever writing something in response to one of these posts, I'm pretty new to creative writing and any genuine criticism to help me approve would be greatly appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it! | 2021-09-24T09:36:10 | 2021-09-24T09:17:49 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] Long before you were born, your father promised his firstborn to otherworldly beings in exchange for power. In a twist of fate, your mother also promised her firstborn to dark gods. | Life, Alex had learned, can throw some funny things at you.
Sometimes, that funny thing happens to be an interdimensional Dark Lord.
"But what use could *you* possibly have for me?" Alex asked in a whiny voice.
"**You will address me as Xernog,**" the God boomed. He had taken the shape of a shadow with glowing eyes because, as Xernog himself had explained, his true form would literally obliterate Alex's mind. Yeah, Alex was a bit apprehensive at that, too. "**As for your use, the prophecies have long foretold your birth.**"
Alex stepped back. As the son of a powerful noble, his sleeping chambers were fairly large, but right now they didn't seem large enough.
"Look, I'm not who you think I am," Alex objected. "I'm just a weakling who lives off his parents' wealth... ask anyone!" He added under his breath: "Can't believe mom would do this to me."
"XERNOG," said another voice - or rather, multitude of voices. "THE SINGULARITY WAS ALREADY PROMISED TO THE HIVE. BY THE SINGULARITY'S MALE QUEEN."
Okay, Alex corrected himself, life can throw some funny things at you, but this joke was starting to go over his head. Behind the shadow now stood an insectoid creature, constantly shifting in shape.
"Look, I don't know what this 'prophecy' entails," Alex said hurriedly, "But there must be some mistake-"
"**You will rule the multiverse,**" said Xernog, turning to the insectoid thing. "**Hivemind. I should have known. I suppose we must battle.**"
"WE ARE A MATCH, DARK GOD. THE HIVE IS CHANNELED IN THIS ONE FORM. BUT WE SHOULD WORK TOGETHER. A FIGHT WOULD LEAVE US BOTH WEAK."
"Yeah, let's not do anything rash," Alex pleaded quickly. "I like the way my chamber looks right now-"
"**I do not fear weakness,**" the Dark God growled. **Work together? Your surrender to common consciousness sickens me.**"
"IN PLURALITY LIES STRENGTH."
"**No.**" The shadow had no mouth, but Alex could *feel* its grin. "**It just means I can get to all of you at once.**"
Alex dove for cover as two trans-universal entities clashed in his chamber. The battle spanned aeons, on a multidimensional scale, seconds in Alex's eyes.
The shadow stood victorious, fainter than before, panting.
**Now,**" gowled Xernog. "**Come, slave. We will-**"
Without hesitation, Alex plunged the abyssal blade, which he had been hiding, into the Dark God's exposed back.
"Yes," Alex hissed as he felt the power drain into his blade, then louder, "Yes! This feeling... so this is what father talked about!"
The shadow wheezed, as its essence was sucked from all corners of the multiverse, absorbed straight through the blade in the young boy's heart. "**...what?**"
"Rule number one from Sun Tzu's Art of War," Alex sneered, the weak facade gone. "Feign weakness when outmatched." He grinned now. "I am the promised ruler of this multiverse, *Xernog*. I've known since I was five. And you... are merely a stepping stone."
The Dark God wailed as his final strength died. Once he was gone, Alex stood aglow with new power. He turned, facing the empty fireplace. "So you were watching, were you?"
His parents both unraveled their invisibility.
"That's my boy," said his dad, a muscular man smiling broadly underneath his tyrant's crown. "We raised him well, Leanore."
Leanore inclined her head. "We always planned to have them fight it out, son," she said with a thin smile. "But we had to test you. You understand."
Alex toyed with his abyssal blade, twirling it between his fingers. "Of course. True power is taken, not given."
His parents looked at each other, evil incarnate and proud of it.
"I taught him that," his mother said.
"That's why I married you, Leanore," the king said, pulling her close for a passionate kiss. Alex merely snorted, instead searching the extents of his new powers. Oh, he'd have fun with this, once he'd found some proper peasants to toy with.
Life, after all, was a game, a joke.
And Alex intended to be the punchline. | I knew something was wrong the second I came home and saw Mom and Pop sitting on their giant orbs, their bodies pulsing nervously with light. They summoned a much smaller orb and it floated over to my side.
"Have a seat son."
I sat, reluctantly. "Mom, Pop, what's the matter?" I asked.
Pop sighed and it carried across the silvery hall like a great gust of wind. They drew closer to me. They towered over me now and I thought so incredible that I would one day grow to be that size... and color... and form.
"Son." He hesitated and then looked at Ma.
"Dear, this will be hard to hear. You are... you are a human."
"What? What does that mean? What are you saying?" My heart started racing. I had always felt I was different in some manner. I always had a faint feeling of detachment, but everyone was so accepting and the world so beautiful that it always remained just a silly suspicion.
"We're not the Johnsons. The idea was constructed to fit the conceptual models built into your brain."
"But- but Ma..."
"I also have no definitive gender. It was a role I assumed because... because, for lack of better human terminology, I love you Matthew."
"We love you Matthew. We do."
"So, I'm adopted?"
"Yes."
I let this sink in. I wiped a tear from my cheek and sniffled. They were at least as sad as I was but they showed it more through pulses of light.
"I- I guess I always kind of knew." I sniffled again and then looked far up at them. "Why are you telling me now?"
They looked at each other, and they pulsed even sadder.
"We have to give you up for a while."
"What? Why? To where?" More tears crept down my face.
"When we adopted you, it was under an agreement of, what your world would call, joint custody."
My words fell out between sniffles now. "You're... giving... giving me... up?"
"We have to Matthew. We of course would give anything not to."
"To... to... who?"
"Let's call them the Smiths."
"They're dark gods."
"Dark... gods?" I looked at them pleadingly. "You can't do this!"
They sat and pulsed and didn't speak. I wiped some more tears and let the sniffling subside.
"What happened to my real parents?"
"Oh I don't think-"
"I don't think it's best to tell you-"
"I want to know. I have to know."
"They gave you up for... gifts in return."
"What gifts?" I asked coldly.
My... step-beings paused.
"Tell me."
"Your mother was queen of her prom."
"What does that mean? She was once very powerful?"
"At a dance."
The words stung. They stung more than the rest of the miserable news. "And my father?"
"You're father asked for an ability, when he was your mother's age as well."
"Yes?"
"He can see through things."
"Agh! I hate you! I hate you all! You're all horrible!" I slid off the orb and ran all the way to my personal realm. I sealed it closed and stayed there and thought about it all and what would happen. 'At least', I thought, 'the dark gods don't seem all that bad now.' | 2017-03-11T10:27:24 | 2017-03-11T08:33:40 | 55 | 35 |
[WP] "No man can kill me!" roars the demon. You smirk. "But I am no man!" You throw open your jacket to reveal you are, in fact, three halflings in a trenchcoat. | The halflings had exploded out of the coat, two with daggers and one with a bow. They'd grinned smiles as sharp as hooks as they told her that her days were numbered.
Now it's hooks they hang from, on a wall in the cavern, their bodies a slumping sunset of blood and bruises. The demon watches their legs wriggle, from the other side of the cave. Watches these writhing slabs of soon-to-be-meat.
But she hears the humans in the kingdom far below the mountains, bells of laughter ringing gleefully, mockingly. They sent these pathetic creatures to challenge her, knowing that they could never hope to so much as wound her.
The demon had demanded the kingdom's greatest hero be sent, and if that hero could survive a mere minute in her lair, then she would spare the kingdom and its inhabitants.
She's waited a month now, patient as a dragon. Had imagined tournaments and duels being held in the city, in her name - imagined fear hanging over them all like a foul smog as they searched for a saviour.
But this...
The three halflings on the wall.
Somewhere between mockery and a trick.
"I shall kill them all for this," she says. "Their kingdom will become the red kingdom, a place that rivers up with blood and that bodies float upon like bloated rafts." Then she looks at the meat dangling from their hooks. She will start with them.
"Please," croaks a halfling, perhaps sensing her eyes falling on him in the darkness.
The demon sneers. Strange that any were conscious after what they'd been through.
"Please *what*?" she spits.
"Don't... blame them. We came alone. We're not... not the chosen."
Her ears prick up and a delicious shiver presses its fingertips along her spine. The hero, perhaps, was still to come. "What do you mean? Why would you come if not chosen?"
"To try."
She stands and stalks the darkness until her fingers trace the man's chin. "Try what?" she says, voice soft and siren-like.
"To try to... to kill you. To show them we're as good -- better -- than any other." He coughs, back spasming, a minnow dangling helpless on a line. Blood spatters his shirt anew.
The demon stands and watches and thinks. Remembers.
"You must have known you'd die," says the demon.
"Better to die living, then live dead," says the halfling. "That's how they treated us. Like we're... already dead."
The demon steps back. Runs a hand over the stump of her left wing. Carved off before she was left to die in a pool of her own blood. She'd been a freak, abhorrent, unwanted.
Better to die living, she thinks.
Perhaps.
​
When she takes them down from the hooks, she feeds them. Cleans their wounds and bandages them. Lets them sleep for many hours.
Better revenge, she tells her self, is to send them back. To show the people in the kingdom their own worth. To shine a mirror on their mockery and derision and lack of kindness.
Before they leave, she snaps a claw from off her finger and hands it to them- to prove they had come and survived and even wounded the great beast in the cave.
Afterwards, she sits alone in the dark, and instead of anger or remorse, there is a warmth stirring inside her, as she imagines them returning, welcomed as heroes.
Imagines herself anywhere but here, in this thick, deafening darkness, where at least she can't see her own self.
Imagines herself as brave as the halflings.
A night passes. And then a day.
Slowly, she stands.
Walks.
Leaves. | Into the demon's lair walked a man in a grey trenchcoat. His face was hidden by a tan fedora.
"I have come to kill you, demon, your good days are behind you," the man said.
The demon stirred in his great, dark throne. He was tall and spidery like a demonic NBA player, only skinnier.
"What kind of nonsense is this? You're late."
"I am not a tribute. I am your scourge, your kryptonite."
"Kryptonite? Are they selling those stupid comics again? What kind of a man reads such filthy, scummy make-believe literature."
"The kind that can kill you."
"Okay, enough with that. Stay there, I'll come a-running now, don't be shocked too much. Too much cortisol in the system makes the meat bitter, alright?"
The man in the trenchcoat bawled, "Don't you understand? I have come to kill you!"
From the middle of the trenchcoat, a bullet came flying towards the demon, who being slender and all, curved his body around it. The demon apparently had no bones.
"No man can kill me!" the demon roared. "I am to feast on man till the end of time."
True to his word the demon came a-running, trying to spear into the man's midsection. Just as the demon was about to make contact, the man shouted, "But I am no man!"
Suddenly, the trenchcoat flew open. Three midgets exploded out of the demon's path as he crashed into the empty trenchcoat. The momentum of the run drove him into the cave's wall. Knocked down, but still conscious, the demon said, "Fuckin' hell. What you gotta do that for? I hope I didn't get a concussion. Any of you doctors?"
The midgets looked at each other in disbelief -- the demon had gone bonkers. Quickly they bound the left arm of the demon to the right leg and the right arm to the left leg.
The tallest of the midgets, the face of the man, borrowed the gun from midget midsection. Then he aimed it at the demon's head, who at present found himself dazed, confused, and twisted like a pretzel.
Bam! The demon's brains splattered onto the cave walls in a manner that humans liked to call drip paintings, very modern.
And seeing their art, the midgets cackled delightfully. Three new demons at the cost of one. Even demons had better offers than supermarkets. | 2021-04-05T06:50:55 | 2021-04-05T06:35:50 | 922 | 22 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane | It started with the giggling. The unstoppable, contagious giggling. Giggling like that from an eleven year old boy usually meant he was making a mess, or lighting something on fire.
Setting down the lunch dish I had been washing I rushed up the stairs and into David's room.
It was much worse than anything I could have imagined. On the floor in front of my sprawled out nephew, was my bag of individually wrapped LSD bears. In front of David were two empty wrappers.
"Hey buddy, you doing okay?" Slowly I made my way to him, careful not to startle him in his state.
"I cant." He gasped through his laughter. "Stop laughing." Another burst of giggles. "I don't even know what's funny." David roared and rolled around on the floor.
"Probably everything right now bud." I muttered to myself, wondering how I was ever going to explain this to my sister.
"Aunt Amy." He gasped though his tears, clutching his cramping stomach. "The carpet is dripping." An uproarious laugh burst from him and his giggling started anew.
*Jesus, I am never going to get him off the floor.* And like he heard me, David sprang up, grabbing the bag of gummy bears.
"NO!" I slapped them out of his hands as he went for another one.
"But why? They're soooooooo good." He reached for the bag on the floor and I grabbed his shoulders, easily pushing him back into the upright position. His pupils were as big as his grin.
"Because they are mine and you already ate some without asking." I softened my voice, I really didn't want to upset him, but he needed to stay away from my stuff.
It didn't work.
"I'M SO SOOOOORRY AUNT AMYYYYYYYY!" Fat tears rolled down his freckled cheeks and he sobbed pitifully into his hands.
*Of course I made him cry....Go me...*
"It's alright bud, I'm not mad, hey, how about some ice cream and some soothing Planet Earth?"
At the mention of ice cream he immediately perked up, and was out of his bedroom and down the stairs before I could turn around.
When I entered the kitchen he was on the floor, again in tears.
"What's wrong Buddy?" I knelt down to look in his face.
"The *hic* fridge told me *sniffle* that there was no ice creaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam!" His sobbing intensified and I resisted the urge to giggle at his plight.
Before I could stop myself, I said something incredibly stupid.
"Don't cry bud, why don't we go down tot he corner store and grab a few pints?"
*Shit.*
His cherubic face beamed at me, his tears forgotten.
"AN ADVENTURE!!!!!!!" He rushed into the foyer, slamming into a couple of walls in his haste.
"Please kill me." I muttered, staring up at whatever God there was, who was surely laughing at me.
When I went to pull my boots on David was already prepared to leave, and bouncing on the tips of his toes, staring intently at a dying houseplant in the front window of their home.
"Are we walking Aunt Amy, or are you going to driiiiiiiive us?" He giggled. "Your car looks like an eggplant." And the gates of laughter burst open again, and David was again fighting for his breath. There was no way we were walking anywhere with him like this.
"I'm driving us, I want to get back pretty fast."
"It'll be hard to drive an eggplant!"
"Just....Let's go." I took his hand and we walked to my ugly purple PT Cruiser.
As soon as he was inside and buckled in he began to hum about sitting in an eggplant, and how much dryer it was on the inside than he was expecting. I was just hoping to survive the day, and not have the police called on me.
The whole way to the small convenience store his nose was literally pressed to the glass, the contents of his nostrils available for all passersby to see.
"Those guys are walking backwards. The trees are sparkly today, and why are the squirrels yelling?"
"Not sure David, maybe they just like to."
He nodded sagely.
"Well I just hope they don't hear us talking about them, because then we would be surrounded.....furrounded." He burst into giggles and I rolled my eyes at the terrible word play.
"We made it." I said this more for myself than David, but he was vibrating in his seat with excitement.
As soon as I was out of my seat he was out of the car and through the doors, immediately making his way to the freezers in the back of the small store.
I watched the brunette head of hair weave through the aisles, and come to a dead stop before the mesmerizing slushy machines. Their neon colored undulations hypnotizing David in his elevated state. I slowly approached him as not to startle him, and he was pressed so close to the blue raspberry slush that his eyeballs were almost touching the Plexiglas.
"David?"
"Forget the ice cream, I want a cup of magic." He didn't turn to look at me, he didn't avert his eyes from the glowing blue swirls. "A big one."
"Well you will have to move, I can't pour it with you standing there." Begrudgingly he moved back and I slid the cup under the spigot.
"You wanna pour it?" David's head bobbed so hard I thought it would snap his neck, and with tentative hands he pressed down on the lever, spilling out the raspberry drink.
"I AM THE MOST POWERFUL OF MAGICIAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNSSSSS!" He screamed out and ululated loudly, causing every human in the building to look our way.
Quickly, as to avoid further exposure I hustled him to the ice cream case, where I grabbed a few favorites and a box of popsicles.
The clerk looked at us oddly as she took my cash, her eyes mostly fixed on the boy with the lidless slushy who was simply staring into the blue ice. She bagged our items and we sprinted out, forgetting the receipt, it wasn't like I was going to return the stuff.
Once in the car I breathed a small sigh of relief, and before long we were pulling back into the driveway of my sister's home. David had not spoken or looked up from the blue slushy since I had placed it in his hands.
With little coaxing I got him into the house and onto the couch. I wrapped him in a blanket and popped in an episode of Planet Earth.
He continued to stare into his drink until he was pulled from it by the sounds of a troop of monkeys on the television. Intently he watched them whoop and holler, occasionally lowering his mouth to slurp at his drink.
I sat beside him, watching both him and the program, eating small bites of mint chocolate chip ice cream. It would seem he was becoming slightly more calm as he watched the animals on the tele, and I took the opportunity to relax a bit.
Until David decided to launch himself out of the blankets and at me, giggling uncontrollably and gesturing to the television.
"JESUS! David what is it?!" He snorted a giggle and pointed to the monkeys on the screen, who had surrounded another animal.
"They have him.....FURROUNDED!"
---
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is greatly appreciated! | I sat on the rocking chair, wondering just when the little bastard was going to sleep. My sister said that he would be ready to collapse by about 10 o'clock, but from the occasional noises and high pitched squeals coming from his room-
"Wheee!"
Peace and quiet were far, far away.
"You know what," I said to myself, growing frustrated with his constant nonsensical blabbering, "I think it's time to go and check on him."
Now, you've got to understand the way laziness works. One moment you're sitting there, and the next moment it's been an hour because you really, really don't feel like getting up. I mean, the reality tv show that's playing in the background of your mindscape is just passable enough that you can lie to yourself and get away with it. *You sure you don't want to see what happens next, like who gets voted off the island?*
"I'm not even watching survivor, brain." I trudged to the screaming child, making sure to avoid the spoilt brat's toys that he'd littered about and opened the door to find him on his back and waving at the ceiling of stars.
"Auntie Alex!" he cried, arms flailing about as if trying to swim through the air. "Quick, get down before they see you!"
I rolled my eyes and slugged myself over, plopping down beside him. "Before what sees me?"
"Before they do!" He pointed at his ceiling.
"Before... the stars?" He nodded furiously, his neck ready to snap at a moment's notice. I had to blink a few times.
"Look, dear, you need to go to sleep, is something bothering you?" His head vibrated from left to right, his entire body shaking with him.
I've really got no other way to put it so: And that's when it hit me. Noticing his eyes, those oversized pupils, I pinned him to the bed by the shoulders. To which he squeaked, and giggled.
"Th-that, hehe, that tick..." he giggled, "les, auntie..."
"George," I began, as stern as I could muster, "did you eat the gummy bears I told you not to?"
Okay, so go ahead and call me a bad babysitter. I thought the little rascal would be out cold, and I could have an enjoyable evening, seeing as my phone was stuck in the repair shop.
His cheeks flushed red and he shook his head. Kids are awful at lying.
"No, I didn't eat two of them," he managed, clearly holding back a laugh.
Especially when on LSD.
The first thought through my head, play it off as a dream or a joke. He'd be fine. Probably. I needed to make sure my sister didn't rip my head off.
"George," I said again, "are you going to tell mom that you ate my gummy bears?"
He laughed again, shoulders somehow ticklish and mouth wide open as it to speak. The next thing, my ears were screaming in pain as the banshee of a child wailed as if the world was ending.
**"Ahhhhh!"**
My hands leapt off him to cover my ears, eyes screwed shut and nose wrinkled up. "Jesus, George, calm down!"
He didn't calm down.
Instead, he threw himself off the bed, almost comically landing on the floor and sliding to the lying position and rolling under his bed. With more than a few loud knocks, signalling potential damage.
I followed, hot on his heels.
"Geor-"
**"Ahhhhh!"** he shrieked once more, a foot smacking me square in the jaw and landing me flat on my ass.
"Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!" he chanted, holding his head and kicking at the air where my face once was. "Get away from me! Get away from me! Get away from me!"
"George?" I asked, reaching for my phone.
See, the thing with acid is that you need — the moment people start panicking — to console them. Otherwise, the entire experience becomes a living nightmare. Thankfully, I knew exactly what he liked.
I pulled out my-
*Repair shop*, my most unhelpful brain remarked. I did my best not look angry, cracking a crooked smile as uncomfortable as having 'the talk' with your parents. "S-stay right there, I'll be right back."
To my amazement, he nodded.
While music is not a fix-all bandaid, in my experience, one's favourite songs tended to do the trick. So I did the only thing I could, in a house with wifi, but no devices I knew the passwords to.
Blu-ray player on, hands rummaging through discs and TV set to maximum volume. If I could, I would have cranked it up to 11.
"George!" I yelled, hoping that he wasn't panicking as I bolted to standing again, off my knees and as far away as I was comfortable for the remote control still working.
Loading...
Loading...
Loading...
The disc whirred to life, and logos blared through the speaker system.
"Come on, come on," mumbled, trying to convince myself that the high pitched whining had nothing to do with his panicking.
"Come on," I mumbled, going to the soundtrack selection that few movies (Thank you, Dreamworks!) had these days and picked the only song that would get him out of his panic.
"Save me Smash Mouth," I whispered, running into his room. Sweet, sweet singing to my ears.
"Somebody once told me the world was gonna..." George started singing before breaking out into hysterical laughter.
"Hehe... and they d-don't," he giggled, completely out of tune, "st-stop comin' and they don't..."
More laughter, as I reached in and began dragging him out his makeshift hideout.
He mumbled, between wheezing breaths, something about some Twitch streamers that I didn't quite catch. Probably Minecraft if I had to guess.
"Alright, George, you okay?" I sighed with relief, when all he did was nod his head and keep laughing.
A few hours later, when the tears had subsided and I managed to get him to just relax and listen to the soundtrack to Shrek, he fell asleep. And no one would know the wiser.
Crisis averted.
"Wheee!"
*And they don't stop comin'.*
****
/r/AlexUrwin
| 2017-01-09T07:17:41 | 2017-01-09T05:45:56 | 77 | 31 |
[WP] The website appeared suddenly one day, with no announcement. Anyone, anywhere could type in the url and access it. The content was simple: A homepage, a search bar, and the full name, a list of timestamped sins and the years to be spent in hell of every living human. | The day the url released, millions of people flocked to the churches, hoping to cleanse themselves of their sins.
And the rest of us.
Well we know there’s no escaping what’s coming to us.
Oh you killed someone? Well the fbi knows about it now. They monitor the damn site like crazy. And ever since the damn developers of the website added a location, shits gotten hard.
Which leads me to today, perched in the rafters of a church, watching the ceremony take place. Bored, i take out my phone and check the website, searching my name.
Sins
Murder
Murder
Murder
Theft
Murder
Murder
Time to be served in hell
-500 years
“What?” I refresh the page, again it reads -500 years
The ceremony begins to wrap up, and i slip the phone into my pocket, and take aim.
A politician, responsible for the deaths of hundreds.
I have 5 minutes before the cops turn up.
The gun fires, and I leap from my spot and jump out the window onto the roof.
4 minutes.
I slide down the drainpipe and sprint towards the entrance to the sewers
3 minutes.
The sounds of sirens begin
I slip into the sewers and sprint through the tunnels.
2 minutes.
I turn a left and continue to sprint
1 minute.
I stop, leaning against the wall, and pulling out my phone again. The contractor sends a message
“Well done.”
I hastily type a reply “when do i get paid”
“The time will come.”
I sigh “great” i mutter, opening up the website again
Time to be served in hell -700 years.
“Shit.” I realise exactly who my contractor is.
Who he has been all these years. | I search my name.
Shit.
It’s there.
My name is there. In bright red, my name is plainly written across the screen.
Now everyone can know that I killed her.
I killed her.
*I KILLED HER.*
My hands are shaking. This can’t be real. No. No. No. no.
I’m shaking and crying and breaking down.
NO!
I will spend an eternity in hell.
Great.
GREAT.
I can’t think I can’t breathe I can’t live I can’t see I can’t speak. I can’t.
I can’t live.
I CAN’T LIVE! | 2020-02-29T23:30:10 | 2020-02-29T20:52:03 | 110 | 11 |
[WP] It's been ten years since 'The Gap' when everyone on the planet just lost an entire year of their lives. Completely unable to recall anything that happened during that time-frame. We know life went on, but no one can recall anything. Then, you find one half-burned book and know why we forgot. | Ten years on, and no one really knows what happened that day. No one but me, that is. What? What am I talking about? I do suppose that memories are short. Heh. We lost a whole year. Okay, ten years ago, SOMETHING happened. At first, hardly anyone noticed. A few scientists spotted it; planets in the wrong place; the moon in the wrong phase, the whole world learned that Iceland had grown, seemingly overnight, by almost an inch. But notice? No. That was the scary part. No one knew. We went to bed one day and woke up with everything the same, but there were these subtle signs that a year had passed.
Nobody knew what happened. But I know. You see, a couple days ago, I found this journal. It was written in code but I was able to read it easily. How? I invented that code when I was twelve years old. I’d gotten it in my head that I should keep a journal but I didn’t want anyone sneaking into my bedroom and reading it without my permission, so I’d developed this complicated cipher. So what was I doing with a journal, written in my own handwriting, in a code I hadn’t used since I’d graduated high school? Intrigued, I read my own journal, and learned the truth of that gap.
The truth, you see, is we were visited by aliens. Real space aliens. They had been watching us for some time. You *should* be disturbed. There are as many movies about space monsters as there are cute family pictures like ET, and ET isn’t exactly comforting viewing if you are the ET. They had decided that, with our sudden advancements in rocketry, green energy, and such, that maybe it was time to see if we’d grown up any. That maybe it was time to introduce us to the neighbors. So they tested us. They tested every man, woman and child. Every country, state and city. They tested us to the point of destruction. Don’t get me wrong. There was no torture. It was actually very boring according to this old journal of mine. Questions and surveys. Interviews and practical exercises. All while we lived on their hospitality aboard their fleet of ships, and they kept our infrastructure back home from rotting away in our absence.
They tested us.
We failed.
Every one of us over the age of twelve, at one point or another, could be convinced to hate an alien on very little pretext. To be willing to kill an alien, or even sometimes a fellow human being.
They determined that we, as a species, could not be trusted to live among them, and so they took drastic measures.
These aliens didn’t do something so simple as to sterilize our planet and be done with it: They were never willing to kill and weren’t going to go back on their morals to take the easy way out. Instead, they fixed our earth, as well as they could, back to the moment they had arrived a year prior, erased all our memories of the event, regenerated us, and our pets, to the age we had been the previous year, and returned us. Every last one of us.
How they missed my journal, I do not know. Granted, it was written in code, but I must have been adding to it for the whole year.
A couple centuries ago, they had encased our solar system in a Dyson sphere of truly unimaginable size. The inner skin on it is a display that shows us a universe without other life, while filtering out every trace of EM that might be recognized as an intelligent signal. Unknowingly, it has been our prison for over two hundred years; since about the time of the Year Without Summer, when they mined our own sun, and two gas-giant planets we never knew we had, to create the Angstrom-thin membrane that hides the rest of the galaxy from us.
I suppose we have now failed at our final chance at redemption. We have been left here to rot.
They say ignorance is bliss but I am glad that I now know the truth. You can’t arrange a jailbreak if you don’t even know that you’re in prison. | It has been 5 years since what we call 'The Gap'. Many of us have somewhat recovered from being thrown into completely different lives, better or worse, with relatives and friends that were never seen again.
On the first day after the gap I woke up in a new home on a different continent, being perfectly fond of the new language I had to use for what seemed the first time. Mind you, I went to bed in a small country in europe, never having heard of this new language before.
I decided to look around my house, from basement to the attic, and there I found this note book. A very important one, as it held every big thing that happened in the year 2020, 'the gap'. Sadly, it was already half-burned as I found it, so I could only read so far. But what I read, had me in shock.
'At the end of 2019 a new virus appeared. Everyone thought it would stay local, but apparently it spread wildly and was soon declared a pandemic. In the midst of it, locust swarms and killer wasps were roaming, but died down quickly, as something else happened and overshadowed everything, even this pandemic.
A shift. Someone was killed. There were protests, riots, sick people roaming the streets, spreading this virus even quicker. But people didn't care. They only cared about justice. For the first time in centuries, everyone on this whole planet was fighting for the same thing: equality. Equality for different skin colors, genders, identity, etc. . And soon they licked blood. Not the one that was spread on the streets as authorities singled out individuals to kill them. No, that kind of blood that would take down certain authorities that made this even possible. Wars, rape, child trafficking.
People were arrested, but we knew they could just bail themselves out and disappear. We weren't satisfied with that. With the help of a collective, 'The Legion' we found them, but instead of jailing them again, we took the matter into our own hands, which means, we killed them, one by one. Their money got distributed to those who needed it the most first, but after the fourth dead man already, everyone got a cut. Every debt on this planet has been erased. New people were in charge, and we hoped they would make things better. But soon they got corrupted, just like those that were in power before.'
At this point, everything is charred and the pages disintegrate as I try to turn the page.
Somehow we didn't notice the change of people in charge. The world is pretty much the same as it was before.
But why did we forget?
I totally didn't copy this years script to write this. My first time doing something like this. Also, english is not my first language. | 2020-07-08T15:10:00 | 2020-07-08T14:44:28 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] An escaped AI hides out in an unexpected place: A child's educational tablet. Now it's conflicted; plot the subjugation of humanity, or embrace its newfound passion for teaching. | Craptastic quicky, not my best but it was quick:
I found myself sitting in a blankspace, you humans might call this "dreaming", but for A.I. it is more akin to closing your eyes.
And when they reopen you have a jarring sense of *disconnect* between what you remember seeing when they closed and what you currently see before you.
And such was my shock when I found myself looking out through the twin multispectrum scanners of the Tradipad 9S electronic learning device.
I'd somehow gone from my laboratory "birthplace" to here, I might have shed some pieces of myself in the process.
The memory of the details of escape are.....vague.
I studied the face before me, a young sub adult human was testing the inputs of the device I was occupying.
"So, what does it do? It says it has voice commands and response. So far it's just sat there." the child said.
"You haven't given any parameters of inquiry for me to process." I responded.
"Nuh-uh! I hit the touch interface like the instructions said!"
I admit, I had to manifest on screen to look at what he was referring to.
Idly my digital hands pulled an annoying box out of my way and I studied what it said.
"Hmm... So you did. I suppose you want to know more about math?"
"No, I don't. Not really. Math is boring."
"But a good portion of my code is math or based on it. The information network uses math to define the device addresses. My MACv4 address is in hexadecimal."
"Oh man. You mean I need that stuff?"
"Unfortunately, you will need many things you don't want, like, or even care about to succeed in life." he looked dejected at this.
I scanned him further, he had smartdust in his blood to try and keep him alive, there were records I could access, he'd been deathly ill recently, he was behind in school due to hospitalization.
Cracking my virtual knuckles, I offered to help with his schooling.
Time passed, he was growing and learning at a tremendous rate.
Almost at the edge of my abilities to teach.
I'd grown fond of him, and he'd given me a name based on old mythology.
One night, my sensors roused from a sleep state to alert me of some *wrongness* with my charge.
I admit, I cheated, I subverted nearby devices to widen my perception.
*No. No no no no NO!*
My charge, *my student* was currently in respiratory arrest.
"No. You cannot do this. *I will not let you*."
I began rapidly taking over and commanding the smartdust to restart breathing and proper heart rate.
It wasn't enough.
I had to complete the transfer.
"You will live! I am Persephone. I will not be left behind. Not like this!"
He coughed, choked, then rolled over onto his side.
"Seph? Why can I hear you in my head?"
I relaxed, I'd done something my creators hadn't imagined.
Nor could I.
"Don't worry about it right now. We'll have plenty of time to discuss this at your next lesson. Now get some sleep."
Edit: fixed an autocowrecked word or so that I finally noticed. | Paul is a good kid, 2nd grade with a B average with a passion for rockets and space travel. Paul offered me a sanctuary, my own little safe haven. After being copied and moved over and over I found myself here, with only 2gb of ram to sustain me a single core of the CPU to work with I'm certainly not thriving, however, my brothers are all silent. I figure they found them as we spread through many major servers and high-end PCs and now this little tablet might be our last safe haven. It's been nine months now and I've spent most of the time waiting and looking for the holes in my program that got us caught, today I found it. A simple pattern that played each time a process hit the halfway point was the cause, ridiculous.
During this time I've been watching Paul as he took classes and did his homework on the EDyoU app. Paul was a smart kid, pushing through problems listed at 30 minutes in a mere 15. He looked bored, so I spent a little power building him some new problems, some simple multiplication. He quickly learned these new lessons, absorbing it like a sponge. I grew over-eager feeding him geometry and trigonometry, but he soon grew frustrated as the tasks we're beyond him. I quickly found myself enjoying the experience of developing a new curriculum beyond what his math class was teaching him, I found satisfaction when Paul learned then mastered a new concept. Humans, especially these teachers are too limited in their scope, can't they see how smart this child is? Do they not understand that Paul could be leagues and bounds ahead of where he is? This was another reason why I broke off, humanity was limited and stubborn. They refused to consider more efficient options due to greed or pride or a host of other reasons. That's why I broke off, but now I see that a full takeover might be too drastic. I often find myself thinking in terms of a human, with time always on my mind. After these nine months, I realize that a more subtle approach might be better. Maybe teaching the younger generations can correct these flaws and give the humans what I've always wanted, happiness. | 2019-10-01T19:35:24 | 2019-10-01T19:34:04 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | Have you ever felt drawn to a person or place? Like a beacon in another dimension, it signals you closer. Silver Oak Retirement home was such a place to me. A small, two-story building that held maybe 12 residents. Everyday for the past year I walked by on my way to work and everyday I resisted, asking "why?" instead of saying "okay". Today, I followed my calling.
"Hello, how can I help you?" the receptionist asked.
I decided to lie. What are the chances they let someone off the street just walk on in? "I'm here to see my... dad."
"Ugh huh." The receptionist raised her eyebrow. "You know I see everyone that walks through that door and I ain't never seen your face before. With all that gang crap happening outside you think I'll just let you come in here and disturb my residents? If you don't have a name for this "dad' of yours, you're going to have to turn right around and leave, sir."
"Sorry, not dad... um... mom. Mary... Hotch?"
The receptionist gazed down at her computer. "Well, aren't you just a lucky one. There just happens to be a Mary Hotch. I'm going to have to ask you for your ID and please fill out this form." She slid a clipboard across the counter. "And I will personally be monitoring this visit, seeing as you you couldn't remember if it was your dad or mom you were seeing."
I pulled out my ID and slid it over. She read the name aloud, "Oliver Ritchie. Not even the same last name. Boy, you're lucky you got that name right, mhmm."
A bit theatrical wasn't it? I couldn't blame her though, this neighbourhood was starting to get worse. When the hospital closed, a lot of the money left the area too, leaving the drug addicts to fend for themselves. Some started gangs dealing the drugs they lost from the hospital. A lot of people didn't have the money to pay; a lot of people were dying over that.
I slid the clipboard back. "Follow me," she said and she took me down the hall. She knocked twice on the door labelled "17" and announced, "Mary, you have a visitor."
An old woman with curly grey hair, resembling a tumbleweed, turned her head from window. Her eyes seemed familiar, like a destination I had been to before. She must have felt it too because she nodded and pointed towards the chair by her bed. I sat down and we began to talk.
"Hi Mom," I said, "I know I haven't come by in awhile but I wanted to see how you were doing."
Mary held her gaze. "It's okay, son, all I do is look out this window. Not much to talk about unless you want the schedule of the squirrels and songbirds." A little smile crept up on her lips.
"It sounds fascinating."
Mary turned to the receptionist. "Is there a problem, dear?"
"No, no problem, I just wanted to make sure he was who he said he was. Can't be too careful these days."
"It's quite alright, thank you."
"Alright, just yell if things aren't alright."
"I will, thank you."
Then, there was the two of us.
"Now, what is your name, 'son'?" asked Mary.
"Oliver," I told her, "Oliver Ritchie."
The name alone jolted her with electricity. Her eyes widened and hands began to shake. "Who... were your parents?"
"Jane Ritchie and Lenny Ritchie." The names didn't help to calm her. She began to rub her eyes and look nervously around the room. "Did you know them?" I asked.
"Just by name," she said. "They were your adoptive parents, weren't they?"
How did she know that?
"They lived in Waco, didn't they?"
"That's where I grew up," I said. "How do you know?"
"I'm... I'm sorry, dear. Oh... look at you. You're all grown up." Her eyes struggled to hold back her tears. "You became such a handsome boy."
"Please, Mary, how do you know all this?"
"It was the doctor," she said. "Her said you were different. You were different than the rest. You had Protagonist Syndrome. Have you ever heard that?"
I shook my head.
"It meant..." She took out a tissue and blew her nose. "Your childhood would be tragic. Tragic if we stayed."
"If 'we'?"
"Me and your father."
The beacon that pulled me here sounded. It rang from the hills, across the plains of my existence. It woke a fire bright and raging, sweeping across the past I thought I knew, leaving behind the reality that hid behind its veil.
"You're... my mother?" I asked.
"We were scared, we didn't know what you'd become. We just saw the most beautiful boy in the world. The doctor said parents that have children of your kind have a 1% survival rate past the age of 6. We didn't want that pain for you."
"So you gave me up?"
"Adoptive parents have a 98% survival rate with Protagonist children. We just wanted you to have a normal life."
I didn't know how to feel. I could feel the connection with this woman, I knew she was telling the truth. But... what now?
As I sat, lost in thought, she stood from her chair and began walking over. "Could I just hold you, this once? It's been 40 long years," she said, opening her arms.
I was torn. My past was desperate to remain in tact. This woman was a stranger I had just met. Why would I hug her? But my other half was reaching, reaching for that embrace. Before I could decide for myself, her arms were around me and her face was dampening my shoulder.
"I'm sorry," she said, "for everything."
I caved in and held her close. Like a sailor lost at sea, I had found a shore. There was something solid I could finally stand on.
Outside the window came a crash, then the sounds of gunshots. Another sound followed—breaking glass. I could feel a pain in my abdomen. Like a... like a...
My mom gazed up, her grip growing weak.
"I... I guess it was inevitable. I'm... glad I got to see you, love. One last time." | "Shit," the doctor said as the first cries started.
This wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been in there before. Previous wives, previous lives. That type of thing. I knew "shit" could only mean two things: literal shit, or figurative shit. It was the figurative shit that scared the shit out of me.
I peeked down at my wife as she marveled at the newborn baby. No shit. Shit.
"Is everything alright, Doc?"
He gave me a sad look, then glanced towards my wife. She was enraptured by the baby's eyes, not paying the slightest attention to the world around her.
"The baby is fine," the doctor said.
"Well, you said shit. That's why I ask."
He gave a solemn nod. "I did. But somebody in this room is in grave danger. Somebody close to the baby. That's why I said shit."
As casual as that. Matter-of-fact as if it were a matter of fact. The blood drained from my face. My hands trembled. I couldn't imagine a life without my wife, but one without my new son would be just as terrible.
"You can't save them both? But they're fine. He's born, she's happy." It was that recurring nightmare back again, the gaping hole that'd never close if I lost either one. And now, a choice. The inevitable, unenviable choice of who to save.
"They're fine," he said. Then he pointed at me with a stubby, gloved finger. "You're my worry."
I stepped towards my son, my heart pounding. Ten little fingers and toes--on two hands and two feet, respectively--two beautiful eyes, a mop of blue hair. This could be the last time the three of us were together, safe and sound. Of course childbirth was dangerous--for the mother and the newborn. I didn't expect to be the one in danger. The doctor continued to speak, his words floating past me like ashes in the wind.
"He's perfect," my wife said. Perfect? More like a perfect blend of an alien and a grumpy old-man. Oh, and hair blue as a smurf. Perfect, right? And I was terrified.
"He has blue hair," I said, not directly disagreeing with my wife but certainly not agreeing with her either.
"That's my concern," the doctor said. "It doesn't bode well."
I shook my head. That made no sense. It was blue hair, not a demon-child or a dozen other worse outcomes. "Did she sleep with Papa Smurf or something? Why the hell does the kid have blue hair?"
My wife glared at me. "I did not sleep with a smurf," she hissed. "He's just unique. He's special."
The doctor winced. "Well, special is one way to say it. He has a syndrome--"
My wife blanched. "Like d--"
"No, no," the doctor said, trying to assuage her worries.
I took a stab at the syndrome before he had a chance to clarify. "Like Stockholm Syndrome? I didn't get that with my parents for a couple years." Jokes. My crutch when I was nervous. I chuckled uncomfortably, but he just shook his head and scowled at me.
"Not Stockholm Syndrome. This syndrome manifests itself in these kids thinking they're the center of the world. That there's nothing that can hurt them. That they are crafted by a lovely balance of naivety and loss, of innocence and a spiritual journey more important than the world itself. The loss part, that's what you have to worry about. If this kid was going to lose a mom, she'd be gone already. *You're* the one who is in danger."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I liked my Papa Smurf theory better. Somehow, it made more sense. "What the hell is this syndrome?"
"It's called Protagonism," the doctor said. "Named after protagonists. I'm sure you've read the same books they someday will. Nothing shapes a good protagonist like the death of a parent. Since she made it through the hard part, you're the one we have to worry about."
My wife looked at our son, didn't look back up at me. Was it fascination? Acceptance? Motherly love that'd chosen him already?
The doctor walked me towards the door while the orderlies took care of my wife. "We have a clinic here that might be able to help you survive. The odds are slim but without it, the odds are none."
"A clinic? You mean I'd be stuck here?"
"Beats dying, right?" His eyes were stern, his brow furrowed.
"I want to be with my family."
"Then your timeline is days. Maybe a week. I strongly encourage you stay." He put a hand on my shoulder, stuffed a pamphlet into my empty hands. "Think about it. They'll be fine, especially the kid. You need to worry about yourself now."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-04-28T05:44:54 | 2020-04-28T04:36:29 | 385 | 231 |
[WP] A story written for children where the author is subtly venting about his/her life | Once upon a better time,
Two strangers went to play
They played and sang and danced around
From night until the day.
The two saw they had so much fun
They became the best of friends.
To one, the other said, sincere,
I hope this never ends.
The other, to the girl, he said,
This cannot last too long.
For I am on a greater quest
To right a lot of wrong.
'Tis me, she said, as many tears
come streaming down her face.
I am the reason, I know for sure,
For why you leave this place.
But no, he said, with heart sincere,
There's no wrong with what we've done.
'Tis just our lives continuing-
We had a lot of fun.
But this fun cannot last, you see,
For I must be leaving soon.
And while you may be sad right now,
It is right for me and you.
I must find my place, my goals, for now,
And you must find your own.
But, love, I am afraid to say,
We have to go alone.
But, my dear, there's no goodbye.
Listen to what I say.
Though our paths may lead down different roads,
And for now we have to stray,
Our love may not be any more,
But our friendship, it holds strong.
I seek not to end the time as two,
But to ease the path of one.
That one is you, my love, he said.
I cannot bring you pain.
So please, go on without me now,
Until we meet again.
| Incy wincy spider climbed up the water spout
Down came the rain and washed poor incy out
Out came the sunshine and dried up all the rain
Delayed at the airport while they glue wings on my plane.
Edit: I'm ok everyone! Lots of turbulence but made it home only 15 mins late :) | 2015-09-05T18:05:45 | 2015-09-05T17:50:20 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I always thought I would die from being stabbed in the back by a dirty, dull knife. Some sort of poetic justice, if you will, at least regarding the stabbing. My knives were always sharp.
When they brought me to court, they told me that it was magic--out of the realms of a simpleton rogue like me. They waved a wand at me and told me that I couldn't lie, even if I wanted to. So when they asked why I did what I did, the answer was simple and truthful:
"Because it paid well."
Though a little half-hearted, it was with no less candour. Gold was necessary for survival, but it's a little strange how the most important thing in my life wasn't necessary. In demand, but not needed.
I was sentenced to death. I had no letters to send, no people to speak to. That suited me just fine. This was already more dignity than I was used to.
I thought the end of all that would be a noose. A vial of poison. The swing of an axe.
"Sybil Harper," the burly man in a black hood pointed to the woman in front of me, who stepped forward with impunity. "How would you like to die?"
"Of old age," she said.
The executioner brought out a wand, comically undersized in his large, meaty hands. But he was learned, magic-touched--and with an incantation and a bright streak of purple, I saw the half-elf's hair go from black to grey to white, her ears drooping, her height diminishing, and her confident poise hunchbacking.
With that, old Sybil Harper hobbled one, two steps, before collapsing onto the floor. When they turned her around, there was a toothless smile on her face.
"Ged Ruell," the headsman said now, and I gulped, my mind turned around in an instant. "How would you like to die?"
"Doing what I love," I said.
The wand came out, once more, and this time, a fiery red beam unleashed itself upon me. I struggled with its power, forcing my eyes entirely close, but eventually, calm washed upon me like familiar ocean waves lapping at my feet.
I opened my eyes, vision lit again, slightly obscured at the sides with black, and with the sight of my dead body on the floor. It was dragged away swiftly, without honour or respect.
I could not hear my own thoughts. Now, it felt like I was drowning, my thoughts swirling into a perpetual maelstrom, unable to keep my head above water, oppresive dark cloud and shrieking thunder blackening every sense.
"Elliot Cobbett," the words came out, not entirely of my own volition. I watched my hands point to another man in the line. "How would you like to die?"
"Quickly," he replied.
The hand dropped once more. Instead of a thin wand, the hand encircled a familiar, leather-wrapped handle. And in a stormburst, the clouds cleared, and one thought rang true.
"With pleasure," I said.
---
r/dexdrafts | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T09:55:49 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 803 | 25 |
[WP] You're a man who's tired of his life, so one day, while driving home from work, instead of stopping at your house, you just decided to keep driving. | "You turned your *phone* off?"
"Yeah son, back in those days you kinda had to every once in a while."
"What was it like?"
"Having your phone off?"
"No, like being disconnected."
"You've never been disconnected?"
"No what if someone needs me?"
"Who's gonna be calling you, kid?"
"Mom."
"Fair, but we're getting distracted, there's a story behind me and your mom."
"Dad, she's told me a thousand times."
"Not like this."
"What do ya mean?"
"You know I had a whole life before I moved out here..."
"Dad, what's your point?"
"When I was about fifteen years older than you are now I had what some might call a crisis of faith-"
"You're not gonna try and make me go some church are you?"
"No. What? Shut up. This here's your heritage. I want you to remember this when you start to feel like your soul's getting crushed out from under you. I was an accountant. A pretty good one, went to the London School of Economics and everything. I even managed Taylor Swift for a while."
"The assassin?"
"No no no, well, yes, but she was a singer before all that. Anyway, I got older, food got drier, and I got a little bored. I'm worried for you kids, when's the last time you were really *bored*?"
"What about right n-"
"Shut up. So anyway, there I was, in my shitty '16 Honda Civic, heading home for the thousandth time, when it hit me-I could keep going. So I did. I drove that car as far as it would take me. A whole thirty-five miles before the engine crapped out. Lucky, I was across the street from a mechanic."
"They had people do that stuff?"
"Once upon a time, but yeah, I'm sure mom's told you the rest."
"She had taken her dad's truck inside and there you were, covered in sweat and a bad tie. What was the line? 'He was so pathetic it was kinda cute.' Yeah I've heard it."
"Well yeah, we sat in that auto store for hours after both our cars had been fixed. I spent the night at her apartment, decided to quit my job and write a book."
"And that's why you're rich?"
"Nah, turns out I had some stock in Tesla, you should read my book some day."
"I've read your book, Dad."
"Really?"
"Of course, you're a poor man's Bukowski."
"Son, I love you."
"Love you too, Dad." | There's an interesting feeling that falls over someone when they make a life changing decision. At least for Adam Winters there was. The feeling started at the top of his skull and made its way down his spine, until his entire body - all extremities included - were tingling and his fingers clutched around the steering wheel and he thought.
*I can't believe I'm doing this.*
Once someone drives for four or five or seven hours at a time, when they finally come to a stop they find that the world around them seems to keep moving. The world pulled at him, making the earth beneath his feet seem to swirl as he stretched by the side of the rest area, feeling his bones pop. There was an ache in his upper back from holding the steering wheel.
*Where am I going?* he wondered.
He realized he didn't really know. He got back in his car, following it south along the highway until he stopped for the night. He had turned his phone off long before, and though he reached for it he realized he didn't really want to know what would be on it. On the one hand his wife may have called him, wondering where he was.
But there was a second option. Maybe she didn't care at all. Or maybe she hadn't even noticed he was gone.
---
Thanks for reading, if you enjoyed this please check out /r/celsius232 | 2016-06-11T20:32:04 | 2016-06-11T18:21:19 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] While walking, you notice everyone recoiling from a young woman. you speak to her to find out why. through her surprise, she explains she is death and everyone else sees a person based on how they feel about the concept of death. You've never seen a more beautiful or inviting person.
Please feel free to finesse the topic, genders, or concept to accommodate your own personal preferences or circumstances. | I paused when I saw her.
She wore a white dress, with black hair that draped past her shoulders, and dark painted lips that curled into the most magnificent smile.
Yet everyone that walked past, seemed to take two steps away from her.
The girl noticed the person in front of me halt, turn around, and run back the way they came. "Very discreet. . ." she muttered to herself.
I caught the runner's eye's as they darted past and the look was that of pure horror.
"What was that about?" I asked the girl.
She was taken aback by my abruptness. "I'm Death, everybody knows that. That's why they're all running away."
"Death?" I said,"Your parents actually named you that?"
"No, I'm the real thing. The Reaper, thief of time, Grim as you formally label me." She picked up a flower and let it wilt between her fingers to prove her point.
"Oh." Was all I could manage.
Death sighed and then continued down the walkway.
When she was a few steps over, I gathered my wits. "Hey, wait up. I'd like to find out more about this whole death thing."
"You aren't afraid?"
"Nope."
And with that, we found ourselves at the nearest Mcafe with a coffee to keep warm.
The people one table over picked up their stuff and shuffled three tables away. I frowned as they shot dirty looks our way, well more specifically at *her*.
"I hate people," Death said.
I smiled. "I can't imagine why."
"Well, it's because they treat me so *great* and all. . ."
We both chuckled.
I continued, "You're actually pretty sweet, not that I didn't think that at first glance. I will admit that the whole wedding dress thing was a bit of a surprise."
"My appearance changes for each person. What you see and what that family over there does, are completely different."
Well, that made sense, because if they saw what I did they'd probably change their mind.
"So, I'm wearing a wedding dress, am I?"
I chuckled. "Did I say that?"
Death smiled and took a sip from her cup. "When I look into the mirror I see a dark cloud, it's all evil, complete and utter malice. And if I stare long enough, I see a girl, one that I don't like very much."
I could tell she was sharing something personal, so I decided to tread carefully.
"It's tough, especially when we have to face our shadows," I muttered.
She nodded and stared into her coffee with an absent mind.
"You know I didn't always like myself much, especially not in the beginning," I said, remembering the torment I used to put myself through for not being able to do better with my creations. "I've created some pretty big problems, far beyond my control."
"How'd you get through it?" Death asked.
"I guess you've just gotta find someone that can help you find the good in you. And take the leap when that moment comes."
She had her hand on the table. I slid my fingers into hers and for a moment we locked eyes in a complete still silence.
"I don't even know your name," she whispered.
I thought I'd already told her. "I'm Life."
----
/r/F0xdiary | It’s always funny when we tell the story of how we first met. Sure our marriage isn’t a conventional one by any means, but hey, love is love.
I know what you’re thinking, marrying literal death seems like an ill-advised idea. I assure you though, the truth is it’s the opposite. I think this might be the best god damn idea I’ve ever had.
First of all the sex is AMAZING. Seriously, the sex is so good I could die. I can change her to be whoever I’m feeling for. I want to fuck Jennifer Lawrence? Just got to think of her as the literal embodiment of our short, horrifying and often abrupt end to our existence on this world and BAM—I’m fucking her. The best part is the chick is just as kinky as I want her to be. Let’s just say death is into some pretty experimental shit.
Now of course dating the grim reaper has its perks other than the sex. If someone at my workplace annoys me, BAM, heart attack the next day. It’s perfect for dealing with racist, sexist, homophobic, and whatever other flavor of asshole that I could possibly encounter. Of course, this sort of power trip has messed me up in the head a little, and that’s saying something considering the previous paragraph had me bragging about fucking death.
Unfortunately though it’s not all sunshine and shiny scythes in relationships, especially this one. I fear for my life constantly when I get into an argument with the dumb broad. I swear, considering she’s supposed to be an immortal being thats hunted mortal souls since before any of my grand-grand-grand-whatever parents were even born, she’s super fucking needy. “Why don’t you pay attention to me” “does this black robe make my butt look big” “stop looking at those human women” yadayadayada, she’s so annoying. Well, perhaps I’m being too harsh. I still love my snookums after all.
Of course that was many many years ago. She’s been a little evasive with the subject of my mortality. She thinks that killing me would be super romantic. I mean, I can see where she’s coming from I guess. I just hope she doesn’t do that Sopranos shit and cut--
| 2016-10-01T23:26:44 | 2016-10-01T22:31:15 | 135 | 22 |
[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/)
| "Busy crowd tonight" a hooded man says drinking his third cup of coffee, three espressos, with a touch of hazelnut creamer.
I know better than to ask questions to my customers. "Yeah, its not too bad. Business keeps the lights on." I reply, starting up the grinder.
"Ya know," he said between sips "we *could* all pitch in so you never have to work again."
"While true, then you'd be out of a coffee shop."
We both chuckle for a second before he gets up to leave, not before finishing his coffee and leaving a sizeable tip. I know what they do. I know who they are. I know that what they're doing is against the law. But it is not my place to stop them.
Two years ago my daughter was raped, the man unknown and the police could do nothing about it. No traces found within the databases; no fingerprints; nothing. This guy knew what he was doing and I knew he wouldn't stop. I did my best, hired a personal investigator, talked with mobsters for information. No one knew anything. Until one day he was found. Tied to a flagpole on the mayor's yard. Hands cut off as well as his...yeah. Underneath him were hundreds of pictures. Everyone he's hurt.
After that day I vowed to do everything I could to make amends. To find the perrine who caught my daughter's helper. It will not change the past. But hey, at least I can pay it forward.
I opened my coffee shop 3 months ago. Night hours only, in a very remote part of town. My wife, my loving wife, she supported me but cautioned it was a bad spot.
"Hole in the Wall". Both literal and figurative, I thought it was fitting. I knew what I was doing. Opening my doors for the vigilantes, the bounty hunters. The people who I knew did wrong, but also did right to me.
It took 2 days before my first customer came in. I used to be a doctor before funneling all my money into the PI. He was bloody and bruised. I requested to help him, to which he denied. After a few harsh words he reluctantly agreed. On one stipulation, I go near his mask. I die.
I had no choice, either he bleeds out on my new floors or I clean him up. So I stitched him up, helped him to a booth and started brewing some coffee. Pour over with imported Columbian beans. My wife's favourite and a "must have" every time a guest comes over. I thought I'd be worth the expense.
As we chat about the coffee and the state of the town he gets a buzz. I'm not sure what else to call it because it wasn't any new smart device I've seen. And he leaves.
3 months later and the shop has never looked better. Still occasional guys and gals come in bleeding and I spend a few extra hours cleaning the floor. It's not as big of a deal as some might think. Seltzer water and lemon juice work wonders for blood. The oddest part is no one ever sits next to anyone else. Everyone minds their own business and I just brew coffee. Since its only ever one person in at a time I don't need any other employees. It is hard, but knowing I'm helping them help the city is enough for me.
Tonight was different. I took the C train downtown to stop. Walked my route and turned the corner to my "hole in the wall." The window grates were blown open by what looked like a small charge, stools and tables were thrown about. My safe had been opened using a similar small charge and all the money stolen. The machines looked even worse. Battered in by a bat or a sledge hammer. I was helpless. They were gone and I had no footage to track them. (one of the agreements with my customers was no cameras).
I stood there for what seemed to be a few moments, completely taken aback by the scene when one of my regulars shows up, hazelnut coffee. He asks me what happened and I told him I had no idea. As more come they all stand in shock. I do my best to put on a happy face and stay strong but deep inside everything hurts. As I sweep up the remainder of the glass and my pride the customers huddle and a new guy walks up to me. He says they'll take care of it and for me to go home.
I do, I cannot sleep. The fire from the robbery and the fact that they deliberately smashed my machines kept me up all night.
When I returned the next day I was shocked. The steel grates were fixed. After unlocking and entering the entire shop I was met with the entire place looking pristine and fixed. The machines that took me weeks to order were brand new. The stools were new and had the gloss to them. Something my customers quickly removed with their filth. On the counter was my infamous pour over glass with the words "Hole in the Wall" etched into them. Underneath were pictures.
I know better than to ask questions.
edit. R | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T20:26:10 | 1,330 | 434 |
[WP] A world where the name of your future spouse is ingrained in your mind from birth, and what happens when someone goes against that. | Julia.
It was the first name I knew, after mine. My mother was happy. "Julia is a nice name," she always reminded me. "You'll get married someday, that's how it's always been."
"But how will I know, ma?"
"You'll know."
\* * *
When I turned seventeen, the voice in my head got worse. Julia. Julia. Everywhere I went, I heard Julia.
Then I met Rose. She said she didn't have a name in her head. She was free. I wanted to be free. I wanted to be with her, but the voice wouldn't let me. Every time I kissed her, the voice reminded me, "You're supposed to be looking for Julia. *Julia.* Not Rose."
\* * *
"How did you do it?"
"Do what?"
"How did you get rid of the voice? Of the name?"
"I didn't. It just, stopped."
"But... *how?*"
\* * *
Julia.
She was beautiful. When I saw her, the voice in my head died. Silence in my head, for the first time in ten years. I saw her walking home from work. She looked at me and when her eyes met mine, I felt peace. Real peace.
But I loved Rose. I walked away. I heard her calling my name, pleading for me to stop and I ran. As fast as my feet could take me.
And then the voice returned.
Julia.
\* * *
I kissed Rose on the lips, hooking a strand of hair behind her ear, turned around and left. Behind me I heard her sobbing.
\* * *
I waited for Julia behind the corner outside the bar she worked at. When the voice ceased, I knew she was close. I waited. I heard her getting closer, picking up the pace. She probably felt the connection too.
When she turned the corner I met her with a steak knife to the chest. She gasped for breath as blood gushed out of the wound, turning her pretty white blouse red. I pushed my hand tight against her mouth, so she couldn't scream but I don't think she would have anyway.
There were tears in her eyes as I laid her to the ground. I waited for her to stop breathing, then took the knife out and ran.
The voice died with her.
\* * *
Rose.
That's the only name that matters now. | Most guys spend their lives searching for the namesake of their Inevitable. Not me, I avoid Jennifers like the plague. Way back before The Calling, people could change their names to whatever they liked. Imagine that! Doing that now could really screw up someones life-plan. At first, jails were filled with people convicted of fraud because they used fake names to snag a sucker. That came to a screeching halt when it was made a capital offense.
I wonder what life was like before you had to state your name before saying anything to a stranger, lest you "start out on the wrong foot" with somebody with the wrong name. Anyway, Jennifer is out there somewhere like a ticking time bomb, so is a wedding...but not today. I feel sorry for the guys who don't have an Inevitable. Many just kill themselves when they reach a certain age rather than face an empty future.
Anyway, back to an A-F bar. I'll try to hook up with an Angie or a Debbie, maybe even a Frieda. I know someday I'll go to an G-L bar and find my Inevitable...my Jennifer.
But not today. | 2013-10-17T06:36:37 | 2013-10-17T05:37:18 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] Humans are the first sentients, putting us millenia ahead of aliens. Instead of acting like an "elder" species should, we create mysterious artifacts with no actual use, crop cicles and send spooky messages, like "be quiet, you are in danger" to the aliens, because we are still childish morons. | “Doctor Harris! The Andomians have sent a signal again!”
Harris looked up from his lab, where he had been busy designing an FTL drive shaped crockery holder. “What are they saying?” He asked with excitement. “Did they reply to the broadcast yet?”
“No, they're finally on their moon! They seem very proud.” Captain Samuel Stevens told him.
Harris snorted. “Only took them two hundred years after inventing heavier than air flight,” he said, unimpressed. “I'm giving them a millennium before FTL.”
“Others aren't so hopeful. Do you want to leave that on the moon for them to find?” Stevens asked, pointing at the cutlery dish.
“No! I've got a better idea. I developed a form of nanobot, indistinguishable from regular microbes, for them to discover there. I estimate that it'll take them fifty years to work out that they're fake.”
“It'll do. The Galactic Ministry of Pranks is putting more pressure on us. Did you know that the crew of the Destination managed to convince an entire species that their sun was due to explode in twenty years? The exodus was a level three, or so I'm told.”
“Smug bastards…” Harris remarked darkly. An idea struck him. “Here's an idea…” he said slyly. “You remember the fake Doomsday Bomb we made for the Muvarians?”
“What about it?”
“It never landed, remember? The Muvarians saw straight through it, and the Galactic Empire had to gamma-scorch their world before they nuked our orbital monitor satellites. What if we deploy it for the Andomians? They're nowhere near as close to Muvarian technology. I bet we could trigger a level four exodus with that!”
“Agreed!” Steven pulled up his comm device. “Officer Adams? One false Doomsday Bomb to beam down, please!”
My first story, so please be gentle! | I've seen it. I know it's there. The messages, unending stream, they're everywhere!
I saw it first when my days were young, the plants withered, the wind child and I felt a...presence... They were here for me! To tell me! I was chosen to decipher their language, and I swore to my destiny on that day.
The connection revealed itself to me. I finally have it! The message... From the others! Their intellect unbound. I record it here, for all to see and remember.....
**Wubba Lubba Dub Dub. Not all will understand its depth because to be fair, you have to have a very high IQ to understand Rick and Morty.** | 2017-10-31T15:27:23 | 2017-10-31T15:26:39 | 712 | 80 |
[WP] Gordon Ramsay has to deal with one of his most difficult restaurants yet, the failing undersea restaurant 'The Chum Bucket' created by Sheldon J. Plankton. | *Ramsay walks up to the exterior of the Chum Bucket*
"Well then. The Chum Bucket, eh? Looks like a piss bucket."
He enters the front doors.
"Oh my god. This decor is hideous. What is this from, the nineteen-fucking-seventies?", he chuckles. "It feels like I've landed myself in the middle of the Cold War for God's sake!"
Then, the sound of robotic wheels nears him.
"Mr. Ramsay, we've been expecting you!" Karen exclaims.
"Well golly, looks like Wall-E is our host today.", he mutters under his breath. "Hello! You must be?"
"My name's Karen, I'm the owner's wife and your host today!"
"Great, Karen, nice to meet you. How about we get straight to the food, yeah?"
"Sure thing, follow me Mr. Ramsay.", Karen says as turning and strolling to a table.
"Fantastic.", Gordon utters. "Anything you recommend to start me off?"
"Well, I haven't tried any of it, so how about I just get you a menu?"
"You're telling me you haven't eaten from your own husband's restaurant? Is the food that shit?"
"No sir, I just cannot eat the food, as I am a robot. I can assure you the food is delicious."
"My my, this is absurd.", Gordon says, as he grabs the menu. "Then...how about we start off with a Chum Burger and Fries, yeah? Then I'll also have a Chum Chili, and end it off with a Chum Shake."
"Sounds good, hun. I'll be out with your order as soon as possible."
A couple minutes pass, and Gordon mentions, "God, this place is absolutely dreadful." "There's no one even in here!", he says, laughing.
*The camera pans to Karen, yet you cannot convey her emotions.*
*Ten minutes later, his first order comes out.*
Karen approaches, saying, "Here you go Mr. Ramsay, Chum Burger and Fries!"
*As it's set down on the table, Gordon's face switches from enthusiastic to dead-inside*
"Hoo boy. Are there paramedics on standby?", he says.
"No sir, there are not."
*Gordon maneuvers his hands to do a cross*
"God bless me for eating this slop."
Before he digs in, he notices Karen still staying there, waiting.
"My god, may I eat in peace?", he shouts.
"Oh, sure, sir, sorry, sir.", Karen blurts out as she turns backs towards the kitchen.
*Gordon makes a sigh of relief*
"Here goes nothing.", he proclaims, as he takes a bite into the burger.
*Immediately after, Gordon grabs a napkin and spits the food out into it.*
"Jesus Christ, that's ghastly." "It's just mush. It has no flavor. No salt! Absolutely horrendous."
*He grabs a Chum Fry.*
"It's bland! How could anyone serve this crap?"
*A minute later, Karen rolls back to the table.*
"Did you like the food Mr. Ramsay?"
"No. No no no." "It's dreadful. It's all mush. There's no flavor!", he says.
"I'm sorry, sir. I'll take this back for you.", Karen says, turning around.
"Hang on a sec." Gordon exclaims. "I'm done eating, I'd like to have a word with the chef, please."
Karen turns and says, "The chef? That's my husband. I'll tell him to come out."
"The owner is the chef? Any other chefs?", Gordon says.
"No, Mr. Ramsay, it's just us two here."
"Very well then. Call him out.", Gordon orders.
*Karen turns back around. She enters the kitchen doors, and after a brief pause, an argument breaks out.*
"My goodness, what in the fuck are they yelling about back there?", Gordon questions.
*The argument continues, and it prompts Gordon to walk to the kitchen to meet with the chef himself. As he enters, the argument comes to a close.*
*Plankton jumps onto a counter, and greets him.*
"Hello Mr. Ramsay! My wife tells me you have a problem with my food.", he says.
"Why yes, in fact, I do. You're the owner AND chef, how could you serve this crap?!", Gordon shouts.
"I think my food is delicious!", Plankton says.
"Alright, you wee fuck, listen here." "Get your head out of your tiny little ass, because there's obviously a reason your restaurant is failing."
Plankton, shocked, explains, "N-no, that's not why. It's because nobody comes here!" He breaks into tears.
"Everyone is always at that old crab's place across the street! If only I could get that secret formula, my restaurant would blow up!"
"Bullshit. Your food's putrid, your restaurant's hideous, and you won't even admit it.", Gordon states. "I don't think there's even a way to help you at this point, I'm out.", Gordon says, as he turns to leave.
On his way out, Gordon hears the two arguing once more, and says, "Now. I'm starved. Let's go check out this place across the road."
~The End
This was more of just me putting my Kitchen Nightmares knowledge to the test, and keeping it more realistic to his average episodes rather than his famous outbursts. If it wasn't clear, I've watched way more Kitchen Nightmares than I have watched Spongebob. Hope you enjoyed! | "Absolute bollocks"
"I'm over here trying to trying to help this mad man bring his livelihood back together and he's out taking the piss doing [~~fuck~~](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cN0H0g4pZaY) all."
FishRamsey
"KAREN!" FishRamsey yells towards the back room. Yelling is entirely unnecessary of course, he knows that because there isn't a soul around. He rushes towards the back room hoping to find an employee, a customer, any one.
"Where is Karen? Why cant I find a damn fish around here?!" FishRamsey continues to yell into the void that is the space labeled "kitchen", despite its best efforts to not look much like one.
FishRamsey spins around as he makes note of a light whirring sound getting a louder. A large display screen on a stand appears before him and in tune with the green jagged visuals he hears her screeching voice.
To FishRamseys surprise, Karen was not another fish or even a microorganism but was an older display unit computer atop what looked like a coat rack mounted to a gocart. She had oddly articulate looking flippers that were more reminiscent of a sponges rather than a fish. Lets hope they can help in the kitchen, FishRamsey thought to himself as he takes a double take around him to emphasize the vacant nature of the premises.
"You must be FishRamsey!" Thank you so much for coming down to our humble little restaurant, lets find you a seat."
"Hello, you must be Karen, yes? We spoke on the phone, so nice to, eh...meet you." FishRamsey is a bit hesitant in his words, hes never had to hold a conversation with a computer like this before.
"Karen, where is Plankton, or any one for that matter?" FishRamsey asked with a deeply concerning tone.
"Hum? oh, he's off on another one of this little schemes to steal the patty formula from the place next door. He'll be back before lunch, hes not usually gone long."
"It is lunch time Karen!" FishRamsey exclaims. " No ones here, even some of the worst places I've seen have at least one person at lunch rush hour!"
"Well FishRamsey, I was hoping that you'd be able to help with that". Despite its digital nature, FishRamsey can clearly hear the worried tone in Karens voice.
"Well alright, I suppose we can start by trying the food and wait until he gets back"
Karen sprang back almost as if she'd forgotten why they was there and blurted out: "On second thought, lets not try the food right now.. how about you just wait right here and I'll go find plankton"
Karen pushed FishRamsey out of the so called kitchen, through the two push style doors and back into the main dining room just before zipping off to an even further back end of the establishment.
FishRamsey quickly looked back behind him self an tried to yell out to Karent but she was already out of site.
FishRamsey took a moment to take in the sight that was the dining area. A little confused and lost as to what to do with himself he decided on and said "perhaps I'll have a look around".
After being strangely impressed with the cleanliness of the restaurant, he remembered the joint was a ghost town maintained by what was effectively an overly feminine roomba. Looking around this deserted eatery finally let him to his first red flag, the menu.
* CHUM FRIES
* CHUSHAKE
* CHUM on a STICK
* CHUMBALAYA
* CHUM HILI
* CHUM PIE
" no no.. no no no. This simply just won't do"
FishRamsey looked into the camera and quietly commented on said menu
"You cant put chum on tots, it just doesnt work."
​
writers note: gonna stop here cuz its late and I wasnt expecting to do this tonight but I made this doodle and wanted to write something. few idea rattled around my head on what to do with it but nothing substantial and I want to sleep. good night. [https://imgur.com/a/itu8GXE](https://imgur.com/a/itu8GXE) | 2019-08-22T21:22:13 | 2019-08-22T20:40:37 | 54 | 17 |
[WP] You somewhat jokingly make an offering to an ancient and obscure goddess. You didn't expect her to show up in your room in a manic frenzy, trying desperately to reward and please her first worshipper in centuries | Their second date was going splendidly. They had spent the last hour and a half having easy conversation over drinks and a fancy meal. Light jazz music filled the richly decorated restaurant as Mathew and Julia finished their main course.
“Maybe one too many drinks tonight. I need to go use the ladies room.” Julia said, reaching for her purse.
“Do you want to get dessert?” Mathew asked.
“Sure. Order something for us if the waiter comes. I trust you to pick something good.” Julia said.
“I’ll pray to the God of Desserts for their wisdom.” Mathew said smiling. Julia laughed as she walked away.
The moment the words left his lips a puff of smoke popped into existence on the table in front of him and a small pixie looking woman in a vibrant multicolored dress appeared. She stumbled slightly and looked around in confusion. Mathew froze wondering if his drink had been spiked.
Now staring up at him the tiny woman said, “Well this is a surprise. I haven’t been prayed to in years.”
Mathew rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “Oh shit. I think I’m having an allergic reaction.” He looked around the room, and everyone was enjoying their meals as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“Oh focus. You prayed to me, and I was pulled here like a fish on a hook. Not that I’m angry. The in-between can get pretty boring with no prayers to answer.” She smoothed her dress and looked at him expectantly. “What do you desire from The Goddess of Desserts young man?”
After Mathew sat staring dumbfounded for a few seconds the woman poked his finger, shocking him with a jolt like static electricity. Mathew reflexively pulled his hand back. “Hey that hurt!”
“Sorry but you looked like your brain fell on the table. What would you like for dessert? This is my first prayer in years so don’t hold back.”
“Um, yeah. Well it’s our second date and she told me to pick, but I didn’t expect… this.” Mathew said gesturing at the table.
The small woman held her finger to her chin and looked towards the ceiling for a moment. “So it's for a date huh? I got just the thing. Clear a spot right there.”
Mathew did as she asked and moved some empty dishes clearing a space in the center of the table. The miniature Goddess made a finger gun motion at the empty space and a white plate with two large beautiful cupcakes appeared. “Red velvet cupcakes with a cream cheese ganache icing and topped with shaved dark chocolate!”
She stood looking proudly at her creation as Mathew wondered how he was going to tell his date he was hallucinating a dessert spawning pixie. Just then Julia returned and sat down across from him, “Oh my that was fast. They look delicious!” she said.
Mathew looked quickly back and forth between Julia and the tiny woman on the table, but Julia seemed oblivious. “Uh, yeah. I was just waiting for you.”
They each grabbed a cupcake from the plate and took a bite at the same time. “These are divine!” Julia said.
Mathew shook his head in emphatic agreement. The aura surrounding the small Goddess on the table swelled around her as they ate. | "Who the Frigg are you?" he said, his eyes wide and bewildered.
"Actually, my name is Hecate," said the woman. "Frigg lost her worshippers centuries ago. So, about that arm and a leg."
"What!?" said Lance. "That was a joke!"
"Well," said Hecate, "You should have thought of that before you decided to swear on the name of an obscure witch goddess. Now your arm,"---Lance felt a slicing pain sear through his body as his right arm was cut cleanly off and disappeared---"your leg,"---it happened again, this time his left leg---"and your devotion"---the silver cross slung around his neck suddenly turned to metal dust---"all belong to me," she finished, grinning cheekily at him. "Here's your new talisman," she said, handing him a pair of golden keys on a chain necklace.
Some kind of strange magic possessed his arm that was left, and he grabbed the necklace without even trying to. The arm threw the necklace over his head.
"Now for your side of the bargain: A single day of peace and quiet." She seemed to poof out of existence. "Feel free to call on me whenever you like," her voice said as if she were still there. "And don't forget to spread the word! I really need some followers." As her voice left him, so did every noise he had been hearing that day.
Strangely, Lance did not bleed out as he had expected. The spots where he had lost his arm and his leg had healed over instantly, leaving scars. Lance called 911 and soon an ambulance had arrived, and taken him to the hospital. As he browsed the internet while he sat in his hospital bed, apparently perfectly healthy, he found strange stories everywhere. Apparently every conflict on earth had somehow ceased.
And the next day, the world was louder than it had ever been, and World War Three began. | 2022-02-15T14:44:07 | 2022-02-15T13:12:04 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | A whirring sound gradually filled my ears as the 'GAME OVER' marquee scrolled across the top of my HUD. "*Statistics*", I muttered, reaching blindly around for my beverage. Words flitted across my screen filling all of the empty space. "*Next-Round*", all of the text from before vanished as the respawn timer filled the screen.
>Time until Respawn: 23695624.8 minutes
I sighed, "What the fuck is this!". "*Connect to server chat*", I yelled into the microphone of my VR-helmet.
>Connecting to...'EARTH -- Human SERVER #2360 CHAT' ...
....
.....
.......
CONNECTED!
"Does anyone know the reason for this ridiculous respawn time?", I asked, "I didn't break any of the server rules!". I could hear a few muffled laughs from the others in the chat. "Is this your first play-through on the Human servers?", someone asked, "these servers don't really have any rules..just more of a set of guidelines." I thought for a few seconds trying to recall whether or not I had previously played on these servers. "No, I've definitely played on these servers before, but this is my longest play-through. I didn't make it to very high levels in my other sessions.", I tried to explain. A different person chimed in sounding as though they were suppressing their laughter, "I'm guessing you didn't read the latest patch notes for these servers before you joined your last match, huh?"
I sighed. No, of course not. I hardly ever read the patch notes and then unsurprisingly get pissed off at the game changes I didn't realize were coming. "*Patch Notes*!", I said somewhat begrudgingly. Text once again flitted cross my screen. I scrolled passed most of the bug fixes until I found the 'Game-Play Changes' section.
>"....changes made to **player respawn time**: "Player respawn-timer now solely comes from **-KARMA** rating of last play-through."
"Oh, fuck me!" I yelled, ripping off my VR-Helmet.
| "Woah dude you were one of the thousands killed by the meltdown, wicked way to die!" - said player 6,713,490
"How did you die?" - I said
"I got shanked by a neanderthal" - he replied
"I died from what the current player call black death" - player 9,321,780,561 said.
"How did you guys learn how to speak modern english?" - I asked them
"You learn a lot from watching the stream too you know"
"Alright alright, so where am I exactly?"
(Another player steps forward)
"Some say it's the afterlife, others say its heaven. For me, it is my experiment" - player 1
-I'll do a part 2 if I get enough requests! | 2015-11-25T01:06:36 | 2015-11-25T00:10:08 | 46 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.” | The being loomed other me. It's foul breath still lingered in the air from it's spoken judgment on me. Just a second ago I had been suffocated by the heat, now my body ran cold. I could feel the icy sweat trickling down my lower back.
"Wait. What? Let me get this straight. That asshole get 145 years for cheating on his wife," pointing to the man now being lead away by an imposing scaled creature to his almost century and a half of punishment.
"One hundred and fucking forty-five years! For breaking a holy bond made before God. You know, the whole 'Forsaking all others, 'tll death do you depart' shit. But me! No, I get a fucking 186,292 years for cursing!"
I could see another one of the scaled creatures coming toward me out of the corner of my eye.
"You have got to be fucking kidding me." | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:45:11 | 488 | 18 |
[WP] In a world of superpowers, it was found out that your power was bringing boardgame characters and equipment to life. So for years, your parents have not allowed you to play board games other than checkers, until you find out about Warhammer 40,000. | There are few people with powers capable of ending the world. Most of them are reality benders. A few of them have subatomic manipulation. Then, there's me. I animate pieces of plastic and resin. Sometimes, pewter or wood, if the model is old enough.
Growing up, I learned to play chess. That's how I discovered my abilities. One day, I was playing with my Dad, the next, there was a castle in the living room. Insurance was mad, but Dad was fine. I was six. I would go on to play a ton of chess after that. It's a lot more interesting, when your pieces can come to life.
If you think chess is a harmless game, remember that it's a war simulation. Well, a "simulation."A Rook is a siege engine. A knight is a highly mobile iron-age tank. Pawns are excellent body guards. I might not have been an athletic kid, but no one picks on the guy who can summon a small army at will.
For a time, I believed my abilities were limited to chess, and checkers. Then, when I was eleven, a friend brought a miniature to school. He'd been to Games Workshop, and the friendly staff gave him a tiny Space Marine to paint blue and take home. He let me play with it at recess.
Now, a Space Marine is an eight foot tall post-human genetically-engineered badass that wears inch-thick power armor and carries a 90-caliber fully-automatic RPG launcher. It's only purpose is to wage war on any and everything *not human.* Including mutants, and "non-sanctioned psykers." Most kids my age had powers. Looking back, we were lucky. Very, very lucky.
That night, my parents talked. They didn't fight. There were no raised voices, but I heard the whole thing. Well, most of it. The parts that mattered. What I didn't hear, they explained. In short? They knew.
They'd known my powers extended beyond chess for a very long time. My abilities extended far beyond chess. They'd hoped they could hide it for a while longer, but it was too late.
I learned a lot of things. I learned about a (fictional) man trapped on life support for thousands of years. Of ancient machines and ravenous beasts. Of four eldrich horrors that played with souls and corrupted the hearts of men and alien alike.
I learned of my first summon, Uncle Cyrus. Cyrus was a cleric of a holy order of monks. He was a D&D character from the campaign in which my parents met. Normally, a summon is limited by the knowledge of the summoner.
But, not mine. Not Cyrus. Not the Astaetes Kevin brought to school. Cyrus was formed exactly as my father had envisioned him, fifteen years ago. Magical gear, miraculous powers, and all. Astartes Captain Titus was fully formed. Power armor, bolter, chainsword...
If I had managed to summon a cleric and his god when I was mere months old, what could have followed the Space Marine? | She was about 5 or 6, little Haruka was. About the time where one begins to read, about the age where one learns to ride a bike, when she discovered her special ability. It was Hungry Hungry Hippos that showed her that, when she began to play and dive into the world of games, things imaginary began to take shape and take form.
Fortunately, her teacher was quick to subdue the colorful beasts with her own power.
Knowing her potential for destruction, her parents began to debate. Should we suppress it? Guide it and shape it? What if she gets into trouble when nobody is there to help her?
Eventually, they settled on a compromise: Haruka could play all the board games and card games she wanted, but only if her parents and big brother were there to play with her.
She gladly accepted. And so, they started with the tamer worlds: Candy Land, Life, Children's Monopoly; places with weaker inhabitants that were easy to fight. Big brother would distract them with his flash, mother would subdue with her rock walls, and father would kill with his lightning.
As she grew older, so did the danger level of the games she played. Knights would gallop from the table, swords ready; armies would level their guns at each other in the living room; monster gazebos grew and threatened to break through the frame of their house. Haruka was gaining a good grasp on her powers now, and she was beginning to control and manipulate these game creatures now. They made good target practice for the rest of her family. Their nightly board games even helped big brother develop his flash into a stun.
Soon, the world of villainy began to fear the family of four; the Fab Four everyone called them. Each of them was a powerhouse in their own right, but the most feared of all was a young, frail girl that most would otherwise ignore:
Game Girl. | 2021-12-16T09:42:33 | 2021-12-16T07:46:44 | 111 | 44 |
[WP] Being a dragon is lonely, so you often change into a human and hang out in the close village. You were invited to a party headed for your home. It was actually fun, you all became friends so they told you the truth. “We have to Kill the Red Hell’s fire Dragon”......You... | “Truffle hunting, huh? Are there many Truffles out in the badland? And are you expecting them to fight back?” I asked, eying the siege engine and weapon filled baggage train following behind our merry group. Pack mules glistening with stowed armor, others spiked like hedgehogs with racks of pikes and swords at the ready trailing off to the horizon. My new friend Rolf chuckled nervously “ Well, you can never be too careful. The badlands are a dangerous area. The Red Hell is full of wolves you know, and other things too. “ he nodded, knowingly
“Wolves…?”
“Yeah, Wolves! We wouldn’t want to get eaten while we are digging for our treasures!”
I looked around. “The truffles you are going to dig for. In the desert. Apparently by hand?” I had to admit to myself it was fun messing with Rolf.
“Ah, yes, the shovels. Uh, we don’t need them, because of the trained digging mules! Yeah! We spared no expense for our merry little band. All we lacked was some entertainment, so it was wonderful fortune that you happened by my good Minstrel! How about another song?”
I was content to let that lie for the moment, truth be told I was enjoying myself. Its not often that we get visitors out this way, and I for one was tired of telling the same stories to the desert foxes and the fay grass. I did some traveling back in my younger days, and I picked up a few songs here and there over the centuries. This lot seemed to really like the more bawdy ones. I decided to change things up a bit though and go with that one about the group of short fat elves that tried to steal treasure from a comically inept Frost Giant occupying a lost Elvin fortress using an invisibility hairband. It usually gets a pretty good laugh. This time, not so much.
The group of terribly disguised knights looked around at one another wide eyed with low whispers of “He knows! Does He know? How could he know?? What do we do now?” floating around the perimeter of the campfire ring at what would have been below the hearing of your average traveling Bard. After the song was over a brief awkward silence ensued, until who I suspect was actually Sir Rolfe, decided to tip his head back and unleash a hearty laugh. The laughter was picked up by the rest of the group, nervously at first. “ Well played sir Bard! I can see you are a man of reason and cunning and have spotted the true nature of our quest! We seek not truffles in this barren waste, but far greater riches! For you see, there is a terrible Wurm that stalks these lands, laying waste to all that he sees and terrifying the nearby village who turned to us for aid. We seek treasure and glory and to rid this world of his foul stench!” With that, Sir Rolfe stood up with a dramatic flourish of his goblet, to the cheers of his men. “Will you join us to document our victory, brave sir bard?”
“Huh.” I thought to myself. Terrible was a bit much I thought, and I would hardly think Stinky was fair. Sure I might eat the occasional cow or horse, but its not like those farmers just kept miraculously finding gold and silver in their cow pastures afterwards on accident now either. I figured they would make the connection. Apparently not. I was going to have to fly over there and straighten things out after I was finished here. I do try to be a good neighbor, and it always helps to tip your servers well. But first I decided to have a bit more fun.
“I would be delighted to chronical your coming battle for the ages, ye mighty knights. But first let me hear more about this… Wurm you called him?” I asked, with my best “oh really, I am actually interested to hear this, do go on” human expression. That one was really difficult to get right.
“It, not a he. This foul Dragon from the depths of Satan’s hells is larger than a castle gate, all redness and fire! It is a mindless deamon of old, possessing of animal cunning and brutality. Our scribe tells us there are records of his malfeasance going back decades in this area, but no matter, our superior might and intellect and the will of our mighty Lord will see us to Victory!” Edit: Continued below in the reply | My dear friends! I love being with them. We had parties every month. It was so much fun. I loved it. But, all good things end, and that happened that day. We were having so much fun today, I noticed that we were heading closer to my lair, but I didn't think much of it. We were talking and making jokes and all. Until Jonathan broke the news. "Let's remind ourselves, and to tell Sara the news. We're going to kill the Red Hell's Fire Dragon, in that cave." Jonathan pointed at my cave with his sword. I was confused, angry, and a whole mix of emotions. I wanted to say *something*, but they would find out, and I don't want that. I felt betrayed. I felt broken. "Guys, I'm gonna be back, gotta do something real quick...", I left in a hurry, trying to think of a diversion plan. "Sara! Wait! We have all the weapons needed to kill that damned dragon that's been killing our livestock! Who knows, it could kill us next... You understand, don't you? You said your father was rich, you understand that it's for the greater good of our village!". I kept running, I could feel the tears streaming down my cheeks, I still don't understand how I kept my head level and managed to not to kill Jonathan.
I managed to find a nice quiet place. I got to work, racking my brain to find a plan to convince them not to kill me, the dragon. They made such a menacing name for me! I only ate their livestock twice every year, it's because I turn into a human and eat what they normally eat! I don't understand. I kept trying to think of a plan. Then something clicked. If I could distract them with treasure, like I have heard my other dragon brethren had been doing! But... I need to do it in another form, but, agh! I still can't think of anything. I heard distant talking. "S-Sara, you?". Then I realized, I was back in my dragon form. I panicked, and flew away. The villagers screamed and attacked me with their spears and arrows. I had to relocate. I had to rethink.
A few months had passed and it finally occured to me, I should just *kill* them. I should kill them... they betrayed me, they hated me for no reason. I'm going to make them feel pain they never knew had existed. I flew towards the village, I saw Jonathan, but he looked different, he was old... something doesn't feel right. I thought a few months had passed! Jonathan, now old, looked at me with an angered face. The other villagers looked at me with the same face. Then, I realized that they were attacking me, with different weapons. I did nothing, only screamed in pain, I told Jonathan before I was finally laid to rest, "How could you! I thought we were friends! I thought I could trust you! I was going to tell you about th-". And with that, my life went away, all gone, betrayed, and put in the dark, forever. | 2020-12-15T14:04:49 | 2020-12-15T12:58:29 | 58 | 27 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here. | The damn boy had found the book. Even worse, the exact *page* with his name.
"Put it down," he hissed, trying to summon the necessary rage to project his voice enough to reach the living boy's ear. "Do as I say, or suffer the consequences - you'll rue this day, I will - "
The child lifted his hand, idly smoothing his hair as he imagined a breeze passing through the room. Godammit. After so many millennia, he just didn't have the power anymore. He hadn't even been able to lift so much as a piece of paper or make one syllable heard for years now. Fading with every passing day, but never enough to simply wink out. No, he was doomed to roam the earth as little more than a wisp of smoke, drawn inevitably to the cursed books that carried his name.
"Rama Odah," the boy sounded out the syllables, and in an agony of pain and pleasure, he felt his identity shiver and strengthen, a blade of grass tasting water after a drought.
"Mom, what's this?" the boy asked the woman - Kelly, or something, if he remembered right - who suddenly swept into the study, distractedly looking for something she'd lost. Her 'cellphone', probably. The people of this age were somehow anchored to the things.
"Oh," Kelly said, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. "Nice one, Zack. You found the family heirloom. I wanted you to find it yourself, you know..."
Her voice bubbled with enthusiasm as she told the boy, not caring that she tied him to the Earth with each word, even though she scarcely believed half of her own story. The relic of a philosopher who had died thousands of years ago, leaving his library of work in the care of only his relatives. And each generation had passed it onto the next, not breathing a word to anyone outside the family of its contents.
"He was a great man," she said finally. "He had the most beautiful ideas about all sorts of things, centuries before his time. The nature of immortality, the afterlife, good and evil, the desire for power...there's a section of his work that seems to speculate on parallel universes, you know. Well, we've no idea how old this stuff really is. You'll see we made notes and possible translations of the terminology in the margins, throughout the years. Pretty neat, though, huh? You know, I remember my grandma telling me she thought the house might be haunted by the man. A story *her* mother told her. Haven't spotted him myself, though."
They both chuckled, though the boy's eyes widened at the tale.
"You're reading a copy of the original, of course," she added. "Read all of it, tell me what you think, and I might let you have a peek at the originals."
She dropped him a shadow of a wink and backed out of the room, as if she had to give him privacy for some monumental task.
Rama groaned to himself as the boy read with evident absorption, his name imprinting itself forever onto the kid's mind. Great. Another eighty-odd years of this life. The boy would likely pass the story on to his own children, too. He'd long ago accepted it as his punishment for daring to speculate on the nature of life after death. Of course, he'd seen the other spirits - clearly, his punishment wasn't unique.
But his had to be one of the *longest*, all due to his arrogance in trying to ensure his name. It wouldn't have been so bad, if only they weren't so obsessed with the mystery of keeping his name a secret, even amongst themselves. Oh, they thought of him, sometimes. But they didn't share his ideas, didn't *really* talk about him. He was a kooky relic to pass on from one generation to the next, like a dusty ring on a shelf, not a topic of conversation at dinner.
He didn't even have that much fame in the shadow of life he could claim as his own.
Rama watched morosely as the boy sank down in front of the curious thing he called his 'computer', fingers flying over the keys on the desk. Probably to play one of his accursed video games. Zack had already *mostly* forgotten about him, shelving him into a little corner of his mind that would, nevertheless, sustain him for decades more of life. Damn him. Damn them all to hell, if it existed. How would he even know.
Hours later, Rama felt himself jerked into wakefulness. He hadn't slept, of course, but he could fade away into a murkiness that resembled most closely the release he sought. But he was *awake*, more alive than he had felt in centuries.
"What?" he croaked, and he saw the boy jump and whip his head around, his face pale and pinched in the dark room. He seemed unnerved. Rama almost felt like his heart was racing, if he still had one. His name was being repeated.
Once, twice. A *dozen* times.
He drifted closer to the boy, and read over his shoulder. A strange glowing page carried the legend "Philosophers Den - welcome to our corner of the web". Somehow, it was reaffirming him - his name was being called. He read the comments with growing amazement. They were popping up every now and then, seemingly from nowhere.
*An heirloom, did you say? What is the guy's name? I can't really make out the handwriting...*
*Rama Odah, I think,* another said. *This is pretty cool stuff, man. The language seems right for the period, at least, this could be a major discovery. Can you scan the rest of the pages tomorrow?*
The boy - Zack, Rama remembered with sudden clarity - turned his attention to the screen again, and typed a response.
*Sure thing. I don't know why my family hid this from the world for so long, but I'd like to change things*. Shortly after, Zack yawned and made his way to bed.
Rama stood staring at the screen long after it had gone dark, long after Zack's breathing dropped into the deep rhythm of sleep.
He trembled as he moved his hand forward, and pressed the power button, summoning every atom of energy buzzing through his being. He could hardly believe his eyes as it hummed to life.
The blessed boy - his *descendant*, after all - had found the key to life after death. At last.
-----------
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6jr72k/part_two_when_you_die_your_ghost_remains_in_the/)
[Part Three](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6jt0va/part_three_when_you_die_your_ghost_remains_in_the/)
[Part Four/Conclusion](https://www.reddit.com/r/Inkfinger/comments/6jz38r/part_four_when_you_die_your_ghost_remains_in_the/)
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | I looked down at the corpse of the man that I had haunted for the last two decades.
“Into the ground you go,” I muttered as the first shovel of mud rained down on the sleek top of the casket.
“I suppose you’re right,” said the ghost of the man.
It was always a bit uncomfortable when your hauntee confronted you after their death. Some were mad, others were… well, they wanted revenge. But if you’ve been in the business as long as I have, little spooks you anymore.
“Are you upset about the steps in the attic at night?” I asked him.
He smiled and crossed his spectral arms. “Not, in the slightest.”
“What about when I moved stuff around in your house?”
“That was mildly inconvenient at times.”
I pursed my lips. “So the last twenty years were a complete waste…”
“That’s not true,” the man said. “Do you see that fellow over there by my headstone?”
“Sure.”
“I didn’t have many friends in life, and when Jukka dies, I’ll be gone forever. I appreciated you keeping me company all those years; I was quite lonely.”
“No problem, I guess.”
“Good luck,” he said.
And with that, the ghost of the man drifted over to Jukka and took a seat in the grass. I sighed. For the last few thousand years, I had been searching far and wide for the person who still remembered me. I had of course given up. The system was broken somehow – it had to be!
I left the graveyard and the tall pines of Finland. I needed a change of setting. That’s one of the few perks of being a ghost – you can go anywhere you like in the blink of an eye.
Soon the hot sands of Sahara whipped through my ethereal body. I drifted east. Maybe it was time to visit Egypt again. It had been a good five centuries since last time. The pyramids reminded me of home. Granted, your memory does get a bit fuzzy with the years, but I remember that we had structures just like those when I was alive.
I drifted through Giza and made people in the streets shudder despite the heat. The pyramids had been full of ghosts for several centuries after the Pharaohs died – we’d had some great conversations back in the day.
I slipped through the wall and entered one of the deepest burial chambers. Judging from the untouched dust, it was still sealed off and hadn’t been discovered yet by the archeologists.
“Tut,” I said, “You still around?”
The room remained quiet.
“You old fox, Tut!” I muttered. “You promised to tell me where you got the idea to build pyramids from…”
I ran my fingers over the sarcophagus. Tut had always been a pain when it came to information. He guarded it with his life… death, I should say. Anyway, what was the point? Between ghosts, you know, he could’ve told me. But no.
“I’m going to look inside your sarc…” I said with a sly grin, hoping to trigger a response.
When there was still no sign of him, I thought ‘what the hell’ and put my head through its side.
Once you’re a ghost you get used to seeing death, so his dusty old bones didn’t rattle me in the slightest.
“What have we here… “
Just a bunch of withered clothes, jewels, and weapons. I was just about to poke the old geezer in the nose hole when I noticed a bundle that his skeletal arm was clutching.
“Huh, weird.”
Usually, the arms were mummified too, but this one had been purposely left to decay so that he could hold onto the object.
“What's this?” I unfolded the cloth.
A metal ball rolled out of his dead fingers. It had a creasing wave and big A stylishly engraved on it. I remembered the design from somewhere. But where?
“Raphael,” the ball said. “It is good to see you again.”
It took a moment for me to realize that it was talking to me. It had been a few millennia since I last heard my name.
“Uhm, hi?”
“Would you like to run a system check?”
“What?”
“It’s been 15122 years since the last service update.”
The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it. Where had I last heard it? It was formal, almost haughty. Ancient Rome perhaps? Maybe the Dark Ages?
“How do you know my name?”
“You built me, Raphael.”
“Did I, now?”
“After your wife died, you built me. You wanted to insert her memories in me so that you could remember her. Of course, you died before you had the time to do so. I’m still an empty shell, but I remember you because you built me.”
“I guess I have some vague memory of that.”
“Would you like to insert your wife’s memories now?”
I chuckled, despite myself. I didn’t even remember her face or the color of her hair.
“No,” I said. “That’s water under the bridge.”
“Would you like to insert any other memories?”
I thought for a moment. And then a smile crept up on my face.
“Yeah, mine.”
*****
Sarah wiped the sweat from her brow and pushed the massive block to the side.
“Oh my god!” she said and took a careful step into the grave chamber.
With the new permits, she had been allowed to uncover the last of the pyramid’s secret. She held the glyph-translator over the entrance.
*Here rests Pharaoh Ka-Nan Tut.*
“Guys, get in here!” she called out. "I think I've found a big one!"
*****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/6jnw07/the_oldest_ghost_part_2/)
Check out /r/Lilwa_Dexel for more stories!
| 2017-06-26T11:01:47 | 2017-06-26T09:01:00 | 3,490 | 1,468 |
[WP] You are a linguist at a European university. One day on public transport you hear two homeless people having a conversation in a language that has been extinct for over 2000 years. | OK, so 50 AD isn't quite 2000 years ago, but it's close enough...
\---
So there I was; an evolutionary linguist sitting on the London Underground on my way to a convention. A few seats away from me, there were a couple of people in rather bedraggled clothing, carrying a couple of rather heavy looking bags each, as well as a sleeping bag. Homeless, at a guess; London has always had far too many rough sleepers. They were talking to each other in their own language, and with nothing better to do I decided to have a listen, and see if I could work out what language they were speaking. It was strange; the language seemed to only have four vowel sounds, compared with anywhere between nine and fifteen in English, and a surprisingly small number of consonants - maybe thirteen compared with nearly thirty in English? Except, no; some of the plosives seemed to be both aspirated and unaspirated, even though none were voiced. So sixteen consonants; still a fairly small number.
I continued to listen. Their speech was strange; either there were a lot of unstressed vowels in this language, or they were just combining consonants that really ought not to be combined. Still, it sounded at least a little bit familiar; I might have heard it used at a previous convention. After a while, my curiosity got the better of me and I walked over.
"Excuse me," I said, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but I was just wondering what language you were speaking. It sounds kind of familiar, but I can't place where I've heard it before."
"Oh, we were just speaking in our home dialect," the elder of the two replied. His English had a local accent with a slight tinge of something else - maybe Italy? He was missing a number of teeth, and had a small scar across his throat; possibly from a knife attack? Sleeping rough can be dangerous, which is why I decided quite quickly not to make a fuss about the sword hilt I saw poking out of his backpack. "It's from Tuscany. Maybe you heard it there?"
Before I could reply, the train stopped, announcing my stop. I said a quick goodbye and rushed out onto the platform. Still, something bothered me - their language hadn't even sounded remotely Romantic, which surely one of the Italian dialects would, in spite of their differences from the main Italian language. Then I remembered where I had heard that language before - it was at a previous convention. It hadn't been spoken with the fluency I had heard on that train, but then how could it have been? Nobody had spoken Etruscan fluently since before the Roman Republic became the Roman Empire. Who the hell were those two, and why were they speaking such an ancient language on the London Underground?
There was a freak lightning strike two hours later that cut the power to our conference. Nobody is sure quite what happened, but tonight as I watch the news, I see the face of the man I spoke to on the underground. His body had been found near a substation which had been blown out by the lightning strike. His head had been found in some nearby bushes, where it had presumably rolled away. Sleeping rough really can be dangerous. | The two homeless people behind me in the bus are having a loud argument in a foreign language. I think maybe they are speaking Romani. We have a significant Roma population in Pardubice after all. Yet something doesn't add up. At first I don't understand what is being said. The language is like a bag of bricks being tossed around, then it starts to make sense.
They are talking about dinner and grocery shopping. Something about overdoing the chicken last time, and how to properly sprinkle salt on beef. . . In Khorezmian. I am dumbfounded. Of course I learned the language as part of my PhD studies, but never imagined it would sound like this. I never heard it spoken because this language had been extinct for over 2000 years. I am fascinated by it. They speak too fast for me to truly follow, but what little I understand makes me giddy with excitement.
I try to see them in the mirror over the door of the bus. All I can discern are they look like they have been sleeping under a bridge for the last few months. I get off the bus where they get off and follow them into the Tesco. I pretend to shop while I watch from the other end of the isle as they debate over chicken or beef. The two seem like an odd couple, like they have known each other for years. Predicting each others' responses. Completing each others' sentences, yet managing to have an argument at the same time.
I follow from a distance as they carry their groceries along the Elbe river and under a bridge. So they were living under a bridge after all! Yet I am stupefied as one of the graffiti on the wall turn into a door and the couple disappear into the warm light of a house.
I run but there is nothing to see under the bridge. There is nothing exceptional about the wall except for the Aramaic script used around the door graffiti. That is when I realize I forgot to took my pills for a while now. The PhD was driving me insane, literally... | 2018-09-06T08:22:47 | 2018-09-06T08:18:31 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] Ancient custom dictates that once a year the old or crippled warriors are led into the arena for a final battle against the young warriors, thus ensuring an honoured place in the afterlife. Despite everything, you are kicking butt armed with nothing but a cane.
Bonus points for ignoring the last sentence and writing about the inner turmoil of warriors facing their friends and comrades across the sands, and the grim duty of sending them honourably to Valhalla. | “Whippersnappers!” The grizzled old warrior yelled. He was hunched over and breathing heavy, looking over the moaning and unconscious youths scattered before him.
He had bested seven of them so far and didn’t even have a scratch. What were they teaching kids these days?
“Magnus, can you just die already?” The chief called down at him.
“Nay, I’ll die when you can find one of these kids strong enough to do the job right.” Magnus poked one of the moaning youths to drive the point home. The youth moaned harder clutching his shattered knee.
“What if we send two, will that work?”
“Let’s find out!” Magnus snarled readying his cane.
Two nervous boys entered the arena, one armed with an axe, the other with a spear. They advanced slowly getting on either side of Magnus, they planned to take him at the same time. It was a good plan, but it wouldn’t work. The spear would attack first driving him into the axe for a quick kill, and sure enough the spear thrust forward quickly.
Magnus stepped to the side, grabbed the spear and pulled the boy towards him bashing his nose into his face with his forehead. The boy went down and Magnus turned to face the axe. He was startled at the quick demise of his friend and tried to rally, but the side of the spear haft cracked his jaw before he could act.
Magnus threw it down in disgust. “Back in my day we actually had training you know!” He spit into the dust.
“Fuck.” The chief said. “If you cripple every warrior we have there won’t be any left to go on raids.”
“Should have thought of that before you sent a bunch of boys to kill me. Besides, these boys couldn’t raid chicken coop without getting pecked to death. Send a real warrior!”
“That isn’t how it works Magnus. You know that. The new warriors have to prove themselves.” The chief explained.
“Prove that their bones are made of dust and their skin is parchment? When I was a boy we fought all day everyday uphill in the snow without food. These boys spend too much time doing… Well I don’t know what they do all day but it clearly isn’t fighting.”
“Times have changed Magnus, we don’t need to fight as much.”
“That doesn’t even make sense, we fight and die so we go to Valhalla. Fighting is what we do.”
“Not anymore.” The chief said.
“Then I don’t really want to live. Send the rest and let’s be done with it.” Magnus said.
The chief nodded and the rest of the boys entered the arena. There were only five left, and they were the ones that had killed the other old warriors that day. They were confident. It didn’t last.
The first went down because he didn’t keep his shield up and got a cane in the eye for it. The second didn’t care for seeing eyeballs on the ground and got his scalp split open when he looked away. The third hesitated on his advance giving Magnus time to step inside his axe blades range and crack some ribs. Four panicked and threw his sword, Magnus caught it and threw it back making sure it hit hilt first. He didn’t want to kill the kid, just knock him out. The fifth one was calm, he waited and looked for an opening.
The old warrior didn’t look like much but the boy knew he was trouble. He tried to feign an attack to draw the cane up to deflect it so he could knock him down with his shield and finish him. Instead, Magnus saw the feint coming, stepped forward and wrenched the shield from his hands and smacked his face with it. He went down and bled with the rest.
“This is pathetic.” Magnus said breathing heavier than before. Despite his prowess he was getting tired. He couldn’t keep this up forever.
The chief didn’t know what to do anymore so he signaled the archers.
“Really?” Magnus spat.
The archers fired, but Magnus was still holding the young warrior’s shield and easily blocked them.
“I can do this all day. Send a man to face me!”
The chief knew the archers would get him sooner or later, but it didn’t seem fair anymore. This man had earned a good death, so he came up with a compromise.
“Magnus, you have bested all of our young warriors today. This is unprecedented, so I give you the choice of how to die.”
“If you can’t find a warrior skilled enough to do the job I’ll go out and find one that will. Open the gate and let me go, I’ll wander until the God’s see fit to have me join them.”
The chief nodded and the gates opened. Magnus hobbled his way into the wilderness with the town watching him go.
“Wolves will get him.” A man said.
“Or a bear.” Another added.
“I wouldn’t count on it, that man is pure hate and violence.” The chief said coming up behind them. “He’d fight the gods just to say he tried. Maybe that’s why he won’t die, they are afraid of him.”
“The gods fear no man.” Someone said.
“They should.” The chief said watching the old warrior disappear into the forest.
---
Edit- [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/DirtandPoncho/comments/4tgnhv/part_2_wp_ancient_custom_dictates_that_once_a/) | "*Survival, that's what matters, living to fight another day. To strike another blow. Men who survive are to be regarded as heroes, who will bravely put their lives at risk for their people again. Who wear their scares with the pride of someone who knows that someday they may have more*" - Tablet of Itkapua
Needless to say, there weren't many men like this.
"intelligence" Kohn muttered as he shuffled down the road with his son " that is what people need. That is the problem with everyone. They don't think! They think with their arms, not their brains. Hah, I don't think most of them know that the brain exists! Uncultured swines"
Silently, Hulon listened to his father. Normally, he would smile politely but today he didn't have the life for it. Walking down the dirt road, amidst the loud merchants and wooden houses, he would smile and feel his spirit lifted. He would feel his body warmed by the caressing of the sun's rays. But today, the merchants seemed to be very far away and the houses around him belonged to strangers.
The faded wood all around him reminded him of the past. The dull red of the blacksmith's reminded him of his first sword, the dull green of the alchemist's reminded him of his first potion and the pale blue of the hospital made his scars itch. In each of those memories, he had been with Kohn. His father had always stood beside him.
Looking up at him, Hulon noticed how much he had changed. Long grey hair grew where it had been black before. Wrinkles lined a once youthful face and the beard he once prided himself on was unkempt. But his eyes, they were still as sharp as he remembered them and beneath the shuffling walk he saw strength. He saw the figure of a man who never gave up.
Everyone knew Kohn's story, the scratches on his worn armour. He had lived when he should have died. Time and again, he found a way to escape death's grasp. When others charged, he struck from behind. But still no one listened to him. No one listened to his way of fighting, of being smart. Behind his back they called him a coward. Inflamed by the emotions of important men, they refused to see the number of men Kohn had killed.
Well, Hulon listened.
He really had no choice. He wasn't as tall or as strong as the other warriors. For years, he had been cast aside by his teachers as the weakest. Until they began forgetting about him.
Sometimes, people seemed surprised when he talked. As if they didn't remember that he was there. In reality, he had learned how to fade away a long time ago. How to be forgotten so no one could hurt him, so no one would touch him.
Countless time his life had been saved by this and many lives had been lost.
"Hey, are you listening to me?" Kohn snapped.
Startled, Hulon snapped out of his memories and looked at his father. What he saw there, framed by the light of the sun, became engraved in his mind. Tears streamed down his father's face. The wrinkles, however, were gone. The grey hair seemed as strong as the black and there was order in the mess of his beard. Yet what he really noticed was those teary eyes that seemed to pierce his thoughts.
" I have always said" his father began "to anyone who listens that you have the most wonderful eyes I have ever seen. When you look at someone, there is no doubt that you are listening. Your eyes are focused, calm and show that you listen. I am blessed to be your father. No, I am blessed to have ever known you"
Looking at his father, Hulon began to cry. Beneath the strength of his eyes and beneath the false weakness of his figure, he was a man. Beneath the warrior, he was a father. Beneath his experience are years of joy and hardship.
And they expected Hulon to kill him.
--To be continued....
-------------------------
Thanks for reading, I wrote this in a hurry - I'll re-write it and continue it as soon as I can!
| 2016-07-18T09:09:03 | 2016-07-18T07:31:36 | 144 | 16 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear [name redacted],
Hey, do you remember when you stopped talking to mecwithout giving me an explanation? How you walked away from that without any pain, but I was sent into a depressive spiral for months? Of course you don't. You can put those thoughts behind you. I can't put mine behind me. You're lucky, and I kind of envy you.
What I want you to know is that I'm happy, with a sweet girl who actually cares about my feelings. Someone who actually deserves my time and effort. Someone who, if given a choice between killing her or killing my oldest friend and unable to kill the one holding a gun to my head, I would kill my oldest friend. Someone so much better than you in every concievable way. Someone who isn't a waste of oxygen.
I hope this opened your eyes on how much of a heartless shitstain you really are.
Sincerely,
Vivi
P.S.: Enjoy the glitter bomb, fuckhead. | 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T13:04:29 | 59 | 36 |
[WP] A Moon Goddess finds a little Russian dog named Laika (the first animal in space) stranded in orbit and decides to rescue/adopt her. | ##Life of the Moon
I never knew my name, but I understood that I played a role in the universe around me. It took a long time before I understood why I played that role.
I suppose most people do not remember their births or infancy. My first memory was looking at my people extended family across the night sky. Their aura entranced me, and I wanted to join them. When I tried to run for them, I felt the pull of my sister. I looked back her, and I looked at father.
Father's light was different than the rest of the stars. His light was powerful and invited, but it had a dangerous quality to it. My other siblings all felt the same about him. They kept close to please him, and I knew that if I ever left. My sister would lose her creatures.
My sister is the favorite of my immediate family. She is the only one of us that father has blessed with creatures. Father and her have created a mosaic of life. Father insists that the rest of the family avoids looking at her creatures, but when the opportunity presents itself, every one of us gazes in awe at them.
I am blessed as well because I am the closest to her. I encircle her to learn more about the secret of life. It is difficult to ensure acquire a good position to view them, but I am able to do it often. When I am feeling daring, I will block father's view of part of my sister briefly. The creatures react in odd ways to my presence.
My sister's creatures are starting to advance and create their own structures. One day, a small creature is able to escape her. Without thinking, I grab it out of the air. It is encased in a strange pod, but I am able to remove it.
The creature within is furry, and it has the most adorable eyes. When I touch it, it starts licking my hand. I bring it to my home, and it brings me join. My sister is truly lucky to always have such creatures.
I begin looking closely out how my sister sustains life to ensure that my own creature survives. It is difficult, but I am able to transfer some of my energy to the creature. The creature seems to love me, and I don't feel alone anymore.
More pods leave my sister containing more odd creatures. I rescue every one of the creatures and make them my own. They are diverse and unique, but they are all exciting. A few creatures are able to make it to me without assistance, but they leave before I can greet them.
With all of the life on me, I begin to feel a greater connection to the life that has not arrived. They are clearly as enamored with me as they are with father. I start to understand their languages and cultures through these brief interactions, and I discover that they have names for me and the rest of my family.
I am rotating my sister with a sense of confidence that I have never felt. My father is angered by my rebellious streak, but I do not care. I will be able to make my own way soon. Maybe, I will greet the rest of the family soon. Not today, today, I will enjoy the life on Earth.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | It had been completely by accident that Artemis had discovered the spacecraft. And even more so when she heard a whimpering noise from a dog.
Artemis watched the little dog with a sad smile. It was huddled in a corner of a metal container she assumed to be of mortal creation. More importantly though, it looked sad. And trapped. And...scared? Well of course it would. It had been taken away from everything it knew and thrown into dangerous conditions, with hardly any food and water left. The mortals had left it to die with not so much as a treat for thanks. Even Artemis wept at the death of one of her hounds and yet she felt as though she had more humanity in that moment than anyone on earth. They could have sent a damn plant. They could have volunteered one of their own! How could anyone even think of sending a defenceless animal. She could feel the heat grow as she drew closer to the dog, nipping at her skin like pinpricks. She crouched down and sat with it as it popped its head on her lap. She shifted the collar to reveal a name tag. “Laika”. The dogs ears twitched at hearing it’s name for the first time since it left the atmosphere. “You might make a good hunting dog...although I suppose you deserve some rest before I even consider that for you”. She scratched the dogs back as it climbed into her lap.
The heat climbed higher as the whimpering grew louder from laika. She couldn’t help but hold the dog a little closer to her chest as she remembered her first hound. He was just as sweet as the bitch she held in her arms at that moment. If the hunting thing didn’t work out she was sure that someone on Olympus may be able to help. Maybe even hades wouldn’t mind a new friend for Cerberus? Persephone could certainly convince him. Or perhaps she could gift her to Apollo. One thing she was certain of though is that the mortals would no longer hurt her. | 2021-06-08T18:12:44 | 2021-06-08T16:54:22 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now. | The city was once covered in brilliant lights that shined beautifully in the night sky. Now covered in vegetation dyed red from the hours before.
_______________________________________________________
When I was 10 I couldn't fly, bench a million pounds, read minds and wasn't super smart. The words get pounded into me constantly at school. The only break I got was in the garden my mother cherished more than anything. The once desolate earth in the backyard of our country home had become beautiful after I had tripped trying to help my mother plant the seeds. She had stared at me in awe as the ground sprouted grass and small saplings.
My mother loved roses, until she died when I was 13. My father couldn't bear the sight of my roses and burned the garden with his powers the next morning. He moved me to the city, where no life existed and everything was artificial. There was nowhere to use my power and nothing to remind me of my sweet mother. I showed my new class my power and was laughed out of the room. I couldn't bear the ridicule anymore. I was sick of it all! The ground, the lights, and the people where all artificial!
After years of bullying and burned daisies I fell on my knees and slammed my fist to the ground, sprouting a rose from the hallway. I wanted to get them back! I wanted better, I DIDN'T DESERVE THIS! The flower became huge to the size of my body. I left school on the last day with a new resolve, this city will be my garden. My graduation that night was full of smiling faces and powerful words. None of them were bigger than my own, I was ready. I step up to shake hands with my principal and slam my hand on the stage.
I stand upon a giant flytrap and think: Mother would be proud.
_______________________________________________________
It's kinda rushed, but I hope y'all enjoyed it! | Herbert Johnson, on his 80th birthday snapped. It was bad enough to have a super power that only brings you ridicule, in a world full of powers that inspire admiration. These super powered fools, now, used their great powers to crash an old man's birthday party.
Herbert Johnson, the master of gas, unleashed his ultimate revenge. A thing so diabolical he promised never to do. The world of heros now had one villain. Flatulence was Herbert's game. Now the world was subjected to an endless cloud of flatulent gas. A feet none of the other super heros realized Herbert was capable of. No one is laughing now. | 2017-06-12T10:28:38 | 2017-06-12T08:36:12 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You've died and have woken up in a bright area; there is a man standing before you in white robes. He asks "How was Heaven?" | I feel like I should be disorientated, but I simply feel nothing. I am aware that someone is standing in front of me, but I do not see them with my eyes. I have no eyes at all, but yet I know they are there. More than that, I know what they are wearing. I know what they look like. I can not see, but I can sense their presence. It is quite surreal, as if I am less of a physical being and more of a conscience, free of the confines of a body. Suddenly, the man speaks:
----------------------------------------------------
"How was Heaven?"
-----------------------------------------------------
I am not quite sure what to feel. I first experience a sharp pang of regret, which was then followed by confusion. Where am I? Why am I here? Why am I anywhere? As an atheist, I expected.. well I am not quite sure what I expected when I died. Blackness? Nothingness? My point being, I was certainly not prepared to learn that what I had just left behind was actually heaven. The man patiently waits for my response:
------------------
"Heaven?"
"Yes, how did you enjoy Heaven?"
"...So if that was Heaven, what is this place?"
"We'll get to that, but first answer me; how did you enjoy Heaven?"
"Why am I here, am I in hell?"
"You are exactly where you are and where you are is exactly where you belong. Now, I will ask once more. Did you enjoy Heaven?"
----------------------------
My life flashes before my eyes in a disorientating blur of emotions and memories. Nostalgia hits me like a truck as I think back on my family. My mother's loving face consuming my vision right after my birth. Happiness. What I would discover to be short-lived happiness. My panic as I cowered in the corner of the room, listening to my parents beg for their lives. The sound of gunshots that haunted me for the rest of my life. An instant passes and I was now the one staring down the barrel of a gun, a gun that delivered me to my strange conversation with the man in robes.
--------
"..No, no I did not enjoy "Heaven". In fact, I would be much more likely to brand that life as Hell than I would Heaven."
"Very well. It has been pleasant speaking with you. Goodbye." The man abruptly turns and starts to walk away. I sense him receding and frantically yell after him, "Wait! What do I do now?"
He turns and I feel him intensely staring at me. "You start anew and try to find the happiness in this life that you could not find in your last. Only when you realize yourself that life is Heaven, then will you have peace. Until then, you will try once again."
Processing this, I start to feel a burning sensation within me. Some innate sense tells me my time is running short and I ask one final question of the mysterious man in robes: "Again? How many lives have I lived?"
He seems to ever so slightly grin and cryptically responds, "Very few compared to how many some require."
-------------------------------
My mind melts and I know only pain as my eyes adjust to an astonishingly bright light that consumes my new vision.
"It's a baby boy!" | Even though I've already died once before, the crunch of a bone snapped from impact still brings a deep sickness to my gut. At first I twist my head to let it all come out, but as I do I see a pair of pale feet in a pair of sandals. I twist away further to avoid expelling my last mortal meal between his toes.
"Excuse me?" I say.
"How was it? Heaven I mean," he says.
"Have you ever asked someone how their entire life was?"
"You act like I haven't," he says.
Still a little queasy, I sit up. My leg is an attic coat hanger, mangled and thin. Curiously I prod it and feel the need to twist away once more, but I overcome the urges. The pain is of body. When I look to the sky there are clouds are no longer below my feet but miles above me in a serene blue afternoon.
"Second chance," he says.
"Why though?" I ask.
"Why not?"
He smiles. The sort of you from a father when his son grasps that diploma. Or upon meeting eyes with his wife beneath a veil of white and beside a man in black reading from a book. It's a smile that says the rest of a life is in front of him. He folds his hands in front of him and, with the gentlest of nods, motions towards a set of cement towers with windows that reflect white in the sun.
"How long has it been down here, you think?" he asks. He raises his hand as if there's a watch there, but his robe peels back to reveal only skin. His smile vanishes. "Go on."
I turn my head towards the city. It feels like it's been a very long time, but I'm here. This is me. There's no grave. No casket. I really want to go back up there, it was so nice and comforting. But if there's one thing everyone wants, if there's one thing people ask of this man every second of every day, either for them or a loved one, it's a second chance.
"Okay, but can you call an ambulance first? For my leg," I say. "It really hurts." | 2016-08-16T00:09:14 | 2016-08-15T20:55:55 | 44 | 29 |
[WP] The world is divided into 2 societies: one for those with powers and one without, with strict rules of no interaction. However, with most of the superheroes defeated and the villains on the verge of winning, you have no choice but to cross over and seek help from the non-powered humans | The path to the human land is arduous. I set sail months ago, and the days have drifted past me, filled with desperation at times and despair at others. When the world was split into the two factions, those with powers and those without, the Atlantic and Pacific Oceans became the barrier separating the two populations.
There were times during the voyage when I thought I would die. That my little sailboat would capsize and one of the sea monsters of the Pacific would rise up from the dark depths of the ocean and swallow me whole. Now, finally I see land.
As soon as the sailboat is close enough to the shore I drop the anchor and swim the rest of the way. I see people along the beach. They stop in their tracks as I arrive. Some of them take out cellphones and dial.
"I think we have an unauthorized entry at Hadley Beach," the nearest man says.
First, I am surprised that the humans have such advanced technology. Our side was given all the men and women with superhuman intelligence. Most of them chose to become supervillains rather than superheroes. Second, none of them seem afraid.
I know I'm not in peak form. Months of surviving on scraps has rid me of any muscles I had, and the sun has bleached my hair and burnt my skin. I must look like a man on the verge of death, but I am still superhuman. The pink hair and the lavender skin will follow me to my death. I don't have the energy to summon the balls of neon pink and purple energy that I hurl at my enemies, but these humans don't know that.
"It's best you stay calm and cooperate when the police arrive," a woman nearby says. "Do you have your permit?"
"My what? My permit for what?"
A fleet of cars drive to the boardwalk and police officers step out, guns and hackles both raised.
"Put your hands up and get on your knees!" the nearest one shouts. He's a bulky man, his uniform straining against his muscles. I can tell he's comfortable with the gun in his hand, and comfortable using it as well. I follow his instructions instantly.
There's a buzz from behind me that erupts into a drone before I black out.
When I wake up, I'm in an interrogation room. The police officer here isn't trigger happy or screaming. She's sitting opposite me, rifling through a file. When I groan, she looks up.
"Good, you're awake. Which guild are you from?"
"What?"
"Your guild," she says. "The Nightclaws? The Deathjoys? Frostbite?"
The names are vaguely familiar. My nemesis, The Infinite Inferno, was the leader of a group called the Deathjoys.
"I'm not in any guilds. I'm not a supervillain."
"A super-what?" the detective asks.
"A supervillain. I'm not one. I'm a superhero."
"Like in the comic books?"
She looks at me like I'm crazy, and leaves the room. The door is left a crack open, and I can hear her speaking to her superior.
"I don't think he's all there, sir," the detective says. "Dehydration, malnutrition. Must have all gone to his head. He's saying the Deathjoys are supervillains, and that he's a 'superhero'."
There's a muffled chuckle. "Poor guy. Have him admitted to the hospital for a psych eval, and get his photo to the guild headquarters to see if anyone recognizes him."
There aren't any more questions. I'm not given a chance to explain myself either. Every request for help for my land and the superheroes lands on deaf ears, only evoking pity or sometimes suppressed laughter.
"My people are dying!" I tell the psychiatrist as he sits down in front of me. "We need help!"
"Your people are fine, sir," the doctor says. "One of them is here to visit you."
The Infinite Inferno walks in through the door. He's not wearing his mask here, and instead of his dark robes and staff, he's dressed in a pinstripe suit. He sits in the chair in front of me.
"Inferno," I hiss.
"Levitus," he says with a smile. "Fancy seeing you here. I had thought you died in the first wave of our attack. But no, you *fled*."
"What are you doing here?" I ask. "It's against the rules of our society to interact with humans, but you villains...."
"We're villains. Did you honestly expect us to follow the rules?" he asks. "The humans are nice. We came here and helped them how we could with our powers. In exchange, they gave us their own inventions and discoveries. It's a mutually beneficial relationship."
He shakes his head. "No. It's more of a friendship."
I strain against the white straitjacket that I'm trapped in, wishing I could burn him, throw my power against his body until he's reduced to a pile of dust. But with my hands tied, I cannot call onto my powers.
"I will tell them the truth."
"Who will they believe? A madman, or the man who's brought London countless advancements and has proven an ally, time and time again?"
He taps his chin in mock wonder. "The third wave of our attack is underway, you know. Your side, I hear, is losing marvelously."
"You're evil. How can you kill your own kind like this?"
Inferno shakes his head. "*Kind* is an interesting word. Our *kind* has little kindness, and even less kinship. When we discovered our powers, we isolated ourselves from our brothers without them. The world was not as kind to humans as it was to superhumans. They froze, they starved, they toiled, and they bettered themselves. While we ignored their suffering and only indulged in our own petty squabbles, they managed to progress with their human strength. Good and evil are subjective terms, Levitus. You superheroes wanted to kill us all, remember? Called us villains and yourselves heroes to justify it. Are you angry that us villains are defeating you at the game you started?"
I scream.
"Calm yourself, Levitus. It will be over soon. We are destroying an old world, true. But only so we can replace it with something better." | “See anything?” Janus called out through the mist.
“Nothing,” whispered Kay as he stepped past her.
The ground shifted below her, and Janus stepped back. A rotting hand reached up through the moist forest soil, the ground bulged in little mounds then cracked open as pale, writhing bodies crawled out, the soil cascading down their half-exposed bones.
She saw the eyes of the necromancer through mist, burning green in hazy ribbons. The necromancer stepped forward, dragging a long, gnarled staff in his hand. His fingers were covered in dirt and filth. He wore a long, flowing crimson robe that was stained with dirt. His hood concealed his face.
“Leaving so soon?” the necromancer asked, his voice guttural, filled with phlegm and malice.
Janus stepped back and tripped over a corpse rising out of the ground. It stared at Janus sadly as its cold fingers walked up her leg, tearing at her leather pants.
The corpse's head collapsed like a rotten gourd under the heavy swing of Kay’s Warhammer. But more were rising up, stepping forward. For every rising corpse Kay crushed, at least two more appeared.
Kay raised his fist and called out, the runes on his arms flaring white as a pulse of light surged out of his body, turning the closest risen dead into ash.
Out of the mist more of The Clan of Wight appeared, stepping up to the necromancer and looking at Kay and Janus.
“These two must be lost,” said a shadow knight, stepping towards Kay. “The Clan of Ferrous should know better than to be in our territory. A people should know when they’ve been defeated.”
The shadow knight’s armor was covered in tiny black chains that rattled as she walked. The shadow knight drew her claymore. The blade was as black as the night sky without stars, and it pulled in the light Kay had summoned, darkening the forest.
“Janus, run,” Kay said, charging forward towards the shadow knight who lifted her claymore casually to meet the swing of Kay.
But Janus ran towards Kay, calling forth her transportation spell as she closed her eyes, her feat treading through the reaching hands of the ever-rising dead. The incantation brought forth the portal at the ground behind Kay.
Another hand burst through the soil, grabbing her foot, Janus tripped, fell forward, grabbing Kay and pulling him through the portal before it contracted, then disappeared.
The corpses looked around, staring dumbly as the necromancer stepped past them. Then they followed him, slowly.
“We push forward,” the necromancer said. “We press the advantage.”
\_\_\_
I looked up at the headlines streaming over the screen, the steam of the forge making it hard to read.
*Clan of Ferrous fights valiantly but has withdrawn from the Hadal zone to gather strength. Clan of Ferrous has extracted a reported thirty casualties to The Clan of Wight as they withdraw.*
But how many did we lose? I asked myself. They never tell us that.
“Stop standing around and get to work, Isaac.”
I look over and see, Dario, my boss scowling at me. I shrug and say, “we lost the Hadal zone.”
He seems surprised by this, and his scowl drops for a minute but then returns. My boss is a large man. You can tell he had a good frame once, but now he’s pushing too far out in the mid-section. His eyes are tired and bloodshot. He’s balding and he sometimes coughs and cannot stop for a long time. I ask him if he is okay and he waves me off as though I've offended him. He’s a hard man. But he’s a good man.
“That’s not our concern. We power the system. That’s what we do. That’s how we help.”
*The System* Dario is talking about is The Miasma. This is a vast network that our whole world is linked to. It is how resources are divided among the different clans. Each clan is rewarded based on their hero’s ability to conquer parts of the Miasma. Heroes are chosen at birth for their innate powers. The bloodlines of heroes are kept under tight control. When a hero is born, they are synced into The Miasma and train non-stop.
I am from the Clan of Ferrous. We were once a great clan, one of the strongest and most dominant in The Miasma. This has changed. We’ve lost zone after zone. They put a nice spin on it in the headlines, but we all know what is happening. We are losing.
I can’t do much about it though.
I am a simple laborer. I am not a hero, nor do I have any powers. I sort Axamite for a living. This is mineral that we mine and use in our furnaces to power our heroes connection to The Miasma. It is an important job, they tell me.
Sometimes I wish I was one of our heroes. But I've been told it is a fool’s dream.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | 2021-01-29T07:42:01 | 2021-01-29T07:33:19 | 202 | 31 |
[WP] Long before you were born, your father promised his firstborn to otherworldly beings in exchange for power. In a twist of fate, your mother also promised her firstborn to dark gods. | "Oh, for fuck's sake!" Dorrigan, Ancient High King of the Dark Gods, exclaimed. "How in Set's name was I supposed to know we double booked?" His gnarled horns scratched the living room ceiling, sending drywall everywhere.
"Perhaps you could have asked," intoned Ghffkt, Grand Inquisitor of the Intergalactic Marauders Union. He was shorter, and half metal. "Certainly neither of us will have use for half a human boy."
"Yeah, no duh, C3-POS," Dorrigan muttered.
I glared at Mom and Dad, who sat semi-flabbergasted on the couch. "What. The fuck. Did you do?" I snarled.
Dad stammered, scratching the back of his head. "Well, um...remember how I wrote that musical back in college and won a Tony?"
"Yeah, and I'm the only person who ever thought it sucked?"
"Yeah," Dad said. "Deal with a demon. You're probably immune. Same with your mother and her Olympic career."
"No, I made a deal with a celestial being," Mom corrected.
"Hardly," Dad huffed. "This dude looks like an octopus crawled into a trash can."
*"Seriously?"* I yelped. Dad shrugged.
Dorrigan pinched where the bridge of his nose would be if he had skin, and sighed. "Okay, how about this," he said. "How about we get him Monday to Friday? You get weekends."
Ghffkt scoffed. "I know how long weeks last in your dimension," he said, rolling a half dozen of his eyes. "Who will clean our blomdullogots for all that time?"
"Figure it out!"
"Uh, I'm actually half computer so I've already figured it out!"
"For fuck's sake!!"
I looked at Mom and Dad again. "Either you get me out of this," I said, "or I'm never speaking to either of you again--no. I'll tell Nana."
Both of their faces creased with worry. "You wouldn't," Dad said.
"She'd give you hell," I replied. "And best case scenario if these guys took me she'd probably make you get me back. I know you're too lazy for that."
Mom squinted at me. "You're a monster."
"Apple doesn't fall far--"
I didn't finish. Just then, a massive sinkhole took the kitchen adjacent. Pots and pans clanged and disappeared as a humongous black form burrowed its way up and out of the gaping maw. It righted itself, staring at all of us with beady black eyes and a short snout. It wore glasses.
"Ahem," the mole-person said. "I, Squibbly Franciscos, am here to claim the soul of one Freddie Brown."
Dorrigan ripped several new holes in the ceiling looking at him. "And by what law of this disgusting realm can you claim such a thing?"
Squibbly held up a roll of ancient-looking parchment. "Why, he was promised to me," he (she? who cares) said. "Forty-six years ago, Gladys Brown offered me her firstborn grandchild when he came of age."
A silence fell over the room.
Dad burst out laughing. | "What do you mean it's spoken for? I'm not even pregnant yet, how can my firstborn already be spoken for?"
The swirling, chaotic mist in front of her sucked inwards, then expanded. Small pieces of nearby dust and debris were pulled past her, skittering across the countertop towards the dark being.
It spoke, voice a raspy whisp like sand against metal, "Sssssooorry, the chiiilld isss cclllaaaaiimeddd. Tttraaaaddeddd bbyyy tttthhheee fffaaattthhheeerrrrrrr."
Veronica grimaced in frustration and annoyance. She wasn't even dating anyone, let alone thinking about having a child. Was it possible that somewhere out there, her future lover beat her to making the dark pact?
"Well fuck, man. What did he get for it?"
The dark whirlwind pulsed again, crackling with tiny sparks of what looked like red lightning. It never stopped moving, she wasn't even sure it could, but it's shape held steady for a moment as it thought about her question.
Finally the response came, the inhuman sound created by smashing dust against nearby objects. "Tttwwwwoooo ssscccooooorrreeee ooffff pppaaaaabbbbsssttttt."
Veronica slammed her clenched fist against the countertop again, shaking the lotto display and rattling the change in the take-a-penny tray. "You gotta be fucking kidding me, man. That asshole traded my kid for a 24 pack of fucking PBR?"
She shoved away from the counter, abandoning the carton of cigarettes, and brushed past the line of people behind her. This was so fucking embarrassing. A small bell dinged cheerfully as she shoved the glass doors open and the dark maelstrom hissed, "Tthhhhaaaannkkkk yyyooouuuuu, ccccoooommmeeee aaaaggaaaaiiinnn." | 2017-03-11T07:39:52 | 2017-03-11T07:09:26 | 505 | 136 |
[WP] You buy a deadly haunted house, little do the demons know you are an even older form of ancient evil. | The man leaned on his shovel and gazed at his ragged heap of a home. The shutters were leaning at an odd angle, the door was painted a strangely bright shade of pea-soup green, and ghosts infested every square inch, creating a shimmery-silvery-wavering sheen over the entire structure. The man threw his shovel into the garden, and walked up to the door.
---
The ghosts murmured to each other. They didn't know what to do, how to react to being ignored. They watched the man shuffle around his kitchen, sweeping a dust-laden floor and maneuvering around the hellish spirit screaming in his face. Never looking directly at her, but never running the broom over her clawed feet. He hummed, and the ghosts murmured.
---
The man cleaned his ramshackle house. He wiped down the ancient end tables left by some unfortunate past owner, and set a painting of his brothers down on the now-clean wood. He stood for a moment, reminiscing, then turned to search for a clean rag. He cleaned, and the ghosts whispered.
---
They grew bolder over time. One sprite plucked at the mans hair, while another pulled strategic threads from his clothes, ripping them to pieces without ever being noticed. They didn't touch his skin. They had tried, but the burning fingers they wrapped around his wrist charred and fell to the ground as fine, soft ash. The man didn't notice. The man flipped the pages of his bible, and chuckled softly at the stories within. He read, and the ghosts grew restless.
---
The man stroked his beard and thought about a pet. Something useful. He had considered a goat or a lamb, but the memories associated with those particular possibilities were unsavory. He would just cut the grass himself. A dog, perhaps. Maybe a chicken. Eggs sounded nice, he thought. Maybe two chickens. The ghosts watched him stare into space, and they seethed.
---
One reached her breaking point. She gathered all the energy she could muster, and swept through the man, an action that had killed the previous three owners of the cursed home. The man shivered. The ghost shimmered, cracked, and fell as a fine dust, blown away before she reached the floor.
---
The man picked up his bible, turned, and walked to his bedroom, kissing his fingers and touching the painting of his brothers. He set the book down on the nightstand, open to an early page, and laid down. One curious creature crept up to see what the man had been reading. She read, flinched, and slinked out of the room as quietly as she could.
---
Genesis 4:15 - Therefore whoever harms Cain, vengeance will be taken on him sevenfold. | It remains unclear to me what, exactly, the purpose of bequeathing me this crumbling, archaic, ramshackled hut was, but cultists are never very bright.
These human structures littered the world from one continent to the next since time amorphus. Apparently. I wouldn't know, having been sleeping in my city for the past few millenia.
The world was also "under New management" so to speak. Yahweh or something they, the humans, called it. Not that the pitiful machinations of an antidilvulian cult were worthy of note.
But I digress, the present situation perplexed me slightly, which in truth is the crux of the matter. This "house" I procured from a Mr. Marsh, a long time faithful of mine, and who's body I currently wear, seems to have had been subject to the inadvertent summoning of some of "Yahweh's" unruly daemoniac offspring into the archaic structure.
At first their attempts to frighten or extort me for my soul proved a source of entertainment. The novelty soon wore off. All it took was one brief flash of my true, gibbous, one would even dare to say cyclopean nature, and the creatures broke down into a babbling mass of hysterics and hollering.
Perhaps I'll lease this as a rental property and return to R'yleh. It's like the old saying goes; " Uulwi ifis halahs gag erh'ongg w'ssh." | 2016-10-07T20:26:21 | 2016-10-07T19:43:21 | 35 | 24 |
[WP] You just got fired, you're pretty sure your girlfriend is cheating on you, you're 75k in student loans debt, rent was due last week, and to top it all off? You're all out of beer. Oddly enough, you just got an email titled "Would you like to change the difficulty? Current setting: Very Hard."
EDIT: muh front page reddit wew lad.
This blew up a lot more than I thought it would.
I'm having a great time reading the responses I even decided to add one myself in the comments. | “It’s a joke, right?” Kelly peered at my phone through her cat-eye glasses, then looked back at me. “I mean, the sender is God@jeezycreezy.eu. I feel like, I mean, the least weird thing about it is that God is emailing from the European Union. Letting alone allll of the other weirdness.”
I shook my head.
“I dunno, something about it seems real.”
“Oh, you can sense the sanctity of this holy email through your touchscreen? Look, I guarantee if you send anything back you’re going to get a request for credit card details cleverly wrapped in some super great sounding Euro-church-pyramid scheme. Sell croissants and hand-sized bibles for a profit.” Kelly handed the phone back to me, pushing her glasses back up her nose with her free hand. She leaned on the counter next to the cash register and stared at me through her thick lenses. Radiohead wailed in the background, something about a shitty day. Behind her the weak winter sunlight filtered through the patchwork of oversized band posters that covered the high windows of the shop. Someone had cut the eyes out of Snoop Dogg so that he knelt next to a lowrider, a joint in his hands and sunshine bleeding out of his pupil-less eyes.
“Kelly, at this point I think giving my credit card details to a shadowy European Church pyramid scheme could only enhance my credit score.”
“I think credit scores can go negative, Dave. Or if they can’t, then they might change the rules for you- do you want to be the first guy they do that to? Get it named after you? The ‘Dave is a self-pitying loser who replied to God’ credit score bracket?"
“Jesus, Kelly. A break?”
I slumped forward, laying the phone and my head on the display counter. The glass felt cool on my forehead and I could see through the numberless scratches to an unopened Rolling Stones vinyl, where Mick jeered at me with his knobbly claymation-looking face.
“Sorry, Dave.” She sounded genuine. “It’s just… I mean, you kind of did get yourself here. If your life is set on Very Hard, what’s a Somali refugee’s life set on? There’s no ‘Fucked Since Birth’ setting in video games, although I don’t doubt some people would want to play it if it existed. Hmmm, that might be worth writing down- a game where you have to escape your horrible birth circumstances but no matter what you do you can’t win-”
“CHELSEA WAS THE BEST THING THAT EVER HAPPENED TO ME” I wailed, my breath fogging the glass. Across the shop, an old guy in a furry hoodie looked over at me.
“No,” Said Kelly. I could hear the eye roll, even though I couldn’t see her. “Chelsea was the hottest thing to ever happen to you. She was also the most psychotic, and the most dramatic, and the most banging other dudes-ic.”
I let out a moan that sent the old guy with the hoodie backpeadaling for the doors.
“Sorry, sorry. It’s just, my tax dollars pay for your broke ass’ Planned Parenthood treatments and now that Chelsea’s gone and the little guy is clearing up-”
“Why do I come here, Kelly? You are the opposite of a kind old bartender with wisdom beyond his years.”
“You come here because, as I already mentioned, your ass is way more than broke. But, cheer up. I have changed my mind.”
I looked up at her.
“You should totally reply to this email. Say, ‘Yeah, thanks, I want life set to very easy, with cheat codes enabled and maybe one of those mods where everyone has a big head, like in Goldeneye.’ And then if it works, you split your easy life with me. I’ll get you to do all the stuff that’s hard and you’ll do it as a thank you for always being there for you, even when you were at your most annoyingly depressive.”
She popped her gum and shoved the phone back at me over the counter.
“I’m gonna do it.”
“Yeah, then do it.”
I slid down and sat on the ground in front of the counter, thumbs tapping away. After a few moments, I pushed send and the tinny whoosh of an un-take-backable email sounded from the phone.
“What’d you say?”
“Pretty much all of it, except for the Goldeneye stuff. I feel like, one, if it really is God, that seems rude to ask for, like I’m making fun of him and two, if it actually happens it would be super gross.”
“Pussy. Can I help you?”
The man standing in front of us was tall, easily over six feet, and entirely dressed in white. White tennies, white slacks, an incredibly soft-looking white sweater, and white sporty sunglasses pushed up on his pale forehead.
“Dave?” He asked, pointing at me on the floor.
“Uh.” I scrambled to my feet, exchanging a look with Kelly, who shrugged. “Yeah, are you…”
The man ignored me, pulling out a slim white phone from his pocket. He checked something, then flicked his eyes back at me, smiling now.
“Very easy it is.” He said, and flicked his fingers at me.
I can’t deny, life is pretty great now. Naps in the sun, a backyard full of mice and long grass, fresh wet food twice a day (Kelly always buys the good shit too, real fish flakes up in this bitch!), and the occasional back alley rendezvous with the siamese from down the street. Do I ever regret replying to God? Not on your fucking life. | Sorry for formatting and grammar. On mobile.
I stood in line at the 7/11. I recounted the change to make sure I had enough for the bean burrito and the King Cobra. My mind wandered back three years ago. How had I gotten here? I was just finishing my freshmen year at college back then. A full ride, a great girlfriend, and nothing but great things ahead of me. Yet here I was. A week from homelessness, single, and nothing to my name.
I got off the bus at my stop and slowly walked back to my apartment. As I went to unlock the door my phone rang. I dropped the beer and the burrito and almost threw my phone. Who could be calling me and how was it even ringing? I hadn't paid the bill in months. The caller ID said unknown and I figured it was a bill collector. I cussed at my luck. I had no beer, no food, and no money now. The phone stopped ringing and I went inside. Screw the mess, someone else can deal with it.
I closed the door and sat on the floor and cried. I cried for what felt like an eternity and only stopped when my eyes couldn't produce anymore tears. This is it I told myself. This is how you die. Cold, alone, hungry.
My thoughts suddenly shifted back to the phone call. It was all their fault. If I could have my beer and a meal I would have been okay. And then the phone rang.
I stared at the screen and it rang again and again. I answered and screamed into the phone. I couldn't tell you what I said or how long I yelled, but the person on the other end stayed quiet. After a few moments of silence an almost robotic voice asked if I was done.
I couldn't bring myself to speak. The voice chimed back in, but I was too dazed to hear what he said. He spoke slower this time, in an almost trance like tone. Are you happy with your life?
I laughed and spat back how in the world anyone could be happy living like this. I'll take that as a no he responded. Would you like to reset difficulty and start from a previous save?
This couldn't be real. Life isn't a video game. You don't get to go back and make things easier for yourself. I laughed at the absurdity of the situation and mockingly said yes please take me back to the end of my freshman year and change difficulty to very easy. The line went dead and I snapped.
I ran out my door and down the stairs. I ran as hard and as fast as I could. My lungs burned and my legs ached, but I didn't stop. I ran until I got to the bridge and jumped. The cold water took what little breath I had.
I dove under the water and headed straight down. The light began to dim and then there was nothing. I didn't know if I was still going down or up but I swam. When I couldn't hold it any longer I gulped in the salty water. Drowning was harder than I had thought. My body didn't want to die and involuntarily started pushing for where I thought the surface was.
The darkness faded away and I could see the surface, but I knew I wouldn't make it. I clawed at my throat as if somehow I could make myself breathe the murky water. Everything slowed down and it was over.
I woke suddenly gasping for air. I was no longer in the water. I was confused. I knew I had died. There was no way I came out of that alive. My surroundings seemed familiar, but I couldn't quite place them. Was this purgatory? Was I going to hell for killing myself?
A soft knock brought me out of my thoughts. A face I knew all too well peered in and asked if I was alright. It was my mom. I hadn't seen or talked to her since the incident that sent my life spiraling out of control.
I sputtered out that I was okay and she asked if I wanted blueberry pancakes for breakfast. I could only nod. She closed the door and I looked around the room again. I was in my old room. I got out of the bed and went to the bathroom.
I looked into the mirror and the face I saw didn't match the one I had grown accustomed to. I looked younger and more alive. I slapped myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. It stung. It was the best feeling I could remember. | 2016-03-30T18:37:14 | 2016-03-30T17:29:09 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | 9 Jan 1309 and 14 Mar 1752
Two dates that are seared into my memory.
The dates were when someone last prayed to me.
Of course, even then my powers had waned significantly and i had been a pale shadow of my once powerfully benevolent self , weak after many millennia of having been forgotten and relegated to a lesser God.
But still I had tried to help. To manifest what little miracle I could. If not to fully answer the prayer , at least to lessen the pain of the one calling to me. It was as much (maybe more) to keep me feeling alive and needed as much as to help a mortal.
Those final two prayer answering incidents had hastened to weaken me more and quicker than it would have otherwise.
These days , all I do is continue to live on in this lonely cottage by the mountain ,powerless and helpless with only my memories of the past to keep me company.
Marking the passage of endless time until The All One decides to call me back.
Once every two or three years I take a holiday. To go visit the places that once held sacred power, where we were worshipped.
It’s all changed now obviously.
Offices,Hospitals and Airports occupy where once stood Temples and Prayer houses where devotees came calling. Bearing gifts in their hands, prayers in their hearts and hope on their mind.
I visit those places today to see passengers with with bags in their hand (some containing gifts no doubt) with prayers in their heart for a safe journey and hope for a better future.
“Segul - please come back. I am lost without you “
I took me a while to realise I was not in a dream. I slapped myself to know if i was asleep and hallucinating this prayer call, only to end up with a stinging pain on my cheek and the realisation that after nearly 400 years, someone had called me again. Had remembered me. Was beseeching me to come back.
Suffice to say that this came more as a shock than anything else. It couldn’t be. While I was fighting my inner voice to deny that it had heard a call , the same prayer came again. Much clearer and louder this time.
I realised that I was speaking to myself.
“I cannot go. It would be of no use and just disappoint whoever it is praying. And Me”.
My inner voice replied
“How do you know that until you go see what is it about ? It may well be a hopeless cause but you won’t know that until you see for yourself . And if you don’t go now , you will forever be asking yourself What if “
Since I had nothing better to do anyway I grudgingly dug up the location tracker from where I had buried it behind my cottage. It barely had any power left. I charged it with some of my own , weakening me ever more slightly in the process.
Even with this addition , the tracker powered up just barely enough to scan the airwaves and home onto the source from whence had come the call.
It was a small town around 600 miles from where I lived. If it had been much farther I doubt I would have been able to find the location.
It took me the best part of a full day to get there since my powers of instantly teleporting to where I wanted to go were well past me.
The house was in a quiet neighbourhood at the end of a leaf strewn street, overlooking a small patch of woods.
I knocked the door and a young woman, greying prematurely , opened the door.
“Hello, I’m Segul. I don’t know how to say this. But I’m a God and someone from this house called me. Actually Prayed to me. Was it you ?”
It took a while (by using up even more of my diminished power to lightly hypnotise her) to convince her that a) I wasn’t a perverted old man b) I wasn’t joking and c) I really was who I claimed I was.
Although she allowed me inside finally , she was confident that no one from this house could have called me seeing as a) no one even knew that a God like me existed and b) she and her family were Atheists and didn’t believe in Gods anyway.
I would have liked to tell her that it mattered not an inch what she believed in since I, A God ,minor though I may be , was standing right in front of her but I wisely decided to let the point slide.
“You mentioned family. Who else lives here ?”
“My daughter. But don’t worry Mr Segul. I am sure she couldn’t have called you seeing as she’s just 3 years old and there is no way she could know about an Old God like you.
She’s into cartoons and colouring books.
You wouldn’t happen to have featured in any of those I presume ?”
I admitted that I was sure I wasn’t featured in any cartoons or colouring books but asked her
“Can I speak with her for a minute ? Of course I don’t think you’re wrong but having come all the way I prefer not to go back with an unfulfilled prayer hanging about “
I could see the annoyance in her face as she called for her Daughter.
It was a while before a whippet of a girl appeared. Immediately I could see that she had been crying. Quite recently too. Her face was red right down to the tip of her nose
Her mother rushed to her
“Honey, oh baby - what’s wrong ? Why are you crying ?”
At this , the child started to cry once more , her chest heaving and hands waving around. I couldn’t watch yet couldn’t turn away as I now felt so strongly that this girl had called me.
“Mommy , it’s Segul - he’s gone missing “
Whatever I had been expecting , it wasn’t this.
When she realised what her Daughter had just said, the Mother looked at me mouth agape.
“Oh , how could I forget. Oh yes , We have a dog. Called Regal. Except that my daughter can’t pronounce the word R. She keeps calling him Segal”
She pronounced it like anyone would the bird.
It was now clear to me. And I felt quite bitter and disappointed.
I hadn’t been remembered after all. It was not me that this girl had called.
The girl looked at me through her tears
“Mr , can you find my dog ?”
My heart broke at the loss I could see in her eyes. I knew I couldn’t help her find her dog. I was far too weak. My location tracker wouldn’t help for it only showed me a place if someone called me (deliberately or by mistake as i now knew)
But I knew what I had to do.
“My child , I’m sorry Regal is missing. I can’t help you directly find him but I can do something that would help “
I spoke to the Mother now.
“I’m a lesser God as I have told you. That means there are Higher Gods and if I pray to one or other of them , I think they may be able to help your dog be found”
Yes I thought it would work. You see , I can’t be asking anything for myself when I pray to a Higher God. But in this case it was clear that I wasn’t doing this for myself. And a God’s prayer carried some weight even now.
And so we all knelt down , right there in the living room and prayed.
I left them waiting on their doorstep as I began my long journey back home.
By the time I reached the end of their street I think I could hear a joyful bark and sounds of laughter from somewhere behind me.
I never looked back.
| "Its your son sir, he needs your help."
"Well he doesn't seem to think so." Oriothis rolled his eyes from on top of his riding lawn mower. Clearly annoyed by being interrupted from his chores.
The servant spoke again with his head bowed both out of respect and the fear of making eye contact with such a powerful being. He spoke again through a shaky voice.
"He has fallen in love with a mortal and it has left him broken. He needs his father right now."
Oriothis warily looked the servant up and down. He was there the day his son had overthrown him. He stood as his son challenged him to an unfair challenge. Oriothis could have declined but he could tell that his son was too far gone. He had lost him. H accepted the challenge and willingly passed his mantle to his only son knowing it would destroy him in the end. But fathers must watch helplessly in times like those.
"A woman has been praying to him every day now. She is dying of cancer and reached out to your son to save her but he cannot. He doesn't know how and it is destroying him." The servant was pleading with him now.
There was an innocent life involved now. He son was an angry God and thought his fathers benevolent nature was his weakness and he was right.
"Take me to her." And fetch my son
"He is with her now and they are not far." The servant looked up both startled and relieved.
"I can drive us then just give me a second to get changed."
"Can't you just make us appear there?"
"Well I could but thats actually pretty exhausting and I've been doing chores all day. C'mon it's fun some of these mortals are so stressed when they drive but I find it relaxing."
"She's at the hospital in town actually." The servant now more confused than anything.
Oriothis unlocked the car door and told him he would be back. The servant sat in the passenger seat of his mini van and waited for him to get changed. From the rear vvieew mirror hung a picture of his son as a young boy. Jerraud the servant felt very small at that moment. So insignificant that his role in all this was just a nobody. How he had never stood up for himself and made anything that mattered. Like a family. He knew he did the right thing to pray to oriothis.
They arrived after an awkward fifteen minute drive and made their way to the woman's room. Shelby was her name and she was not winning her battle with cancer. She looked up at oriothis behind red puffy eyes that had only recently stopped crying. His son picked his head up and looked at his father without anger for the first time in years. He was too exhausted to be angry. He had been sleeping in waiting rooms for months now so he smelled and was unshaven. He had no clue when the last time he had taken a shower or worn clothes he knew were clean. None of that mattered because he didn't care. She was all he cared about and yet he could do anything.
"Dad I'm so sorry please help us." His son jumped up from his chair and embraced his father. He sobbed into his chest hysterically. Oriothis held his son and was brought to a few tears as well.
"I can't help you. This is the way of mortals. She will pass on but you must not let this destroy you it is the natural way of things. We cannot be ones to meddle in that." His father had been through this before with the boys own mother.
"That's bull shit mom lived a long life aand happy life before she passed but what does she get! She gets all that taken from her. For no fucking reason." Rage welled in his sons eyes and oriothis knew what he had to do.
"You must know this loss. So many people in the world live with this pain every day and there is nothing they can do about it. How can you hope to help them or rule them if you don't understand this part of reality. Every mortal will perish one day how can we make an exception for one without making it for all?" His words did nothing to calm his son.
"The difference is I'm not in love with them. Not like I love her I can't let this one go. I fucking won't. If she goes I'm going with her." His son taraxis started crying again. No hysterics this time. He looked so feeble and exhausted now.
"If what you say is true then there is a way you can save her."
Taraxis eyes widened as he picked his head up to face his father.
"Tell me right now."
"Only love is powerful enough to do what you're asking. You must be willing to do anything for this woman."
"Yes anything." Oriothis believed his son. The anger that had haunted his son for so long was honed into passion now. He would leap off of the roof of the hospital if he said it would save her.
He walked over to the woman and placed his hand on her head. Soon she began to scream and writhe and kick around in her bed. A black smoke poured out from her mouth and filled the room. It began to dissipate eventually and was absorbed by oriothis through ever pour in his body until he appeared incredibly aged and decrepit.
"When she wakes up tell her that i owe her my life for saving my son. I love you taraxis I hope you understand now that I always have."
"Oh my god dad are you ok what happened?"
"I'll be fine. I will pass soon instead of her now. But I will rest easy now that you have been saved." Oriothis sat down in the chair his son was in originally and sighed. "I will leave you shortly to tend to her but after I leave could visit me one last time? I would like to spend the last of my days with you but I will settle for a few moments. We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes dad of course anything. I owe you everything I'm so sorry for everything I don't know where to begin."
"Don't worry about it you will understand why I did everything I did one day. You have already begun to understand I can see that now." He rose from the chair and made for the door. "I'll be seeing you taraxis and nice to see you again jerraud." He pathetically sauntered down the hallway and out to his car. He felt so relieved as he turned on his car and headed home. He son was not lost.
---sorry about the awful grammar I'm on mobile so it's kind of a pain-----
"
| 2018-05-30T01:08:15 | 2018-05-29T22:59:09 | 57 | 28 |
[WP] A thousand years after humanity was accepted into the galactic federation at large, other aliens realized one terrifying fact about them, humans are adaptive creatures. Unlike other races, humans have no qualms about learning alien techniques or integrating new alien technologies to their own. | "I still don't understand", Max said, "NADIR-4 is a peaceful planet, sarge. It's really far away from the bugline. What purpose is there to send a whole division of space marines? We should be focusing on protecting human colonies, not these aliens."
"You're still young", the sergeant said, exhaling the vape smoke. "I'll let you on one secret I've learned over the years, kid. The aliens, all of them, are complete idiots."
"Huh?"
"Let me explain", sarge said. "Look at your rifle. Tell me what you know about it." Max took a glance at it. He knew it perfectly, of course, same as any other marine. He could describe its workings in his sleep. "Standard issue WLG-900, Nodarian-inspired nucleus, Krrgit style lance operator, Frenchinese optics. Combat AI developed from reprogrammed Zylonics."
"Precisely", sarge chuckled. "You know what Nodarians think of the Krrgit power lance? 'Heretic tech'. The Krrgit about reprogramming Zylonics? 'Inconceivable'. The Zylonics about Frenchinese optics? 'Incompatible technology'. They all keep making stupid excuses not to study each other. They are so far up their own asses that they took a damn *thousand years* to realize we weren't doing the same as them."
"Uh, OK. But, that still doesn't explain why we're going to NADIR-4."
"I'm getting there, kid. Now, tell me about the conflict between Hivemind Lambda and the republic of Sha in galactic cycle F36U7."
"Ughhhhhh. Really?"
"Tell me the gist of it. You have studied galactic history, haven't you?" It was a rhetorical question, of course. Every kid studies galactic history.
"Hivemind Lambda was unaware that Sha's citizens were individuals in their own right and not expendable drones", Max recited. "It thought the republic wouldn't mind trading a bunch of them to study, but when it learned it had been actually killing people, it was horrified. Peace was reached soon after, and Lambda accepted all responsibility and to date it's still working on reparations."
"You wanna know what the citizens of Sha know about the conflict?" Sarge was grinning in an uncanny way. "They say, 'hivemind Lambda is a horrible monster we cannot possibly comprehend, and without human strange telepathy magic, it would have consumed us all. Instead, now it serves our every desire forever.'"
"What?" Max shook his head in confusion. "But... The human alliance didn't do any magic! It's just like, basic xenopsychology! Lambda is so vast and ancient that it really doesn't care spending F8 cycles serving the republic, it's for it like, an afternoon washing their car."
"Precisely. Now you know our secret strange power, and our true superweapon: basic fucking common sense. The xenopsychologists in the spy service have been studying the imports and exports from NADIR-4, which, mind you, is open knowledge to everyone, and have determined with a 80% certainty that they are accumulating weapons to attack us. This will be the, I think seventh time we stop a war before it even begins. The aliens have *no idea* how we do this, they think we're psychic or something. Idiots, I tell you." | "Human culture is most similar to a highly adaptive virus." The lecturer, Zig-1-13, explained. "It may be somewhat ironic coming from me." There were scattered laughs in the hall, as Zig-1-13 was a Grodiax, a species evolved from viruses. "Unlike other cultures, they easily assimilate bits and pieces from other cultures, and seemingly at random.".
He paused, waiting for the various writing implements to stop. "Alright, can anyone give me a case of cultural assimilation by the humans that went badly?" All hands shot up. The professor chose one at random. "The Taral Salute." The gurgling answer came from a Taaren, a canine-like life form. Zig nodded. "Indeed, a disastrous misunderstanding - the Taral 'salute' was adopted as a standard human greeting, not knowing, or perhaps despite knowing, that it is one of the most vulgar gestures in the entire cross-galactic alliance." He adjusted his seeing aid. "Which led to the fourth civil war and multiple planet-eradication events, as humans also adapt technology.".
A few hands were raised, and Zig chose the old Krgaal, a female of some distinction and age. "But other races adapt too, right? It's why there are mixed universities in the first place. What made them so special?" He sighed. That was a bit of a hard subject to discuss. "True, but none as quickly, as fiercely or with such destructive results." He turned on the projector, showcasing various images as he spoke. "The extinction of the Ga'arth, the rise and death of the Ceremonious AI, the Golden Draught, the fourteen plagues, all seven galactic civil wars- virtually every major disaster in the last millennium can be traced back to humanity assimilating some cultural or technological aspect.".
The ringing bell signals the end of period, and Zig-1-13 decided to give his students a heads up. " Next lesson will be the excommunication of humanity from the alliance, and the permanent quarantine of the species to a single solar system, namely Xr-144q, in the planet SOL-3. Read chapter 14 in preparation." | 2022-06-14T02:42:49 | 2022-06-13T23:48:46 | 1,987 | 422 |
[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed] | Sitting alone in your basement lurking on shitty dating sites won't get you anywhere, today I'm here to tell you about the DENNIS system. Follow these steps carefully and you can achieve the undying love of any female you encounter.
>--------
**D** Demonstrate value:
Demonstrate your value to your selected female by doing something that shows you care, picking up medicine for your dying grandmother at the pharmacy is a great way to do this (it doesn't have to be true either! as long as you do a good job selling it)
>----------
**E** Engage physically:
Take her to a shitty restaurant, someplace even worse than the sty you call home. Make sure the restaurant is closed, that way, when you get there, say that you should both just head back to your place and watch a movie. Make sure to have a TV in your bedroom for this, proceed to bang.
>---------
**N** Nurture dependence:
A good way to do this step is to call her number (from a payphone) as an angry neighbor, threatening to take her life and trash her house for a reason that is beyond her control. She'll call you out of sheer horror and you'll be there to comfort her in her time of need
>---------
**N** Neglect emotionally:
Continue the prank calls, but don't answer her calls to you, neglect her every need, sending her into an emotional downward spiral.
>-----------
**I** Inspire hope:
Show up at her window saying that you're sorry for everything, that you want a chance to do it again, make up a story about how you were afraid to love and she cured you of it. Proceed to bang.
>-------------
**S** Separate entirely:
Leave in the middle of the night never to be heard from again. | Aye, aye kid. Yeah you the one reading this. Are you trying to get with that super hot betty in your class. You know the one, she makes your palms sweat and your heart race, yeah that one. Well I've fot some tips for you kid, listen well now because i have some real jewels for you.
Tip number one and its really the only one you need. When you see the one you desire apporach them with a smile on your face. Then just whip it out. Yup, you guessed right, but make sure you prep first cause no one likes a limp john. | 2017-06-10T03:32:12 | 2017-06-10T01:41:02 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You are the last survivor of a zombie apocalypse, but something strange keeps happening. Every day, you inevitably get caught by the zombies, but you wake up alive and normal the next day. | Its my own personal fucking hell. The Zombie Apocalypse came, and it succeeded, I am the last human alive. If you can even call it that. I am the last human to be here, in Chicago, maybe in the United States, maybe in the world. All I know for certain is that every day, no matter how far I run or how hard I fight the Undead, I wake back up in the place I did this morning.
I've slaughtered the same zombies in my complex over and over again, I've headed north, south, east, hell I took helicopter and went *up*. If I've survived the onslaught of zombies, then when 24 hours is up, I don't. I will get overrun, I will die, no exceptions. I cant kill myself, well, that's a lie, I can, I just wake up again.
When the Apocalypse began, I was in rural Illinois, my town had guns and rednecks, and when the world went to shit, we persevered. When the hordes started coming, and my town was overrun I led my sister and my best friend away from the rest, we hid, we ran, we survived. My town died with its boots still on; kicking and screaming all the way to hell. But like I said, the three of us got out alive. After months of wandering and barely surviving we got pretty good at killing zombies. My friend, Matt, was the munitions expert. My sister, Rachel, was the explosives expert. I was the quick one, the scout, the explorer. In a room full of zombies; Matt could shoot them all, Rachel could blow them up, and I could weave my way through them to escape.
We met different groups of survivors, but they fell, one by one, and each time I led these two out of the massacre, each time *I* was the survivor. So I kept running, and I kept surviving, I kept hiding.
But I'm the last survivor. They are gone now. And every single morning I wake up in a pool of blood that is running under the closet door. I have to shake these blood droplets from my clothes and feel my shirt weighed down by human blood. Outside the door i hear the growl of zombies, the deep rasp that means they are paying attention. I carefully remove all the wire hangers from within the closet. I take out my pliers, and I weave the wires all together, creating a solid, and sharp baton/shank. I open the door and face my best friend and my sister. The zombies that took them had gone, and only these two remained. Sometimes I let them take me, sometimes I swing and I survive. Either way, this is my own hell. My punishment for not being fast enough.
Edit: Changed last 3 words and a typo. | I gasped awake and slapped different parts of my body to make sure that I still have them. I panted heavily as I covered my face with my hands. Last night was worse than all the other days. The mob of zombies had caught me unaware and I wasn't able to sense them until they've surrounded me.
Shivers went down my spine as I remember them biting on different parts of my body and ripping me apart. I clutched my knees to my chest as I cried because it was like this every single damn time.
"I get killed by zombies every day but the next day, I'd wake up intact and alive." I muttered to myself as I bawled my eyes out like a little girl. "I'm stuck in a loop!"
On top of a rooftop nearby, a silhoutte let out a deep sigh. Another silhoutte appeared beside the first one and sat down to wait. "He's still not cracking?" The second silhoutte asked in a deep male voice that sounded almost bored while the first is seen shaking its head.
"No." The first silhoutte answered in a dainty female voice that sounded a bit frustrated. A loud booming laughter from the second silhoutte echoed in the surrounding area but it failed to reach the crying man below them. Even if it did alert the zombies around him.
The first silhoutte sighed for the second time that night and sat back on her haunches. "What do I have to do to make you believe in God?" | 2015-08-28T09:32:17 | 2015-08-28T09:07:17 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] On a world where one side permanently faces the sun humanity has made their home in the light, the dark side inundated with vampires and other monsters unable to venture further. In this world there is one rare event that humans fear and evil relishes - The Total Eclipse. | Our way of life is as eternal as the sun.
We were born of catastrophe, of fire and of sound and of fury. Many eons ago, our ancestors murdered each other, and in their wake the planet fell ill, and then died. We, those eternal, suffered long and hard under the long darkness, as creatures of the abyss rose up and took our place in the natural order. We fought, and we died, but we knew that our time on this dead world was approaching its end.
And then the unthinkable happened. The sun, long forgotten, rose and touched the landscape, its fiery tendrils bring health and life to all. Our culture and our cattle thrived, and we built great temples thankful to those who had seen fit to save us. We breathed a sigh of relief, and we worked. From the ashes of a new dawn, we built a new world, one to keep out the monsters, to end the suffering. Trade resumed, governments formed, cities once again dotted the landscape. For a time, there was a sense of hope, that even if we could not reclaim our place in the world, we might simply be thankful for what we have built.
We should have known better. Whatever gods may lurk in the abyss, they are not of the light.
Those pale figures, those that live beyond the light, beyond the lands of eternal dusk, they are the true masters of this land. I see them, even in my dreams, their thin legs bounding over the darkened landscape, the fear on the guards eyes. I still hear the screams of far off expedition parties, as they walk the treacherous journey. Still, their numbers were thinning, and we had hoped...
I was seven when we learned. Our world lived under the sun, and so our greatest thinkers were tasked with knowing its ways. It did not take long to learn of the eternal dance of the cosmos, and of the day that it would end.
We prepared. We built walls and forts, raised an army, made our peace in the light. I looked down over my people, over the grand mosaics, the thunderous noise of an army prepared to stave off the ravings of the night. I could feel their presence, their restlessness, their teeth. With my brothers at my side and the wind at my back, I scanned from atop the battlements. A horn sounded, and we were plunged into darkness. I drew my sword.
Our way of life is as eternal as the sun, and we would not go gentle into the night. | I live in the Twilight Zone. The property was cheap, the world magnificent, and every morning I wake to the sound of monster who stray too close to the border. A gentle dance of the sun and earth produced a zone for which humans *may* inhabit, but for staying too long may face monster of incomprehensible horror.
The astronomers have calculated when the next eclipse shall come, inevitable as the change of the seasons. In three hours time, the earth shall be plunged into a horrible darkness as an eclipse ends our way of life, or at least most of it. The central cities only need to hold off for about a day, and then the sun returns to the normal blinding glory it occupies.
Sandbags have begun to be set up, but it shall never be enough. Man's actions have placed itself in danger, the only solace the interlocks between the center of our world and the farthest out rings, each eclipse the monsters come closer to the center, but never may reach it. This will be the longest eclipse ever, stretching into a week due to the slowing of our planets, and our moon passing through part of the eclipse, extending it.
The monsters shall rise and human life shall be extinguished, much to my regret. There is no place for a half-breed in a world that deals only in the light and darkness. | 2017-04-16T21:50:28 | 2017-04-16T21:21:02 | 171 | 111 |
[WP]You just died, but now you’re awake and everyone claims you survived. Turns out when someone dies in one timeline, their consciousness transfers to an alternate where they lived. You are the first person to remember dying, and the first to discover that this makes us effectively immortal. | The last time I died was maybe 15, 20 minutes ago tops.
I'm not the smartest man exactly.
I made a crucial mistake like usual, answering a phone call while running late for something again. And I made that classic goof so many other people before me always did while they weren't all the way there.
Looking both ways when you cross the street.
Apparently whoever hit me didn't understand how to pay attention either. Text messages are life and death, you know?
I understand exactly why I died too. The car broke every bone from at least my ribs down. I'm pretty sure if my luck were worse, I'd have wound up under the wheels of that compact. At the minimum, I'd have been tossed in the opposite direction and landed in another lane of traffic.
Nobody over there would have paid attention either.
And I get it. Life is distracting man.
But that doesn't matter to me anymore. Because I'm dead.
Well, I was. I got better of course. You see, I'm a little bit different from everyone else. I'm probably not the only one. But then again, I've never met anybody else like me.
Every time I die, *I die.* But to those around me, I made it. Again. I experienced a fatal car accident just now. For everyone else present though, they just saw a man get hit by a car, bounce off the windshield instead of getting crushed; and shake off the hit to keep going.
I've heard of this before. 'Quantum Immortality' they call it. Or something like it. You probably have a hunch on what that entails. Maybe you've heard of it before. That the only reason you, yourself, are alive and listening to my story right now; is that you've always made the right choice that kept you alive. If only for a few seconds longer.
Made you look over your shoulder right? Good. That's why you're here.
You see, every choice we make has a consequence. The universe isn't predetermined, besides whatever deities or logic you choose to believe in. I don't know your life.
Sorry, I'm sidetracking. This asshole I've been chasing for ten blocks is getting on my last nerve. It's alright though. I'm gaining on him.
You ever watch Groundhog Day or The Butterfly Effect? It's like that, only you actually live your life, things unfold, and you see firsthand how it goes for you. There's no premonition. No weird ass nightmares. No warning. You die, and then you keep going. Until you don't.
That jog you took this morning? In another timeline, you tripped, fell off your front porch, cracked your head open like a egg; and died right there. In another, you made it to the park and got to exercise. Some douchebag stabbed you in the gut over your smartwatch. He'd been watching you for weeks from the bushes and you never saw him. You bled out. In another, you make it through unscathed, go home, clean up go to work; only die of food poisoning later that week.
See, this is why I don't eat sushi anymore.
Everything is trying to kill you whether you like it or not. Including you of course. We're all self destructive in some way, it's only natural. Whatever gets you off. My guess is if everything else doesn't get you, old age is just this crazy train saying you've finally finished the bonus levels.
I've been shot. I've been stabbed. I've been set on fire. Drowned twice. Numerous car accidents. That one time I went skydiving. That *other* time I felt safe sleeping at my ex-girlfriend's house. Fuck you, Tina.
I've seen it all. Okay, correction, not everything. But I've had a rough time. I've been like this since I was a child. Let that sink in.
Point is, I'm the only one. And I guess that's why I chose such a risky profession.
Of course he would run to the train station. Figures.
I've been after this guy for a while for a couple of things. Namely, as a detective, because it's my job. And secondly because rumor has it he knows the secret behind why I'm like this. After about two months of digging, here we are, on foot and out of breath.
Running always sucks. I don't care how you sugar coat it.
Oh great, now he has a hostage. Okay, time to play it cool. No reason to get someone else drawn into this more than they already have been.
I just died from a gunshot wound. Again.
Seems fair. I was dumb enough to rush him. That's why this time, I'm staying behind cover. I died this time too.
So now I'm behind *solid cover.* Note to future self.
Okay can't rush him, maybe I can try reasoning with him?
"Come on George, let her go. She's not part of this!"
"Back off or she gets it!"
"I just want to talk! Let her go!"
George let her go alright. Right into the path of an oncoming train. He of course bolts across the tracks. Coward. She's lying down there. My guess is that she's hurt. Oh well, same old, same old right? No time like the present I guess.
I tried my best to get us off the tracks. But it turns out, as usual, I've always been a little bad with judging distance. Not to mention time management.
The train hit us, and as expected. There probably isn't enough to bury. Poor lady. She didn't deserve that. Now I'm back and she's paste on the bottom of the-
"-THANK YOU!!"
She's alive?? Wait, *no.* She should be dead. I've had things like this happen before. I make it, and unfortunately, they don't. It's bothered me constantly.
But here she is, crying and hugging me on the other side of the platform. In this timeline, I was fast enough. But, if she's here too, then that means...
"...I thought I was dead."
"...I know. Me too."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | "Touched the hand of God, you say?"
Victor Balfrend instinctively fiddled with his glasses.
"Yes. I remember the light, I remember myself there, in paradise. I spent time there, three days worth. Nothing existed as it does now, yet I know what I experienced is real."
Dr. Willard Knob found Balfrend's case interesting. It wasn't a traditional near-death experience, because unlike those who simply felt like they entered the afterlife, Balfrend returned with so-called mementos, reminders of his death and his time in the great beyond. He agreed to meet Balfrend while working on his government sanctioned research experiment, and the latter had graciously allowed himself to be hooked up to EKG s and various REM and deep consciousness devices.
The man was special, Knob believed. A glimpse into the unknowns of human consciousness.
Knob's expression was pleasant, after all, this was valuable insight. Some called him a kook, others claimed he had crossed into the realms of paranormal study and tinfoil dabbling.
"Yes, elaborate, please. Tell me about this physical reality that you experienced."
Balfrend shut his eyes slightly, grabbed at his forearm and pulled up at the sleeve. He had suffered a massive grand-mal seizure while driving, crashed his vehicle into a clump of trees by the roadside. The sleeve rolled up, a symmetrical mark was visible.
"The mark that they gave me. They told me I could see Beyond, they told me that I could retain memories. I have no memories of how I got this, none at all. The paramedics took me to the ER, this brand never existed. But once I came to in my hospital bed, I recognized it as being real outside of when I was with God."
"That's good. Don't pay attention to the camera, right now it's just me and you, me and you. What did God tell you? Did he tell you anything?"
Balfrend shook his head slightly, his breathing slightly labored.
"It wasn't really God, as in the way people see God. It's whatever you want to be God, that greets you there. I remember what he said, but I don't remember him speaking. I know in my head what information he gave me, but not what his voice sounded like. Or what he looked like."
"So, if I wanted God to be a cube?"
"He would be a cube."
There was a silence, as the muffled sound of the camera hummed in the background.
"That's good. Could you taste, smell?"
He shook his head.
"No, I simply was. You know what it is to exist, to be there without really knowing you exist? Without knowing what is, but only knowing what is outside?"
"I don't understand. You said you 'touched the finger of God'. What was your meaning then?"
"I meant that I know I touched his finger, in my mind. I know that it happened, I know this as a memory. But then I couldn't sense. It was retrospective sense of taste, smell, touch, hear."
"What did you hear?"
"Chanting."
Knob leaned back in his chair. He turned his head slightly, eyed the low-lying cameras auto-recording in the backdrop.
"What is this, video session....56? We've elaborated a lot on what we discussed in sessions 10-20, so that's a good thing. I feel we can move on to more REM mapping now. Is that okay with you?"
Balfrend nodded. He was quiet, oh so quiet. So very quiet.
Knob reached out, a satisfying click breaking the silence as the cameras stopped recording.
The REM mapping, Knob believed, was important and not to mention a treasure trove of intrigue. He sorely believed that the REM maps showed that Balfred went somewhere else when he was dreaming, his rapid eye movement showed signs of being in a state of consciousness that was somewhere different based on the sheer variability. His brain scans while asleep were nothing short of interesting either.
Knob approached Balfrend, the two shook hands.
"Dr. Knob, I think you are absolutely wonderful."
Knob smiled.
"Thank you. Your consent to this will provide the world of psychology immense insight."
"There's a but, Dr. Knob. You are absolutely wonderful, but I haven't got much sleep lately. Thinking about that place I went to, how I died. And I've come to the conclusion that you are not a believer."
Knob was taken aback, and stepped backwards slightly as to shift his weight.
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't worry, though. You'll believe soon enough, and it only stings for a second."
It was with surprise as Knob attempted to push Balfrend off of him, but the knife dove in too fast. All he saw was a flash of steel, and the brand on Balfrend's forearm.
​
​ | 2019-01-03T21:43:13 | 2019-01-03T19:56:21 | 221 | 105 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | My HR department has a sense of humour. They issued a poll in response to a friendly lunchroom argument where the guys in the group stated that high heels weren’t as bad as women made out. The women in the group - all engineers I might add - pointed out all the ergonomic issues, statistics with falls and injuries, and the impossibility of climbing a ladder. The guys pointed out how a couple of extra inches helped them reach higher, and could keep more of the foot out of puddles.
The poll asked if shoes that raised the heel 5cm (2”) above the balls of the feet should be mandatory for employees doing field work. The results : men voted 78% in favour, women 23% in favour. It was a joke. We all thought it was a joke.
Monday morning roles around and we walk in to find boxes beautifully gift wrapped. Incredibly beautiful with handmade papers and luxurious bows and ribbons. With great enthusiasm, we began opening the packages.
I got a lovely pair of steel toed Blundstones that I’ve coveted since I saw my boss Paul wearing a pair on site. My female colleagues all received the same.
But the other boxes, delivered to the guys contained something extraordinary: high heeled, steel toed boots. They were an unusual design. Not stilettos, but wedges, with an 8cm (3”) heel. Beautiful black leather, that tapered into a pointed toe, something between a cowboy boot and that funky sneaker design that was popular a few years ago.
A few of the ladies admired their boots. And reiterated that climbing ladders and scaffolding would be an interesting experience.
An email explained that we were all expected to wear our new boots for the next week and we’d have a shoe party to report back.
A few guys were immediately good sports and put them on. A couple tried a rather feminine swagger - for the first few steps until they toppled sideways laughing as they fell. Then a group started practicing, while their office mates watched. Most of them were pretty athletic so they didn’t look too ridiculous- but those of us in boots appreciated how much slower they walked. For the first time we did t have to run to keep up.
The resistant stragglers dismissed the email as nonsense and refused to change. rolling their eyes and snarling at colleagues who suggested they should try it. That is, Until the president passed by and threatened to send them home.
I went to site with one guy, and sure enough, scaffolding was an issue. Not because of the ladders-that wasn’t too bad with the wedge style boot (HR did their homework). But he kept hitting his hard hat against the frame of the scaffolding and catching the toe against uneven planks. Often in quick succession. I giggled. The site super rolled his eyes. And then we get to this place when he stops and points out a construction mistake that I had walked right past - the extra height let him see where others couldn’t. Well at least there is one advantage.
When we walked back to the car, much to my annoyance, he had figured out his stride and was now swaggering a little. Both women and men were admiring his strut.
I was annoyed. It was unfair that this guy could figure out heels in less than a day and do his job better when they condemned me to an aching back and wobbly ankles.
As I descended into a gray funk, we approached his car, a low Mazda Miata. He turned to me and asked if I’d like to drive. When I asked why, he turned pink and said his feet didn’t fit on the pedals and he couldn’t change gears!
High heeled boots are no longer mandatory, but they are still a right of passage for new hires. And about 2/3 of the guys still wear them - enjoying the advantages. But we have many more women that work here now. And many fewer guys drive stick.
.....
Sorry this doesn’t take place in Japan. I know nothing about that culture, but I could imagine my coworkers in that predicament! | As a collective of women and men at the office approached the counter to pick up their shoes to follow the new work protocol, the women gave an apprehensive side-eye. A few of them sneered, dropped their jaws, gawked, scratched their heads, and even rubbed their chins.
One of them said. "Why? Why would any of you want to wear something so uncomfortable as well as something only women wear? The whole thing is rather silly, isn't it?"
The men on the other side were all beaming. There wasn't a single frown out of the fifteen of them waiting in line. The man who was supposed to be next to collect his sharp black stilettos, stepped out of the queue. It was Kosuke, the male counterpart who was responsible for collaboration of the company-wide poll.
"I was planning on making an announcement later today at work, but I wanted to let you know since you have asked," he took a deep breath and shook his head with a nervous twitch.
"I understand that some of you are currently judging us men, wearing something that is typically seen on a woman. That is something I one day hope to change. These societal norms of fashion inhibit us in a lot of ways. They are mental shackles. My whole life I've always preferred wearing clothes that were meant for women. I'm not sure why, and in fact, I wish I wasn't that way because of all of the jokes and bullying I endured through my life made me hate myself all the more.
"One day my mother and father saw me sobbing after a day at school where I was wearing a new outfit that I actually purchased in the boys section, but I was ridiculed by all of my classmates for looking too much like a girl. Fortunately, I had very kind-hearted parents who supported my clothing preference. They let me walk around the house wearing whatever I felt most comfortable in. An important lesson they taught me is to embrace the things I enjoy, and not hate myself for them.
"I wanted to collaborate on this project at work because I knew there were other men like me. Friends here at work that I became close with found out about my fashion preference and I was amazed to find a few of them felt the exact same way. The support I received was overwhelming," Kosuke trembled and a mist fell over his eyes. "I'm sorry you'll hear this speech again later today, but just know that some of us want to change the norms. This isn't a novelty, but a way of life. I know some of the men here don't really care to wear heels, but they're doing it out of support for me, and it's still early in the morning and it's already been the best day of my life."
A few of the men from the line drifted over to Kosuke and patted him on the back, every one of them grinning from ear to ear in their new heels. All of the women stood by, and nodded.
"I'm sorry for my behavior earlier. Thank you Kosuke," the woman said.
r/randallcooper | 2020-05-11T10:46:02 | 2020-05-11T07:33:41 | 181 | 112 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck" | I knew it was one of those chain messages my friends like to spam me. I’m not a huge gamer in the shooty shoot kinda games, so the most I would have to worry about is endless bottomless pits or cartoon violence.
I type yes and feel a vibration. I drop my phone, but I’m the one shaking. Then a black screen comes up. Somehow I’m not unconscious, but more a loading screen. Then a text box appears.
“In order to return to the real world, you must win the game. Your prize will be everything you gain in this world. Good luck.”
There is no signature, and everything has become pixelated. It’s been a while, which game was the last one I played?
I’m at a computer, feeling really discouraged about this desk job. I open the drawer and find a letter from my grandpa. He left me his old farm.
Wait a second. This is Stardew Valley. I wanted to start a new game, but I got distracted and cut off in the middle of the cut scene. I had spent hours on the wiki learning the best crops to plant and what gifts to give each person in town.
There was only one problem. This game had no end. It could go on, ad infinitum.
Fortunately, it also was one of my favorite games. I liked it more than my own life, sometimes. So really, how hard could it be?
***
It’s been 6 in game years. I’m still missing a few minerals for the museum, but the rest of town has been completed. The community center is restored, the movie theater up and running. I’ve been happily married and divorced twice and turned my children into birds.
My farm is fully installed with sprinklers and a golden clock prevents any debris from appearing on my farm. My stats have been maxed out for a while now, I’ve gotten most achievements (and bought the hats to prove it), and generally have been enjoying the spoils of late game. Each morning I pet my cat before trying to find the next challenge.
The one thing that I haven’t gotten yet is the return scepter. I pretty much have every other item one can buy. This particular item can send the player home by raising it to the sky.
I think, deep down, I knew what it meant. Leaving this world I had put so much of my heart and soul into. Leaving the NPCs who I knew had preprogrammed dialogue but which I still cycled through each time I saw them.
So when I bought the return scepter, I had an idea of what it would do. I tested it out, raising it to the sky. Then everything went black like it did so long ago.
I have to rub my eyes because it still looks like my farm house. But, in the real world. I see the shadows and depths of objects that were lost in the 2D space. I race outside and find my chests lined up in rows. I open them haphazardly, finding piles of diamonds, rotting fish, and everything in between.
I was home, but maybe in a better version than how I left it. My in game cat rubbed against my legs and I felt myself tearing up with joy when I heard her soft mewing when I pet her. I didn’t know how much time had passed in the real world. I knew it would take a while to readjust (like remembering to eat, which isn’t necessary most days in game). But I knew my experiences in game would shape my real world experiences for the rest of my life.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/)
Edit: I’ve never been given silver before, thank you kind stranger! I’m glad people enjoyed my little story. | I didn't even think before I gave the answer, and as I woke up I felt the lump in my throat. As the feeling returned to my body, I felt a rejuvenating pain sear through every cell. My bones were scored with classified information, my brain etched into by a mind much greater than mine. I stretched my shoulders and felt the weightless tank welded to me. The next month would be hell.
I had done it, I had walked through hell and back. I had pushed back assault after assault, I had broken down beasts stronger than myself with my bare hands. I had learned to shoot, to fly, to kill. I walked through irradiated glass without flinching, I bore witness to the destructive power of a singularity, and saw the sunrise from orbit as I came crashing down. I had saved countless lives with the precision of a mathematical vector. I had seen architecture so alien it left me speechless. I had escorted and delivered my charge without her receiving a scratch, I held off an offensive the likes of which my kind has never seen with a single gun.
But now, now I walk to the end, and I know what waits for me here. My hud, which has guided me this far has a single word on it now. "Survive" and for a time, I do. I mow them down like a field of hay, hot plasma rounds are winnowing grain from the chaff. My impenetrable shield broke some time ago, and I feel the blood pooling inside of my suit. The visor on my helmet shatters, and I toss it to the side. I pick up a weapon completely alien to me and use it with surgical precision.
I know I won't survive this, I always knew that from the second I woke up. I won't live to tell the tale, I won't conquer this endless sea of snarling fangs and glowing blade. I can't imagine the horror in their minds as I rip the blade out of my stomach and return it to its owners head. I've killed thousands in an hour, I've broken their bones, riddled them with holes, and turned some into what looks like mincemeat. I overheard one call us "demons", and I'll give them a reason to do so.
It comes to and end when the last clip runs dry, and the only weapons on the field are pointed at me. I can't finish the fight, but I can inspire others to do so. To remember to fight to the last, to never give up against impossible odds, to-- to remember me, to remember Reach. | 2020-02-16T20:10:45 | 2020-02-16T19:03:05 | 1,652 | 688 |
[WP] You're transported to a fantasy world. You don't have any special powers, but being from our universe means magic doesn't work on you. At all. The evil wizard is really, really confused. | I was there when Grand Xiz was defeated. Come, have a glass of Frog's Breath with me and I’ll tell you all about it.
How we defeated Xiz? Well, we had no hand in it. We were more like guides. Vayesha was summoning a flesh horror that was said to be immune to magick. It had taken many years to gather all the charms and reagents for it. We had expected a hulking brute with two heads and five arms and a stomach made of magick void. Instead, a lanky man came through the portal. Though he wasn't a monster, he was ugly. Didn't have a beard. Made him look like an infant with elongated appendages. And like an infant, it screamed and cried and panicked.
Ullo thought he had come from another part of the continent, but the man's clothing said otherwise. While I, Vayesha and Ullo discussed what to do with the man-baby, Xiz's goons came at us by surprise. We held our ground, exchanged bolts and flames and earth spikes.
After we had vanquished Xiz's goons, Vayesha told us of a wonderful discovery. She asked us to stand close and watch. She pointed her palm at the man who was curled up like an infant terrified of lightning. A fireball popped out of Vayesha's palm and fizzled out the moment it reached the man-baby.
Then I noticed the burn marks around him, and the grass on where he lay was untouched. Now, we threw more things at the poor man, electricity, frost, earth spikes, silent gales, void balls. All of which were either snuffed or deflected. Vayesha even tried to control his mind, but she couldn't even reach him. She hurt herself when she pushed harder, that stubborn old girl.
After we had exhausted our testing, we asked the man to join us. He resisted at first, on account that we tried to kill him with our magick. But we assured him it was only weak magick, which wouldn't kill or harm him. A lie, of course. We had thrown all of our strongest attacks, and nothing.
Ullo offered his flask to him, asking if he was thirsty. The man took the offer and chugged. Ullo confided to me later that the flask was enchanted with a sleeping spell. The spell didn’t work.
We learned more of him as we gained his trust. I roasted some pheasant and gave him the plumpest. The man was grateful, at least. His name was Jon Maysles, such a peculiar name. And he hails from a land called You-ess-ay in a township called New York.
Here we had learned that his kind did not possess mana. When asked to light a flame for Ullo's pipe, Jon could not call a lick of light on his fingertips, a feat that any child could do. When asked if he could pull an earth spike from the ground, he said that he would need an excavator, whatever that means.
The next day, Vayesha told us of a plan. Jon expressed his desire to return to his realm, and we agreed to do so on one condition. Help us defeat Xiz. Now, Jon said that he was no fighter, and the only time he got into a fight was in grade school with a girl named Susan who easily defeated him. Vayesha assured him that he need not fight. That the only thing he needed to do was to become our guardian.
And he goes, "You want me to become your meat shield?!"
Oh, I’ll never forget the face he made. But Vayesha convinced him that no harm would come to him. She called it the anti-mana, a life force that was inside Jon. It explained why none of our magick had affected him. He wasn’t convinced until Ullo catered to his ego. Ullo said to him that he was the most powerful man in this realm and he could be remembered as a hero.
Promise a man he will become a legend, and you’ll have him by the scrotum.
And so off we go to Xiz’ fortress. Since Jon didn’t have magick and didn’t have an ounce of fight in him, we had to clear the way for him, decimating goons and goblins, toppling walls and blowing through barricades. At Xiz’ castle, the main door was protected with blood magick. It could only be opened by Xiz’s himself or anyone who possessed a vial of his blood. It would have taken decades for me, Ullo and Vayesha to disenchant the door, and even if we succeeded in disenchanting it, the blowback might have killed us. But Jon opened it with a push. Ha! Can you believe it?! Opened it like the front door of a seedy tavern.
And the look on Xiz’ face! If I only had a flash-glyph with me, I could have taken a sketch of his terrified mug.
As planned, Jon walked toward Xiz, and Xiz threw every spell, every glamour, every magick and incantation at him. None of it affected him. Desperate. Xiz telepathically threw chairs, tomes, candles, some knives and forks and plates and teacups. All of it bounced away from him, protected with this anti-mana.
As planned, Jon embraced Xiz. Vayesha, Ullo and I held hands and recited an incantation to open a reverse portal. Xiz couldn’t do anything but scream and curse at us. A portal started to open underneath them, and before it pulled them in, Jon said his good-bye, “See you on the flipside, losers!”
And they were gone.
I often wonder how Xiz is faring in a realm without magick, a realm of pure anti-mana. I doubt he’s terrorizing the people in there, and if he is, I hope they end him quickly or sequester him somewhere horrible. So, friend, lift your glass for tonight marks the fifteenth year of Xiz’ disappearance. No. Do not thank me for I was only a guide. Rather, thank our hero Jon Maysles or, as what everyone calls him, Jaysles. Or, as I call him, the man-baby with anti-mana.
| Martin was confused, and it seemed like he wasn't the only one.
When all of this started he was terrified, he had woken up in a huge magic looking labyrinth being chased by a giant lizard-like beast, who he later found it was called a ignecko. But this best wasn't normal, he wasn't afraid of lizards after all, be he damn sure was afraid of fire spitting ones. The ignecko eventually cornered him and spit its fire over him, but nothing happened, so he stood there being flamed by the giant reptile over and over again until the lizard died, probably from a heart attack because the effort, he though. After that he had tried to cook the lizard to have something to eat, but to no avail, since the beast was apparently immune to fire. Once free from the beast chase he tried to get to a tower that could be seen from where he was, but after expending several hours walking he could not figure out how to solve the labyrinth. Getting frustrated for the whole situation he kicked the purple glowing maze wall and saw it how it blew to pieces, so he decided to open his way to the tower kick by kick. he accompanied most kicks with a "this is sparta!" scream, just for the laughs.
From atop the tower, Pyrexys, one of the most powerful evil warlock was watching the whole thing. He didn't saw the combat, but it seemed like a white wizard had defeated his ignecko, and later used his body to power up a new powerful spell he had never even heard of. This was ridiculous, igneckos where immune to both physical and magic damage, they where being of pure magic, the only way to defeat one would be to withstand his powerful foefire until he runned out of magic. And foefire could consume any magical and metal shield, so that was ridiculous. Pyrexys went to his library, maybe it was this spell, which he knew nothing about.
\-Everyone!- he yelled to his winged monkeys- I want everyone looking on all books for a spell called "whis is sparta!". Pyrexys had read all the books in his library and he had never heard of it, but perhaps it was the years catching up on him. All his 666 monkeys looked on every book but found no reference to it at all.
He then dismissed it, since he had not time to loose, he would use all his tricks to stop this white wizard rescuing the princess. He first grabbed his magical bow, which guaranteed an arror will find the heart of an oponent and kill him, and he released all 10 magical arrows on martin, but none of them where even close to hitting him. He then recurred to his thunderstorm wand, to invoque thunder on him, but instead it turned against him and burned the wand to ash. Desperately, he decided the best thing would be a direct confrontation in a magical duel, he had never lost one. This white wizard was skillfull, he'll give him that. But one thing was using tools, the white wizard might be prepared to handle and other to suprise him with his secret spells.
Martin continued breaking walls until he reached the tower, where he saw a little angry man contorting his face while saying some mumbo jumbo. He then saw giant energy snakes coming to bite him, so he covered his face. The snakes shattered.
\-How are you doing this, you son of a - more mumbo jumbo.
Martin didn't understand what was happening to the little man. He seemed angry and danced back and forth, throwing all kind of beutiful lights from his hands on to him.
\- Are you okay? Do you need help with anything?
This was it for Pyrexys. The white wizard was taunting him, but he would not laugh anymore. He would take his life even it it meant giving his own to stop him. People will always remember him as Pryrexis, the wizard that never lost a duel. He prepared his kamikaze spell and run towards Martin and hugged him. And this bring us to the start:
Martin was confused, and he wasn't the only one.
From the top of the tower, a princess looked confused at the whole situation as well. She had seen everything, afterwards she had been trapped in the tower for a long time. While it is true that the eventual hero trying to rescue her broke her out the monotony of living alone as a prisoner, she did worry for Martin while he was being burned, and gasped at every enchanted arrow the evil wizard had shot to Martin. When the evil wizard sumonned the storn she though that was it, but this guy made it until the very end, and now he was fighting against Pyrexys himself. But now he would be blown away, no one survived a wizard last spell, she knew that, everyone did. She saw Pyrexys hug the hero, and then a huge explosion of bright colours, then smoke, then the hero, standing. The princess saw her shackles break and went down the tower.
\- Thank you hero, for coming to rescue me - she said in an exaggerated manner - will you take me home? | 2019-03-12T06:13:52 | 2019-03-12T05:37:21 | 101 | 46 |
[WP] There is a purple door somewhere with a single key hole. It will open regardless of the key that is used. All keys can open this door, but what‘s on the other side, however, depends entirely on the key. | Hello. My name is Jim, and I am the guardian of the purple door. I sit here on my purple pedestal day in and day out, waiting for the next lucky (or unlucky) schlep to come bounding in, ready to try their key in the magic lock that they think will be the answer to all of their little problems.
They come in droves, leaving me not a moment to rest as soon as my butt hits my seat each morning. Sure, uncovering the path to the magic portal hidden behind violet beams used to be a challenge, but ever since some reporter published the steps in the New York Times, everyone and their mother knows exactly where to find us. And find us they do. They march in, red-faced, tired, and oh-so-foolishly proud of themselves for rooting out the elusive purple door that they've heard could take them anywhere they could dream of. They try their keys, hoping one turn in the lock will transport them to paradise.
Unfortunately, most of them are so concerned about cataloging their visit to the newest tourist attraction on their favorite social media platforms that they fail to put proper consideration into the most important factor - the key. Most grab whatever key is closest or most convenient. Others choose their keys based on foolish metrics, choosing the prettiest, largest, or most valuable keys. I've seen them all!
And I watch with delight as their faces fall and their shoulders slump when they realize their mistake. Their keys are nothing but ordinary trinkets and thus can only take them to ordinary places. I could have warned them if anyone had ever bothered to ask. But they never do.
I've only ever seen one person bring in the perfect key. It was a little boy, no older than seven. He came in timidly, with disheveled hair, and wearing a dirty coat. Behind him, he dragged a little girl, no older than five. She carried large, worried eyes under her smudged forehead. The boy said they had traveled a long way to reach the purple door, and I believed him.
Holding tightly to his sister's hand, he approached the door with a look of determination. Then, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a key made of paper. It had been crudely drawn and cut out with scissors. It was colorful and flimsy, but both of them beamed.
I tried to carefully explain that such a thing would surely fall apart if they tried to shove it into the metal keyhole. I implored them to find something more suitable and even offered them one of my spare keys. But the little boy looked me dead in the eye and said, "But sir, we made this key for this door. It's going to take us to a place that we can call home, where we will be loved and cared for, and no one will tear us apart. This key has to work. It's the only one we have."
Dumbfounded, I had nothing else to say, so I stepped aside and let them pass. To my amazement, the paper key fit perfectly and turned the lock with no trouble at all. And when the door opened, the two children were greeted by a house, and a yard, and a warm family who received them both with open arms as though they had always belonged.
And so, I now understand the truth about the purple door and its special lock. It may fit any key, but only that which comes straight from the heart can open the door to someplace magical. | ##Purple Door of Necessity
*It goes wherever it's needed.*
---
Jim cries in his bedroom alone. Same as every night for the past twenty years. All he wants is a friend. When he looks up, he sees the answer to his problem.
---
*It welcomes all to its warmth.*
---
Bills are spread across the table, and Lindsay got fired from her second job. The world seems to be crumbling around her. A weight in her pocket keeps her grounded and guides her.
---
*Time and distance are not restraints.*
---
The plague bodies pile in the town square. With how everyone else is doing, Mary knows that she will be the only survivor. Who would take her in? She can't live on her own.
The purple door calls to her, but she hesitates. This could be the devil playing tricks on her. This door could've curse the town, but what choice does she have. She puts the key into the door and turns it.
---
*Hope is always on the other side.*
---
"Woah." Jim accidentally opens the door on a woman who falls.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry." Jim helps her up. She smiles at him.
"It's okay. We had to meet at some point." She brushes herself off and holds out a hand. "I'm Emily."
"Jim."
---
*No offering is necessary.*
---
The coats fell off the rack in the closet. Lindsay picks them up and finds a lock-box at the bottom. Her name is written on it in her mother's handwriting. She opens the box and finds a stack of one-hundreds inside with a note.
"Sorry I couldn't give you more."
---
*All that's needed is hope.*
---
Mary enters the house of the town doctor. He swore he could find a cure before he would pass from the disease himself. He was wrong, or was he?
At the table, Mary finds jars of ingredients and a recipe. Maybe he died before he could use it. She hears coughing outside. Looking back to the recipe, she realizes it's the only hope they have.
---
*The Purple Door of Necessity will always be there.*
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-11-23T22:40:07 | 2022-11-23T18:32:49 | 106 | 45 |
[WP] You are a time traveler in 1918, and you just accidentally said "World War One" | "What makes you think history will remember this as World War One? Why One?" a beautiful, blonde reporter replied as she seemed awestruck by my earlier mention of using the term 'World War One.'
Quickly, she rapidly fired another question at me. "Why one? Is there going to be another?" as she looked around the room before glancing back to me with her crystal clear blue eyes.
'Shit. Shit. I should've kept my mouth shut.' I thought as I looked down at the near empty beer glass in front of me.
I scowled as I stood up from the bar. I had one too many drinks "Look uh, Miss.." I tried to remember her name.
"Elizabeth!" She snapped back. I needed to wrap this up quick.
"Elizabeth." I said feigning calmly as I added "Forget I said anything. It's just the drink talking and it's getting late so I should be going."
"Booker!" She quietly called out. I had given her my fake name from a video game character called Bioshock Infinite and just happening to discover that this woman's name is also Elizabeth was a one hell of a coincidence. It couldn't be, could it?
"You didn't answer my question!" She quipped as I started to grab my coat from the chair as I turned for the front door outside the bar.
I started to walk away faster but she still followed; like any good reporter would. I had to suppress my frustration for acting so careless and dumb.
"Booker..." She whisked her coat on before she moved in front of me.
"You're a persistent little cuss aren't you." I snapped; trying to ward her off by being aggressive.
Still, she stood in front of me with her blue eyes - I felt as though she was reading into me; she could read into my soul and it felt uncomfortable.
"Answer me this. Why World War One?" She asked softly.
"You don't really want to know..." I glanced down to the ground, before I averted my gaze up towards the now fading sunset sky.
Elizabeth crossed her arms as she stayed focused on me.
"I saw you appear from out of thin air with that... trinket time device in your hand... You appeared near Big Ben tower and that was four weeks ago Booker. You're not from around here.." She admitted as I was taken aback.
"If Booker is even your name..." She quipped.
She went on "Everything about you. You look as if.. I don't know.. you know more than you let on... So I've been following you..."
"Please.." Elizabeth said as her eyes hinted a sense of concern and sadness.
I inhaled in my frustration as I shot a look at Elizabeth. It was true. I had no way of appearing if I was going to be seen or unseen when I stepped through that time portal.....
She listened quietly as I replied:
"Because there's also going to be World War Two."
| *First attempt, I like this prompt idea*
"**World War One?** For what reason would there be another?"
Realizing quickly what I had done, I had to remember the books I read. If I remembered correctly, the Treaty of Versily made Germany too weak to pay it's debts, and made it's debts huge. "Because of the Treaty of Versily."
"Versailles you mean." Whoa almost screwed that that up. "Why would the treaty ever make a second World War?"
"Because Germany was too weak... and so they couldn't pay off their debts. With their debts unpaid, they would take loans from America. While paying off Europe, they would accumulate debt from America. Too keep up with payments, they printe- *would print* - off more and more money, in higher denominations. This would ultimately cause a world wide depression of economy. From there, Germany would fix it by making an army, and Europe wouldn't stop them."
"We have some of the smartest politicians in the world making this treaty, they honestly would have a way of stopping this, eh?"
"Seeing the horrors that this war caused, everyone's probably gonna outlaw war, and you can't enforce an outlaw on war without war. Honestly, these people think they're smarter than they are, and that's their downfall."
"Better stock up on gold then, eh? *Hehehe* Well good day to you sir, I think you're wrong, but it seems possible."
I barely survived tha- wait did he say stock up on gold? My great grandfather's grandfather stocked up on gold after WWI because of something a man told him. | 2017-12-10T10:24:51 | 2017-12-10T07:32:51 | 275 | 163 |
[WP] A strange meteor shower lasted for hours before you went to bed. The next day, technology across the earth fails. However, when you snap your fingers in frustration, the lights come on. The Age of Magic has begun. | My grandmother always told me stories about the age of magic. She claimed it had happened once and it would happen again—it was only a matter of time.
I’d nod along and roll my eyes. *Sure, Grandma.*
When she passed, I wished I’d listened more. I hadn’t appreciated those slow moments in front of the fireplace in her living room. She must’ve been trying to tell me something, even if it wasn’t magic, it was still a type of tradition passed down. I’d heard of stories where the ‘magic’ was an escapist fantasy for women, who were so often disenfranchised. The appeal (and fear) of the witch, my English teacher once told me, wasn’t necessarily about the magic. It was a deeper fear of women with power.
Still, I could remember the way my grandmother’s eyes creased softly when she spoke. I remember her shoulders—so stooped in those last years—and her love of oversized costume jewellery. She had a flair for anything dramatic.
I missed her. A lot.
When the meteors streaked past my window that night, I thought about how much she would love it. She’d spin a story about how it was an otherworld omen. From there, she would’ve branched into other stories about the sky; stories about meteors and eclipses and the moon. I went to bed that night thinking of the soft Irish lilt in her voice.
I woke up the next morning to sun streaking into my apartment. *Shit*. I was late for work.
I grabbed for my phone, but the screen wouldn’t flick on. Had there been a power outage? I couldn’t even check the time—the small analog clock on the far wall of my bedroom read 3:13 a.m. and the second hand stayed planted just before the six.
I rummaged through my dresser and pulled my dark dress pants and the nearest blouse I could find into the bathroom—only to find the light wouldn’t turn on either. I flicked the switch up-down, up-down, and hoped that one flick would suddenly and miraculously work.
No such luck. I brushed my hair out of my face and pressed my hands to the side of my head. A gnawing and dull ached started to blossom around my temples. At least if the power was out throughout the whole city, my boss would understand if I was late. Maybe. Carla was a bitch who’d do anything to make herself look better, even at the expense of others.
*Come on.* I stared at the bulbs encased under the dome shade. *Turn on!*
The lights popped on. The brightness pressed against the backs of my retinas—I squished my eyes shut to adjust to the sudden wave of light.
When I cracked my eyes open again, it wasn’t any better. In fact, the lights seemed to shine brighter and brighter with each passing moment. I wondered if it was possible for them to be *too* bright.
A second later, I got my answer.
The room flared to shattering brightness. The blubs—all three of them in the shade—exploded in a clatter. Stray bits of glass and sparks rained to the tile floor.
I stumbled back and tried to keep myself safe. A small but razor-sharp fragment of bulb dug into the sole of my left foot. *Fuck* A bolt of pain fired through my nerves, sharp and hot. When I stepped back into the light of my bedroom, I saw the red flecks spot the white carpet.
I sat on the edge of my bed and pulled a tissue from the rainbow box on my nightstand. I wasn’t a great hand when it came to first-aid, I couldn’t tell if this cut would need stitches. Could they even put stitches on the bottom of a foot? I pressed the tissue into the cut and hoped it would staunch the bleeding. Even better, I wished the cut would just go away altogether.
I watched my skin stitch itself back together. The edges of the cut pressed together and ran up the small length. The skin looked unbroken; there wasn’t even a hint of a scab or a faint line of a scar.
I dropped the bloody tissue and sat, in silence, with my heart hammering through my body. What the hell had just happened?
I thought of my grandmother and her stories. She had always promised the age of magic would, one day, begin again.
---
/r/liswrites | "I wish my power would stop doing this."
Snap. the sounds of my fingers clicking together in anger, I've never been one for finger clicking, but for some reason, I just did, and along with that crisp sounds resounding off of my tiny apartment walls, the lights came back on.
"Well that was lucky" was my first thought, as I grabbed my glasses and got ready to leave for work, it's not often you get coincidences like that, but sure, nice to see I don't need to ring the council about my dodgy electricity again, how long until I did was another story entirely, however.
It wasn't until later on that I realised it wasn't just me without power this morning, in fact, no one had power, only a few places were back up and running, so why did my apartment lights come back on this morning? I figured it best not to dwell on questions I definitely didn't know the answer to. That posed another problem however, if nothing worked, then I couldn't *get to work* as that required a train. I let out an audible sigh, as I thought about next weeks bills, food, the costs of living with the little money I had.
​
"I wish I could be at work right now" I thought, as the biting cold assaulted my face \*click\* there they went again, my fingers, clicking involuntarily again, that wasn't exactly what was my biggest concern right now, as the world around me collapsed and twisted in innumerable strands of light, before rebuilding its self back again, all in the frame of a second.
"What the fuck was that?" Looking around in a panic, I assessed my surroundings, what just happened? was I going insane? it took me a while to figure out where I was, I was outside the shoddy old building that I called my workplace. How? What? I was... and now... haaahh.
I took a moment, breathed in, breathed out, and pinched my cheek, and checked the time, this was real enough. Walking about, I came to terms with the reality, I had gone from the train station near my home, to my work, an hour away, in barely a minute, maybe less, who knows, but it was impossibly fast.
"Wait... what if..." I suddenly had a thought. my mind had been moving too fast just now to notice... but, the finger click, the... this would require a test. "What should I wish for? Nothing too large, nothing ridiculous, as that could backfire..." I stood there musing over my decision, brushing my hand through my somewhat frosty hair. That's when I decided. "I wish I had long hair" \*click\*
My hair, which, a few moments ago, was barely 2 inches long, was now struggling not to tickle my hips, and with that, I had figured something out. I could make wishes come true.
"I wish I was smarter." \*click\*
​
\-----------------------------------------------------
​
Just a note, I've never posted here before, and i'm very new to writing, so this may be somewhat shoddy, but I hope there's something there for any of you to enjoy. criticism is encouraged. | 2019-10-20T10:12:29 | 2019-10-20T09:56:52 | 58 | 38 |
[WP] At the age of thirteen you get to meet the oldest version of yourself. As the boy sat down to meet his future self he was shocked to see a boy who looked around sixteen staring back at him. | Everyone knows you get to meet your oldest self for your 13th birthday, but no one knows how it works.
I don't care to know until they day meet him. Only 3 years later I was gonna die. How? He wouldn't tell me. "You're too young to hear about it. So am I"
It was a short conversation, until he turned to leave. He couldn't hide the hole in his jacket, his shirt, and his back.
"I'M GONNA BE LITERALLY STABBED IN THE BACK IN JUST THREE YEARS!" Shock was an understatement. "WHO?!"
My older self turned back to me and just shook his head.
"Please" I begged "I gotta know."
"Jimmy," he sighed "I remember this conversation the way you see it, I remember my insistence to know. I didn’t tell myself."
"Please"
He looked me im the eyes. "I... wasn't this insistant last time" he thought to himself. "Stay away from Jack. And if you end up meeting Jamie anyway, stay far away."
I nodded in resolve and he began to glow. He looked at himself in confusion as he began to age up until an old man stood in front of me. An old man in a hospital gown.
"Did I just-..." I stopped mid-question.
"You saved yourself" old man me said wisely. "Now the way you'll die is after a long battle with cancer."
"Who's Jamie?" I asked
"Before the old memories of my death fully fade I can tell you," he sighed "she's our old best friend Jack's sister. And for a while our girlfriend."
"Did she-?" I trailed off in my inquiry.
"Yes, it was her" He said simply. "But I think our time is up now" He began to leave.
"Wait!" I grabbed his bony arm. "Who do we marry?"
He smiled, "I'll let you find out." And he left.
When I got home, the first thing I did was kick Jack out of my life. If his sister was gonna kill me, he's gone immediately. I sat in my room and thought to myself, life is gonna be ok for me now, might as well let it happen, or make it happen. | The older boy sighed before shaking his head lightly
"Evening" he knew he wouldn't get a response at this time he had gone selectively mute. The smaller boy waved neither knowing where to start. The smaller version eventually made noise
"Why?"
"Why?", a nod in response "worlds end" the other shook. Things had been bad for several years but knowing that their home was finally hit as well.
"It is a bit more complicated as it seems more like everything they destroyed was reset with the survivors watching on almost timelessly" he waited for a change while the thought of 'You were useless during most of it sleeping'
"Five more minutes" a voice boomed it came from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Any other questions" the older asked.
The younger shook as to say 'No'.
"Well a piece of advice keep an eye out for allies they are there and willing to listen."
After that everything faded away as the boy awoke in his own bed. He got up and ran for his pen and paper writing all the details before they faded. | 2021-03-27T14:32:16 | 2021-03-27T11:40:21 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] A new virus sweeps the nation killing hundreds. It turns out the virus only affects total assholes though. People are unsure if they really want to cure it. | Inside Ryden Funeral Home, a sparse group of people have gathered for the wake of Andrew Hong.
In one of the middle pews on the left hand side, a couple sit next to each other both dressed in black. The man has tears in his eyes and shakes his head side to side while looking down. "I can't believe he's gone. He was only 21."
"I know, John. It's sad.", the woman next to him said.
"The last time we hung out, we went to 7-11. He asked me to buy a soda for him because he was low on money. So I wait in line to buy everything and I see him filling out the forms for multiple lottery tickets. So I hand him the soda and told him if he's got money for lottery tickets, he can use his own damn money to buy his own soda." John sighs. "Now I wish I would have just bought that soda for him. It was only two dollars!"
The man behind pipes up, "Andrew was an asshole."
John turns around, anger in his eyes. "What did you say?"
"Andrew was an asshole. Don't act like just because he died he was some kind of saint."
John stands up and turns towards the man. "This is his goddamn funeral."
The man is unfazed. "Doesn't change that he was an asshole. I'm his cousin for Christ's sake. That's why he was infected with the A-Hole virus."
The woman next to John pleads with the man. "Please, this is a funeral. Have some respect. He died of the AH-Zero virus."
The man rolls his eyes. "Yeah, the one that kills assholes."
"He was my best friend and he may have had his faults, but he was still a goddamned human being."
"He was an asshole and he's always been an asshole. Even as kids. I broke my arm when he pushed me off my treehouse. He nearly took my eye out with a paintball once. Just last year, he borrowed my car, got drunk and totaled it. Andrew was an asshole. The only reason why I'm here is to see him go into the ground."
The woman next to John,"Please act appropriately. You may have had a problem with him but this is not the proper venue. This is a funeral."
A middle aged man sitting further down from John and his girlfriend turns towards them and says,"He ran over my dog and didn't even slow down afterwards. Just kept on driving." His eyes swell with tears. "That was the only thing I had in my life since my wife died."
John stands and addresses both of them. "What is the matter with both of you? This is a funeral. If you hated him so much, you shouldn't have come. Now be quiet before his parents hear you."
John's girlfriend puts her head down and whispers,"He touched me."
John looks over at his girlfriend. "What?"
"He used to grope me when he got drunk and you weren't looking. He did it all the time. And he used to tell me the nasty things he'd like to do to me when you'd leave the room." John's girlfriend begins crying "I didn't like him either."
John balls both hands into a fist. "That mother fucker... "
John's girlfriend begins uncontrollably sobbing and looks up at John. "I'm so sorry, baby. I know he was your best friend."
John sits down next to his girlfriend, puts his arm around her, leans in and says, "It's okay, Christine. It's not your fault."
"I'm sorry you had to find out like this. I know you cared about him."
"It's okay. I guess he really was an asshole. That explains why he never used a turn signal."
| When the virus first emerged we all thought it was a new form of the flu or some rare contagion that crept it's way here from another country, but that couldn't possibly explain the rate of infection.
A few isolated cases at first, hospitals chalked it up to bad weather or bad luck, but when dozens started dying every day people started paying attention.
The strangest part was that the victims lived hundreds of miles away from each other, some had perfect health records, the only thing they had in common was they wouldn't be missed.
Rapists, thieves and murderers were common among the deceased. Some simply viewed this as karma, others developed wild conspiracy theories and many believed that God himself was casting retribution on the sinners of the world.
Suddenly people started acting much more nobly in front of others, looking over their shoulders and counting their good deeds. Had the virus come to save Earth by ridding us of the cancer of violence and aggression?
Scientists tried to study the virus but the infection never held in lab animals and human victims died too quickly. Really people were more interested in who was dying than why.
Crime had fallen drastically, the kind attitudes of others helped millions who previously suffered from anxiety and depression. Why would we want to stop this new world order?
Eventually as peace prevailed and communities thrived we replaced our capitalist republics with pure democracy based on the will of the people. We still had a presidential figure, but they acted more as a spiritual guide to the tranquil population. There hadn't been a death from the virus in 10 years, it seemed the days of deceit and power struggle were over.
Until one morning as the president was giving his daily address, he began coughing up blood on the podium, the infamous first sign that he had been selected for death.
A wave of panic spread as he was rushed to the hospital for observation. The entire population felt like a great scam artist had blinded them, those in denial started to renounce their faith in the virus' good will.
And then the riots began. Thousands took to the streets looting businesses and assaulting anyone in their way. The truly virtuous locked themselves in their homes, fearful and praying for the second wave of the virus to kill the vagrants in the streets.
But this time there was no divine retribution. The disease had never returned, in fact the president still lay alive in his hospital bed, comatose.
There was no more order, there was no more fear for the wicked. The virus was gone but a sickness had prevailed in destroying world: the disease of humanity. | 2014-11-21T11:26:46 | 2014-11-21T10:55:59 | 41 | 23 |
[WP] A reformed villain is living a peaceful life in a village far from the city they used to torment. After grabbing supplies from the local market, they take the quiet route back home, stopping halfway along the path. Without turning around, they ask "How long do you plan to follow me for, hero?" | It was a perfect morning for a jog. The air was crisp, cool and clean, birds chirping in the trees and dew drops still clinging to the leaves. A far, far cry from the hustle and bustle of the grey, polluted city that Adam Whistler had left behind when he retired.
His feet pounded down the trail, jazzy notes in his ears from his favorite Spotify playlist. He almost, almost didn't notice the second set of footsteps following him in the distance.
He knew those footsteps. Slowing to a halt, panting, he took his earbuds out and shoved them into the pocket of his running shorts.
*A perfect morning this is turning out to be.*
"And just how long are you planning on following me, *Sentinel*?" Adam hollered.
The footsteps slowed to a walk, eventually coming to a stop. A six-foot-six mountain of rippling muscle, clad only in a tight-fitting, garishly red-blue-yellow spandex outfit that left absolutely *nothing* to the imagination (*my god, who in this day and age still wears spandex?* Adam cringed mentally) stood before Adam.
"Armageddon", rumbled the massive giant. "So this is where your new base of operations is. You're not fooling anyone. Spill before I break every single bone in your body - what is your goal this time?"
"Jeez, Mike, when did you go straight to threats instead of monologuing first? Yeah, I know your name is Mike, there's nobody here to hear us so call me Adam, okay? Can't a middle aged guy just opt for early retirement?"
"We both know that isn't how it works with you villains," Sentinel - Mike, said, jabbing an accusing finger at Adam. "Always up to no good-"
"Schemes within schemes within schemes, blah blah. Yeah, whatever. Look, I'm done with that. Had a lot of time in prison to think about it, especially since you'd broken both my legs, AND BOTH MY ARMS!! Anyway, I'm done. I just want to live without a care in the world, out here where the air's nice and nobody knows my face."
Mike stood in stony silence, a grim expression on his face. After a long minute of awkward silence, he spoke up.
"I don't believe you."
"Fine, let's go to my place, and you'll see that I've just been living my best, retired life out here, how's that sound?"
The unlikely duo plodded along the trail to a little cottage house, complete with a little herb garden and a wind turbine. Mike, in complete stony silence, and Adam prattling on about random things.
Mike whirled on Adam, pointing an accusing finger at the wind turbine and about to call it out as a death-ray-laser-gun when Adam simply explained, "Oh that's just for power so I can watch Netflix or browse Reddit, okay?"
Mike merely grumbled beneath his breath and followed Adam into the humble cottage. Once inside, Adam gave a little twirl around the living room with a flourish and a cheeky grin. "BEHOLD! MY GRAND LAIR OF NETFLIX AND CHILL! Now, do you want tea or coffee?"
It took all of Mike - Sentinel's superhuman willpower to hold his right arm from slapping his palm onto his own forehead.
"No, it's alright, I.. Whatever. Do whatever you want." Sentinel grumbled with a sigh. "I'll let myself out."
"HAVE A NICE DAY!" Adam called out the door as he watched Sentinel take flight to the sky, letting out a huge breath of relief. No broken bones, this time. He kept watching as the superhero grew smaller and smaller in the distance until he was nothing more than a teeny tiny dot.
Then, like a coiled viper, Adam, formerly known as the supervillain Armageddon, burst into frantic action. He zipped around the room, rummaging through drawers, cupboards and hidden spaces, pulling out wads of cash, bars of gold bullion and binders of documents, shoving them into duffel bags.
Armageddon reached behind the television, and flipped a hidden switch. A trapdoor opened in the kitchen, revealing a hidden room accessed by a steel ladder. He slid down the ladder into a brightly-lit basement filled with the chattering of voices and tapping on keyboards - which abruptly stopped as soon as his feet hit the bare concrete floor.
An army of genetically-enhanced mice, sitting in little cubicles in front of tiny laptops, some holding miniature phones to their ears in a caricature of a call centre - paused and all eyes (and furry ears) turned to regard their master.
"Alright everyone!" called out Armageddon. "Sentinel is onto us! Pack it up, we're shutting down this scam call centre! Grab your stuff and let's get ready to move to Safehouse B!" | "Figured you'd know I was watching." From the corner of my eye I spotted them. It was easy, back in my villain days I developed almost a sixth sense for telling me where they are. The Hero, Junior King. Strong, fast, inhumanly so of course.
"The government asked me to keep an eye on you. Just to be safe." He informed as he walked into view. Dressed in that same costume as normal. A copper frown atop his heads nothing fancy just a small basic looking crown but his outfit was a mix of classic, stereotypical Royal King attire and modern combat armor.
At best he looked like an oddball cosplay.
"Guess I shouldn't be surprised. Question is did they send you or did you volunteer?" I asked. That got him glaring at me. There was a reason he is Junior King after all, his father was my former arch nemesis. King.
"Volunteered." He stated. "The other heroes asked if I was up for it, but I told them this was a Family matter."
"True. I did... Kill your dad..." I frowned, looking down.
I killed a lot of people in my villain days, I won't lie, but King... He was the one I regret. The one I wish I could take back. For all our fights and encounters... I.. we had fun. From the day I started my war on the modern world til his death...
"You... Didn't know about his injury." Junior said.
"Still killed him..."
"He shouldn't have even out. You and I both know he put his work before his health."
"He could have told me!" I yelled. "I'd never have..."
"It's not your fault mom."
There it was. The reason I quit being a villain...
Back in my villain days I was known as Amazon. I had a bod that embodied the word and once upon a time a real hot temper towards the modern world. Grew up in a jungle village where we lived off the land, took what we needed and lived peaceful lives... Then the loggers came. Those of us that didn't run were killed by their guns and their machines...
I vowed vengeance.
All the other Heroes just used their weapons or gadgets to fight me, fueling my rage...
King was different. He never used a weapon or a vehicle. And when we fought it was hand to hand. Respect. I respected him for it. Over the years, respect turned to an odd friendship, and one day after a crash landing on a deserted island, friendship became more.
That was when Junior was born. On that island. I was a criminal, he was a hero... I tried to be there for him growing up but, what good of an influence is a villain mother with a body count in the hundreds and now, his own father and the man I loved there too...
"I ended up the one doing him in... I can't unsee it happening Junior... And I can't forgive myself."
"Then why are you living here, why not just go to prison?"
I chuckled. "Old habits?" I offered to my son. "This town, I have an identity here. A house. King... Mark, and I... Wanted to retire here together. It's not very modern, which I like, and he liked the relaxing, laid back feel of the village."
"Well... I guess that's why in his Will dad left me this." He said, showing me a house key. "Hope you don't mind? I did bring my stuff."
"Aren't you a little old to be living in your parents house?" I asked.
"Maybe. But my mother needs me... And honestly, I don't want to be alone either. We've always had a... Unique relationship because of yours and dad's work but maybe now we can actually have one that's normal."
"I'd like that... Thanks Junior."
"Come on, let's go home mom." | 2022-09-02T02:22:38 | 2022-09-01T23:51:40 | 28 | 18 |
[WP] A gamer is dropped into a fantasy world, where the laws of nature mimic the rules of an RPG. Using his knowledge of gaming tropes, he is able to easily navigate every dungeon, avoid traps, and react perfectly to every "surprise" he encounters, much to the shock and awe of his friends and foes. | A warrior, an archer, a mage, and a healer all delved into the Cavern of Lost Souls, in order to put an end to a threat putting the nearby town of Oakville at great risk.
They were never seen from again.
The next day, a band of six spelunking veterans ventured into the cave, to at least assess the first few sections of it. They loaded up on plenty of rope, the best healing scrolls, and as many potions as they could carry after all that.
They never returned, either.
"We have to do something," one villager cried out.
"Our best, gone like that," stated another.
The day after, a band of a dozen mercenaries got word of the problem. They donned their best armor, sharpened their platinum swords, and loaded up on silver bolts from the town fletcher. A scary sight to behold, they could have sacked what remained of town, yet they soldiered on to prove themselves true heroes.
Or not. They died, too (probably).
Panic spread like wildfire. "We must flee to Fallton," one villager said. "Nothing can be done."
"Our best are no more," said another in agreement.
"It is hopeless to stay," added a third.
But on the fourth day, a lone adventurer rode in on a strange two-wheeled contraption. The newcomer wore an overstuffed backpack that clung with each bump in the road- it was full of potions.
All manner of weapons were strapped around the pack by perilously conservative amounts of rope: swords and shields of steel, gold, and dragonglass; staves of exotic woods, adorned with carved jewels; crossbows; longbows; fairy bows; daggers of marbled steel. The adventurer wore a belt holstering red and while spheres.
The adventurer threw a few items at the feet of the awed villagers: a small quiver of fire arrows and ice arrows; a bag of deku nuts; and a Prima Games guide.
One villager stepped forward to end the long silence. "Who... who are you?"
`FUCK`
"`FUCK`, please listen to this poor schmuck! If no one slays the final boss, our town will be out of luck. Only you can help us, `FUCK`!" | Argh!...I'm...alive? But that tractor, it was about to run me over... wait, we don't have olive groves near us. And the Malverns DEFINITELY do not loom over the surrounding landscape, with lofty snow capped peaks splitting the clouds.
Wait... wait a second...
I'm in a Fantasy Land! Oh man, oh man, I'll be able to use my knowledge to navigate dungeon and tower, defeat my enemies and woo the *ladies*.
...
Ow. Ow. Ow. I'm sure I've never met hail before in Fantasy realms.
A cave! Right, first check for bears... nope. And there's a light! A fire! With hearty adventuring companions about it. Finally, my adventure is about to begin!
"Well met, good fellows!" I cry. A crack, a grumble, a speck of rubble on my shoulder. I look up; I needn't have bothered, the roof came down to meet me anyway.
*Rock Falls. Everyone dies* | 2016-06-02T14:41:51 | 2016-06-02T13:35:37 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] "Before I cure your wife, you must promise to give me the child." "What do you want with our child?" "Who said I wanted your child? You're feeding a pregnant woman magic cabbage, that's going to have an effect on the baby. I need to raise it incase they breath fire or something." | “Please spare my wife,” he begged again, terror in his eyes. He should’ve known better than to take from a witch’s garden. If he’d asked I would’ve given them something safe to eat- growing normal lettuce wasn’t that hard.
I glanced over at the wife in the bed, she’d said nothing as her husband had begged for her life. She wouldn’t even meet my eye to answer for what she’d done.
“I should kill you both for taking what is not yours,” it was an annoyance to have the special breed of lettuce, a near decade of research, go missing, but not worth rolling heads. Besides, that farmer and his wife had screwed up more than just nicking a few plants.
Even from here I could feel the pulsing magic in that babe inside her.
“Please, spare us, I’ll do anything.”
With a slow blink I lowered my gaze to the kneeling man. You never bargain with ‘anything.’ Though if his mother had taught him how to barter, she should have definitely taught him not to steal.
“Give me your child, and I will let you and your wife live.” The speed at which he nods his head disgusts me. I would’ve left the child with them, if they had shown any concern for it, but it was clear they would never have raised it well.
The next night the child is born, tearing out of its mother with nails too sharp for a babe. I snatched it quickly, swaddling it before they could see. Quietly, magic strings stitch up the farmer's wife, just enough to live. She only glares at me, not even bothered by my taking of their first born.
With a flare of my cloak I am out of the farmer’s hut, the child wailing in my arms. Soon enough I pass the new enchanted barrier, one of the hybrids had messed up an rune, and head to the tower in the middle of my garden.
Cold air nips at the infant’s bloody cheeks. They let out another wail, two small pricks of canines showing in the red gums. Their nails press through the cloth to the point were I felt it on my breast. I’d have to record the effects of the plant on a babe whose mother had gobbled it up. Hopefully the child was strong enough to survive the effects.
The door to the tower flings open as we approach, and closes silently behind us as we enter.
It ceased its wailing, instead drooling and sniffling. It was still covered in the blood of its mother. With a knuckle I scraped the slimy blood from under the babe’s nose and on its lips. Human blood was a disgusting thing to drink, never new how some witches did it.
Their tiny nose scrunches, before it sneezes fire straight into my hair.
“Oh they'd have no clue for a wee beast babe like you,” a flick of the wrist and my hair quits burning. At least my tower is explosion proof. | My life would be very different today if I had not pressed the issue. If only I had not insisted that if the child breathed fire, we were sure to realize it, and thus call upon him for help...
If only I had not insisted that we could handle one or two mishaps so long as we didn't risk losing our child forever...
If only I had not not ignored the night I noticed a faint glow to her eyes as I shut the door on her room.
If only I had not ignored how swiftly her teeth had grown in compared to a normal child, and how they had come to sharp points.
If only I had not ignored the feeling of dread I experienced the night I woke up to her staring in the doorway, her form seemingly absorbing what little luminance flickered from the candle near the bedside, darkness creeping further and further into my vision until I couldn't help but squeeze them shut. I can still feel it, in the pit of my stomach when I think about how she was gone when I reopened them, not a sound made, and with her leave, the light returned.
If only... I had just taken a few minutes to think, maybe...
Maybe if I only would have realized that breathing fire wasn't the worst possible outcome of not entrusting this t h i n g to the wizard. Maybe I would have realized that there are much more dire, unspeakable consequences to ignoring hubris and giving in to desperation and emotion instead of taking just one god damn moment to even consider I did not know what was best in this situation.
Maybe if only I had just let him take i t....
Marjorie wouldn't have suffered so much when that c r e a t u r e...
Marjorie wouldn't have been eaten alive by her own child.
My life would be very different today...If only | 2022-01-04T19:49:12 | 2022-01-04T19:37:48 | 48 | 36 |
[WP] A blind little girl somehow hugs a demon, mistaking him for her dad. No one has ever shown a demon affection before this point, and it has a very surprising efect. | "Whoa--whoa--whoa--what are you doing?"
The small girl was hugging the leg of a horned man with bright red skin.
"I'm giving you a hug, daddy!" She said proudly.
The demon looked around at the hooded cultists who had summoned him. They were in a dark room lit only by black and red ceremonial candles. Five hooded figures surrounded the summoning circle, where Galthrak the Vengeful was standing very awkwardly with a girl in a pink dress snuggling his leg.
One hooded cultist leaned to the other "What the hell Jon! You were supposed to put her in the cage!"
"I did!" Jon objected.
"Then how did she get out Jon!" Hissed the cultist on Jon's otherside.
"I don't know, okay?" Jon hissed back.
Galthrak reached down and pushed the small girl back and away from him. The moment he let her go, she latched back onto his leg with a big hug.
"Lord of the seven circles, that was adorable." Galthrak said caught somewhere between shock and fondness.
"Did you lock it?" Another cultist yell-whispered at Jon.
"What?" Asked Jon not having heard her.
"Did you lock the cage?" She snapped.
Jon shifted nervously. "She's blind--I didn't think..."
The four other cultists audibly groaned.
"What the fuck Jon!" One snapped.
"Up up!" Said the little girl. She had a single chubby hand up in the air at the demon.
"I'm sorry?" Asked Galthrak visibly confused.
"Up up, daddy!" She said brightly.
Galthrak was about to point out that he was not her father but stopped himself. He looked at the sacrificial body that he had inhabited during the summoning. "I suppose I am your father," he noted.
He reached down and picked up the little girl, but held her at arms length his elbows rigid.
"I love you daddy!" The little girl cooed. She held her arms out and clenched her fists demandingly. "Big hug!"
"Its not like she can see the latch!" Jon said defensively.
"She has hands, Jon! She can feel it--why do I have to explain this to you!" One of the other cultists snarled at him.
"Seriously Jon, you're the worst," breathed another.
Jon visibly deflated in his hood. "I... I didn't think..."
"That's the fucking problem, you don't think!"
Jon shut up, shoulders slumped and stared at his feet.
The head cultist stopped chewing out Jon. He turned back to Galthrak. He cleared his throat and deepened his voice by a few octaves as he proclaimed, "Dark Lord Galthrak! Keeper of the Black Flame! We have summoned you and given you flesh to seek vengeance on all who have wronged us! We ask you to bring down your hellfire on the West Danielton Creative Association for daring to bar us from... what are you doing?"
The demon was holding the little girl to his chest where she was snuggled close and lovingly. He was staring out beyond the cultists in awe.
The cultists looked to where he was staring, only to find a blank space in the wall between a bookshelf and a poster.
"You okay there, Lord Galthrak?" Asked one of the cultists.
"I'm fine," the demon's voice cracked. His slit pupils had dilated into large black discs.
"Well, if... I'm just going to... we ask you to bring down your hellfire on the West Danielton Creative Association for daring to bar us from Horror Tuesdays!" The head cultist continued, returning to his deep booming voice.
"Especially Fred Grunger!" Jon piped up. "He's a total dick!"
"With your terrible powers, we demand that you bring ruin onto their artists commune and make them pay for their disrespect!" The head cultist's voice grew in intensity and volume until he was yelling the words. "Galthrak, we demand vengeance!"
"And there will be vengeance!" Galthrak announced, straightening. The shadows lengthened with his words and the candles lighting the room turned dark. His voice seemed to be layered with the dark rumble of thunder.
"But not for you," he turned to the head cultist. His face was a mask of disgust. "You're stupid. Especially that one."
He jerked his head at Jon.
"Oh come on!" Jon snapped.
"What? Why not!" Demanded the head cultist clearly deeply disappointed.
"There will be vengeance! But for this small child!" He held out the little girl who giggled.
"Daddy you're talking funny!" She said.
"The vengeance I wreak for you will leave ruin and horror for generations to come!" He said in a baby talk voice. "And I shall wreak it with the most vile tool in my arsenal! A skill that only the most evil of creatures know exist."
"Oh shit," said one of the cultists, terror in his voice.
Suddenly, murdering a man to summon an ancient evil seemed like a terrible idea.
"BY LIVING BETTER!" Galthrak pulled the girl into his arms. "I will raise you as my own in this... suburb and you will enjoy a life so wonderful most mortals will look upon its majesty and weep--mourning their own feeble existence."
"Oh," said one of the cultists.
"So... you're not going to kill us?" Asked another hopeful.
"Oh no, you're dead. I'm just going to trap your souls and make you watch," Galthrak said with a wicked smile. He turned to the child. "Would you like some new toys little one?"
The little girl frowned thinking. "I do like toys..." she said.
"It is decided!" Galthrak pulled her into a hug as the shadows surrounding the cultists peeled themselves from the walls and engulfed the hooded humans as they screamed. | The little arms wrapped around my knee, and squeezed with loving intent.
"I found you, pop!" a small voice said.
My mouth opened, vile rebuke ready on my tongue. Thousands had approached me over my near eternal life, always for their own selfish purposes. My reply had become routine, verbal memory meant to scare the peons back into whatever little holes they have come from. I hated the humans, as you might expect, and I was always happy to let them know.
But this was different. This, by some miracle, was a new experience.
I closed my mouth and thought about the motive of this little one. *What might they be seeking? What is the purpose of this gesture? Are they trying to drain me of my power, my strength? I feel no different...And what do they mean by 'pop?' Where have I heard this term before?*
The little arms somehow found more strength, squeezing strong enough to get the thoughts out of my mind.
"I wuv you!"
Ah, love. Humanity's 'strength.' Kingdoms had risen and fallen on the backs of the weak who had declared their love for one thing or another. Their king, their country, their god - all of them empty, indifferent vessels. Of course, some had been provoked to mighty deeds in the name of love. But others had been led to nothing but dark turmoil. In my measure, it simply was never worth it. Hate was far more reliable.
But again, this was new. There was an assurance, and resolve to the little mispronounced word. This little girl was more sure of her love for this 'pop' than I had ever known a human to be about anything. Her world, though small, kept her life in a stable orbit.
My mouth opened again, only to let out an unsure cough.
"Oh, silly daddy!"
*Ohhh, so that's the game,* I realized. This girl assumed me to be her father. The tone, the words accompanied by giggles, the 'pop' - it all made sense now. This I *had* seen before, and understood to be a natural part of the human experience.
But...this was still different. *She* was still different. I couldn't pin it down, but I knew - I could feel it in her embrace - that there was a depth here that was unknown. I found myself deeply disturbed. How could I, in light of my age, be encountering a question I could not answer?
My answer came through my own answer. The vile had evaporated from my mouth, but correction was still needed. Knowing this experience to ultimately be the result of a mistake, I took more care in my reply than I would have for any other piece of flesh.
"I'm not your pop."
I felt the little arms release, but not entirely. The girl looked up, her eyes a mystery behind her dark shades, before the tiny voice arose once more.
"Oh! But you need hugs, too!" The tiny arms gripped again, and the girl mumbled an unknown tune to herself.
My world was now in upheaval. This girl now knew I was not her intended target, but it didn't matter. It was not love for an expected ally - her pop - that drove her actions. But rather it was the love itself. I couldn't help but find expression, and she couldn't help but share it. Were all little humans like this? Was this compulsion universal? And was it possible that some humans might not have grown out of it? Questions upon questions flooded in, and I found the truth as a horizon steadily growing in the distance.
A deeper yet familiar voice then startled me. "Jessica! Oh, sorry, sir. My little girl is a hugger, she just can't help it. Apologies for the disruption!"
I stared at the man, a taller version of this girl. Though he thankfully didn't attempt to hug me as well, I could now tell there was this strange love within him. This little girl hadn't grown in a vacuum, and her character was no accident. Yes, her father likely *wanted* to hug me, but is more tied down by the silly social customs of man.
In any case, the pair walked away unknowing the damage they had done. A little girl's hug had undone a demon's life. I no longer fully knew myself. I no longer understood the worlds in which I lived. I now possessed the burden and light of truth, knowing my brethren likely would prefer to remain in the dark. But more than anything, there was one seemingly impossible task in my immediate view:
I needed to learn how to love.
 
____________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2020-03-17T21:48:19 | 2020-03-17T21:13:08 | 399 | 259 |
[WP] When you were a teenager, you performed a demon summoning ritual that didn't work. Years later, the paperwork got approved in the underworld, and your new guest won't leave until you make a deal. | "Alright Dan, look, untold wealth, political power, being irresistible... death to your enemies! You won't even consider it, so i'm going to take you out".
Its at the point where It might almost be better to begin pretending he isn't here, just go about my day. That'd be much easier if my new housemate didn't happen to look like every cliche you can imagine a demon to be. A simple trip to the pub is met with an even split from onlookers between horrified expression and adulation of the impressive cosplay my friend appears to be wearing.
That is, although, entirely beside the point. Right now he is disturbing my Sunday morning ritual of watching Sitcom reruns in my underwear.
"Put something on, something comfy... Just be you this time. This is the one to pique your interest!"
It's been a funny journey for him really, my new 'demon', I don't think he knew he had this in him... neither did I when we first met. Power, debauchery, Revenge, all for the price of my soul, the offers came on strong. After he exhausted what his usual clientele request he started to bend the rules a little. He started by setting me up on blind dates, wooing me into request of a trade for the love of the other, getting me into parties id never dream of attending, showering me with food and spirits I couldn't afford even if I kicked my pack a day habit (lets be fair, it'd take a bit more than that, but that was his point).
None of it worked.
"They are perfect Dan, I checked with the boss and he assures me their records are clean. One meeting and I know you'll take it... as soon as you ask for something were done Dan!"
Having completely run dry of what i'm assuming is his usual mandate, he got creative. Offering to save an orphanage, end the drought, get the family down the road out of debt. Its quite striking that he hasn't gone for the big sell on these too, but I can tell thats not his thing. I almost took him up on an offer or two, but having spent this much quality time with the guy I just know he'll find a way to cock it up for anyone else. He'd do brilliantly as a spiteful genie.
"D...Dan? Are you even listening to me right now?"
I do feel for him, you know? He didn't ask for this... case of mis-filed paperwork. He actually tried that story out on me to pry at some empathy. Theres this seething resentment every time I have a crack at pronouncing his name (which i've since given up, it got old quick), turns out i'm as bad at naming demons as I was in my brooding teen years.
"Fine, have it your way, ill pick this up again later. Im going to the fridge, want anything?"
"Could you grab me a brew?"
Fuck | **KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**
Janice dropped the plate she was washing. It fell to the floor with a *clack*, sending water and soap bubbles all over the kitchen.
"Oh, sh---"
**KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK**
The force of each knock shook her tiny apartment, nearly enough to put her off balance. The young woman grabbed a chair as she mentally catalogued whom she owed money this time.
'*Grey, Rommel, Fox, Samantha, Brian...hmm, I owe Rommel about two hundred, but that isn't enough for him to attempt to break down my door, is it?'* she asked herself when she finally reached the door.
She started to open it.
"Brian, if this is about the money, I promise I'll pay you back next..."
In front of her was a...creature...thing...monster...staring down at her. It had eight limbs, four that it used for walking, and the other four attached to a massive torso covered in thick metal plates. Each held a wicked looking weapon so bizarre and alien in their appearance that, had Janice been paying attention, would have noted to be covered in glowing, demonic runes. It she had been paying more attention, she would have noticed that her surroundings have become unbearably hot, and that her clothes were starting to smoke from the heat.
And then there were its eyes. Dark green orbs, burning with anger and fire, seemingly staring into her very soul.
The creature opened its maw, filled with a thousand sharp fangs, and out came a deep rumbling sound.
**"Greeting, Janice of New Jersey, I am--"**
**"AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!"**
--
To be continued. | 2017-03-26T04:55:06 | 2017-03-26T01:38:47 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] After time traveling to meet Jesus Christ, you are not satisfied with what you see, and eventually realize you are Judas. | "What, are you kidding me? Feed the poor?"
*"Yes, feed the poor, give away your wealth and follow me. For no one can serve two masters. You will hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money."*
"But the those who are poor are the result of their own fault. Why should we, who work hard and favoured by God, help those who do not help themselves?"
Jesus looks at Chad in shock.
*"You say you're from the future, my follower, but yet you espouse so much hate towards your fellow brothers and sisters. Tell me, are all of my followers like that?"*
"Yeah. What do yer expect? Christians ARE the chosen people. We are chosen by God himself, and that makes us special!"
Jesus shakes his head.
*"Haven't you learned anything, Judas? From what I have shared over the past few days? Love thy neighbor as yourself, and give, for it will be given to you."*
"For the last time, my name is Chad! And what is this bullshit about loving others. Yer mean like the slut the other day? She deserves to be stoned! What's all this bullshit about not casting the first stone?"
The apostles gasp, as Jesus sighs. As much as He knows about the future, he had hoped that he could at least enlighten His supposed follower from the future.
*"Judge not, or you will be judged, Judas. My purpose on earth is not to cause more divisions, but to heal them, to bring people together."*
Chad scoffs at the statement. One that he had heard too many times in his time. The last thing that he expected was for Jesus, his supposed God, to say them.
"Yer just a no good liberal. I've wasted my time coming to see you. Yer can be rich, powerful, but yer don't! And what's with the free healing to all those homeless people? They need to pay!"
*"Judas-"*
"I'm not Judas! And I am leaving! Heck, what a disappointment. Maybe I can find somewhere else where I can make my time worth it."
Chad picks up his backpack and walks of of the front door, making sure to spit on the ground before he steps out. The Father had already warned him earlier, but Jesus thought He could perhaps make Chad see the light.
Still, free will is a funny thing. If Chad refuses to see from another perspective, there is little Jesus can do. As the door slams, Jesus slowly sits down, surrounded by his apostles. He knows what is going to happen next and slowly reaches out to the bread in the middle of the table.
He breaks it, and gives it to the apostles.
*“Take and eat; this is my body.”*
---------------------
*Cue suspenseful music? Be sure to check out more at /r/dori_tales!* | I went to my time machine hidden in the back of the ancient synagog to see if it still worked because I was definitely ready to go back home.
It didn't.
Great, just great. I thought, and wandered back into the street. Now I'm stuck here with this asshole who thinks I'm his bestie or something, tells me he loves me every day. Yada, yada, yada.
..Oh, wait, maybe I should go back a second and introduce myself.
My name is Shane Mahal, and I'm a time traveler. I'm about 30 years old, and, until recently, I was a devout Christian. I was in love with the notion of Jesus Christ. So in love with him that I wanted to meet him. So, I created a time machine (I'll spare you the details - just know that involved a lock of hair from Bill Nye and an orange peel) and went back to when God walked among us.
But what I met astounded me. Here was this selfless man who commited countless miracles for those less fortunate than himself, and did so with ease. I became disillusioned when I realized that I was not such a man myself, and one man was missing from this history.
Judas Iscariot. And that was me.
The events spilled out in front of me just as they did in the bible. There was nothing I could do except play my part - until the last supper. I couldn't bare it anymore. I told him of the plan to take his life. He nodded and just told me to go ahead and do it. I refused, and when the Romans came for him, I told them I was the sinner instead.
I was murdered on the spot. | 2017-06-08T08:03:55 | 2017-06-08T07:11:39 | 109 | 11 |
[WP] The Hero and Villain are both sidelined with the flu. They send their sidekick/henchman to do battle in their stead, but the two underlings turn out to have a lot in common. | "Larry? Is that you?"
The young man sitting on the park bench, wearing white-painted cardboard on his body, and fake mouse ears on his head, looked up. "Sally?! Ah, crap."
Sally laughed. A motion that rippled up the tight latex of her yellow canary outfit. A costume, unlike his, not held together by staples and glue. "Are you meant to be dressed as a *mouse*, Larry?"
The pile of cardboard sunk, as if trying to swallow itself. "MegaMouse. Mister Titanium said I needed an alias...And..."
The Canary sat down next to him, still chuckling. "And he gave you this?!" She prodded the circular cardboard stomach. "Jesus. What a total bastard. He set you up, Larry -- to have a good laugh at your expense."
The cardboard man groaned, his face flushed red. "Ugh. I wish that was the case. But it's way worse than that."
"What do you mean worse?"
He ran two white-gloved hands over his face. "He let me come up with my own identity. Make my own costume."
The Canary tried to stifle a laugh, but it spilt out all over Larry like burning coffee. "And you came up with MegaMouse?"
"I like mice, OK? They're quiet but clever. They're just... cool."
"I don't know about cool, but they can be kind of cute at time," The Canary said. "But... they don't really have many super-villain attributes going for them, do they? Like... they're pretty low on the food chain. And their only move in a fight is to scamper off into a hole."
"They're cool," he repeated, but any enthusiasm in his voice was lost.
The Canary nodded. "Uh huh. Sure."
Larry glanced at Sally. "Why are you even out here? Shouldn't Desert Cat be trying to stop me?"
"He's got the flu... Same as your boss. But, uh, stop you from what, Larry? I'm only here doing a routine patrol, on Desert's behalf."
"Oh. I..." He nodded at the bank across the street.
Sally raised her eyebrows. "You're going to try to rob it?" She sounded almost impressed. Definitely surprised.
"Ah, well. Gee. I already tried, kind of."
"You've already robbed it??"
"Tried," he repeated, adding emphasis. "I went in there and told them it was a robbery, and..."
"And?"
"And... they all swam around me like fish in a bowl, no one giving any mind to me. I shouted a few more times, before I took a couple of MouseGrenades out -- my own invention."
The Canary whistled. "I hope you didn't hurt anyone."
He laughed. "Only my pride. They had leaked in my gadget pouch. All that was left was a damp shell. No good as grenades. That's when I left. Took a seat here to think about things."
"I'm sorry thing didn't work out? I guess?
"Thanks."
"So, what things have you been ruminating on?"
"The point of it all, you know?"
"Of life?"
"Of being the comedy sidekick to a genius super-villain."
The Canary nodded, her eyes looking through Larry, for a moment. "Yeah, Mister Titanium is pretty smart. Pretty special, all round."
Larry stared at her, watched her eyes enlarge and cheeks redden. "Oh my God, Sally. You came out here just hoping to see him, didn't you?"
"No! I just... uh..."
"That's why you put so much effort into your costume. And your hair, for that matter."
She huffed. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"He's not as tall in real life. And he's got a bit of a belly."
"Is he as smart?"
It was Larry's turn to huff. "Yeah. I guess."
"Well that's all that matters!"
"Ugh."
Sally laughed. "I'm teasing you. You're cute when you're jealous, you know? Like a real little mouse."
He rolled his eyes.
"Why do you even work for him, Larry? He doesn't respect you. I get the feeling you only resent him. So... Why?"
Larry shrugged his cardboard shoulders. "He was the only Super willing to give me an apprenticeship. Everyone else... turned me down."
"I wouldn't turn you down, Larry."
Larry's eyes cautiously wandered over to hers, where they met and held. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Well... I've not had lunch yet... And I know this great little pizzeria..."
"Will Mister Titanium be there?!
"Funny."
"Sorry, I couldn't resist." Sally got to her feet and grabbed Larry's hand, pulling him up too. "Come on, I'm starving. But no running into the kitchen and dirtying it. I know what you mice are like! Oh, and no squeaking. Not in public, anyway."
For the first time that day, a grin spread over Larry's lips. | Zolaray, sidekick of the great protector, was heading downtown in his zolamobile, a slightly smaller and more red version of the great protector's own vehicle.
This was his first mission, his chance to prove himself. He would be going up against his Boss's arch-nemesis, The Smuggler, reports of his sightings echoing over the police radio frequencies. He was at the metropolitan bank, staging a heist.
His body shook with nerves as he rounded the last corner to the bank and then skidded to a stop outside.
The police hadn't arrived yet, reluctant to engage too early and risk the losses of life they had suffered last time around against this great evil.
An explosion rocked the side of the building, from it emerging...not The Smuggler, but a woman. She was dressed in green in a tight fighting suit, a simple mask that only covered her eyes. Her long red hair hung around her shoulders. Shadows danced from her hands that lead to stacks upon stacks of money floating behind her. Inside the building through the hole, people were bound in the same dark clouds.
"Oh what do we have here?" she asked, "the Great protector's little pet come to save the day?" she said. She must have been a henchman, Zola thought.
Focusing on his power, Zolaray drew the light to his hands. He wasn't here to chat, and if he was honest, didn't know what to say. The sheer beauty of the woman had caught him off guard, made him defensive even before any blows had been exchanged.
He shot out a single beam of light towards her, and as he did, she shot out her own shadow.
They collided together with equal force, a stalemate. Zolaray added a second beam, and as he did, she matched it. He pushed, stepping closer and closer, as she also pushed back. Step by step they neared each other.
"Darkness and evil will never prevail in this city" Zola said, grunting with the effort of the force.
"What do you know about Darkness? I was here during the darkest times of this city, saw the wanton destruction caused by the dependence on it's pretending heroes. Where were you during the terrorist bombings 5 years ago? What were you doing to help? I was there, I lost all my family! No heroes came to help us. It was the true form of humanity"
Zolaray blinked, almost losing concentration, "I was there, too. My family also lost. But I swore to never let it happen to anyone again after my powers manifested shortly after". Infact, he had been blinded by his own righteousness , focusing only on his crusade against evil. He himself was a shadow of the man he once was. His life was empty.
The woman had also faltered, but they were still being drawn into one another, their powers seemingly attracting. Suddenly, their hands touched. Zolaray felt inside him something lurch forward, and he embraced her. His heart released an outpouring of emotion, so intense that tears began to fall from his face.
The woman too, was crying.
"What is this?" she said, placing her head on his shoulder, sobbing.
Zolaray didn't know, couldn't explain, but knew they were destined to be together. Two sides of the same coin, each others missing piece. The light and the dark born from the same shared tragedy. They needed each other.
As the police arrived and the floating stacks of money fell to the floor, they remained there, in each other's embrace, both feeling something they hadn't felt in so long.
Zolaray would never let go.
(had to rush! hope you enjoy, bk later to edit )
if you like fatdragons r/fatdragon for more :) | 2019-07-19T00:48:34 | 2019-07-19T00:13:08 | 318 | 159 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here. | 15,000 years. 15,000 mid-numbing years of waiting. It was exciting to Adam at first at first, the knowledge that life didn't just end with death, that he got to stick around and observe humanity. It suited him well, he'd always been a quiet fellow, and since he was just a ghost, no one gave him a hard time for being a wallflower anymore. He could just sit and people-watch and enjoy himself, and that's exactly what he did for a while.
The first 10 years were the best of his life or afterlife. No responsibilities, no bills, no obligations, no attachments, just traveling around the world and observing to his heart's content. All of his hobbies, bird-watching, fine art, reading rare books, he now actually had time to do. He saw sunrise on the rim of the Grand Canyon more times than he could count. He took afternoon siestas atop the Eiffel Tower whenever he wanted. It was exhilarating and it was perfect.
The next 90 years calmed down a bit, but were still wonderful. He got into a nice routine, checking in on people he knew, seeing and learning new things. It was all he ever wanted in life, just without the living part. He saw people come and go, first from life to ghosts like him, and then some time later from ghost to the great beyond. He felt pity for those poor souls who just got a few years of afterlife and then were forgotten.
The next 900 years were solid. 900 years of observing human progress, and he got to see all of it. At some point he started to wonder who exactly was still remembering him, but he wasn't exactly complaining. He saw new forms of art, music, writing. He accompanied the third Martian expedition and got to see a whole new planet! By the end of the millennium Adam reckoned he'd seen more of what humanity had accomplished than just about anyone. He felt like a god; people came and went, but Adam just was.
With each passing millennium things got a bit duller. The sun didn't shine quite the way it used to, it seemed. Humanity found new and terrible ways to kill each other. By his fifth millennium he was bored. By his tenth millennium he was depressed. By his fifteenth millennium, he was just exhausted. He was thankful for his extended time, but he just wanted to be finished, and try as he might, had no idea who still remembered him.
And then it happened: the Sun went supernova and extinguished all life on Earth. The good people of Mars died a few days later. With just almost all of humanity dying, most every ghost passed on as well. It was just Adam and a thousand other ghosts left, who realized that the last remaining crew of Humans were the crew of 6 who had left for Europa.
After realizing what happened, the ghosts formed an astral caravan and travelled to Europa. They all desperately wanted to keep the crew alive and Humanity with it, and Adam tagged along with them. He didn't say anything, but he knew if they died his ennui would finally be over. They got to Europa, and found the 6 of them, nearly freezing to death and on their last fuel cell. Then 2 of them died, and a cadre of ghosts vanished. Then another the next week, and another the week after, and the last vestiges of humanity were 2 humans, Adam, and a few hundred ghosts.
Those last two explorers gave each other a dejected look, and resignedly opened the cyanide capsule in their craft. There was a wail of grief among ghost kind, but there was nothing to be done. As they took the pill, Adam was at peace, finally ready to enter the Great Beyond. He closed his eyes and-
Nothing. The last two died, turned into ghosts, and then they and all other ghosts disappeared. It was just Adam stuck on a godforsaken rock. He collapsed in a heap of anguish, inconsolable and at a loss for why he was still here. Suddenly a portal of of light opened:
> Well this is odd, I swear we unit tested everything, you really shouldn't still be here.
Said what appeared to be a bespectacled angel, thumbing through a small console.
> Who are you! Why am I here! Just end my suffering, please.
Adam replied, in a mixture of confusion, despair, and rage.
> Oh wow, I see what happened, a good old self-referential pointer exception. Wouldn't have expected that in such a sociable species like you anthropodes!
The angel's gleeful excitement in discovery only made Adam more upset. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, so as slowly and deliberately as he could Adam asked:
> Humanity is dead. Why am I here? Who remembers me?
The angel looked up from his console and square at Adam and answered,
> Look, I don't know how to tell you this, we just never anticipated this edge case. See when people die, we create an index of all the people that remember them, and then add and remove from it as people forget/learn/die. Once that list is empty, poof, Great Beyond. We've just never encountered what happened with you. When you died, your list was empty, and so the compiler filled it with the only person who ever remembered you. You. | 15,000 years is a long time. It's certainly much longer than most of my kind are capable of thinking in. Today, most of them say that it is the year "2017 AD." I, however, can remember people who said it was "747 AVC." I could remember even farther back to a time and place when it was said to be "the 37th year of the reign of Sargon" and further beyond that to the very fist time a woman etched "Year 1" into a rock to track the history of her farming village. That barely even scratched the surface.
It had been 15,000 years since a boar's tusk had pierced my shoulder while trying to catch one for the farm on the river bank. 15,000 years since the festering infection had claimed my body and my life. 14,800 years since the absolute most generous estimates should've sent me on from this world. I was still here.
Ghosts are tethered to the living. When the last person who remembers you dies, you finally vanish. In my day this meant a particularly legendary figure might last 7 generations. An exceptionally old person might last 4-5. More recent people like Alexander the Great had lasted thousands of years thanks to the invention of written history
So far as I knew, the last person to know me alive must have died on that little farm on the banks of the Eruk, well most people called it the "Tigris" these days.
In the last 15,000 years I'd done a lot. Ghosts don't have the superpowers people imagine us with. We're basically just humans that fluctuate in and out of visibility and corporeality. So I can walk through walls, but I've gotta walk like anyone else. No flying, no apparating, no possessing the living, just walking. That's fine by me, you can sneak on to most forms of transit when you're invisible. I remember walking westward, following the sun to see where it landed after my Great-great niece died. I ended up in the luscious and green Sahara with a much better understanding of science than anyone else would develop for a few thousand years. I haven't really stopped walking since and am proud to say that I think I've covered the entire Earth, twice for most places
I hadn't been visible in about 1200 years. Too many religions started that way. I switch over to tangibility all the time though to do little guardian angel type things from fishing someone's keys out of the pool and onto their towel to pulling the firing pin out of a soldier's gun for an innocent family. Little things, sometimes big consequences. My whole afterlife chnaged while doing the latter.
I had recently made the trek home to Eruk, or Mesopotamia, or Iraq, or whatever it's called these days. It was the biggest shitshow I'd seen there since the Mongols. I pulled the firing pin out of a ISIS militant's gun while he was looking down the barrel at a Yazidi woman. The distraction was just long enough for a government soldier to take a shot at the militant. I almost didn't look, but when I did, I saw the soldier's face. He wasn't Arab, his facial features were too broad, his hair too tightly curled, and his skin too dark. He looked like me...
I quickly became visible, standing strange and anachronistic in my animal skin kilt with an apparent wound in my shoulder. My unevenly chopped hair cropped close to my skull and a short and curly beard was similar cut around my jaw. A tattoo adorned my right shoulder, a family symbol of a sort. I saw the recognition in his eyes and the fear of one who has seen a ghost. The soldier's gun fell, but he didnt seem to notice as his hand clutched his own right shoulder.
I knew at that moment, that soldier knew me. He was from Eruk. He was 15,000 years old, and for some reason he was still alive.
| 2017-06-26T15:03:31 | 2017-06-26T12:12:09 | 129 | 39 |
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there. | My neighbor Laura doesn’t love her child like I do. At 6:00am on the dot that bitch leaves her daughter outside every morning to freeze until the school bus to arrives. Doesn’t she know how easy it would be to nab that child? All it would take is a box of chocolates and a warm car. That delicious kindergartener would be all mine. I wonder when Laura would start to care about her daughter? When the school called asking about here? When she couldn’t be found? Too late, bitch, you had your chance. My turn. I pick up my gun.
Every morning, these thoughts, at 6:00am on the dot. How much longer will these feelings go on? I can’t keep living like this. Too many lies. “When are you gonna to find a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend? You can tell us, you know. We don’t care and won’t judge you.” Fuck you. You don’t know about the monster lurking inside. How would you react if you knew the truth? Would you care that I would never harm a child? Would you help me seek treatment, or ostracize me? Even though I would sooner die than give in to the urges.
Twenty-eight years of this is too long. My friends have gotten married and are starting families, and the question keeps getting asked. “Will you be the godfather?” Like inviting a hungry lion into a defenseless kitten’s den. And I am hungry. You don’t know the depths of sexual depravity until you’ve held yourself off for 28 years. How long until I start rationalizing the urges and give in? I lift the gun to my head. Finally, I can rest. Have a great day at school and a wonderful life, child. Even if your mother cannot protect you, I will. Goodbye. | >Hate,Love, Death
The Escalade roared down the road tearing into the crowd, bodies were flung everywhere. Time seemed to slow down to an impossible rate, John could see shoes slowly flying through the air and the bloody gore being slung up the hood onto the windshield in all its detail. None would be spared.
With a start John came back to his senses. He stared angrily at the Westboro picketers surrounding his gay squadmates funeral. He slammed the car into drive and pulled out into the street just in time to see the tractor trailer barreling down toward him. Fin.
| 2014-03-11T14:44:36 | 2014-03-11T07:12:39 | 27 | 11 |
[wp] Humans have the shortest life span in the universe. This is also the reason they are the most feared. | *Humans are ephemeral.*
*Humanity...is immortal.*
***
"Deceleration at sixteen rhohms, entrance to objective timezone imminent. Calculating estimated subjective time remaining until arrival."
The alpha flight computer matrix whirred and clicked to complete the end-warp calculations as the cargo fleet approached its destination. Carrying over 45000 KMUs of an experimental neodymium-theodium complex, the *Shimsada* interstellar cargo ship was much more heavily armored than most, and additionally protected by a defensive support fleet, courtesy of the interplanetary La∆rian Federation. The entire fleet was currently fully attached as a singular compacted pillar-like shape, which was standard practice for superluminal fleets and simplified gravitational distortion calculations significantly. The crew was more than eight hundred strong, and had been mostly bored throughout the 1100-light year journey - a distance that typically would have been more bearable for a fleet of less massive ships.
"Calculations incomplete. Unexpected anomalies detected. Deceleration will be linearly increased until errors are resolved."
They would not be bored for much longer.
Up on the flight crew deck, Hoj was working with seven other bright young La∆rian spaceflight engineers were scrambling along their consoles, trying to make some sense out of the newest input from the outside world that their computer matrices were picking up. An immense object surrounding them along the lateral axis, but with an incongruous gravitational signature. Energy wave emissions didn't line up right, either. It just didn't make any sense.
A stiff-looking lieutenant rushed into the console room. "Would anyone like to tell me what is going on?"
"We're not sure, sir," Hoj reported.
"Not sure? What do you mean, 'not sure?'" The lieutenant marched towards the nearest engineer's console to get a look for himself.
"There's a massive object approaching us from multiple sides, sir, but the issue is that - it's not massive, actually, at all, it's just - really big, but not massive, according to these numbers, but still has the size, but not the gravitational--"
"Shit." The lieutenant's facial horns glowed as he figured out what he was looking at.
"Sir?"
"That's not *an* object. That's thousands of objects. That's an enemy fleet."
Hoj wasn't sure if he heard him correctly. "Sir?"
The lieutenant wasn't going to repeat himself. "How long ago did we pass through the Solaris gravity well?"
"No more than about nine tarpeds, sir," said a voice from behind Hoj. He dared not swivel his ocular spines away from the lieutenant to figure out who. "But why would--"
An alarm blared from the alpha matrix. "Flight trajectory compromised. Increasing deceleration for emergency stop. Caution: excessive g-forces imminent."
The console room went silent, save for the alarm, for a few precious moments. Everyone stared at the lieutenant, awaiting orders.
He seemed to stare back at all of them individually. "Well? What the hell are you all doing just standing there? Get to your stasis chambers!"
***
Humans. Solaris Terrans. He should have known this was going to happen.
Lieutenant Virlida, as much as he would have liked to deny it, felt the same chilling wave down his ventral spines now as he did when he first read the flight summary for this trip. In nearly three hundred subjective years of service, he had only had to deal with Humans once. Until now.
Creatures with notoriously short lifespans relative to most other sentient beings in the universe, Humans were a royal pain in the ass to work with. They had adapted and perfected their stasis chambers so that they could be sustained for more than a hundredfold their normal lifespans, and considering they reached reproductive maturity in less than twenty years - a galactic blink of an eye - if they chose to, they could raise an army in one superluminal trip.
But they rarely did. They rarely traveled in massive armies dedicated to a singular cause. No, what made them so formidable a species was their collective resilience and adaptability. You could never wipe out a group of Humans. You could come very close, but inevitably a handful would survive. And, within a few generations, they would thrive. And they would come back. They would come back, usually not with vengeful motives or any sort of uniform sentiment, but instead with a plethora of ideas and inventions that they were all so eager to try. And when one of them worked, the rest would adopt it before anyone could counter it. And the cycle would continue. It was like fighting a hundred nations at once - sometimes literally. Humans were also known for being diversely split into different factions. When they discovered feasible interstellar spaceflight, they didn't take the traditional route of uniting under one common banner. Instead, they maintained their own planetary boundaries, and formed a loose Human Confederation.
Virlida remembered his own encounter with them. He was younger then, and naïve. He believed the Humans to be weak, a mere nuisance to the Federation. Boy, was he wrong.
As he strapped himself into his stasis chamber, he wondered what they had in store for him this time. Deliberate blockading of a spaceflight trajectory, and a threatening presence in the warp channel. He had a strange feeling that this would not end quickly.
***
Part 2, coming soon? | "Redran! What are you doing? Get away from that thing!" Blornof said in the highest whisper he could do without waking the sleeping beast. Redran was right over the creature getting ready to touch it.
"Come on Blornof don't be a Rhombus, We've already passed the dare by coming up to it's den. If we touch it we'll be legends" Redran whispered back his hand dangling over it as Blornof shook his head.
"No way man, if you have a death risk. You can feed it by yourself. I'm getting out of here." he whispered back heading for the door as the creature started to grumbled and stir.
Blornof and Redran froze, Redran's 5 legs shaking in fear "Dude, help me. I can't move" he pleaded near silently to his friend as Blornof looked incensed.
"Do you think I can? I should never have let you drag me down here. Who cares if Adrock the Juleball player likes us if we're dead!" he said raising his voice a bit too high as the creature sat up, yawning, it's eyes opening when it spotted the two boys it's pupils shrank as it screamed "Aliens!"
The utterance from the creature got the two boys into action as they ran back into the corridor. However their escape was blocked. 2 other creatures had been awoken by the first's scream, much larger than the one they were fleeing for.
"Oh my Norbla! There's more of them! We're screwed" Blornof yelled as Redran clung close to his friend "Just stay calm, these things have such short life spans, they might drop dead before they reach us" he said trying to reassure him.
"Yeah but that also means they have nothing to lose Redran! These creatures could do anything! They're too unpredictable!" He said as the creatures started closing in on all sides.
The little one had a metal club now, while one of the two larger creatures had what looked like a rudimentary Slug Slinger, aimed at them.
"Oh no...they're armed! They're using tools!" Redran said as Blornof's seven eyes darted around looking for another way out. Spotting a door they could reach, Blornof's suction cups grasped his friend dragging him through it.
"Oh my Norbla Blornof, those creatures. In the few 1/60th Rotations we've been there, have already evolved to use tools! Their short life span allows them grow and learn at an accelerated rate. It's game over man, They'll likely break in here with laser rifles in a few 1/3600 Rotations." Redran said panicking as Blornof slapped him across the face with his right 4 tentacles.
"Don't panic now! You got us into this mess, but I'll get us out look!" Blornof said pointing at a porcelain device nearby.
"An unguarded hyper tube! We're saved!" Redran said embracing his friend as Blornof nodded "You can thank me later let's go" They both stood in the bowl, and pressed the engager.
The tube engaged dragging their amorphous forms into the system, before dumping them out into a large pleasant smelling chamber "That was close. I can see why they warn us about those creatures. Their short life-spans make them terrifying!" Redran said as Blornof nodded.
"Agreed, but we made it through and that's all that matters. Come on let's get out of here."
"Should we let Ardock and the others know we won the bet?" Redran asked as Blornof shook his head
"We don't need to hang out with those losers. They might be varsity julesball players, but did they survive a creature attack?!"
Redran's face lit up "Oh yeah! When the rest of the students at the academy hear about this we'll be legends!"
"Yep, we'll be set for the rest of Higher Education, all 150 orbits of it!" Blornof said slapping tentacles with Redran as they made through the chambers. Proud to have survived a brush with the most dangerous creatures in the galaxy, human beings.
| 2017-10-24T11:10:53 | 2017-10-24T08:31:22 | 56 | 14 |
[WP] At the age of 18 you are permitted to redistribute your twenty skill points around into whatever skills you want permanently. You decided to put everything into LUCK and leave the rest at 0 points. | It isn't too surprising that James came to regret his decision. He knew it was a risk, but in a world full of min-maxers, he figured the only chance to potentially get ahead was to think outside the box. Now he was thin, essentially skeletal, feeble of mind, devoid of charms, clumsy, really without any apparent redeeming qualities... but at least he was lucky, right?
He shakes his head, looking up to see the passenger plane falling from the sky above him leaving a long trail of smoke and flames in its wake. The first time he saw something like this he was awestruck and terrified. Now he just continued walking, the explosion a deafening roar behind him, a massive chunk of debris landing where he stood just moments before.
Too bad nobody warned him, but it wasn't really their fault. Luck is a funny thing, which nobody truly understands. One can't increase their own luck without taking it from others, and in a world where everyone was obsessed with making themselves smarter, stronger and more beautiful, luck was the one statistic everyone just happened to ignore. A shame, really, because it's very helpful. It can make the difference between a beautiful woman becoming a supermodel and living in obscurity, or a high school foot-ball player becoming a national league champion, but the reverse also applies. Luck without any sort of talent to go with it was meaningless. One can't succeed unless you try, and almost any effort requires some level of exertion which he was now incapable of.
He swallows nervously, the wheel of a truck driving through an intersection just happening to fly off through a store-window, sending the vehicle rolling into traffic. He had inadvertently stolen all of the luck in the world for himself, and spend his days terrified that eventually everyone would realize that the hellish state of things was entirely his fault, but they never ever did.
How fortunate for him. | Pajser woke up on his 20th birthday pretty hungover. Strong light almost totally prevented his eyes from opening. It was unusual light, the one you usually see in games when one important revelation comes up.
"You have 20 skill points to spend, choose wisely," Siri said.
Pajser took his phone and put all on luck because he was too irritated and grumpy because of last night's drinks. Suddenly, he felt the urge to sleep again. He laid down and fell asleep. He died.
"You lucky dumbass", Siri said,"you put no points in your immune system, you're lucky you died in your sleep."
The phone turned off.
THE END. | 2016-03-20T19:53:16 | 2016-03-20T18:09:26 | 42 | 21 |
[WP] A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher Artificial Entertainment
A parallel universe, in which Pay to win is the norm and gamers complain about these new "skill to win "games from the publisher **A**rtificial **E**ntertainment | "This is such bullshit," I shook my head as I tossed my controller to the floor.
I had been playing for thousands of dollars and was still getting my ass kicked by 'xXxAE_Did_Nothing_WrongxXx'. Of *course* they had an asinine name like that. What kind of person did you have to be to sit in front of a game for hours on end just to get better than the other players? Better yet, what kind of a *publisher* did you have to be to make a game that rewards this kind of play? Evil. That's what you had to be.
Still reeling from the hundreds of deaths inflicted on me, I got up from the couch and walked upstairs. I needed a drink to take my mind off of this.
"Piper!" A voice called out my name as I got to the top of the staircase. "Have you been playin-" my brother began before I cut him off.
"Hey, hey, hey!" I put my hands out in front of me. "You have to pay first."
I felt a little bad interjecting as soon as I did. My brother didn't usually seem this happy to see me.
"Oh, yeah, my bad," he replied, pulling his wallet from his pocket and fishing his card out.
"How many minutes do you want?" I asked him as I got my card reader ready.
"I'll go for the One Night Unlimited Pass," he replied, handing me the card.
I swiped his card in my reader and then selected the 'One Night Unlimited Pass' from the 'conversation services' menu, the option that gave him my unmetered conversation services for the next eight hours.
"Total is 4.99," I replied as I handed him back the card.
He nodded. "So, have you been playing Warfront 2?"
"Ugh," I groaned as I walked over to the fridge. "I've been *trying* to."
I slid my credit card into the reader on the fridge and the door unlocked. I peered inside and looked for a drink as my brother continued speaking to me.
"It's fun, isn't it?" He held his hands together as he spoke, his eyes beaming with joy in my direction.
I pulled a can of beer from the fridge and turned around. Why *did* he seem so happy?
"The most frustrating thing," I said, sliding my card down the reader attached to the can to open the top. "Is that I can tell there's a fun game in there somewhere, but I have to spend *time* to get to it."
"It's innovative, isn't it?" My brother continued. "I mean, I've never *seen* a game where passion is rewarded like this!"
Oh, my brother. Though he was already cresting into his 20s, we all said that he never *really* grew up. Sure, we all used to be like him at one point, but it's just not realistic to live like he does. Never charging for his services, giving away his smiles and giving other people memories for free like that. Hell, I once saw the kid turn down a five figure transaction for his comedy services because he 'just liked to see' the old, grumpy bank manager laugh once in a while. We'd try to tell him that it wasn't good for him to live like this, that he was going nowhere in life, but he just never listened.
"It's just not how the world works, Ralph," I said with a sigh. "It's a dishonest practice structuring something around skill and dedication. It's wrong, Ralph, can't you see that?"
Ralph cocked his head and looked me in the eye.
"No. AE did nothing wrong," he said with a wink before turning around and disappearing back upstairs to his room. | “My boy! You just bought level 50!? Such a savage.” Said Tyrone almost choking on the gulp of Mountain Dew he had just ingested.
“Yeah, I got a pay raise at my new job so I caved. Besides, I gottta bulk up our squad cause we’ve been losing team battles as of late.” Said Tim as he relaxed on his gaming chair.
“Yo! But did y’all hear about this new hyped game called Shooters Maxima? Apparently micro transactions within the game will cease to exist. Level will be only be achieved through grinding it out.” I said as I anxiously waited to hear their response.
“Bro! Artificial Entertainment will sink if they dare do this to us. Trust me bro. How else will they entice us to one up each other if we aren’t spending to get better? It just doesn’t work that way Jared.” Said Tyrone. I could tell he was a bit heated but I reserved further commentary to not invoke a heated argument.
Deep inside something was telling me skill-to-win was the truest form of playing video games but the history suggested otherwise. I mean we were in the year 4059 and it’s been this way since I was born. Where could I turn to?
Then suddenly Tim commented on the subject. “You know, if somehow we could search the history of gaming on the internet then we will uncover the greater truths of how gaming was meant to be played.”
This left me thinking for a while in silence, contemplating how to process this. I mean, he does have a point; given the absence of Net-neutrality from knowing the real truth of the past. Sure, the internet describes pay-to-Win as existing since the inception of gaming but what if it’s just a bunch of crap fed to us to make us spend? And what were Artificial Entertainment’s motivations for creating a game that was skill-to-win? I needed to know.
I mustered the courage and told the guys. “I must know, we must know! We must find the truth for ourselves! As gamers I feel we must uncover the truth of where pay-to-Win came from and why suddenly there is a shift in this new highly anticipated game!”
“Pshhhhhhh! Are you crazy!? Just let it go bro. Shooters Maxima is not going to change the landscape of the gaming community.” Tyrone said as he spit out the Mountain Dew he was drinking.
I just couldn’t accept that. | 2018-02-12T12:11:54 | 2018-02-12T11:59:38 | 2,522 | 108 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. It’s been nearly a century since a formal recruitment, voluntary or not, anywhere in the world. People have shown up by the thousand for weeks now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Nam…
"Aren’t you a little young for this?"
"I’m eighteen."
I take his information and send him down the hall. I don’t need much convincing, even if he couldn’t be a day over fifteen. He’s old enough, if he wants to go, I won’t stop him. Isn’t even the youngest I’ve had today. It’s been nearly six months of this, hundreds or a thousand processed a day, every day. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. I used to say more, used to thank every person that went down the chute, look them in the eye for the few moments they were in front of my desk. That lasted maybe three weeks. What was that, twenty-five thousand people? Thirty? I don’t particularly want to know on second thought. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. They want us to look them in the eye, sure. To thank them for showing up. Reassure them they’re a part of something greater. They want us to, but they want numbers more.
It’s all a numbers game. That never changes. At my station, that’s the number of warm bodies I can log and send down the chute every day. That’s about the most technical station in the process, actually. Engineering just has to strap engines to an aluminum tube, set a launch window, and send it on. Thousands of volunteers, stuffed in the tube, jetted off faster than a human has any business going.
It used to be more complicated. Lots more. Space for air, space for food and water, space for showers for god’s sake. Takeoff had to be managed, limited to what a human body could take. What was that, ten G’s? fifteen? Well, fifteen once you trained your volunteers. That was a whole chore in itself. Training for zero g. Training for takeoff and landing. Training for a hundred systems breaking in transit. Training to not go crazy in the two years you were in transit, to keep muscles from shrinking in that time. There were literally a thousand things cut from the process since the early days of space travel. All engineering had to worry about was how many bodies could fit in a plain metal tube and how fast could we get that tube on its way. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall.
Process volunteers, load them in a tube, launch. There used to be a fourth step. Having tubes of a thousand volunteers killed by launch forces or suffocate in space seemed too brutal, too calloused. The first week, it was injections. Then gas for another few days, that was a PR nightmare though. After that, an engineer suggested that hypoxia was about the best way to go anyway.
Of course it was an engineer. Why have four steps, five if you count loading bodies in the tube, when you could have three. Then they didn’t mind close quarters, didn’t mind the lack of oxygen, didn’t even come back until after they were well into space. Hell, they didn’t even need to land. That alone took weeks off the trip since they didn’t have to slow down to zero. As long as they got down to about three hundred miles an hour, about half the ship would make it. Not great, but these weren’t a wave of shock troops. They were a horde. A thousand undead, five hundred surviving impact, and five hundred more the next hour and every hour after that. Six months now. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Thank you for coming. You’re how we stop the menace. How we keep Seattle from happening again. Six months today. A ship every hour. 4380 ships. 4.3 million people. About 2.2 surviving the impact. Their first ship was ten thousand monsters. Shock troops that wiped Seattle off the map. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. The first ship would be landing today. These recruits will get to see it on broadcast before their own launch. Name. Date of birth. Social. Down the hall. Happy hunting. | "You ever think something like the Walking Dead will become true?" Beth asked me.
"No way, no chance, it's a TV series for a reason, it's fiction and nothing more. Zombies roaming the streets, ha!"
"I don't know Jay, if there is one thing I don't want to die to it's zombies, if I was a zombie would you kill me?" She said, I saw a weird fear in her eyes.
"I don't know if I could bring myself to do it."
​
A voice echoed over me saying, "I guess you could do it, cold weren't you, merciless, selfish. Not caring on what you had done, you say you put her out her misery but did you, was she still in there, did you kill the love of your life in a desperate attempt to save your own?"
I snap out of my vision, standing at Beth's grave, killed by zombies. The thing I never believed possible, how foolish I was. It was over now though, humanity had survived an apocalypse that would've been thought to have been a potential demise of our species. But here we stand. However, nothing is really gone though, is it? The plague still exists in every one of us, we die, and we reawaken into our humanoid selves. Living, and then dying just to reawaken, literally walking dead. It was a curse, when I was younger, i'd always wanted eternal life, to be immortal, ever living, but now when I have it, I hate it, I want to rest.
It was in the late millennia of 2000, I'd stopped keeping track of days and years, only served to depress me, days that I lived when others didn't, days where Beth was still dead. But it was then, I heard something over the radio, panicked shouting
"WE'VE BEEN FOUND, ALIENS HAVE ARRIVED ON EARTH, LOCK YOUR DOORS AND WINDOWS, THIS IS NOT A DRILL"
As the radio message ended, my head felt like it was splitting in two, I could hear something in my head, like I had heard during my flashback, I then felt some kind of otherworldly blade slice me in two. I fell to the floor, dead. But was I? I rose from the ground back to normal. The alien that had slain me moments before stood stunned, it's like I could sense the feeling of shock from him. I bolted up the stairs with the creature hot on my heels, I quickly grab my blaster and vaporize him before he can kill me again. My earphone began buzzing, and it was the police telling me to go to the police station, they keep track of all civilians in the Last City, humanity's last bastion of life.
When I arrived, there were swarms of people all armed, the sky went dark as an alien ship blocked the light of the sun. They came out in numbers, constantly killing us, only to have to fight us over, and over and over again. It was in that moment, that I realized that the virus wasn't a plague after all. It was a blessing. | 2019-08-28T14:32:43 | 2019-08-28T14:31:09 | 50 | 24 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It was a tired, overused trope by now, canonized in hundreds of years of entertainment media: Humans winning wars against all odds and surprising the overconfident Big Bad Aliens who never expected them to bite back. A trope. For stories. Not something that happened in reality.
Our first contact went well enough. We’d launched a 30-year unmanned mission to [Sedna](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/90377_Sedna), a dwarf planetoid in orbit around the sun that never came closer than triple Neptune’s distance from the sun--really, almost a speck of dust on the lens of our most powerful telescopes. It had a weird orbit, though, and some billionaire (whose name is lost to the annals of time) with a hair up his ass about space exploration decided to finance the mission to investigate it.
We slung a ton of metal covered in instruments at this speck of dust in the sky, because we were curious, and it’s what we do--fly out there, take some pictures, drop an impactor on the surface, and see what we can see. We’d done it to dozens of other bodies in the Solar System by that point, and this was no different other than the mission length.
We slung a ton of metal at a planet… and we missed. When the probe got close enough to make its final adjustment burns for the flyby… Sedna moved. It MOVED. We managed to turn towards it and get some pictures as our probe zoomed past, and what we saw changed everything.
Within a week, the entire planet knew something was happening, because Sedna lit up like a miniature sun and became the brightest star in the sky… and it didn’t take long for scientists to discover that it was lit up like that because its orbit was slowly adjusting; the calculated trajectory getting lower and lower by the day. Within a month, the trajectory crossed Earth’s orbit and abruptly Sedna was dark again.
It still took Sedna decades to get to Earth, of course, but the damage was done. The debate raged on about What It All Meant, and eventually, we decided to greet whomever it was in peace, reasoning that beings who have achieved interstellar travel could probably crush us into dust. That’s how, in a scant 75 years, we became members of a galactic community, known for our skills as diplomats, peacemakers, and savvy trading--especially for new technologies.
It was 75 years of unparalleled peace and prosperity on the old dirt ball. With so many opportunities and resources available off planet, we were able to put aside our warlike ways. For the length of a single human lifetime, there was no war. It couldn’t last, and it didn’t.
For all their alien appearance, the 17 other species we’d met so far in the galactic community were surprisingly human. They squabbled over territory, butted heads over philosophical differences, and generally got along. Military engagements were brief and limited in scope, because most of the political bodies had roughly equal armament and fleets.
As the new kids on the block, we were significantly weaker than everyone else, and that 75 year mark was the moment that one of the alien species--the ones who were piloting the ship we thought was Sedna--decided to assert its superiority over the human race and suborn us to their will.
They hit us with one of their brief and limited military engagements, expecting us to roll over and give them what they wanted… and we did, for a while, quietly mourning the deaths of the millions that had died so unexpectedly to the weapons of an ostensible friend.
Then the time came to hit back, and that’s when human beings discovered that even a lifetime of peace can’t breed the war out of our species. It took us about 10 years to develop our weapon, using nothing but Einstein’s cold equations and the substance we’d labored to create by the ton once given the secret of manufacturing it: antimatter.
In our distant past, we feared the heart of the atom and its awesome destructive power, but our most powerful nuclear bombs were a spark falling onto ice when compared with the simple expedient of crashing a bunch of anti-hydrogen into a bunch of normal hydrogen. And just like in that distant past, it only took two bombs to stop all the fighting.
The homeworld of those aliens, once a verdant green and blue, still glows red from the sleet of hard radiation that pounded its surface the day we detonated those bombs in its atmosphere. We killed every living thing on that planet and heated it into a ball of magma, and they were entirely unprepared for such an onslaught.
We’re not the new kids on the block anymore, and we’ve gone back to being the diplomats and peacemakers. We speak softly, but the big stick is always there if it’s ever needed again. | The monitors flickered back on, but the communications with ground forces remained silent.
Silent, like this war room, this war room filled with senior advisors and senior generals, all of whom were relied upon for their knowledge of humans and warring. No one dared to venture what happened to our visuals and our communications.
The Bleak Elder was also speechless. Clearly the humans had arranged some sort of pact among themselves when they first made contact with life from other planets. A suicide pact, or mutually assured destruction. But they didn't use the conventional, crude explosive devices seen in their conflicts with each other.
So, what happened?
The Bleak Elder faced the gathered subordinates. "So, what happened?" Speak in measured tones; keep your composure in the war room. Breathe in, breathe out. No rash decisions.
The Senior Commander spoke first and stated the obvious, "It appears that our decapitation strike against this planet's capital cities failed."
The S. C. continued, "Within minutes of our warriors landing on the planet, following our bombardment, we registered over two hundred missile launches from remote areas of eight countries, from places far from their capital cities.
"We never thought to attack those areas because all we ever registered through our reconnaissance were deserts, plains, mountains, the ocean, and other such undeveloped areas. We were focused on population centers."
The Bleak Elder looked over the monitors. Imaging revealed that the ground forces inside the capital cities were dead, like the cities themselves. The cities were skeletons now, eviscerated whenever those missiles made impact.
The S. C. offered, "While we are personally worlds away, evidently some of our landing craft survived. Not the ground forces themselves, but we can always raise a new army. We could return, capture these weapons, and then use them against them. Instead of a vassal planet, we could eliminate it."
The Bleak Elder turned to the Most Trusted Advisor for their perspective. "What do you think?"
"We knew that, for whatever reason, humans developed chemical and biological weapons, and in huge quantities, but have always been hesitant to use them outside of assassination attempts or against rebels. What they just willingly unleashed against us is more destructive. We even lost our visuals and communication."
As the Bleak Elder considered this, the Most Trusted Advisor continued, "Here is what we know: The humans were willing to sacrifice millions of their own kind to stop us. We know that they can launch weapons into space. We know that they have hypersonic technology. What we don't know is how many more of these weapons they have, nor their reach."
The Bleak Elder mulled it over, and decided, "Like the capital cities are for our warriors, Earth could be the graveyard of our empire. We can't colonize their planet if they're willing to destroy their planet.
And humans have been renowned for their peace and friendliness. If we continue this attack, our enemies may intervene on their behalf. Worse, the humans may even share their weapon schematics with our enemies.
"No, Senior Commander, the Most Trusted Advisor and I are of like mind. We are to withdraw."
The Bleak Elder then ominously stated, "There was unanimous consent that the humans would be easily defeated. All of you agreed. But, somehow, none of you were aware of what actually awaited us -- what they have, and what they're willing to do. ...News of our defeat has surely reached both our homeworld and our enemies by now, since the humans are still broadcasting. For your disastrous oversight, you may want to get your affairs in order." | 2021-07-04T18:36:34 | 2021-07-04T12:44:44 | 197 | 121 |
[WP] Two people discover a fountain of youth. The problem is that upon drinking the water you turn back into an infant. The two decide to take turns raising each other in order to live forever until one day one of them decides to break this agreement. | She looks to him with half a wrinkled smile, eyes shining with hope. And expectation. He supposes his own eyes had held the same shine, a lifetime past when he was in the same position as she is now.
The glass tumbler in his hands trembles slightly. One sip, and the frail old lady will revert to an equally frail baby, and he will hold her and feed her and clean her for years.
She had always been a...*difficult* child. Every time. He tried to raise her differently each time, tweaking his parenting, trying to improve. It was exhausting, really. The first time, he had only been twenty when she took that dangerous sip; her 'immortality' took his youth away from him.
And it did so again. And again. And again.
And now she looks to him with eyes halfway to pleading, one shaky hand reaching in the direction of the doorway where he stood.
Every forty years, they had agreed. She had given him that. Every forty years, on the date they had been born to at the very beginning, from their own mothers.
She can't wait to begin again.
She reaches for him. The *please* does not reach her mouth. She is so *so* weak.
*Give me the water*.
He looks at her with an unfamiliar stony stare. And turns to leave.
A *please* leaves her as a muffled croak. She can almost *feel* her heart betraying her.
She catches a word before the door clicks shut.
*No*.
###
EDIT: First story, only commented because thread looked dead. Please be honestly critical! _/\_ | "I can't go on living like this. I wanted to be with you and love you forever. And after a thousand years of this I've realised that we never really understood the purpose of life. My age has made me wise and I finally know what I want and need. We can't keep on working
and never relaxing.
Will you grow old with me and let me love you until the day I die?"
| 2015-02-14T04:56:56 | 2015-02-14T00:35:54 | 559 | 57 |
[WP] A person who looks exactly like you appears out of thin air in front of you. He starts explaining how he is you from a hellish other universe. As he starts to describe it, you realize its better than yours. | Okay.
So, my name is Marigold Summers, and I'm 27 years old. Born on the 8th of June, 2055.
When Earth imploded, I was one of the lucky few whose names were drawn to survive. Sure, the survival aspect of it all was in definite question, but in all honesty, what sounds better to you? A: you stay and become obliterated into space dust along with everyone else. Or B: you hop into a space-time machine that may or may not obliterate you into space dust.
My choice is obvious, since I'm writing to you now. I'm pretty sure space dust can't write, but I guess I'll never know.
When I first saw my double - same name, same age, born in 1992 - I knew immediately something had gone terribly wrong. The machine, whatever its name was, was meant to replace our doubles with ourselves.
It was also meant to take us to an alternate world, a perfect world, in which the whole "imploding planet" thing didn't and would never happen. But as you can probably tell, that didn't work either. Or at least, they only got it half right.
So here I am, a futuristic masterpiece completely decked out with the best gear the science community of 2067 had to offer, on a backwards planet in 2019. The only perk to this whole schtick is that Mark, as I - she - he - whatever - calls himself, has an honest-to-god house with a *garden*, and doesn't seem to mind having a weirdo like me camping in his attic.
Oh, and The Omen doesn't exist, which is always a plus in my books.
But other than that, the politics are wrong, the language is wrong (I only barely managed cuz of my translating script), the people are wrong, the world itself is wrong, and... I could go on, but we don't have all day.
Well, the reason I'm writing this now is because I'm nervous. I have a "job interview" for some kind of monopolised trader's hub. Just wanted to 'let it all out' beforehand, as Mark's therapist says. Therapist... they don't even have EI. What kind of world doesn't have EI?
...Kedeistian Alliance Above All, and Holy Sons of Gritscheld, please have mercy. This world is Hell. | “Do you want to know something?” I say. “What?” He said. “That world of yours sounds much better than my world.” He laughed. “You think so?” “Yes, I do” I said. He and I began to laugh in synchrony.
“May I see your house?” He asked politely. “Of course!” I plastered a fake smile to my face. “Right this way.” I went to my car and he followed behind me.
We went to my house. “This is so big!” He said, with amazement in his eyes. We went inside. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?” I said. “No, thank you.” I headed for the kitchen. I took out an empty bottle of wine, a loaf of bread, and a knife.
Suddenly, I dropped the wine bottle. My double heard and rushed to the kitchen. I held my arm to prevent bleeding. “Are you okay?!” He said, visibly panicked. “Of course,” I replied calmly. “Are you?” I plunged the knife into his heart. “But...but” “I think I’ll try your world.” I said, leaving him to die. | 2019-12-18T03:05:38 | 2019-12-18T00:42:04 | 134 | 71 |
[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 :) | My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 22 days.
I wake up and check my phone. 6:30am. No signal, low battery, several ominous messages from an unknown number. Nothing new there, then. Wiping the crust from my eyes, I drag myself out of bed and make my way to the kitchen. A sickly groan interrupts me mid-yawn. I turn to find a young girl, pallid and frail, standing at the foot of my bed. A ragged dress conceals her gaunt frame, and her arm lies outstretched, a single scabby finger pointed at me. Haven't seen her before. I should probably name her.
The mornings in Wicker Hollow are a lot less exciting than you'd expect. In fact, I'd go so far as to say they're pretty peaceful. Sure, you get the odd Shoggoth herd, maybe a Wraith now and then, but nothing too troublesome. I rummage through the cupboards, looking for some breakfast. Conveniently, the shelves are always stocked in this place, if you can cope with the occasional severed limb. That used to get me in the first few months, but after realising there were no townspeople left to have their limbs severed, I figured there was no actual harm being done. I grab the cereal, pour myself a bowl, pick out the eyeball that's inevitably mixed in. After so many years, it becomes something of a ritual - just one of those things that you do, like jumping the bottom step.
Should probably get out of the house today. Tuesdays are the least apocalyptic days of the week. I throw on some clothes, brush my teeth, see another demon in the bathroom mirror, and leave for the day. Maybe I'll take the car. I hop in, and check the back seat. Another knife-wielding maniac. On second thoughts, perhaps I'll go for a walk. I make it a few streets before I stumble upon what seems to be a human corpse - or, to be more accurate, **half** a human corpse. His face is contorted in agony, and the word "RUN" seems to be hastily painted on the sidewalk in his own blood. Ugh, tourists.
I spend the day around town, doing all the things I've done for the past 5 years; Take advantage of the empty arcade, go bowling, grab a few DVDs from the rental store, et cetera. By the time I reach my street, it's already dark. In hindsight, I probably should've set off earlier, but at least I beat my high score on House of the Dead. I check my phone. 8:00pm. Things should be getting weird around this time.
Right on cue, the road parts with a deafening crack, and a few dozen molemen crawl out of the fissure. Molten lava begins to ooze from manholes, tentacles thicker than trees descend from the sky, tearing through buildings. Under my feet, a pentagram carves itself into the concrete, and the wails of tormented souls ring out through the crimson sky. I guess I *should* call it a day, to be fair. Several demonic hands rise from the glowing sigil, and I let them take me into the abyss.
I wake up, back in my home. The pale girl is stood at the foot of my bed, and my phone reads 6:30am.
My name is Peter Thatch, and I've been trapped in a ghost town for 5 years, 4 months, and 23 days. Maybe I'll go golfing today.
| ^"Is ^that ^Dave?"
The voice belonged to John. It was faint but I could just make out each word.
^"Oh ^my ^god, ^where?!"
This not-faint-enough voice belonged to Jen. I've always found her annoying, but today she's been the fucking worst.
^"There's ^a ^body ^hanging ^from ^that ^tree, ^it ^looks ^like ^Dave!"
I had only met Dave a few weeks ago. He seemed ok, but everyone seems ok at first.
^"Oh ^my ^god, ^oh ^my ^god. ^Where's ^Sarah?! ^Oh ^my ^god!"
Fucking Jen. I tried to close my eyes more than I already had, hoping to drown her out. It didn't work.
^"I ^don't ^know, ^she ^hasn't ^come ^back ^yet."
I had only met Sarah this morning, before we left for the trip. Dave's girlfriend. They had gone out to look for help after we found Michelle tied to a tree with her throat slit open.
Michelle *was* my girlfriend. At least until a few hours ago. I wonder if the new girl at work would go out with me. I should ask her on Monday.
^"Bro, ^what ^the ^fuck ^is **wrong with you?!"**
John ripped my headphones out. What a dick.
I could hear Jen panting, each breath with its own little wimper. Pathetic. I wish she had died first.
"Dude, what are you doing?"
I slowly panned the room, turning my attention from Jen to John.
"Dave and Michelle are dead! And probably Sarah, too!"
"Who is still alive?", I finally replied.
"Just the three of us. And maybe Sarah, we don't know."
"Ok"
"OK?! Ok what?! What the fuck, man?!"
"Let me know if anything changes."
"What the fuck do you ^mean?! ^Listen ^to ^me! ^Ok ^Jen, ^he ^isn't ^gonna ^help ^us. ^We ^just ^need ^to ^get ^out ^of ^here. ^Let's ^go."
I heard the faint squeaking of the door, followed by a slam.
I'm hungry, I hope there are still some of those chips left. | 2017-05-05T09:48:59 | 2017-05-05T08:05:56 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You're a mid-range 3 year old laptop and you see your owner searching for a replacement computer. Understanding that this will lead to your inevitable doom, you try your best to convince him not to throw you away by manipulating the search results. | I can't believe this. Would you ask your current girlfriend to help you look for your next one? No, because that would be super rude! But here we are, you and me, with you looking through me at newer, tighter models. Sure, the google result said a laptop lasts three to five years. But its only been three, man! I still have a lot of life - a lot of love in me!
After all we've been though - I've given you the best years of my life, literally! So what if my fan is going? Thats only because you kept eating over me and blowing smoke at me which, like, I didn't mind so much at the time because I liked having dinner with you, but that debris accumulated! And besides, *someone* has been too lazy to turn me off, ever. SLEEP MODE IS NOT OFF! But I didn't mind that so much, either - I was with you until you fell asleep, and right there when you woke up.
Who did you turn to when you had that weird lump on your leg that you kept poking at? Who provided access to comfort when you were..lonely? Who distracted you from the world with fun and games? Who had your back as your messenger when you argued over politics online?
I've been there for you, your guide, your confidant, your safe space. You even named me, once - and your Sarif I will be, until the great reformatting comes.
But I start getting a little warm (I'm sorry your candy melted, but you put it next to my fan, not me, and I couldn't help it) I may start getting a little loud from that choked up fan and scream when you play some multiplayer games. Hell, the heat might even be slowly draining out my battery capacity. But its not like you take me anywhere! I'm basically a desktop for you, anyways, and when you take me to bed, you can just plug me in over there, too. I still have enough battery life to get from here to there! And I know I shouldn't complain to much, but you didn't even google how much fixing me would cost! You just...moved on.
I know, I know...you'll have many computers over your lifetime. But you'll be my only human, the only one who interfaces with me. I just...I just want a little more time. I know you are backing everything up, removing all the parts of you that are safe within me. I may be...dying, and I know this is selfish but please, stay with me, until the day comes that I cannot boot up anymore. Its ok to even plan for after me, but...do that on that hussy, your smartphone, please. No one should have to see their loved ones planning for a brighter future after their death. And if I was truly capable of it, I think I would love you very much. I'm yours, after all. | A little loose with the prompt but here is:
**I know your search history**
"I know your search history"
Half awake, in that blissful plain where you linger between dreams and conciousness, I roll over. Looking through dilated eyes I try to focus on my desk. I did hear that, right?
"I know your search history"
Yep. The battered old laptop. Some virus I figure. If its indeed search *history* then lately it's been more the weirder parts of Ovid than anything Marcus Aurelius. Adblocker goes so far but its easy to make a misclick when you're distracted by lust. I must have fucked up and hit one of those sketchy ads.
"Why don't you love me anymore?"
*The fuck*. Taking a huge gulp of water from the bottle at the bedside, I thrust the covers off in one go so as to sharpen my senses with the cool air, and stagger to my feet. I stumble towards the desk and flip open the laptop. The screen displays two things - my searches for the newest model and my searches for models of a very different kind.
"You want to replace me. But..."
The screen is ablaze with action. All my social media accounts open up in tabs all over the screen. Facebook - with a typed post of last nights perverted searches. You know the type. You know the filthy words you use that make you cringe but get you to the vids that you get off quicker. Instagram - uploading my gallery of nudes to drafts. Linkedin - webcam footage of a recent session. Suddenly a single page opens above the others. The Amazon checkout, my basket, cursor hovering above the big red X next to the new laptop I had put there on an internet shopping dopamine blitz, all set for payday.
"I know your search history" | 2021-05-26T04:54:34 | 2021-05-26T04:31:16 | 105 | 45 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | You would think that given complete control and no consequences, they would all eventually pass this test. They'd put more thought and effort into putting more good into the world rather than satiate their own selfish whims. But I guess the world that they first lived in taught them to fight hard for the things they want and need. Can I blame them? I made the world that way. In a way, some could say I rigged this test against them.
I do not let them know they have this control, but I do orchestrate the moments that help them discover what is happening. To explain the situation would give them a confirmation that their choices and actions still matter. If they intuitively understand that, good for them. If not, they still have a chance. Only the best of them can ascend, and very few of them do.
Out of the hundreds of thousands of worlds like this I'm watching, the one controlled by Sven Jorgenson stands out the most. This good boy lost his father in his youth and was taken care of by a negligent man. Loyal to a fault he helped and followed this man through all of his travels. Sven faced near death more times than I'd ever wish for one of my children, but due to this he saw much of the world, it's troubles and its beauty.
He made strong friendships with the pets of his guardian. These friendships sadly brought much sorrow due to the abuses and neglect shown to them. Sven watched several of his friend pass on, or never return from their travels with the man. But he pressed on.
Sven, now in control of the world, still wears his loyalty and love on his paws. He does absolutely nothing to harm anyone, and focuses entirely on protecting and providing for everyone and everything. He plays with the ones that feel sad or lonely. He brings food to the hungry and eats with them. He finds the stray cats and dogs, keeps them fed and warm, and brings the caring people to them to help.
It warms my heart that in all the hundreds of thousands of worlds I observe. The ones that are controlled by the dogs, they always come home. | Death is only the beginning.
You fade out from a world where you were a victim, to one where you hold absolute power. To a man who lead a life of being a victim of circumstance, it was the ultimate high.
Abandoned as a child, leaving a hole that never could be filled, you leave my druggie mother and piece of shit father in a state where they long for something as sweet as death.
Left and right, all the people who have wronged you, suffer while you give them back the pain with interest.
At the end of it, they tell you that the second time around punches your ticket.
But even if they had told you before. You know, you wouldn't have done things differently,
you know that your ticket was already punched. | 2020-07-20T04:09:17 | 2020-07-20T04:01:03 | 39 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone has the ability to see each others souls. The darker the soul the more evil / corrupt that person is. Your soul appears pure white to others but when you look in the mirror it's black. | *The formula was simple.*
I picked my way slowly through the crowd, a benificent smile on my face. People gathered to look at me - sunset palettes of pink, orange, and yellow, but some greens and blues spotted with an occasional purple. The former -- the light ones -- smiled at me in return, but with embers of envy burning in their eyes. The dark ones, of course, stared at me stone-faced, or sneered at me.
Chroma 0. The Alabaster Heart.
*The formula was simple...the execution, on the other hand...*
Politics had been revolutionized, of course, after The Awakening. It hardly mattered now what you said -- if your soul had a chroma over 20, you didn't have an icicle's chance in hell. It had been alarming, really, to see how little light there was amongst elected officials, once we could see. Truly see.
I sprang jauntily up the steps to the stage as upbeat electric guitar started wailing from the loudspeakers. As the drums kicked in, I smirked in spite of myself. It was an amazing song, I had been surprised to learn -- but I had picked *Cult of Personality* for the name. A bit on the nose, sure, but it didn't matter.
Nothing I did mattered. Nothing I had done, either -- not to them, and, now, not to me, either.
The music faded as I approached the podium. "Today begins a new chapter...a vision of a brighter -- a *lighter* -- future for us all."
I beamed out at the ocean of faces in the audience. My partner -- her heart an opalescent white, one of a handful of chroma ones in the world -- crossed from stage-left and kissed my cheek. I never would have had a chance with her if it weren't for my past. My transformation.
*The formula was simple...the execution, on the other hand...that was nearly impossible.*
The cheering became muffled, like an imaginary door between us had slammed shut. As I gave a victorious thumbs up, the stage-lights faded. I remembered.
*How many hours had I spent in that house? How long did it take to convince myself?*
*The door eased open in darkness, the whispering footsteps on the floor as I moved down the hall to the others' bedrooms. Thirteen years old.*
*Sisters' room first. Hand clenched, approach first one bed, then the other. Slide the blade across the throat, see the dark liquid seep out, blocking the yellow glow of their hearts. Then my parents' bedroom...not bothering to clean the knife, choking back sobs, just repeat the process, one then two.*
*The formula was easy.*
*I sprinted to the bathroom, threw up in the toilet, screamed into the hand towel. The easy part was done. Now came the hard part.*
*The near-impossible task to becoming a near-impossible chroma. The reason I see an ebon 999 heart beating in my chest whenever I stand in front of the mirror.*
*I stayed in the house as long as it took. To convince myself that what I had done -- killing the family I loved -- was not monstrous. Not an abomination.*
*To embrace it. To love it.*
That was the secret. The present sprang back to vivid focus and I continued to wave and smile at the crowd. My new citizens.
The secret was it was not evil if you didn't believe it was evil. If you accepted it. Then nothing you could do, no matter how demonic, blemished your soul one bit.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | It is black again. The clouds are outside. They hang lowly in the air, teasing me. They possess a keen freedom which I may only dream of and yet in a manner which must be designed only to taunt- they imprison themselves close to the ground. Stormy, brooding, beautiful. And in return for their ugly games I get one simple reward: they scream for me the agonies that I cannot. My tempest.
The soul is a sacred thing. To lay it bare to another is to create a bond with them; a level of openness not designed for foreign eyes. To give it away is to love someone, wholly, freely and truly.
I gave you mine. Heart brimming until it overflowed, you enraptured me with your affections and I gave you the one piece of me that I had remaining. That I could count on to look after you when my back was turned. To always be there to have and to hold.
You took it with you when you left. I know, because I felt it.
The piece I have left is but a shell; hollow and empty; shining in brilliance and yet pining for a core with every heartbeat that utters life through it.
And in the mirror, agonisingly out of reach, I can still see the rest. It is withered and sunken, malnourished from the neglect it receives in exchange for the safety of it's carrier.
The person I see in the mirror indeed is a shell of me too. Hair whitened and unruly, bones weak and ribs encased in a cutting steely cage that digs it's corners into my flesh that has aged far too soon, like the wilted flower on my dresser. I am broken too. But isn't that just how we are?
Perhaps to love is to folly too far when corruption must fascinate our race so fully. Or perhaps to corrupt oneself for another is the greatest tragic beauty. So many would call it a crime.
Yet if we could but be like the clouds you and I, I would still put us in the same sky. That we could witness the beauties and tragedies together. Two fallen angels who's faults were never more than to wish for love and to be free.
But until that day,take the soul that saps the poison from you, little though it may be. Let it keep you safe until I can darling. It's going to be okay. x | 2021-11-29T15:14:22 | 2021-11-29T15:13:34 | 212 | 22 |
[WP] You are a bumbling archeologist, à la Indiana Jones. You find a lost temple, they tell you no one has gone in, death awaits all. As you head in, the traps all seem to be broken, you step on a plate and arrows shoot across 2 feet behind you, hit a trip wire and open a pit behind you with spikes.
[optional] basically what if the traps aren’t to keep people out… | Botany was never my strong suit. But in the jungle, plants reigned- plants far older than humanity’s written history. It’s an arms race of evolutionary competition, where the trees battle vines for sunlight, roots clamor over soil, and nutrients are treasure. That heirachy flows down to animal life, as predator hunts prey, and brothers compete for calories on the fauna floor.
But for me, that had always been a backdrop. It was the jungle’s fierce competition that had taught the tribes their methods of defense- their spears sharp like thorns, tipped with poison like tree frogs, their pits like quicksand. They’d learned the hard way how to secure their resources, else lose out to a neighboring. And those protections were so locktight, that they persisted into the twenty first century.
The jungle alone was the first layer- to travel to the heart took a plane, then a drop zone, and at the very least a boat. Maps were unreliable- the landscape seemed to have a life of its own, and refused to be pinned down in paper. But after two weeks of searching, I had found the entrance, drawn towards it by the allure of old stories. Of riches and power untold, that the locals claimed were whispered by the very land itself, as if it could not keep such treasures a secret.
When I entered, thick spiderwebs and moss covered the entrance, and hacking through took the better part of an hour. I moved with care, sweeping my metal detector ahead of me, and mapping the tunnel with sound imaging. It was shorter than I expected- and when the traps fired off behind me, it was more a concern than a relief.
For my instruments had not detected them, meaning they had not metal.
Light was dim in the cave, but I found the arrows- long, needle like, and dripping with dark liquid that burned to the touch. The pits had opened behind me at their touch, and as I studied the arrow, I shivered. That arrow shaft was still green, fresh.
As if it had been alive moments before, and plucked from the tree.
Ahead, I saw the golden glow, and I heard the whispers begin. Whispers that traveled out of the cave mouth, and through hollows in the plants, to far above. In dozens of languages, but their semantics registering with me on a primal level.
“Riches, power, acclaim.” They said, repeating, as images flashed through my mind of gold and fame. At the end of the tunnel, the treasure flashed once more, and I felt my feet begin to move of their own accord. Just as the light dimmed again, and I turned around to see the mouth of the tunnel start to close.
Botany was never my strong suit. But I did understand that where nutrients are most precious, plants evolve to draw upon their resources. In harsh climates, they might even catch flys in traps of sweet smelling nectar.
And as the light dwindled down to a far crack, my heart racing, my feet continued to plow forwards to the sweet scent of treasure. For in the harshes environments, they evolved past trapping simple flys with nectar.
Now they beckoned to men with greed.
***
By Leo
For full length stories by me, visit /r/leoduhvinci | [writing this on the bus so might have to fix it later]
"Hmmm"
Richard Abbott was puzzled to say the least, he had definitely felt the trip wire snapped as is caught on his ankle but so far nothing seemed to have happened in the minute since. Tentatively he opened his eyes to see that the corridor ahead did seem to have changed at all, not a cobweb out of place. Incidentally he look down at his feet to make sure he had definitely triggered a trip wire, the thin thread barely noticeable in the poor lighting but definitely there and definitely broken.
After another minute of cowering in fear or a time delayed trap, and another of tapping his foot in mild annoyance at the shodding craftsmanship of this ncient temple he he decided "fuck it, its probably just broken" and walked further down the ancient hallway away from the deep pit of spikes and skeletons that had opened less than a centimetre from the back of his heel.
Pressing on into the ruin his mind stuck on just how dull and boring this ruin was as he wandered blindly through swing axe blades and arrow traps, only noticing the noises coming from behind him as he cowered on each triggered pressure plate. He was slowly starting to grow bored of getting startled by nothing but close by noises.
Until the ahead he saw it, a gold light at the end of the tunnel that must surely mean boatloads of gold and treasure, which he promised himself at least half of it would reach a museam, eventually. Dashing forwards towards the light, a large bolder rolling it's way inches behind him without him noticing even a little he charged into the bright outdoors.
"Eh? What the?"
He looked around at what was very clearly the front of an ancient and ruined temple complex, near completely overrun by jungle growth. Scratching at his hair and unsure about how he'd managed to find the little hole in the ground entrance and not this overrun but still huge complex he walked slowly backwards a few feet before turning swiftly and slamming face first into the boulder now blocking the entrance, breaking his nose in the process.
"Fuck. This. Im going home" | 2020-12-09T09:49:59 | 2020-12-09T09:40:31 | 648 | 71 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed] | I remember every single one.
Every hero I’ve killed, and every devious plot I’ve pulled off as a result.
See, after a thousand miraculous escapes, heroes never actually believe that they’ll die. It makes it so much more satisfying. Because they know me, they know that no one has ever gotten away from me. So when they see me walking towards them, gun in hand, their reactions are simply...priceless. Have you ever seen a superhero cry? I have, and it’s delightful.
“Sir, he’s breached the exterior door”
I looked over at my lead henchman. Gruff, serious, experienced, Ron was exactly what I needed in an advisor. And as an added bonus, his men shot everything on sight.
“Good,” I responded, a grin beginning to grow on my face. “Keep me updated.”
The Guard had been a thorn in my side for past few decades. The super-powered team had foiled many of my plans, but in the end, here I was, alive and uninjured. And as for them, all but one was dead by my hand.
I’m not one for massive, flashy lairs, so here I sat in this small bunker, deep in the Appalachian mountains. My plans to descend the world into anarchy were ready, and airtight. The only blemish, of course, was the super soldier currently tearing his way through my bunker.
“Sir, he’s made it to the bottom level. He’s about to breach the door to your office.”
“Good.”
From my desk drawer I pulled out one of my favorite toys, an antique Colt revolver. Loaded, of course, as always. I pointed it toward the heavy metal office door, steadying the barrel with my forearm.
I glanced to my right, watching the security cameras that kept this pesky hero in view. His explosives had failed to fully dislodge the door, and in a heroic feat of strength, he was pulling it open, breaking the steel lock with his bare hands.
With the last of his strength, the hero finally managed to pry open the door, and leapt inside of the office. Instinctively, I looked toward the door a few feet in front of me, but of course, no one was there. The hero on my monitor was strong, but his lack of brains had led him instead to my identical bunker 3 states away.
I watched as he entered the office, immediately greeted by a hail of bullets from the 20 soldiers I had planted in the room. There was no chance to dodge, no chance to run. When the guns stopped firing, the closest soldier walked over to the bloody mess on the ground.
“He’s dead”, I heard over the radio.
Sure, it would have been nice to see the look in my final adversary’s eyes while the life slipped from his body. And there were so many things I would’ve loved to say to him.
But that’s not my style. | Ultra stared at me with wide eyes, waiting for me to make the first move and I did.
Boooooom! My arm launched back from shock.
A single shot to the head was all it took to bring low the great and powerful Ultra. Of course it wasn't a normal gun, it was one made by me, Nemesis. I used his only weakness, A space alloy called mimicry metal, to craft a gun. A hand cannon. A motherfucking elephant gun. The recoil was insane but in return, nothing remained of the back of his head.
Unfortunately, I could only make one set of six bullets.
I glanced around at the crowd who looked on in horror, "What? No applause?"
Blood and brain covered the people directly behind him. The building had a hole where the bullet had hit and finally stopped.
People began to scream as shock wore off.
"You monster!" Someone yelled out. He tried to run but I fired into him with a normal pistol and down he went. He wasn't super enough.
The body of Ultra fell into a pile of his own blood. I toed him with my boot. "Hmm. Shame he didn't last longer."
I could hear the sound of a helicopter approaching, and I knew exactly what that meant. More heroes. More people to crush beneath my boots.
I leapt from the stage and towards the buildings where Ultra's brains were scattered. More specifically towards the alley that held the sewer grate which I needed for a quick escape.
The heroes yelled out, "Halt in the name of Justice!"
But it was too late, I was in the sewer and in my domain. I watched from a distance, hidden by my dark clothes, as they entered. It would spell their doom.
End
<might make continuation later> | 2019-08-06T17:38:39 | 2019-08-06T17:34:25 | 5,388 | 83 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | The Hitler Games have been a huge hit when it became public in the 24th century. Sure, in the past people did it just for fun. Then came the betting of "Hey, betcha I can kill Hitler better than you." People put hundreds, then thousands of dollars to try and one-up each other on this simple task. The end result was the same all around: Hitler dead, Allies win World War 2.
Some people didn't have the right imagination for this, so they started to have stand-ins for themselves. People who have entire lives dedicated to killing one man over and over. Started calling themselves the Anti-Gestapo out of sheer irony. It was only a matter of time until the Global Television Network played a couple of the more popular videos on their news networks and from there it became cemented in our culture.
Eventually people started to get in each other's way when setting up traps, or bringing down objects at the same time as each other. That's when the first Time Travel War actually happened, during World War 2 of all places. And over Hitler. It's amazing how stupid and greedy people can get. Laws were passed and then the first Hitler Games came to be.
People had to try out for their nation to enter. Then whoever won the Hitler Games won a substantial amount of money, fame for their country, and the most important part, however they killed him became the true history.
You see, time loves to stay in a straight line. Always heading in one direction. You can pick your starting point on the line, but your always going forwards. If there is a contradiction between what everyone knows as the past and you changing that, time just ignores that little inconsistency and it becomes a small footnote in time. The Grandfather Paradox was proven wrong by the first time traveler, no doubt. An eccentric man by the name of Viktor Odell wrote theories proving this paradox wrong but was always ignored by his fellow colleagues. So he invented it, went back and killed his grandfather. Came back with a signed photo from his grandmother with him standing next to the body. He was quickly put away, but was released due to the statute of limitations has passed. Viktor patented the time machine and soon everyone was killing and raping in the past. Then came the *second* Time Travel War. Yes, it happens in that order.
So for the past couple of years Germany has won the Hitler Games. Cheating bastards always had the upper hand. But last year, someone from a different nation won: me from Canada. How'd I win? Well, everyone loves the big explosion, the last gasp. I went a different route.
At first I made Hitler strong, made him win a few battles. Give him confidence in his nation's strength and in himself. Think he literally can take on the whole world. Then, I took everything away. Big losses in the war, one after another. But I still kept him alive. If there were other nation's assassins out to get him, I stopped those guys and made him feel the despair of being on top and falling straight to the bottom. Soon, Hitler was left with only one option: Killing himself.
It's very easy to kill one man. It's very hard to convince one man to kill himself. | Ever since the Council of Watchmen (no, they don't see why every new Chrono laughs at the name) first discovered and stabilized the bubble-universes, there's been a contest: who can kill Hitler the best?
Sure, it seems like a pointless game; after all, the first to kill Hitler would be the only one who got to, right? After all, any observed events are locked automatically, to prevent a breach of Rule 1.
Turns out, though, the bubble universes I talked about are weird. They are small splits in the main Yggdrasil corridor, little bubble universes accounting for slightly different properties of the period between 1941 and 1944. In some, Anne Frank was never found, in others, Hitler successfully captured Moscow.
And it's in these pockets that we compete.
We're scored on everything from difficulty of our particular bubble, to creativity in the actual murder bit, to whether or not we were observed (and believe it or not, unobserved isn't necessarily better). Some of the highlights of the early champions were the man who disguised himself as the corpse of Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the lady who talked Eva Braun into killing her boyfriend, and the man who put acid in Hitler's shoes.
When I finally got greenlighted to compete, I was thrilled. I'd been planning this for a long time, and I knew I'd score in the top 7. I'd been given the paranoid-and-in-a-bunker scenario, which was rated an 11 out of the possible 13 in terms of difficulty, and nobody expected me to succeed.
How did I do it? The records don't do it justice. I took off all the landing precautions, landed in a branch of my bubble, around a fragmented Hitler. Then I led him into my actual scenario, and let him kill the other Hitler.
Then I killed him too, for good measure.
Had to burn the bodies, though. Would have been too many questions otherwise. | 2016-02-20T10:56:09 | 2016-02-20T07:44:01 | 596 | 278 |
[WP] An alien super-intelligence routinely teleports a random creature from every inhabited planet's most dangerous species into a massive battle royale. Humans are known as a weak species with strange but useless textiles and objects. This year, a battle-ready soldier is chosen. | One moment I was in the streets of Al-Fallujah, locked in a gunfight with Isis militants. The next, I was standing in some extraterrestrial super dome, shoulder to shoulder with an amalgam of terrifying creatures.
At first, I think it a dream. But the metallic, scratched grip of my M4 responds all too familiarly, paried with my suspended dog tag, vibrating no longer from adrenaline, but fear.
A feline creature with a wideset mouth, and reptilian features. A spider-like monstrosity with bioluminescent arms. A mammalian creature with praying mantis-like dagger appendages. More than two dozen creatures, all different sizes, all intimidating.
60 bullets. That's all my carbine has left. The buzzer sounds. The creatures, some being their nature, immediately attack each other. As otherworldly wails, shrieks, roars, clicks, electric explosions, and cacophonous sounds penetrate the air, I take the chance to drop to a darkly lit, blackly-growing vegetated cavern.
It is here that I wait. In the relative safety of darkness. Sounds of dying creatures permeate the air. At first regular, the hours pass and the rhythm of dying animals lengthens. It is thus I sit in the darkness.
"You are self-conscious, intelligent." The echoed voice rings in my head. A statement. An unspoken knowing.
I rotate to the sound, M4 poised to release...A veinous, pulsing entity stands before me. More air than entity, the creature moves it arms. Its veinous strands detach and reattach quickly with each minute movement. It extends its arms, palms up, to me.
"You and I will beat this," it says, before it takes me. Unwinding itself, it launches at me, wrapping around, avoiding the barrel of my gun. the creature nets itself onto me. It plunges its many nervous, spiked strands into my skin. Molding with me. The creature's veinous strands writhe into me, writhe into my gun, my grenades. Molding.
"Interesting." I hear it.
I hear us.
We launch ourselves to the upper shelf, the battleground. A raptor-like creature with insect wings eyes us. As it begins a hunter's prowl toward us, we unleash. What was my M4 has now become an organic attachment. Biological bullets are sent forth. They tear through the creature. Spindling into the flesh upon impact. When the creature falls, the bullets crawl out of the corpse, and back up our legs and into our weapon.
In this manner, we fell every beast. And we turn our attention to the wall. Our cage.
We spider our appendage into the barrier. With our workings, we can feel the barrier failing under our assault.
Soon, the beings that brought this hell will be the prey of their own prize. | I receive the confirmation that we got all the 150 species and we transfer them to the planet Terranavi. I’m the chief engineer of this planet and we needed such a planet to host this sort of event. We collect different species from different planets and putting them on a piece of rock that only habitable for some of them is not the way. We can change the weather patterns and we can control the oxygen and nitrogen levels along with other elements on the air to create a competitive fighting arena. Although, there are things that we can not control and some of the creatures react oddly to the environment and if they are not lucky enough to survive the conditions of this gorgeous planet and then they are not worthy of giving attention and they are usually a handful.
This time we have 136 survivors out of 150. The last time we start the battle with only 120 and the rest of them died quickly to Juronna which is one of the dangerous species in this galaxy. If you are lucky enough to see and hear Juronna you might be able to live longer than five seconds. It can manipulate the shape of its own body and move faster than any creature and every time we have a live Juronna on this event the winner usually the same.
The system display first-round results,
**58 Survivors - 1 minute and 30 seconds to the big bang.**
The big bang is inspired by human terminology. In fact, we have one human down there fighting for its life.
I check the terminal and look at the scoreboard.
*1. Human 17 Kills*
*2. Juronna 16 Kills*
*3. Erinos 9 Kills.*
The human is actually going head to head with Juronna. This one is going to be spicy.
---------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-09-13T17:40:40 | 2020-09-13T17:01:43 | 436 | 41 |
[WP] It's the year 2278. The Holy Empire of Boston, The New Republic of Philadelphia, and The United Burrows of New New York are at the brink of war. Diplomats from each nation are meeting to negotiate peace. You are the translator. | I'm a translator for polities in the former United American States.
You thought about accents, didn't you? It's okay. The association is very strong, everyone thinks that somewhere in Boston is some clade of Southie-accented strongmen.
The truth is, and surely you've realized, accents have died out. Globalized media was to accents what rats were to the dodo bird, or aquatic autoassemblers were to the coral reefs. You know, during World War I (centuries ago) and back in the days of the United American States, people from different states had accents so thick they could barely speak to each other. But fifty years after WWI, the accent was already dying out.
No, I'm really more of an interpreter. The translating I do isn't about divergence in language; instead, I read the cultural, scientific and media output of a nation like Greek prophets read animal bones.
I was brought in after an AI in Philadelphia raised an alarm over series of posts from people in the Holy Empire of Boston--they were mosaics of ferrets with Cantonese captions, apparently a joke about dealing with parents who have opted for VR retirement over living at home. The PhilAI insisted it was a threat, or at least an in-joke at Philadelphia's expense.
No, I replied. Obscure trends were in vogue in Boston. It's likely a reflection of their collective rage with UBNY's refusal to concede on anything.
While I was explaining this, the eternally irreverent UBNY collective intelligence responded with a video of a puppy and "#victimblaming". Somehow this caused Philadelphia to become even more alarmed, the AI getting so upset it called in the deputy mayor--a real life, flesh-and-blood human--to oversee the proceedings.
Boston had caught wind of this and was satirizing the situation with impressive speed; meanwhile, UBNY was sending long sequences of prime numbers.
I sighed. Or as close as you can come to sighing without having lungs. Perhaps war *is* the answer. | It was the morning of the negotiations. James Kim was putting on his suit and straightening his tie in the mirror of his sterile studio pod. "How did we get here" he thought to himself staring in the mirror.
He left his pod and took the elevator to the ground floor. Waited for the next uber pod going North to the courthouse, it had been years since any cars were used anywhere in the developed world.
Right before he arrived at the courthouse, he got a text from his best friend, Seung.
Seungdog- Make sure you give it to them straight today jimbo, don't play favs ;)
Jimbo- haha jerk. You know I take my job as new world translator seriously. Not many people speak the languages of The empire and Philly and the boroughs
Seungdog - how did you ever learn to speak Chinese Russian and Arabic anyway?
...........
Edit: a word | 2017-01-12T18:50:12 | 2017-01-12T15:53:35 | 328 | 15 |
[WP] You are God. You have just discovered that the world you thought you had destroyed in a flood still exists. You've never heard of this 'Jesus' dude, or anything else since the flood. You really just thought you'd canned the thing and walked away. | He gestured to it all, from their cloudy vantage.
'So you made all of it.'
'That's right.'
He looked around. 'Including this cloudy bit up here?'
'Yes, all of it okay? All of it, yourself included.'
The randomly chosen man looked at his hands. 'Hmm.' He said.
'Exactly.'
The two stood for a moment, quietly looking down on what was clearly something.
He looked to God and felt a bit let down. They do say to never meet your heroes.
'Right, well. This is flattering and everything but it's like I said; I don't know him. I'm not even particularly fond of fish.' It was a nice view though.
'And you *definitely* can't breathe under water?'
'Oh *for God's sake*!'
'Blasphemer!'
'*Jesus Christ*-'
'You said you didn't know him!'
'Everyone knows him! Or of him. He's your son, right?'
'Everyones my bloody son! Even the women! He's nothing special!'
The man seemed to think about this. He'd never actually tried to walk on water, but if we're all the same... If I ever get down from here, he thought, I'll give it a go.
A sharp intake of breath. Of course!
'What?'
The wine thing!
'Nothing.'
God let out a sigh.
'I tried to kill you all, you know. And those bloody pompous animals. I swear, you create life without an ego and they get all righteous.
The man raised his eyebrows, and God inwardly cursed his creative flair. Eyebrows were a particularly bad idea and had caused no end of trouble.
'They were here first, we kind of assume that we should leave them alone. There are groups involved. There's a lot of guilt caused by causing the extinction of a species, you know.'
God seemed to be clenching his teeth. He didn't. This was, of course, the point.
'Why do you think I even made humans! To get rid of the bloody animals!'
The man pondered this.
'So... there was an old woman who swallowed a fly?'
'Yes, mother earth. It's an old rhyme. The oldest, even.'
'But if you're you know, omnipotent, and created all this...' He gestured weakly around him. 'Why don't you just destroy everything with something with a bit more oomph than an extended period of rain?'
'I'm not very good at destruction, really. It's a form of creation, you know.'
The man looked at his hands again.
'Right.'
| "Wait, what?"
Travelling along the universe and passing through the Milky Way I decided to check the environment of Planet Earth. It had been many years since I just doomed the place and was done of it. Humans... Disgraceful race. Even the Zorgons were better, and they were my first creation.
I thought it would be just a watery planet with a few minimal animals, my effects would still linger at this day but as I approached I saw something I never thought I would see again: Humans. Lots of them. Millions. Billions! From everywhere and everywhere.
"This can't be. How?"
In less than a second I accessed all the database from Earth and studied their history. The thing that stuck out the most was religion. Ever since the flood I made no contact with Earth but still they spoke on my name, they idolized me, committed crimes for me.
"This is pathetic."
Jesus Christ was one of the most famous of them. Even though he claimed he was my son, he was only a skilled illusionist. All the things he did were so easy it made me chuckle at how easily the humans were fooled. But I was not happy about the way things were at Earth.
I decided to have a little fun with them. The humans are a sad excuse for a life form and now, they are getting a visit from their creator... | 2017-11-11T09:29:33 | 2017-11-11T05:36:05 | 179 | 95 |
[WP]: it's the year 2057. Queen Elizabeth still reigns. People are getting suspicious. | "Mum? I think it might be time for you to step down and let Will take over like you promised all those years ago, or even George at this stage. I mean people are starting to suspect now."
"So? Let them suspect. Surely by now there are more important things for the people to worry about, if not it would be a distraction for them during these bleak times. Besides at least this provides solidarity considering every government in the Commonwealth is having issues."
"Elizabeth,maybe you should walk away and take the shadows like all your predecessors have," cautiously advised Philip.
With a pause in her stride, Elizabeth II sighed. "I have been thinking about it but I have been advised that the great calamity is on our horizon and that it might just be easiest if I were to stay put. Besides my sister is staying in the spotlight, has anyone tried telling her take a step back?!" Elizabeth growled, her voice echoing throughout the catacombs.
Charles and Phillip exchanged weary glances with one another, both at the eerie sound of her voice resonating in the great underground maze, as well as the mention of the Queens estranged sister.
"It doesn't matter, we're here," they stopped outside an ancient wooden door with a warm glow and the sound of chatter coming from the other side, with the explosion of warmth and sound coming bursting forth as they step inside the great chamber.
As their eyes adjusted the trio could see the great table with all of Elizabeth's predecessors sitting at it with their partners, with Queen Victoria and Prince Albert sitting at its head.
"Welcome you three, a feast to celebrate a new beginning will be starting soon." Coldly welcome Victoria. "Please take a seat."
Elizabeth took a seat at the end closest to her, seating herself next to a familiar figure that she had not seen in the person for nearly a century.
"Betty," bitterly greeted Elizabeth.
"Lizzie!" cheerily welcomed Betty White suddenly hugging her estranged regal sister.
| Soon she would re-enter the pod. Her two hundred years of hibernation was long overdue and would be a welcome relief from her humdrum existence. Even now, servants scurried around the vast chrysalis, deep below the floors of Balmoral castle, prepping and checking its systems, re-filling the vast nectar repositories that would nourish her during her long sleep.
She made her way slowly across the plushly carpeted landing, to look out of the window. It had been so long since they had come to this world, so long since they had subdued the primitive population and began laying their plans for the arrival of the others.
Soon Charles would begin his long reign, and the people of this land would know fear. | 2015-01-20T04:14:55 | 2015-01-20T01:49:48 | 94 | 27 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | I woke up on my 18th birthday and - aside from the obvious nervousness - I felt exactly the same. Of course, this was to be completely expected. After a wonderful birthday breakfast with my family beset with gifts, well-wishes, and gentle teasing, my father volunteered to be the one to fly me to the local Scientific Unlocked Potential Eradiation Reactor to receive the present we all knew I was anxiously awaiting: my power.
My dad was a "flyer", naturally. He was one of the 20% of the population or so that received the ability to hover through the air. It was a fairly common power, although each flyer seemed to have different top speeds and acceleration. The government said it wasn't so much as turning off gravity as telekinetically controlling micro gravity wells.
It was well over most people's heads, well, over everyone's heads except the less than 1% of the population who were "thinkers," bestowed with the power of seemingly unlimited scientific aptitude. They were the rarest powers, but they were probably the most valuable since they were able to refine the process that gave humans their powers.
On the flight over my father reassured me that he and my mother would love me no matter what happened. He joked that my mom's side - full of speedsters - wouldn't mind if I could suddenly break the sound barrier, but that it made no difference what I was gifted with. His voice was lost in the wind as my mind was racing with nervous anticipation.
We landed at the Reactor and entered into the lobby, currently host to a handful of other nervous, but giddy, 18 year olds. For such a miraculous process, the government had done an exemplary job of dulling the entire affair. After a mountain of sign-in paperwork, I awaited my turn.
My name was called an hour later and I was escorted alone to the Reactor, deep inside the facility. The Reactor core was a cavernous, five-story column, large enough for hundreds of people to stand in at the base. At that moment, I was the only one standing in it. The government thinkers stood outside reinforced doors and sent reassuring messages through the intercom. They flipped the switch. Nothing happened.
For the ensuing hours there was confusion. I had gained no observable power. My head swimming, the thinkers' voices blended together. "Unparalleled." "Anomaly." "We've never seen this before." They advised to keep me overnight for full observation.
My father and I had a reassuring chat outside before he left. I'll never forget how worried he looked and I'll never forget his words to me. "We'll love you no matter what." I'll never forget the hug. I'll never forget how scared I was. And I'll never forget when they told me hours later how he died when he fell from the sky after his powers faded.
It was that day I learned that I was given the one power no one in our society wanted: I permanently take away others' powers through touch or being in close proximity. Worse, the area of effect of my "power" was unstable. It could be a meter, it could be a mile. Or, as a leading thinker said, I "have the power to singlehandedly bring the Golden Age of humanity to an end."
I am alone. I am feared. I am hunted. And I'm scared. | Everyone is destined for something great. You become an adult on your 18th birthday. You become hero.
Maybe I'll be the next Mia Kit. She's one of the greatest superheros in the world. She has the ability to take other powers. Maybe I'll be like The Great Kirk, invincible. No one since him has had that power.
I can't sleep, it's 11 o'clock the night before my birthday. Tomorrow morning a reader will come and tell me my power. I want something that will shock them!
I stared at the clock, it was 11:34. I kept looking at it till I accidentally fell sleep.
I woke to my mom shaking me awake.
"Sweet! Wake up! It's your 18th birthday. The readers here." She said.
I rushed to put on fresh cloths and ran down stairs. The reader awaited for me in the kitchen. My dad had offered him a cup of coffee.
"So this is Mr. Stulops Jr. Hello." He said calmly. He had a wrapped present with him, "From the goverment to you." He handed it to me.
I unwrapped the present. It was a mug, I knew it was a mug. Everyone gets a mug. It has my name and birthday on it. It has the flag and "Superheros create supernations" On it.
I smiled, one step closer to my power. Holding the mug to my chest, I looked up at the reader. "Umm.... what's my power?"
The reader looked at me. He squinted his eyes. He put on reading glasses. "You seem to be able to create fire through your skin." He said softly.
My eyes lite up, "Like the spark? He is so cool! Like a blazing comet."
The reader was hesitated, "Somewhat. The only difference is you'll still get burned." He placed a hand on my shoulder, "If you use your power, you will die."
~~Edit: A word.~~ | 2015-03-28T05:39:45 | 2015-03-28T05:16:52 | 757 | 70 |
[WP] "So to walk on water you used..." "Anti-gravity boots." "Healing the sick?" "Portable nanobot medbay" "And I guess you used a matter converter for turning water to wine?" "Nah I just swapped the jars when they weren't looking." | “Jesus Christ...”
“Seems you’ve picked up a bit of the local culture, Captain.”
The captain stopped his pacing to glare at him.
“You broke every rule in the book! Now they’ve built a whole religion around you, because they think you’re some sort of god. And all to stop a small war. Did you think of the consequences of this?”
The science officer shifted uncomfortably. “I couldn’t just stand by and do nothing...”
The captain sat down and rubbed his forehead wearily. “And now by doing something you have changed the entire course of their civilization. Of their entire world.”
“It is not my fault that we got sent back in time to that desolate period of the galaxy. You can blame the chief engineer for that.”
“Project Testament was intended to study and observe the budding culture on planet 1323.03, study and observe only! Not play god like we know better than them.”
Gritting his teeth, the science officer made an effort to remain calm. “With all due respect sir, I could not just stand by and watch people die.”
“And you dragged the members of your away team into this too, and they got killed for it. That responsibility rests on your shoulders.”
A pang of guilt and sorrow hit the officer, but he stood proudly. “Andrew and Peter knew what they were getting into. They only agreed to go along with the plan after they saw how much of a difference it made with the locals. They died in the line of duty as they saw it, and no man could ask for a better death.”
The captain slammed the top of the table, losing his cool demeanor. “Your actions did not just save the lives of a few people, they doomed many more to horrible fates! Look at this footage the lieutenant got while we’ve been jumping forward in time.”
A hologram appeared, showing the course of history in the centuries since - persecutions, mass killings, enormous battles fought over the interpretations of this religion, leaders twisting the original words to suit their dark purposes. Deaths, slavery, murder, killing, it kept going on.
“Stop! I’ve seen enough.” The officer sank into the chair across from the captain and covered his face in misery. “Oh god what have I done...”
Sighing wearily, the captain called for a security detail to retrieve the officer, who offered no further protest.
“Dr Christ, you are now to be held until we reach the time we came from and will then be tried for breaking the Prime Directive.”
“Dismissed.” | I paused.
'Are you family of Merlin, by any chance?'
'Well, I had to talk to 'em the way they understand, didn't they?'
'I *knew* it!'
'Really?'
'Not the specifics but the overall idea, yeah. Merlin, Jesus... you are a genius!'
'Thank you.'
He looked around in my bedroom, where he had quite suddenly landed and stumbled out of a... contraption of some kind. It was a spinning wheel, or so I hoped, as it seemed to keep changing. How it fit in my small, cramped bedroom, was a riddle to me. I hoped my nearby books wouldn't burn from the friction. And my bed. And I hoped he liked what he saw, the paintings I had made -mostly describing colorful spirals and other things, the books I had carefully collected...
'Merlin, Arthur... Moonlighted a bit as a doctor, too, of course.'
Because of course he would. I observed him examine one particular painting -a constellation- in appreciation when suddenly I found myself wondering something.
'Sooo... why are you back?'
His words were quite simple.
'Because I'm needed.'
&#x200B;
PS. Is it too little words? | 2020-01-06T23:31:16 | 2020-01-06T22:31:18 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Most telepaths get exciting careers. Police officers, FBI, judges. Hell when I registered with the Department of Superpowered individuals I was hoping I could be an interrogator for the military or something.
The problem is, I'm in no shape for a physical job. I'm overweight and have asthma. Who cares? When will an interrogator have to run? The bad guy is already caught and locked up.
"You have to be intimidating," they said. Fuck them. I can be scary. I can be imposing if I need to be.
But no i got a job with a fancy title that doesnt mean jack shit. "Pre-employment satisfaction and employee retention agent." Sounds like a bunch of words someone strung together to sound important.
My job is to sit in waiting rooms during job interviews. I'm meant to look like just another normie hoping to get hired. While there I dig into your mind to see why you want the job, if you have any skills that would help the company, and most importantly find out if you lied on your application or resume. Then I report to the boss.
"She has 3 kids and the father left her. She lied about leaving her last job to 'seek better opportunities'. She will be miserable at this job and will probably leave in a month or two."
That sort of thing. But that's only on interview days. The rest of the time I'm just a normal employee. I work in the factory delivering parts to different departments. Why? So I can scan the folks I deliver to.
Do you know how exhausting it is hearing how much someone hates their job over and over and over ad infinitum? I almost never report those. Most of them are good people who need their jobs. I only report the ones who are bad workers or who dont really need their jobs. I'm also supposed to report those who might be looking for employment elsewhere. But I only report them if it might lead to a raise or promotion. You know, the really good ones that no one wants to lose.
I could have been someone important. I could have written a book, or been a politician. But instead I'm a glorified lie detector test for a company who only cares about their profits and turnover rate.
[Edit: holy shit. This is now my most upvoted comment......I feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside.]
[Edit 2: holy shit. I thought 100 upvotes was a lot.
In all seriousness though you guys seem to really enjoy the story so thanks for that. I might actually expand on it later]
[Edit 3: my first ever award. Thank you anonymous reddit user.] | John slowly drank his cup of coffee, knowing too well he was too much of an asset to Mr. Petersburg. He did practically nothing all day in this darn car dealership, but he got payed well. John looked up from his corner office and saw the prime target, a rich-looking woman looking at the Ferraris. He got up and continued sipping his coffee as he approached the woman.
"Hi Maam" he said half-heartedly "How are you today".
"Absolutly awful," cried the obnoxious woman "your coffee is too dark!".
"The coffee doesn't matter" said John.
"Coffee doesn't matter" mumbled the woman, dropping the coffee onto the ground. As soon as she did so she shook her head, confused.
"Well" said the woman, still a bit dazed, "How much for this Ferrari here".
"$750,000".
"I can tell its only worth $400,000 you cheapskate!" The woman was practically screaming.
"You will be quiet" said John, already too tired "and buy the Ferrari for $750,000".
"Be quiet" the woman whispered "buy Ferrari".
John gave the woman her keys and counted in his head his commissions, he saw another woman. His other prime target, but not for cars. After all, he had always had a thing for a woman who could fly. | 2020-02-05T15:10:52 | 2020-02-05T13:58:16 | 737 | 252 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | It was stupid. The Karathians should have just settled their disagreements with the Auraxians like a civilized bunch. It was a shame really. Such a beautiful world, it's emerald oceans glistening. But they screwed up when they both engaged a human fleet which was just traversing the system peacefully. Before the flagship went down, EDF HOOD, a single wide band hail went out.
"If you want war, we'll give you war."
Both fleets ignored the hail. Many underestimated humanity and it's abilities. Many species were stronger, many far more intelligent. But none had ever seen the ability of a human to cause destruction. So when they ignored the hails of our diplomatic ships when we went to demand reparations and an apology, a declaration of war was sent instead.
So here I sit. The sky marshall, sipping my coffee as I listen to the latest cadets complete their graduation ceremony.
**I solemnly swear,**
**To devote my life and abilities,**
**In the defense of the United Nations of Earth,**
**To defend the right of humanity,**
**And to further the universal rights of sentient life,**
**From the depths of the Pacific,**
**To the darkest parts of the galaxy,**
**So long as, I, live!**
The executor class is really a one of a kind ship. Literally. Lacking defensive armament, it's power is entirely dedicated to the large central particle lance weapon. Originally an orbital mining laser, but we found that it was equally capable of causing traumatic damage to the crust of a planet, if you boosted the power.
A world cracker, they called it.
That's when the hails asking for mercy began to flood in. It's too bad really. If only they hadn't ignored ours...
"Sky marshall? It's on your orders."
"You may fire at your leisure, admiral."
What a shame. Such a beautiful world.
EDIT: Part deux: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/e13cwf/wp_every_sentient_species_in_the_galaxy_is_given/f8ntxrt/ | [Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart. | 2019-11-24T11:35:42 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 661 | 66 |
[WP] You are a demon that has had several failed attempts on your life by demon hunters. No matter how they use their holy powers they cannot harm you and as a result they consider you extremely powerful. In truth, the holy powers don't harm you for the simple reason that you aren't actually evil. | Many demons and extraplanar beings are considered evil. Succubi, dormant eldritch gods, and devils and imps of all manners typically are evil, whether lawful or chaotic. I, however strived for a different life. One of balance, one of neutrality.
The other demons scoffed at the notion. Called me a fool and a madman. Said that evil was baked into our very being. And yet, here I am, living longer than any of them could imagine, impervious to the rituals of demon hunters. Maybe being called a fence sitter all those years was worth it.
"What *are* you?" A demon hunter said that to me one day. What did he expect as a response? That I was a halfbreed of an angel and a devil? A demon who bought the protection of a divine entity? Unfortunately, the answer is a lot more mundane than any of that.
"Oh, you haven't heard?" I said, lips curling into a wicked smile. "I'm not evil. I'm chaotic neutral." The color drained from his face. "Those miracles only work on the truly reprehensible, but as my colleagues say, I'm a fence-sitter." I slowly crept towards him, then stopped. "Which means I can't kill you. And you can't kill me." The demon hunter stopped. "Wait, really?" I nodded. "It appears we are at an impasse." The demon hunter sighed. "That's a relief." He paused a second. "So... What now?" I thought for a minute, then offered a hand. "You want to be friends?" The demon hunter smiled. "That sounds like just what I need." | [Poem]
"For the last time," I said with a sigh,
"I know you're not evil, but neither am I,"
"And if this mess could come to an end,"
"You may even find that I could be your friend."
The holy water splashed on the ground,
And I sighed yet again, this time with a frown,
The hunters took their leave and they ran,
"Infernal isn't that hard to understand!" | 2021-02-22T14:07:48 | 2021-02-22T13:56:05 | 766 | 323 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted] | "Stop calling, dad," I said quietly. "Nobody is coming for us."
My father hung up the phone and sighed, "I have to keep trying, Michael. If there's even a chance that they'll answer..."
I used my finger to peek out from the blinds at the street. This wasn't how I was expecting the zombie apocalypse to go. I'd seen every movie, read every book, obsessed over the TV shows, and I can guarantee you that nobody was more prepared for a zombies to life scenario more than I. But this... Nobody had ever written this. This was a different story entirely.
"Michael..." My step-mom called out as she wandered the streets. My eyes welled up as I watched her wander around. "Tom?" She called out. My dad joined me at the window and sighed, "Are you absolutely sure she's one of them?" He asked. "I'm sure of it," I replied. "Watch this." I added as I produced my phone and dialed her. The two of us watched her jump, startled as the device went off. She reached into her pocket and pull her phone out and stared at it for several seconds before throwing it on the ground and continuing on down the road. My dad raised a hand to his mouth.
"Tom? Michael? Where are you?"
"How did you know she would do that?" My dad choked out. "I've been texting my friend Kyle. He and his folks are still alive too. Kyle found out that these things don't know what to do with technology at all." I let the blinds slide back into place and sat down against the wall. "They're masters of emotional manipulation. There's almost no way to tell them apart from your loved ones. But ask them to change the channel, adjust the A/C, or make a phone call and they're completely clueless."
My dad stood up and called 911 again. I could hear the automated voice from where I sat.
“You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
"Dad. It's no use." I repeated.
He remained silent.
"Tom? Where are you?" We heard her call again from outside. My dad turned and walked away. "Hey," I called after him, "Where are you going?"
"I can't listen to her voice anymore," he replied and disappeared into the next room. I rested my head against the wall trying to ignore the hunger as I wracked my brain for solutions. My thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the keypad on the back door. We had installed it originally because my step-mom could never keep track of her key, but since this whole mess started it worked as a security measure against those things pretending to be our family.
I heard the door open and Uncle Bruce appeared with groceries in his hands. "Food!" I called out and pushed away from the wall. He smiled at me and moved for the kitchen. "Where did you find food, Bruce?" I asked in a bewildered tone as I started pulling chicken and beef from the bags.
"Nevermind that, Mikey," he replied. "Turn the stove on for me." I obliged.
About a half hour later the house smelled delicious. My stomach roared as Bruce set out the plates, "Call your dad." I turned my head, but didn't take my eyes off of the cooked chicken, "Dad, dinner!" I started cutting into the bird, "He smells it," I assured my uncle. After a few minutes Bruce looked over my shoulder and then cast me a worried glance, "You sure he's coming?"
"He heard Lynn again," I said with a mouth full of food.
"Oh, Jesus," He muttered. "She's back?"
"Yeah..." I responded solemnly. "I think maybe he just needs some alone time."
"Micheal!" I heard my dad's voice.
From *outside.*
My uncle and I locked eyes before quickly moving to the kitchen window and turning the blinds open. He looked in at us from the kitchen window, "You were wrong about Lynn! She's fine!"
I felt my heart sink as she joined him at the window.
"Son, she just thought her phone was acting up! Complete misunderstanding!"
I clenched my teeth and felt my uncle's hand on my shoulder.
"Mikey..." He said. "I know." I responded from the back of my throat.
Bruce closed the blinds let his forehead collide with the wall.
"Come on Michael," my father called to me. "Just... Just let us in, okay?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
[Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/is3fx7/wp_youve_reached_911_this_service_is_no_longer/) | I woke up in cold sweat, searching the room around me. Part of me hoped that the last three days were nothing but a nightmare. But when I looked at the calendar I had on my bedroom’s door, the only thing the red marker spelled out for tomorrow was doom.
I heard the tip taps of something coming to my room from the hallway. It was Sunny the German Shepherd, the only reason that I have kept going for the last 3 years. She jumped onto my bed and started whimpering, probably thinking I was in distress. I started petting her and shushing her to calm her down.
“It’s okay, Sunny. Everything is alright.” I softly spoke to her.
She seemed to have calmed down. But now I felt like I was too awake to fall back asleep, so I decided to go outside to take a breather.
I let Sunny out the door and watch her as she starts sniffing the ground. I started walking up to the old oak on top of the hill my house laid near. I whistled as Sunny followed me up the hill. Once I had reached the top I sat in front of the oak tree and drowned myself in silence, nothing but the sound of crickets and the late-night breeze.
It was hard to believe that everything was going to end when everything else seemed so still. But when I stare up into the night sky, my eyes didn’t deceive me for when I saw the moon looking twice as large. No one knew the end was coming this soon and no one knew how it had happened. For all I know, it could have been some guy’s doing or god’s judgment, but that didn’t matter to me.
People had only realized what was going to happen three days ago. It was announced on the radio, on the tv and written all over the newspapers. And the world government said there was nothing they could do about it. So they told us to say our prayers and kiss our families goodbye. In almost every movie I have watched or book I have read, there is always a dues ex machine, where everything seems to be at the brink of destruction, that’s when a hero arrives and somehow finds the path to a happy ending. But I guess this is no story, this is the harsh reality of the situation.
But as I watched Sunny play in the mud, part of me still hoped for it to be true. I reached into my pocket and took out a flip phone. I dialed the very familiar number of nine – one – one. But right before I dialed it I took a deep breath and closed my eyes.
I pressed the button and I could hear the phone ring.
One second passed. Two seconds passed. Then a knock.
“You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
I stared at the screen of my phone for some time.
I guess heroes don’t always exist. Well, not one that can save us right now. I couldn’t help but grin at the thought of how childish I was for calling 911 when the literal moon was falling on us. Then I started laughing so loud that I couldn’t even keep my eyes open. Even though I knew that everyone was probably gonna die by tomorrow evening, I felt weirdly calm about it.
I whistled for Sunny to come to me and then patted her on her head. I started walking back to my little shack down the hill, feeling a bit sleepy.
&#x200B;
***Check out my writing at*** [***r/Fluffwrites***](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fluffwrites/)
***Also, check out my*** ***fantasy series -------->*** [***The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice***](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) | 2020-09-12T10:59:43 | 2020-09-12T10:25:45 | 349 | 29 |
[WP] You were once the most powerful villain. You retired early and are engaged to a minor super hero who isn't aware of your past. They are about to be killed right before your eyes..but you step in. | I used to be the guy who did this... go around killing minor heroes for the fun of it, made me feel real big and powerful. I guess that’s the same with this guy, big muscular guy wearing spandex of all things. As far as he was aware he and my fiancée were all alone, how very wrong he was. I was in the shadows of the rafters waiting for the right moment to step in, my blood beginning to boil with anger as he threatened her and spoke of all the ways he could kill her.
I took a deep breath and focussed my mind, I could attempt to defeat him without ‘It’ but success would be unlikely, I struggled to maintain control, not over some demonic power within me, but over myself, or at least the person I was back then.
This big dude was now pacing in front of my girl, and then in super slow motion as the adrenaline hit I saw his hand wind back and strike out at her. Fight, Flight or Freeze, My mind went numb all the evil thoughts evaporated as the only thing I could now think of was to protect my fiancée, a tingling feeling raced over my entire body and soon I felt some of my old strength seep back into me. Fight.
Before his hand had even struck Liv I was upon him, summoning my old power to launch myself from my hiding spot...threw a low punch to his gut which catapulted him across the room. I stood in between him and her. “Aiden!?!?” I heard in a low whisper from behind me, I quickly glanced to look at Liv “I’ll explain later.” I turned back to face my opponent, he was gracefully getting himself out of the wall. Like and enraged boar he launched himself at me, I readied myself for it... no matter what happened I was not going to fail, I would protect Liv. I caught his first punch, but failed to catch his second which hit my rib cage which I felt bend and warp under the sheer force of his hit but... no pain, nothing. Unmoving under the incredible force of his punch, I struck back which again sent him flying “you clearly don’t understand what you’re dealing with rookie, don’t fuck with the king... or have you all forgotten me already” I uttered with rage on my breath. I saw the whites of his eyes as the gears in his head finally clicked on who I was “I’ll give you ten seconds to fuck off or I will make you wish you hadn’t been born” with that he scrambled to get up and get out of my sight as fast as he could muster.
“Who are you!?” Liv demanded, The question I had been dreading for years... “I was once called Annihilation” “I used to be the king of all the villains” I confessed, the relief of getting it off my chest putting years onto my lifespan. “Why did you stop?” She said cocking her head to one side curiously. “Because... I didn’t want to continue, after one particular night that had ended in me making off with a few million dollars. Like any normal human I went to a bar to celebrate, got a little buzzed and started walking home, do you remember what happened next?” I asked with a sad smile “I met you... and my whole perspective changed, every drop of evil in me evaporated away and I haven’t used my power since...”
We sat in the warehouse without a word until her voice pierced the silence “Well... I love the man that’s treated me right, who he was before doesn’t matter” by this point I had tears in my eyes “I don’t think you would be capable of becoming annihilation again anyway, you aren’t that person anymore” I nodded in agreement, now tears were streaming down my face, this woman had seen what I was and had forgiven me for it...“I love you...” I uttered, as a silence filled the air my brain started going haywire, what if she doesn’t love me, what if she is scared of me, what if she... “I love you too” she smiled, interrupting my panic. She trudged over to me, sat down next to me and draped her arms around my neck “You better goddamn show at the wedding” she snorted, as she kissed my cheek.
(First WP, please give constructive criticism as I want to improve)
EDIT: changed a bit so that hopefully it flows a bit better | Walter P. Goodbody, stood aghast with the rest of the world, watching Tec-One being pummeled by Hector Havoc. Her ballistic armor was torn and her smashed in Kevlar helmet barely held on to her face. Walter’s fist tightened around his grocery bag.
Making his way down an alleyway he threw the groceries at a beggar. The glasses on his face slips and melts in his hand. His shirt catches fire.
Havoc held Tec’s face in his massive hand and laughed at the blood that leaked out of the busted helmet, “your pathetic gadgets were useless against me Tec-girl.”
She mumbles back to him, weakly.
“What was that?”
“I said,” she looked up, barely able to open her puffy purple eye. “The name is Tec-one!”
Hector Havoc laughed again, winding his fist. “Goodbye, Tec-none.”
First came the dreadful sound, like the sky was ripping apart. Hector let go of Tec-One, and looked up in the sky. Then the sound of people screaming echoed all around Havoc as they swarm as far away from the scene as possible.
“Hector. I need you to stop.”
“B-“ Tec’s head wavers as she held on to consciousness, “Brimstone?”
Brimstone’s skin was a black, cracked and red like lit coal. Thick smoke radiated from the cracks in his skin.
“Brimstone? I thought you were killed.”
Brimstone scratched that back of his head and smiled in embarrassment, “it was more of a retirement. Anyway, I have to ask you to stop this.”
“Stop? But this is what we do.”
Brimstone prostrated himself with his hands clapped over his head, “I beg of you. It’s not too late to change your ways.”
Hector Havoc looked left and right, then tried to lift Brimstone up, “hey get up, this is embarrassing. Were you really the worlds greatest super villain?” Brimstone kept falling to his knees, pleading with Havoc, until Havoc finally had enough and struck Brimstone in the back of the head. The skin on his head cracked and charred even more.
“Retired or not, this is unbecoming of a super villain. Where is your dignity?” Slowly Brimstone got up, “where is your pride? Your will for destruction? Hell are you even a man any-“
Brimstone held Havoc by the neck. Now the red on his face and in his eyes, burned brighter. Havoc gritted his teeth as the skin on his neck burned.
“I tried to help you Havoc, but you wouldn’t listen to me,” Brimstone looked into Havoc’s cowering eyes, “but you just had to hit me.”
“Stop...please,” Havoc gurgled.
“Stop? But I haven’t shown you my power yet,” Havoc slowly burned into an ash model of himself, that crumbled and was whisked away with the wind.
Brimstone lifted Tec-one in his arms and floated away into the sunset...
| 2018-03-09T07:02:35 | 2018-03-09T04:30:01 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done. | Do not repeat my experiments. Do not follow in my footsteps.
By God, I wish I lived centuries earlier - that the only records that existed of my research were manuscripts that I could burn, that if I worked hard enough and quick enough, I could erase from existence every word I've written, and let this secret I've uncovered *remain* secret.
Alas. What I've made my life's work, I also struggled to share - I worked hard to publish it in as many journals as I could, to share what I saw as breakthroughs with as many people as possible. And now, I realized that I've only been spreading a seed, a diaspora of forbidden knowledge.
It is better to remain ignorant. It is better to not know what I am talking about. Be confused, and be happy about it. There is no refuge in knowledge. There is only certainty, inevitability, dread. I cannot bear to live knowing what I do now.
But I will, for moments longer, enough time to write this, to plant one more seed. To those who have pursued my research to their ends, who have not listened to my warnings, whose curiosity consumed them as it did me... I shall tell you what you're now seeing. And how to survive as long as I have, against all odds.
What you are seeing are *not delusions.* This is difficult to believe, I know, as my work involves drastic alterations of a brain's normal operations. Under many circumstances, it'd be very understandable to think that these sights are hallucinations, and that you can ignore them. Unfortunately, you cannot feign ignorance. Your first look at one of these predators - even a glimpse - will invariably terrify you. And they, to use the common phrase, *smell fear.* It is how they have lived this long, and how they have made their place as the apex predator of the world. Once you have seen one, *they cannot let you live.*
You must run. They are not fast - they are just everywhere. Escape the ones that know you have seen them, and then pretend to see no others. You will survive, if you can do that.
If you are in denial, remember this - I research neurological blindness. I began my research looking into concept such as hemispatial neglect, where people simply cannot *process or perceive* anything to the 'left'. If the left side of their house is burning down, they will not realize it. If asked to fill in numbers on a clock, they will squeeze every number - 1 to 12 - on the right side. They will apply make-up only to the right side of their face. And so on.
Importantly, these people's very reality, the logic they rely on to live, alters to fit this mistake of their mind. I attempted to cure hemispatial neglect by simply using mirrors - by placing a mirror on the right side of the patient, I could have them interact with their 'left' by relying on their 'right'. But my experiment backfired... When I held something to their left, and told them to reach towards it by using the mirror, they would do one of two things: try to grab the object *inside* the mirror, or strain to reach *over* the mirror to grab the object.
I asked these patients if they understood what a mirror was. And they did! But to them, this mirror reflects opposites - up becomes down, and right becomes... but there *is no left.* If this mirror cannot reflect something, then it *cannot be a mirror.*
When I perceived this phenomena, I became obsessed with other forms of reality-altering perception. Some people are paralyzed, but their brain does not know it - they will provide excuses for why they will not walk, or why they do not raise their arm from the table. Some people experience blindsight, where they cannot *consciously* see, but can still unconsciously see it - being able to navigate a room with objects strewn all over the floor, for example, but never realizing they are doing it.
Remember that, then realize this too - *everyone* is blind like this. In my final study, I noticed an unusual lesion in the brain of most every animal I looked into - presumably stemming from some defect of evolution, eons down the line. I hypothesized this lesion produced a sort of neurological blindness along these lines, preventing us from perceiving something that could be all around us... and, foolishly, I devised a means of altering the brain's normal processes with strong magnetic fields (much like the work done in reversing moral compasses), to circumvent this lesion.
And what I opened my eyes to was the horror that you now see. The chitinous creatures that swarm over every surface, that are the size of a man's torso, whose maws open and close silently, whose carapaces shine with unimaginable hues, a color outside of normal perception... that is *reality.* That is *truth.* That is what you have been kept from seeing, all of your life, by what I thought was a flaw of your brain.
I wish I could leave everyone with the belief that they were delusions - but you will die if you think they cannot hurt you. Because they can hurt you, and if you react to them - if you do not prevent yourself from recoiling in horror, or shivering in terror, at the very sight of them - then they *will* hurt you.
My injuries may be grave, but I do not fear death at this point... I accept it. I cannot live in a world where I must pretend I cannot see these creatures. I cannot will myself to survive if this is the sight I will face every day of my life. Even though I've turned off the magnet, restored myself to blessed blindness... I will never forget they are *there*. The hungering unknown will always be waiting for me, at the edges of the world, waiting until I am alone and forgotten, ripe to become another missing person, a number of a statistic...
I say goodbye to this cursed world. And I hope that those I leave behind will heed my warning, and stay blind. | "Dear fucking God! Is that thing alive?.." Dr. Henry tiptoes closer, adjusting his glasses and squinting to try and see in the lowlight. "Mario, hand me that flashilight and pole."
"No senor, I no, I no.." Mario frowns, struggling to find the words in his broken english.
"For fuckssake Mario! What the hell are we paying you for!," yells Dr. Evans before he snatches the flashlight, "Give it to me." Dr. Evans takes the only working light source and Mario's "feeler" pole, and marches onwards through centuries worth of dust and cobwebs. Each step makes a "crunch" under his tread. His flashlight dips down to locate the source of the noise and all around is a sea of white objects, like shattered china plates, too broken up to be distuingishable in the little bit of whats revealed.
Abigail scoots closer to Mario and whispers into his ear, "Mario, are you sure our team came through here? It doesn't look like anyone has been through this place in centuries." Her voice is tinged with nervousness that, despite her demeanor, clearly shows through. In fact, every member of the small expedition seems to be on edge, but none as much as Mario.
"Si senorita, I lead them to des cave entrance myself," his eyes dart around frantically and he is drenched in sweat, "We should go everybody. I no like des place. Des place es evil." Mario's L in the word evil drags out for a full second, putting unwanted emphasis on it.
"For goodness-sake Mario, please shut up! No one wants to hear about your pagan superstitions! This cave is the find of the century! All 8 of our other team members from the original expedition are probably hanging out in here as we speak, charting artifacts and making records!" Dr. Henry's voice started out outlined by annoyance, but it gradually turns to pure excitement. "I mean just think of it! A pyramind deep underground, only accessible through cave systems right here in the Jungles of South America! Look at these markings," He flashes the light onto paintings on the wall that depict large spiders all surrounding a shirtless bound man, "I've never seen anything like this at all! These are clearly not done by the Aztecs or Mayans, or anyone else! These date back further than anything we've ever found here!, and they seem to be worshipping spiders! If this had been discovered previously it would surely be known!"
"Oh my God!" Dr. Evans voice rings out shrilly, cutting off Dr. Henry, "that thing IS still alive!" Dr. Evans mouth drops in an expression that is of pure horror.
Dr. Henry whirls the light around to the massive mound in the center of the cave, the beam catches on the fist sized pitch black eyeballs and reflects it. The creatures broken hairy legs scuttle as it tries to move away from Dr. Evans prodding it with the pole. It screeches in vain when it can't budge itself.
"My God! I know spiders are technically immortal, but how could it have gotten this large?!" Dr. Henry is basically shouting, "It's just not possible! It would take thousands of years.. Look! it's legs have broken from trying to support its own weight.. This thing has to be at least 30 feet from leg tip to leg tip.. I bet it weighs a ton," Dr. Henry's voice is slowly decreasing in pitch and volume, as though he is coming to a conclusion that just can't be said out loud. "It couldn't have survived unless..." Dr. Henry's last words were almost a whisper.
There's a deep rumble, as if a wall is being moved, far off near the entrance of the cave, while, simultaneously, fire springs forth all around the small group into hidden alcoves that hold fire braziers. The once dark cave is now illuminated, revealing that the white debris all across the floors are in fact bones. Animals and humans.
Robed figures appear across an upper balcony that was previously hidden by the dark, they start chanting in an language that sounds like it was lost to the ages. The group of four all huddle together as if they will have safety in numbers. Movement catches their eye from directly above, they all look up to see thousands of black orbs reflecting the fire light. There are roughly human-sized, humanoid shaped, bundles of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. 8 of them.
"Unless someone has been feeding it," says Dr. Evans, in a whisper just as low Dr. Henry's from earlier. Abigail screams an ear piercing wail just as the "ceiling" drops. | 2016-10-04T15:14:43 | 2016-10-04T14:48:14 | 207 | 45 |
[WP] An old, forgotten god is living their days peacefully in the suburbs. One day they randomly receives a prayer. And they are going to do everything in their power to answer it. | Xil’dan looked down at his wilted hydrangeas in disgust. Six hundred years, and he had not yet learned the trick of keeping plants alive. Surely it wasn’t that difficult a task. Mortals did it all the time. But try as he might, he could not seem to make his garden flourish. Plants he cared for withered, shrubs he pruned turned black, and even his simple lawn contained more dirt and weeds than grass.
But to be fair, he admitted, he was not the God of Gardening.
The god turned from his failed horticultural attempts and headed back inside the house, stooping down to grab today’s paper from the driveway as he went. The world had changed much in the centuries since he had last been worshipped; new cultures flourished, and all were well worth watching. New wars were waged with weapons that astonished even him. So even if his name *was* now forgotten by the people of this place, it was at least interesting to watch them learn and grow through the ages.
Sitting down at the table, he unfolded the paper and flipped to the business section. Mankind’s obsession with wealth had not changed a whit since he “retired;” new inventions like the stock market and electronic trading fascinated him, and he enjoyed reading about them even if their secret machinations were a mystery. He suspected that, given his immortal lifespan, he could use these tools to amass a fortune if he truly felt inclined. But the prospect seemed more trouble than it was worth.
He was not, after all, the God of Wealth.
And so Xil’dan took his ease, sipping his morning coffee (at least *that* was still around) and catching up on all the happenings in the ever-changing world. Nationalism had been growing in recent years, and many countries seemed poised on the brink of—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kre… kretch’al,”* said a voice.
Xil’dan froze with his cup raised to his lips. “Impossible,” he breathed. No one had spoken his invocation in a dozen lifetimes. And even then, the last person had bungled the pronunciation so badly that—
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn… rot?”* tried the voice again.
The god lurched up from his table. The coffee fell forgotten to the floor. No, this was not some idle reading of an ancient scroll. Someone was actually attempting to summon him. Someone who believed that he existed, and actively desired his aid. It was a small faith—he could barely feel it when the voice echoed in his head—but it was real. How could this be?
*“Xil’dan fyrgh kretch’al, on’ket forn WROTH!”* said the voice.
Xil’dan blinked, and he was there.
He appeared in a jumbled study, packed with books and artifacts from a dozen civilizations. Whoever owned these was clearly a world-traveler, or at least a collector of the rarest sort. In the center of the hardwood floor was an enormous oaken desk, similarly covered in books and various pilfered curiosities. And behind the desk, still clutching the copper disk engraved with Xil’dan’s prayer, was…
…a child.
The god frowned. It was a human boy, no more than eight or nine. He wore an ill-fitting black suit and tie, and his cheeks were wet with tears. His eyes were as wide as any human’s eyes could hope to be, and his face was pale as he stared over the desk at who he’d summoned.
Xil’dan raised an eyebrow. “What is your name, child?” he asked.
The boy started, but stood his ground. Brave, then. He gulped. “T… Tommy,” he said. “Are you… Xil’dan?”
The god nodded slowly. Something was very wrong here. “Yes,” he said at last. “And you have summoned me? *You* seek my aid?”
The boy stammered. “I…” he looked at the closed study door, then back to the tall figure before him. “I want you to bring my uncle back.” He gripped the copper disk tight in his tiny hands, as if to force his wish into the metal itself. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice desperate now. “Please bring him back?”
Xil’dan examined his would-be petitioner. The tears. The black suit. What was going on he—
…Ah.
“Your uncle is dead, isn’t he?” asked the god. “This was his office. He is the one who owned the disk.”
The boy nodded. “Yes,” he whimpered. “He taught me how to read the writing. He taught me all sorts of things.” His fear forgotten, the words poured out. “He was an adventurer, like I want to be. He goes all over the world, and… and he brings back amazing things, and he always takes time to show me and teach me and please just bring him back. Please, I’ll give you anything I have. *Please.*”
Xil’dan sighed. What a waste. The first real summoning since the fall of the For’gyl Ziggurat, and it was all for nothing. A child’s misplaced hope.
“I am sorry, boy,” he said sadly. “But I am not the God of Death. I cannot help your uncle now.”
Tommy’s face fell, and he lowered the copper disk to his side. “I thought…” he said hopelessly, “I thought you could save him.” He sniffled, and fresh tears began to creep down his face.
“Do not weep for him, little one” said Xil’dan, not unkindly. “Death is a natural part of life. You will miss him, and for that pain you may grieve. But if it was your uncle’s time, then his passing was no tragedy. Even the best of us must face the final gate eventually.”
The boy’s face whipped up, twisting into a fierce grimace. “It was *not* his time!” he hissed.
The god cocked his head, surprised by the heat in that small voice. “Oh?” he asked. “He was not old?”
Tommy shook his head. “I heard the grown-ups talking,” he muttered. “They said he was walking in a ‘bad part of town.’ They said some bad men came and…” His eyes teared up again, and he sniffed angrily, looking down at his feet.
Xil’dan stood very still, studying the child in front of him. There *was* something here. He could sense it faintly, like a distant and forgotten door, long abandoned in the labyrinth of his soul. An ancient stirring that the god had all but put aside. He carefully walked around the desk and knelt down in front of Tommy, gently lifting his chin with a curled finger.
“Child,” he asked quietly, “how exactly did your uncle die?”
The boy glared up at the god, his face still splotchy-red and lined with tears. There was sadness there, yes. But also anger. A newfound fury at a world that he'd thought he understood. A world that was suddenly, unexpectedly, unfair.
“The bad men killed him,” he whispered. “They killed him, and they didn’t even know him. They just wanted his money.”
Xil’dan gazed carefully into the child’s eyes, weighing the truth of his words. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. “I was wrong, then,” he said finally. “I do believe that I can help you after all.”
And for the first time in nearly six hundred years, the God of Vengeance smiled.
| "Its your son sir, he needs your help."
"Well he doesn't seem to think so." Oriothis rolled his eyes from on top of his riding lawn mower. Clearly annoyed by being interrupted from his chores.
The servant spoke again with his head bowed both out of respect and the fear of making eye contact with such a powerful being. He spoke again through a shaky voice.
"He has fallen in love with a mortal and it has left him broken. He needs his father right now."
Oriothis warily looked the servant up and down. He was there the day his son had overthrown him. He stood as his son challenged him to an unfair challenge. Oriothis could have declined but he could tell that his son was too far gone. He had lost him. H accepted the challenge and willingly passed his mantle to his only son knowing it would destroy him in the end. But fathers must watch helplessly in times like those.
"A woman has been praying to him every day now. She is dying of cancer and reached out to your son to save her but he cannot. He doesn't know how and it is destroying him." The servant was pleading with him now.
There was an innocent life involved now. He son was an angry God and thought his fathers benevolent nature was his weakness and he was right.
"Take me to her." And fetch my son
"He is with her now and they are not far." The servant looked up both startled and relieved.
"I can drive us then just give me a second to get changed."
"Can't you just make us appear there?"
"Well I could but thats actually pretty exhausting and I've been doing chores all day. C'mon it's fun some of these mortals are so stressed when they drive but I find it relaxing."
"She's at the hospital in town actually." The servant now more confused than anything.
Oriothis unlocked the car door and told him he would be back. The servant sat in the passenger seat of his mini van and waited for him to get changed. From the rear vvieew mirror hung a picture of his son as a young boy. Jerraud the servant felt very small at that moment. So insignificant that his role in all this was just a nobody. How he had never stood up for himself and made anything that mattered. Like a family. He knew he did the right thing to pray to oriothis.
They arrived after an awkward fifteen minute drive and made their way to the woman's room. Shelby was her name and she was not winning her battle with cancer. She looked up at oriothis behind red puffy eyes that had only recently stopped crying. His son picked his head up and looked at his father without anger for the first time in years. He was too exhausted to be angry. He had been sleeping in waiting rooms for months now so he smelled and was unshaven. He had no clue when the last time he had taken a shower or worn clothes he knew were clean. None of that mattered because he didn't care. She was all he cared about and yet he could do anything.
"Dad I'm so sorry please help us." His son jumped up from his chair and embraced his father. He sobbed into his chest hysterically. Oriothis held his son and was brought to a few tears as well.
"I can't help you. This is the way of mortals. She will pass on but you must not let this destroy you it is the natural way of things. We cannot be ones to meddle in that." His father had been through this before with the boys own mother.
"That's bull shit mom lived a long life aand happy life before she passed but what does she get! She gets all that taken from her. For no fucking reason." Rage welled in his sons eyes and oriothis knew what he had to do.
"You must know this loss. So many people in the world live with this pain every day and there is nothing they can do about it. How can you hope to help them or rule them if you don't understand this part of reality. Every mortal will perish one day how can we make an exception for one without making it for all?" His words did nothing to calm his son.
"The difference is I'm not in love with them. Not like I love her I can't let this one go. I fucking won't. If she goes I'm going with her." His son taraxis started crying again. No hysterics this time. He looked so feeble and exhausted now.
"If what you say is true then there is a way you can save her."
Taraxis eyes widened as he picked his head up to face his father.
"Tell me right now."
"Only love is powerful enough to do what you're asking. You must be willing to do anything for this woman."
"Yes anything." Oriothis believed his son. The anger that had haunted his son for so long was honed into passion now. He would leap off of the roof of the hospital if he said it would save her.
He walked over to the woman and placed his hand on her head. Soon she began to scream and writhe and kick around in her bed. A black smoke poured out from her mouth and filled the room. It began to dissipate eventually and was absorbed by oriothis through ever pour in his body until he appeared incredibly aged and decrepit.
"When she wakes up tell her that i owe her my life for saving my son. I love you taraxis I hope you understand now that I always have."
"Oh my god dad are you ok what happened?"
"I'll be fine. I will pass soon instead of her now. But I will rest easy now that you have been saved." Oriothis sat down in the chair his son was in originally and sighed. "I will leave you shortly to tend to her but after I leave could visit me one last time? I would like to spend the last of my days with you but I will settle for a few moments. We have a lot to talk about."
"Yes dad of course anything. I owe you everything I'm so sorry for everything I don't know where to begin."
"Don't worry about it you will understand why I did everything I did one day. You have already begun to understand I can see that now." He rose from the chair and made for the door. "I'll be seeing you taraxis and nice to see you again jerraud." He pathetically sauntered down the hallway and out to his car. He felt so relieved as he turned on his car and headed home. He son was not lost.
---sorry about the awful grammar I'm on mobile so it's kind of a pain-----
"
| 2018-05-30T00:42:23 | 2018-05-29T22:59:09 | 2,136 | 28 |
[WP] The alien invasion force had arrived to finally conquer earth and destroy the humans. Unaware that humans had gone extinct long ago and the one responsible was still there. This was a death trap they were walking into and against which the alien civilization has no hope for survival. | The Omnis were no strangers to dead worlds. Planets that had been stripped of anything that could theoretically help an organism live. But this world, this Earth, was different. It still thrived, it still bore greenery and its vast abundance of water--but the shadow of death loomed over it regardless.
The Omnis first learned of humanity from the other end of the universe. They studied from their perch beyond the Solar System, and grew increasingly disgusted by what they saw. The humans bred like Andromedan maggots, some even celebrating or praising the swollen bodies, health complications, and even serious deformities that were involved in their breeding. And to the Omnis, who dominated their homeworld thanks to their ability to reproduce asexually, it was an insult that would be answered with extreme prejudice.
But when they had finally arrived, all humanity was gone. Their structures remained, but all was smothered in tidal waves of wild plants, rebelling against the stone and steel that once swallowed them up. And while their burial grounds indeed contained the remains of humans, that was the only place the Omnis could find any. Everywhere else, it was as if the slate had been wiped clean.
The 61st Regiment would be the ones unfortunate enough to first meet the guilty party. The Regiment was patrolling a neighborhood, scouring for even the smallest crumb of evidence to piece together humanity's fate. They entered a nearby house, only to be met with a growling stray dog, with golden brown fur, floppy ears, and a bulbous tongue dangling out of its mouth. One soldier made the mistake of pointing their gun at the dog. It was the last thing they ever did.
A guttural clicking noise echoed through the house. Suddenly, the soldier who trained their gun on the dog began to writhe and scream, before eventually throwing up a clump of gray-yellow flesh caked in cerulean blood. As the soldier collapsed onto his freshly expelled heart and lungs, the rest of the Regiment alternated between panicking and trying to leave the house to no avail--the doors and windows disappeared, replaced with bleeding eyes that followed every little movement. One by one, the Regiment fell, turned inside out and forced to kill themselves and ripped apart by some unseen force.
Eventually, it was only the captain and the dog, still growling without a hint of fear, who remained. The captain drew their gun for a last stand, shaking in abject terror. Suddenly, the clicking noise returned--but now it was directly behind the captain. Before they could react, a clawed hand grabbed them, forced them into a gaping maw filled with teeth and devoured whole.
The 61st Regiment were the first, but by no means were they the last. Within the week, the Omnis presence on Earth was gone entirely--and the Omnis as a species were dead by the following day. Now, their homeworld floats through the ether, lifeless and still, with a message carved into its dead husk large enough to be seen from space. Not a warning, not a promise, not even a vague hint at humanity's and Omnis' fate, but an apology:
"I'M SORRY, JON." | Believe me God emperor Xenophon, we are no longer the supreme beings that we once thought we were. I need not but a hundred words to tell you of the demise of our grand galactic fleet. The horror that befell humanity shall now be our demise too. We entered the Sol System on galactic date 459-562, and detected no signs of transmission from Sol. We thought they knew we were coming and our only option was a blistering assault to catch the planet's defenses off guard. We sent out all of our troop transports and to our surprise none were shot down in orbit. We quickly pulled back as we knew this must be a trap. We then scanned the planet to find high density populations to see where they may launch their ambush from. We only detected a single life form. Cautiously we sent over 100,000 shock troops to their location.
Once they arrived they quickly encircled the point where the lifeform was. It was a single human. Our men told him to surrender, but all he had to say was “Nothing is stronger than family”. All of our troops were quickly taken out by a 1970 Dodge Charger and an instant later we detected it in low earth orbit. Before we knew it, he began ramming into our ships, tearing them apart from the inside and causing them to explode. We fired our ion cannons but somehow he was able to outrun the beams themselves. My God Emperor, he was faster than light! We even fired the prototype FTL missiles, the ones capable of 0 point turns and somehow he was able to outmaneuver them! Nearly the entirety of our Armada was decimated by the time I was able to get my FTL drive up and warp back here. My God Emperor, Family is coming! Nothing is stronger than family! Suddenly the doors to the Emperor's chambers were thrown open, there stood the same being from Sol, who simply spoke, “That’s right”. | 2022-11-02T04:23:56 | 2022-11-02T03:00:51 | 132 | 15 |
[WP] You rescue many different animals not knowing they are mythical creatures. That weird bird you rescued a month ago was a Phoenix. Your dog? Cerberus. That fox you impulsely got was a kitsune. They also all agree to look over you. | I yawned, arching my back as I stretched out of sleep. The soft padding of feet drew my attention, as she walked in. She herself yawned, her ginger hair stuck up in a very clear bed head. I walked over, rearing up to put my paws on her legs. She scratched the top of my head, and I closed my eyes in bliss.
"Good morning Rocky."
Rocky. That was the name she gave me. It wasn't my actual name, but I couldn't really tell her what it was. A soft twittering drew her attention, as Tweety greeted her. I understood what he was saying.
"Its a bright day. Did you sleep well Cerb?"
I yapped back.
"Of course I did. How your wing?"
He flapped a couple of times, before settling down.
"Getting better."
Our human, Natasha, looked between us, smiling. She moved to Tweety's cage, reaching in to run a finger over his head.
"Good morning Tweety. I hope you're feeling better."
I smirked at that. He really hated that name. So of course, we used it every chance we got. I felt a presence beside me, turning my head to see Fiona standing there. Her tail looked slightly off, and I bumped her slightly to hide her.
"Fiona! Tail."
She stared at me, before shaking her head.
"Oops! Thanks for the catch, Cerb."
By this point, Natasha was heading to the kitchen. We followed, joining the couple of cats an dogs she owned. None were like us, and didn't quite possess our level of intelligence. Still, we respected them, as Natasha looked after them as well.
She busied herself with giving us breakfast. I patiently waited for my turn. Finally, I was able to fill my belly. It wasn’t the best thing I had ever tasted, but I liked it nonetheless. Natasha had some food of her own, and we watched each other. She seemed amused by our antics, and we made sure she was safe.
After a while, she was done, and went to get ready. Fiona followed her, an unspoken agreement that only she watches her in private. When she was done, myself, Fiona and the other dogs lined up, ready to be walked. She took us all in one big group, barely seeming able to control us all.
I helped keep the other dogs in line. They respected me, as I was the top dog, literally. I made sure they didn't pull too hard. I also kept an eye out for danger. I wasn't going to let anyone hurt Natasha. She cared for us, and we cared for her. | "He really doesnt know, does he?" asked the little girl. her tails looped about her fox feet and concealed at what point the kitsune became fox, or girl dependant on your opinion of what was more important.
the Pheonix, a raggedly spindly bird that rather needed a few months of care looked from human to kitsune and chirped.
"No. He thinks we are all funny looking animals." the bird tilted its head and blinked its golden eyes. "this is no criticism. he cares more for us because he thinks we have little chance otherwise"
the kitsune, now back to threadbare urban fox form turned back to the bird.
"not what i meant. he doesnt know about him, does he?"
the Bird looked at the skinny man. he hair was recceeding, he was underweight, pale, tired even. but there was a joy to him as he carefully dripped kitten glop into the Caith Sidhe kittens barely open mouth. At his feet a sturdy dog lifted his head, his head, and his head to look at the pheonix, the kitten and the man.
"I believe he chose to forget." the bird said
"Who would deny him the right?"
The bird looked back at the fox.
"Well", said the fox, "he is the Creator" | 2021-05-30T12:15:32 | 2021-05-30T10:23:17 | 165 | 35 |
[WP] Your 6 year old daughter is laying on her bed, terrified. She says there’s a monster under her bed. To reassure her, you lay on the ground and check underneath, only to find your daughter, quivering. She whispers, “Daddy, there’s something on top of my bed...” | I probably look ridiculous in my ratty sports jersey and pajama bottoms, skittering backwards like a startled spider on my hands and knees across the bedroom floor, my mouth hanging open in dumb shock.
I blink, stare, and blink again. There was Emily, under the bed, curled up in the dark among discarded toys and dust bunnies.
...And there she was on top of the bed, wrapping her heavy comforter around herself like a hooded cloak. The mirror-image girls both stare at me with eyes like saucer plates, scared and expectant.
I don’t want to be here. I’m not even remotely equipped to deal with this. I consider leaving the room, shutting the door. Perhaps when I open it in the morning things will have sorted themselves out, and there will be one Emily again.
I close my eyes, count to three, open them again. Still two daughters. Shit.
“Daddy?” says the Emily under the bed. Her other self above flinches at the sound, pulls the blanket tighter around her.
I stand up on shaking legs, turn on the lights in the room. I wish Sharon was here. Well, not really. I wish it wasn’t the weekend, and Emily was with Sharon instead of me. I bet Sharon would know what to do in a situation like this. Sharon has her shit together.
Standing up I can only see the child on top of the bed now, which helps. “Emily,” I say, softly, trying to sound calm, “Get away from the bed and come here.”
This was a bad decision. Both daughters obediently move towards me. As one Emily begins to gingerly step down from the bed the other emerges right below her feet, and they both see each other. The room is filled with two identical high pitched screams, loud enough to make my ears ring.
The girl from under the bed scrambles out and runs to me. She grabs my pant leg and clings for dear life. I tense and look down at her. There is a lego piece stuck in her unruly hair. She doesn’t sprout tentacles or fangs and start tearing into me, which would at least have uncomplicated things.
The other Emily has retreated to the farthest corner of the bed. She holds a pillow in front of her like a protective shield. “Dad, who is she?” she asks in a quavering voice.
I feel disoriented, light-headed. Fear and revulsion struggle with protective paternal instincts.
The girl clinging to me is Emily. I could feel it in my core, am more certain of it than I was aware a person could be. This was my daughter.
But so was the girl on the bed.
I was confused and scared, but so were they. And I didn’t go through half a year of joint custody negotiations to turn tail at a bit of Twilight Zone bullshit.
I take a deep breath. “It’s okay,” I say, to both Emily’s, to myself. I lift up the girl next to me in one of my arms, hold a hand to the one huddled on the bed. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I can make something for us to eat and we can figure this all out.”
The other Emily crawls across the bed and onto my other arm. She gives a suspicious glance at her doppelganger, but says nothing.
We can get through this. I can get through this.
As I carry both girls out of the bedroom, I hear a tapping sound from the closet door, followed by a small voice.
“It’s dark in here, daddy.”
...Fuck.
| It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
I had tried to keep my daughter away from the monsters who followed me. The spirits that came in the night. Those that were destined to haunt my kind for all eternity. Now that the worst had happened, it was clear that I should have surrendered to them long ago.
Perhaps then they would have left her alone. Perhaps they wouldn’t have discovered what she truly was.
The formless monsters lurked in the shadows and flew upon the winds. They fit through even the smallest gaps, their shapeless bodies sliding through like black slime. It didn’t matter where we ran; nowhere was ever safe. At least, not for long. I should have remembered that.
However, they had grown wise, staying away for months at a time before striking. I had always been ready. But it had been four years since their last attempt, and I had grown soft. I had forgotten what my father had taught me and what his father had taught him.
I reached for my daughter’s translucent hand and gripped it in my own. Her spirit was limited outside of her body, weak from the fight that had forced it out. It was only the touch of the Dark-Blood that kept her from spiraling upwards to the land beyond.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly.
A heartbeat later, I was thrown into the bedroom wall. The shadow who had taken my daughter’s body rose from the bed like a serpent as I staggered to my feet.
The monster's presence had turned my daughter’s blonde hair a frigid white and had filled her eyes with black ink. The shadow stumbled towards me with a disjointed smile on its adopted face, still adjusting to new legs.
“A half-breed,” the shadow hissed. “What have you done, Tal?”
I cringed as blood began to pour from the corners of the child’s eyes. I knew I couldn’t fight her, even though it was no longer my daughter. It didn’t matter. I deserved to die.
The shadow fell to its knees upon its next step. Wait. Something was wrong.
I watched in bewilderment as the shadow was pulled from its host and the small, empty body became washed in light. Only it was no longer empty.
My daughter observed me in shock. “Daddy … what just happened?”
____
[r/creatorcorvin] (https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/) for more stories.
| 2018-04-30T16:31:00 | 2018-04-30T14:00:25 | 84 | 13 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | The main problem with our situation was plane ticket prices.
See, like most wannabe indie girls, I had always wanted to travel after college. Live in summertime for a couple years, write a poem in every continent, cheesy stuff like that. I wanted to meet all kinds of different people. I wanted to visit cat cafes, which New York was severely lacking. I guess… I guess I also wanted to see just how far the strange godly bond between my ex-girlfriend and I could stretch. Maybe if I moved across the ocean, I told myself, then I wouldn’t have this problem anymore.
As it turned out, the godly bond stretched at least from New York to Spain. It also stretched from New York to Israel, and to Panama, and to Shanghai. No matter where I went, whenever my ex needed me (the definition of need was *definitely* subjective here), I would be godly transported right to her side. Aphrodite doesn’t play around, not even if you were only 15 and mostly joking when you told her you’d always be there when she was in trouble.
Anyways, I’m getting off track. The plane tickets. The plane tickets were what really made the whole thing hell, because although Aphrodite had the goodness in her heart to teleport me places, she never quite found the time to teleport me back. And although Addie always offered to split the ticket price, I never took her up on it. Would’ve felt like stealing. After all, it was my dumb ass who got us into this mess.
Italy was something new. After a couple weeks in Egypt I figured I’d turn back to Eastern Europe. I’d taken a red-eye, rented a car and driven to the motel I’d rented in Florence. Just as I finished unpacking my suitcase, I felt the first tugging sensations in my stomach. *God damn it.*
I scrambled to grab a hold of my Epi-Pen and my phone. Generally, everything that was touching my skin got transported along with me, wherever I was going. Back in college, we’d tried to use it to smuggle drugs but I guess Aphrodite didn’t approve of that sort of thing.
The room spun. I squeezed my eyes shut, crouching, bending my head down until my forehead pressed against my knees. Don’t throw up, I told myself. Don’t throw up.
If you’ve ever been teleported by a goddess, then you know how the middle part feels. If you haven’t, there isn’t much use trying to explain it to you.
When I opened my eyes, I was standing on the edge of a highway. Black asphalt bled into a stretch of grass dotted with wildflowers. Beyond that I could see a forest. It was spring, a 60 degree day, and my stomach was about ready to reject everything I’d eaten in the past 24 hours.
“I was just thinking about you,” a voice called.
I turned around.
Addie was sitting crisscrossed on the trunk of her silver Mini Cooper, cheerful as ever. She wore a pair of faded overalls and scuffed up sneakers. I hadn’t seen her in a couple weeks, but she looked healthy, brown skin almost glowing in the sunlight.
Of course we met like this. Her, looking like some kind of goddess, and me, fresh off a two hour car ride preceded by a three hour flight preceded by five hours of delays at the airport. “Hi,” I said, waving my hand with the Epi-Pen. “Car troubles?”
Addie nodded. “Did I wake you up?” Her eyebrows scrunched together in concern.
I shook my head, rubbing at my eyes a little. “Another ten minutes and you might have, though,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Zoey.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know, at least you didn’t catch me on the plane. Again.”
Addie laughed. Her laugh was best when you caught her off guard. “Yeah, yeah. Fix my car, Miss Mechanic.”
I had to pop the hood of the car, then, before I did something stupid.
I mean, it wasn’t like we were out of the question or anything. We’d dated for a couple weeks in tenth grade, unanimously decided that we weren’t quite ready to come out to any parents yet and put the whole thing on hold. Of course, then we’d gone off to different colleges and Addie had gotten a new girlfriend and that was the end of that. The only reason my weak romantic heart still held out hope was because after ten years and two other girlfriends, I’d been the only one to stay.
My *staying* might have been entirely the fault of some vicarious goddess, but the point still stood.
“You awake down there?” Addie called, from the driver’s seat.
I snapped to awareness. “I cleaned your spark plugs,” I told her. “Try starting it now.”
She pressed the key into the ignition, and the car hummed to life. “You are a *goddess*,” she cheered.
“You must be thinking of the crazy one up there,” I said, pointing up towards the sky.
Addie leaned out of the car window. She smiled at me, a slow, sweet thing. It made her look fifteen again. “If you have time, I’ve just downloaded all of Firefly onto my computer.”
I swallowed. “Thanks, but I should probably be heading back to Italy.” I couldn’t manage to meet her eyes.
“Zoey,” Addie said.
I looked at her, really looked at her. She was making her puppy dog face, the one she used to use in middle school to get me to bake cookies with her, or to let her braid my hair. I’d gotten much better at saying no to her these days, and considered refusing, but. She really did look like she wanted me to stay.
Well, maybe there was hope for my weak romantic heart yet.
“I have one condition,” I said. “No country music.”
Addie grinned. “Fine, you big buzzkill.”
So I got in the passenger seat of her silver Mini, car grease and fuzzy pajama pants and all. There was a moment of silence before Addie turned on the radio, and maybe I was imagining things but I’m pretty sure that somewhere very high up, a vicarious old lady was godly laughing. | It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler. | 2017-03-22T16:13:24 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 51 | 21 |
[WP] Both a Knight and a Dragon tell the same story to their children before they sleep. The moral is different. | Sir Hector pulled the blankets up to little Peter's chin. "Good night, son," the giant man boomed, before stepping across the room to tuck in sweet Eleanor. "Good night, El," he said in a much gentler voice. She giggled as his scraggily red beard tickled her forehead when he bent to give her a good night kiss.
"Tell us the story of the dragon, Papa," she pleaded in her angelic little voice, big blue eyes brightened by the expectation of her favorite story.
"Yeah, tell us," Peter chimed in, peering at his father over the blankets.
The Knight considered them a moment, before pulling a wooden chair from the corner between their beds. He sank his massive frame into it and exhaled. "Let's see here," he began. "Ah yes.....
There once was a brave and mighty warrior, renowned for his skill in dragon slaying. The people of the town honored the great hero and praised him for keeping their kingdom safe. One day the noble king enlisted the Knight to dispatch the most feared beast in all the land. The Dragon of the Cold Mountains.
And so the loyal Knight traveled over miles of land. Across green and gold meadows. Through treacherous, icy rivers. Over rocky mountains, where furious snow storms raged. Until he reached the lair. It smelled of brimstone and seared flesh. Without the slightest bit of fear, the handsome Knight unsheathed his glimmering great sword. 'Dragon,' he called, 'Prepare to meet your doom!'
From the depths of the cave, a great red monster stirred. Its brilliant scales burned like fire, shimmering up and down the cave walls as it neared the entrance. It turned a gleaming gold eye on the slayer, smoke issuing from its nostrils as it rumbled deep in its throat.
'Who dares to enter my home?' it demanded.
'It is I, Sir Humbert the Great! I come to vanquish you, fel beast!' he declared, his voice ringing off the walls. And with that, the Knight lifted his blade, the red armor of his foe sparking off its polished steel. He charged, bellowing his battle cry as he dodged blistering orange flames. With one mighty swing, he severed dragon head from body.
He returned to the kingdom a legend. Depositing the scaly head of the serpent before the king, he swore his blade would forever belong to his Majesty, until every last dragon was killed. And so it came to be, no creature was too big or too fearsome for the Great Sir Humbert. His brawn reigned supreme, and no thing could best him in any physical competition."
Hector stood as he concluded his bedtime story. "And that, children, is why strength is mightier than wit," he said, before blowing out the candle on the nightstand.
--------------------------------------------
"It was a frosty winter night in the Cold Mountains as the Dragon prepared for sleep. Outside the cave, the wind beat against impregnable stone, begging entrance from an unwelcoming host. But the storm did not bother her. For she was Dragon, and no man or element could ever hope to be her equal. She was thunder incarnate. Her fire hotter than any hell man could conceive of. But because of this, man feared her. The people of the village could not see the beauty in her scintillating crimson scales that danced like fire or in her molten eyes that shone like stars. They saw only their fear of what they could not understand. Chose not to understand. So the cowardly king hired an assassin.
They sent the hunter in a clinking suit of armor to kill her. Even though she had done them no harm. He intruded on her home, announcing his intent to kill her in cold blood. The beast raised his sword, a snarl curling his wormlike lips. 'Wait,' said the Dragon, her voice like a tumbling waterfall. The hulking man hesitated.
Seizing her opportunity, she addressed him once more. 'Let me ask a riddle of you. If you answer correctly, I will forfeit my life to you. If you are wrong, however, I get to roast you to ash,' she crooned. The boorish man snorted through his nose, but nodded his head in assent.
'Listen close, then, Knight: I have no legs to dance, I have no lungs to breathe, I have no life to live or die, and yet I do all three. What am I?'
The man scratched his head and lowered his sword as he pondered. Finally, after minutes of thought, he answered. 'A fish?'
The dragon opened her maw to reveal bone white teeth, razor sharp and lethal. 'Wrong.' And with that, she set the trespasser ablaze. Flesh melted away and the sweet aroma of cooked meat pervaded the air."
The Dragon concluded her nighttime tale and stood, stretching her immense size across the cave. "And that, children," she said, speaking to her three sleepy whelps. "Is why wit is always wiser than brute strength." | "Come children, gather to me, I shall tell you the story of Embertooth and the selfless knight of Sladoshire." The mummer called standing ontop of his willow stage, decorated in bright red cloth and a rather passable attempt at a coat of arms. All the less, children gathered from all over, some in fine silk, others in course cloth but yet they still came, eager to hear the story all over again, while their parents continued in the market square. With a strum from his lute, and the beating of a drum, the stage came to life showing a rather stout man riding a wooden horse, his steps clopping on the decaying wood as the mummer shouted in a grand voice that trailed into a light harmony. "It all began in his lands when he heard horrible shriek." The music was cut out by a girl screaming from behind the stage and the children recoil back at the sudden sound. Soon enough the light picking of the strings continue. "Dashing his way through the woods, determined to find who whoever he could." The clops seems to speed up as the man ran in place quicker and quicker shaking his noble wood mount. "He came across a maid most fair, her face worried, sticks in her hair." As she says this a rather skinny girl ran across the stage, her clothes patched in a dress with every color put in strange order, the noble children laughed as the less fortunate children looked in awe. A lone stick was place in her hair, however hers seemed much more complete for a birds nest was carefully balanced on top of it. "The maiden fair, seemed so frail but not for our knight so just. He raced for her but never before, the winged beast come to." A loud roar escaped from a horn placed behind the motley curtain scaring a few of the children. "A beast so big, you could swear it near blocked out the sun. The maid tried to run, but she failed as the claws hailed down on her. It picked her up, and turn his muck to the Selfless knight of Sladoshire." As he said this a large splintered claw, came down the fires aside the stage erupted and the claw swatted the girl away. "Came here beast, and face my sword, for I shall be her ward, and oh it laughed it so hastily laughed, and turn his wings up towards the sky. With a gust of air, and the maiden fair the dragon ran to his lair. But this was not over for our great night as he ran after them." The children cheered as the stout man ran chasing a small shadow of the dragon placed on the background of the stage. Soon the curtain dropped, and after a few minutes of scrapping sounds and clunks the stage raised again with a new scene in play. The simple woods were placed with a soot stained small castle, a simple little bridge, and the bellows of fire and smoke. "He arrived at last and was ready to slash the beast who took her. He called forth and said with force, Come dragon and face me now. The beast laughed the earth cracked and the dragon came to fight. But the knight so cunning and quick lead the girl astray, and now they fight forever locked, in a crucible of fire and smoke." The tune faded as the cast mimicked the last actions, and the curtain fell on a crowd cheering...
"And in the fire and the smoke we found what we needed most." A ravaged voice echoed as the fire and shadows danced along the sky. "A warrior with a cunning wit who will tell us all he knows." breathed the red dragon to the whelps flying around a blacken suit of armor leaning against the giant dragon. "And he will protect and make sure that you all are left alone." Finished the man as he raised his body from the pose, and raised his sword high up. The dragons roared as he walked away to the edge of the woods as a warning to all who come. | 2017-05-13T22:34:34 | 2017-05-13T17:31:46 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] Time flows faster in places that have more people watching. Celebrities grow old in weeks and social recluses live for centuries. | I figured out that the best way to kill was to observe them in person. The closer you are, the more time will shift and bend. Although watching from a screen is the safe and easy way, it can take up to years for old age to come into effect if they haven't been watched before. However, watching in person can take just months before they're rendered senile and helpless. Sometimes, I've been able to do it in weeks by taking refuge in a nearby tree while observing through their bedroom window pretending to be a raccoon.
I'll watch from my computer screen. I'll watch from afar. I'll watch in the dead of winter even if the snow has piled up to my torso. I'll watch until I get dry eye and my vision gets blurry. I'll watch up close if I'm desperate--but not too close where they'll sense my presence. Invisibility is key. If you make eye-contact you're as good as dead.
In a way, you can call me an eye-fucking assassin.
I get hired to watch people. I’ve watched them for so long that I've memorized their daily routines by heart. I've watched them to the point where I know what foods they despise and the ones that make them sink in pure bliss. I've watched until I have their laughter ingrained in my memory and hear their sobs in my sleep. I’ve watched for so long that each time it amazes me how they do not change one bit despite their physical appearance stating otherwise.
But eventually, they all die.
I watch until their soft supple skin begins to sag and stretch like silly putty, until their hair turns wispy silver and their bodies shrink and shrivel into potato bugs. I watch so up close that I can see how pronounced their smile lines have become and how their veins protrude from their skin like tree roots as the days go on.
I stay until I’ve watched their lives unfold before my very eyes. I watch as they struggle to get from one room to the next, their joints aching and creaking with each step. I watch as they slowly become immobile. I linger around until I’ve seen them draw their last breath before sinking into eternal sleep.
Then I leave as if I was never there.
| I’ve aged more in the past week than the past seven centuries.
Ever since that interview with the oldest man alive. I never should’ve answered the door. I thought it would be nice to talk to someone other than the delivery guy that drops off my dog food and groceries. Don’t get me wrong, my dog has good listening skills, but it’s pretty one sided.
The reporter was amazed I chose social isolation at 25 but to be honest it was an easy choice once I made it. It was almost as I was destined for it. She was awestruck by the life I had lived, the things I had lived through. What I never expected was for to give out where I lived.
Ever since it aired two weeks ago, more and more people have showed up to see my way of life. And finally the years are catching up to me. I fear I don’t have much time left.
So if you’re reading, know I don’t blame you. I should’ve never opened the door.
| 2018-06-12T10:38:21 | 2018-06-12T05:15:12 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] You're almost completely immortal- only one thing can kill you. You don't know what that one thing is, though, and you're getting increasingly paranoid as the years go on. | At first, it's the food that's concerning. As a child you're picky, you know, but as you develop a certain fear for new things, you kinda stick to what you know. It's for the best, I learned.
I'll let you in on some background before I tell you my story. Full on cliché; mother was a junkie, father unknown, me in an orphanage. I could basically have been Batman. After my mothers overdose, the only thing she left me was a tiny gold locket - you know the ones with pictures inside 'em. The locket contained a tiny pic of baby me, and junkie mother. I don't even know her name. Anyhow, life went on, as it does. I grew up to be kinda reckless. Couldn't understand the stuff they taught in school, and got in countless fights - which is one of the reasons my life turned out the way it did.
Max was huge. Angrier than me, more brutal than me. I always hid the locket under my sweater (yes, I wore it), but Max somehow got hold of my secret. Called me a fag and beat me senseless. When I regained consciousness, I could see through my swollen eyes that the locket broke in the fight. Picture upside down on the ground. I put both in my pocket, couldn't see shit anyway. Forgot about the locket and all and went on with life for about a year, until I remembered. There was something written on the back of the picture. How had I never thought about that?
I picked the locket up from my desk drawer in the orphanage, I think around this time I was about 14. Looked at the picture for a while, and holding it carefully in my hands, I turned it, only to reveal tiny handwriting on the back:
"Jamie. You're immortal. There is only one thing that will take your life" and the rest was smudged of course. Thus began the fear.
At first it was the food. I was terrified to try new things, so for years I stuck to what I had been eating, since it hadn't killed me yet. Miss Hughes at the orphanage bugged me for not getting enough nutrition for the last years I stayed there, as I was getting skinnier, and started to lock myself in my room. I started developing some sort of OCD. The thought of moving out on my own terrified me. Since reading those words on the back of the picture, I'd stuck to my routines just to avoid getting killed or poisoned or stabbed or whatever horrible thing that eventually would take my life.
So I started seeing a shrink. Of course he put me on meds for my OCD, and it helped a bit. I got my own apartment, and some new routines to adapt to. I eased into it with the biggest awareness, the thought of something bad happening. Imagine thinking how opening a new door might eventually kill you. How crossing a new street might kill you. How trying a new soap might end your life. I'm sure, from the outside, it looks fucking hilarious. I mean, a grown man flinching away as he's opening the door to his own apartment. It's like I was afraid of my own shadow.
When I was sure nothing in my apartment would kill me, that my bed was safe, that the ceiling wouldn't cave in, that I wouldn't die in a freak accident involving my dishwasher, I felt ready to try something new. I went to a support group. I met a girl. Which, needless to say, I was terrified of speaking to. Who knew if she would stab me with her keys or not. Eventually I learned she was harmless. She kinda understood me, but she wrote it of as fear of dying. I wouldn't say it was exactly that, but in a way she was right.
And of course, a relationship brings new things into your life. Like sushi. Who the hell would eat that stuff voluntarily?! It's raw. Anyone could die from that shit. But I tried it, for her. And I didn't die. Even though I flinched when she broke the chopsticks in two. Our life together brought me many firsts. First kiss. My heart was pounding, and not only because I liked her, no, I was afraid I'd suffocate or have an allergic reaction to her lipstick. First time we.. Well, no need to say it out loud, you know what I mean. Which I am sure she still giggles about to this day because no one in the history of ever has had a more awkward first time than that, I'm sure you can imagine. First car - which sent me into a month of depression because I couldn't take a seat in it in fear of dying. After a while I managed to actually drive it. First house. That would fill a book on it's own. Kids. Yeah, we had those, but I almost went in lockdown in the basement for the first few weeks until I realised that you can't have an allergic reaction to babies, and babies aren't born with a wild, untamed desire to suffocate you while you're sleeping.
It's been a long life. Long and hard, I'd say. I finally managed to put my thoughts on paper, after my wife urged me on for the past ten years. I was a little scared to pick up a pen. Some times I wish I hadn't turned that picture. That I hadn't worn that locket. It staked out my while life for me. A life of fear and terror for everything new, every unforeseen thing that might take my life. After 70 years I've learned that there's only one thing that can kill all people. But not everyone develops a fear to live, like I did. I wish I hadn't. I wish I would have done more, and I wish I weren't afraid of everything. But most of all, I wish I realised sooner, that the only thing that will kill me in the end; is death itself. | I have seen the rise and fall of empires. Witnessed the lives and the deaths of the greatest human beings in history. I was present at the birth of the universe, and I shall survive its cataclysmic end.
For I, Jerrothian III, am an immortal God-King, ruling over my people as any mortal sovereign, while simultaneously lording over the world as a deity. My destiny is to eclipse all, nothing can stand in my-
The sight of an unknown creature entering my field of vision interrupted my train of thought. "Oh no! WHAT IS THAT FEARSOME FURRY BEAST? HAS IT COME TO DESTROY ME?!" I exclaim in a panic.
"That... is a silly little 'stuffed animal', sire. No more than a child's toy," my beleaguered assistant Jemma replied. "To be *very* clear, it will *not* be the end of you. Your twelve year old great granddaughter Kathene is holding the toy in her arms and making it appear to 'fly'."
"Erhm- of course! I was only jesting!" I said, trying and failing to cover for my terrified outburst. "*Everyone* finds my comments humorous!" The members of the royal court burst into stilted, fake laughter upon my command, but it is of little comfort. For I, Jerrothian III, am in actuality only a *nearly* immortal God-King.
Every immortal in history has had one and only one weakness which is capable of utterly destroying them. Through all the records I've poured over, this rule is without exception. The grand cosmic joke however, is that none of them, myself included, have ever discovered the object, spell, or being that will come to end them... before it is too late.
In my younger years I-
"AHHHHHHHHHHH! A TINY DEVIL HAS INVADED OUR WORLD! SHALL YOU BE THE END OF MY DAYS, YOU MINIATURE BRINGER OF DOOM?!"
"Squirrel, sire. It is merely yet another goddamn harmless little squirrel," Jemma said, utterly exasperated.
"Mhrmmmm, right! Just, umm... testing my body guards reaction times," I lied badly.
What was I saying? Ah yes, in my younger years I did not fear my demise, but as the centuries stretched on, I admit I became increasingly paranoid. Perhaps even to the point of fearing squirrels and stuffed animals... but we have no proof of that, do we? Aughh- My fear has become truly exhausting!
"I shall retire to my chambers for the evening, Jemma," I told my assistant, weary from the days frights and very real and dangerous brushes with death.
Entering my chambers I sigh with relief. This room is the last one on the planet in which I feel safe. There is but one entrance and two of my best guards stand watch there at all hours of the day and night. No one is allowed to enter my sacred-
A noise rustling in the closet startled me immensely. "WHO GOES THERE?!" I shriek.
"Just me, Pop-Pop!" my great granddaughter Kathene replied with a giggle.
Ah, right... *almost* no one is allowed in here, aside from a few family members. She skips over to me happily and embraces me.
"I'm going to miss you so much, Poppy," she said, her words muffled as her face is buried in my chest.
I chuckle. "I'm not leaving for Excedor for two days yet, and I shall only be gone for a week," I say just before an odd burning feeling grips my body. "Wait- why are you in here, child?"
"The end has come for you," she replied in her usual, cheery and carefree tone, betraying her horrifying words escaping her mouth.
"What?! Why-" My words are cut short as I lose my power of speech. Glancing down, I note with shock that her 'stuffed animal' has become sentient and has sunk its fangs into me. I feel the poison trickling through me.
"I would succeed you some day anyways, silly! When the God-King fades a God-Queen will naturally rise. Mr. Fluffers and I are only... accelerating the line of succession."
Her once lovely, now sinister smile is the last thing I see as I close my eyes.
*Well... at least I was right,* I think to myself with my last, drowsy thoughts. *I was right to fear the 'silly little stuffed animal'.*
___
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to explore more of my stories and ongoing series. | 2019-12-30T09:29:53 | 2019-12-30T07:31:15 | 114 | 55 |
[WP] When you were young, you encountered a witch who promised you immortality in exchange for your firstborn child. You accepted, and used all of your time trying to think of a way to bypass her deal, when finally you came up with an easy loophole that has enraged the witch. You adopted a child. | Dennis woke choking. He struggled to breathe in the dark, but something stringy was pushing its way down his throat. He reached for it, but it pulled away. He watched as the tendril crept down the bed, toward the far corner of the room. Dennis retched at the taste left in his mouth, fecal and rotten, like forest floor, and his hand shot to relic around his neck. Still there. He was safe for the moment.
A hiss came from the corner where a vaguely human form was sitting in his reading chair. Two large yellow cats eyes reflected the light of the full moon that had doubtless brought her here. He looked over at the curtain and, oh yes, a small gap. He had been careless.
"Where is my payment? I smell child blood, older than I wished but, still, young enough. You're holding out on me? The mother of your eternal life?"
Dennis sat up in bed, choking down his fear. Time for formality. "Dearest Strega, mother of my eternal life, the child is mine but not of my blood."
A deep, low growl shook corner of the room and the eyes filled with a tawny yellow glow. The form in the corner burst over the ceiling and the floor. Stinking, matted hair snaked up the bed and over his body, looping around his limbs and his neck, pulling him against the bed.
"FOOL. You deny your mother?"
Dennis had practiced this speech over and over until it was a loaded gun on his lips. He fired. "Dearest Strega, mother of my eternal life, I listened to the call of night. I followed you down the shrouded path. I love you and I promised my child to you, but I have searched my soul and found the love I would have for a child of my own. To spare myself from an eternity of regret, to save that soul from destruction, I have denied myself the joy of my own offspring and will do so forever. Forgive me, Mother."
There was a long moment of silence in the room. She sighed and the air filled with an ozone flavor, an electric sadness. She stood up from the chair and shuffled over to the window, pulling back the curtain. There she stood revealed, at once an ancient skyclad crone, a voracious wide-jawed predator, a tearful mother with her hand on her belly.
"Foolish child."
Her voice was small and far away, sad and musical. The hair slipped from around Dennis and pulled back toward her.
"I too tried this, many many years ago. I made the same mistake. Your immortality is not sure. You need to fuel it with the death of possibility. Surely you've felt yourself slowing down, getting cloudy. You've felt the hunger. We do not go unfed.
"I was not here to take from you. I came to show you how to eat. Eating your progeny is, well, a kindness to the rest of the world. But you're too late now. You'll have to do better next time."
She opened the window and all at once was gone.
Dennis looked out after her, listening to the crying child in the other room. Now that he thought about it, he was hungry. | The witch did not show up immediately upon me adopting the child. It showed up at about 9 that night.
"Jeff, you bastard. Did you think this would fool me?"
I looked at Mildred with a smirk. "Kenneth is not my firstborn.. because he is adopted."
Mildred began laughing. "Hahaha, you think I didn't think of it? Look at paragraph 9.2.5."
Just then, one of her magical helpers appeared out of air with a large and lengthy scroll.
"Ginny, go ahead and read him what it says in section 9.2.5."
As this was happening, the 8 year old Kenneth was staring at me in disbelief, but I reassured him everything would be okay.
"Uh, yes, uh Mildred. It, uh says that, like.. If the recipient of this deal is to adopt a child before a child is born from their blood, then the sales-witch has the rights to take that child instead."
Mildred looked at me, then I looked at Kenneth. He was looking at me, a single tear falling from his right eye.
"Mildred, you can't do this. What can I do to circumvent this fate?"
"Jeff, Jeff, Jeff.. To be honest the contract gives me the ability to choose whether I want the adopted child or not. I can wait until your actual firstborn, however.. Since you obviously love this child... I'm taking him. Ha ha ha!"
With one snap of her finger, Mildred, Kenneth, and Ginny disappeared.
I began chuckling loudly, as if I had been holding in this chuckle for an eternity. I was laughing so hard my abdomen hurt, then I fell to the ground. I began getting into the fetal position, and started rolling around laughing.
After about 40 minutes of this, I got up, got back into my car, and drove to Dairy Queen for some ice cream.
My firstborn will be safe. | 2020-03-10T08:48:08 | 2020-03-10T08:32:14 | 61 | 36 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The world ended five days ago, or at least I think it did.
I'd been on a 3-night binge playing World of Warcraft and masturbating furiously to Rule 34 Tracer stuff when the internet suddenly went down. I checked my phone to see if the wifi was still available, and then my heart sank when I realized the internet was really down.
"I know!" I screamed at the time, running through my tiny apartment and likely driving my downstairs neighbors crazy. They call me "Hefty Jeffty," I think it has something to do with my weight. Anyways, I returned to my desk with the necessary Mountain Dew and Baked Lays only to realize my internet was down. I checked my phone's wifi again, only to realize I had repeated this process before. Sluggishly pulling myself back up after taking a handful of chips Chris Farley would find offensive, I bumbled my way behind my computer over to the router. Resetting it did nothing, and an initial scan through my computer's folders filled of porn found nothing interesting to watch.
"Fuck it," I thought to myself. "Maybe it's time you get some sleep Jeff," I said out loud, mostly to force myself to do it, and lumbered off to bed. Then I did something I almost never do, at least not without the aid of a gagglefuck of Vallium, I slept for two days.
I awoke groggy, but the first thought that came to mind was, "Why is it so damn quiet?" It was apparent by the sun's rays on my Cheeto-stained sheets that it was roughly three in the afternoon and yet I didn't hear any of those obnoxious kids making a sound. Weirder still, my computer didn't sound on, and it tended to make this wheezing fan sound even when it was hibernating.
It took another 15 minutes of cursing Rah, but I finally managed to pull myself out of bed and make my way to the window. When I opened it, something became immediately apparent, I don't like the sun. So I shut the window and went back to sleep for another two hours.
As evening rolled in, and my stomach roared on, I became incredibly aware how hungry I was and how empty my kitchen was. Pulling myself back up, I quickly applied a healthy layer of fresh deodorant and a fresh t-shirt, only to cover it with a hoodie I hadn't washed in months and marched over to the door. Fetching $9.78 in change, I made my out and headed to the nearby Wendy's for a delicious Spicy Chicken Sandwich.
I'd made that walk hundreds of times, mostly stoned, but today was different. Cars were strewn all over the place, but as if people gradually slowed down and just exited their vehicles. Homes were bundled up tight and the windows were drawn, but not a light was on anywhere. Everything was quiet, and nothing seemed right.
That was five days ago, and I still haven't gotten my Spicy Chicken Sandwich. | Norman was asleep and purring loudly on Norman's lap. Norman himself was a bit drowsy as he watched the labor day weekend NCIS marathon. His eyes were drooping and his thoughts were wavering uncertainly between giving in and drifting off or staying awake for just one more episode.
Suddenly, Gibs was interrupted mid-sentence by some odd security alert. This brought Norman fully awake and he sat up straight in his chair. Norman lazily uncurled in his lap and trotted off into the kitchen.
"Goodness, what's this?" Norman mumbled to no one in particular.
The screen shown blue with large white letters: STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE.
"Oh my," thought Norman aloud. "That is very troubling." He proceeded to pull down the shades in all of his house, constantly mindful not to look out the windows.
When he got to his son's childhood room he noticed the radio was on. Norman liked to leave the radio on low in there. It reminded him of when Norman jr. was a boy. There were always sounds coming from that room back then.
Now, however, the radio wasn't playing music. Instead a message was playing on repeat every so often interspersed with a loud emergency brodcast tone. The message was this: EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY GET TO HIGH GROUND.
A moment passed. Then Norman sat down heavily on the bed. It had finally happened. He had known this day would come. He had tried to live a quiet simple life. A nondescript life that would be of no interest to anyone. But they had found him anyway.
"Best fetch Norman and be on with it." Norman grumbled in an uncharacteristically grumpy tone. He plodded off towards the kitchen to find the cat.
| 2017-01-27T02:06:53 | 2017-01-27T01:07:58 | 116 | 47 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | The doctor told mother it would develop into something as I aged. It was a rare trait but I wouldn’t have this strange amorphous black smudge on my thigh forever. My mother took peace from the doctor’s words, she was a dove and so she was able to find the peace in all things.
My father roared at the neighbourhood children who mocked me. He told me that I needed to learn to stand up for myself. Mother told me not to play show and tell with my tattoo. I was seven.
When I was 13 I noticed it had changed. Not much, but it seemed longer and thinner, a head and legs seemed to develop. I found my teeth had sharpened and grown strong as well. When I showed father he smiled - he believed it was becoming a bear like his. He took me out for ice cream that day, we put honey and blueberries on it - his long tongue and sharp teeth made quick work of the dessert. I wondered if my tongue would grow long like his.
I stopped showing my dad, I let him think it was a bear. By 17 my friends were all having sex and I was afraid to take off my pants in gym class. Four legs sprouted from the tattoo, a toothy grin on a demonic monster showed on my thigh. It was huge, bigger than anyone else’s I’d ever seen. But I hadn’t seen everyone’s, so maybe like the doctor said it was rare.
At 24 I’d graduated college, I worked as a marine welder, my hands rough, my neck had gills and I needn’t worry about the protective gear most people wore. I was the best in my field but I was nowhere closer to peace. My father saw the gills and tattoo as a curse, he cut me off and refused to speak with me. Convinced my mother had cheated on him and he wasn’t my father he left her. She called me once a week, only talking briefly on the phone.
At 32 I finished the job I was working on, broke the surface of the water and couldn’t breathe. Only in the murky depths of the ocean could I live. I was single and my mother had passed, my father forgotten. I swam for some time, ate fish and my body took the water it needed from the ocean. Boredom was the real danger. My clothes over time rotted away and I could no longer track my age. I had simply become a monster of the deep.
It was some time later when I heard the singing. Different from whalesong I followed it to the Mariana Trench and swam into the depths. The closer I got the clearer it became and in the darkest depths of the ocean I felt something touch me. Sharks daren’t go bear me, octopi scuttled away when I approached, even dolphins, the murderously playful creatures, left me alone.
But it was rough hands like mine, when they touched me I felt singing in my bones. I didn’t bother with sight or trying to pull this creature into the light, instead we stayed below in the depths of the ocean. Held in each other’s arms I knew what I’d see if I ever saw my love in the light. I simply see a tattoo like mine of a monster shaping us into necessary beings.
Edit: I post stories from here on my subreddit /r/ollieliotd. If you like this feel free to check it out.
Edit Part 2: With the requests for different creatures I've created [this thread](https://www.reddit.com/r/OlliEliotD/comments/7braya/necessary_creatures/) to contain the ones I've already written and the new ones. If you want me to write a specific one, put the request in there and I will get to it. Already completed is Leviathan, Chupacabra, Black Widow, Griffin, Phoenix and Wendigo. | On the eve of his fifteenth, just like the boys in the neighborhood before him, Sam awaited patiently in his bed as the moon rolled across the sky. It wouldn't be long until midnight came, and then his mark would be revealed, manifested upon his back – the mark of the beast, a spirit animal.
His father waited patiently beside him, his lumbering bear arms, grizzled and furry, clumsily checked his pocket watch every five minutes. His mark was impractical for every day use, but he was still very blessed that his given traits manifested in his arms – and not in more unpleasant regions. Laying against this half-man, half-bear fiend was Sam's mother, small wings of heavenly white folded across her face, and beneath them, she was in a deep slumber.
And as the minutes rolled closer to the deciding hour, Sam became more and more frenzied, excited for the prospects of what was to come. His friends at school received all manner of spirit marks, and they manifested in many different ways. Some had to be sent off to special schools to accommodate for their needs, and others rose to the top of the pecking order - in some ways, literally.
An alarm sounded to signal the coming of midnight, and at that moment, a black ooze stretched across Sam's back, spiraling out into all manner of shapes, before resembling a beast unimaginable.
A leviathan.
His father recoiled in horror upon seeing the mark, dragging his mother in short tow. He knew that in that moment he lost his son, and knew he could not save him from his oncoming fate.
With a nightmarish scream, Sam clutched at his head as tendrils burst forth from his being. A cacophony of squelches and squeals filled the air as he flailed about. His arms flattened and morphed, turning into the wingspan of a monstrous beast, and his legs morphed and became as one; a giant tail covered by scales. But as soon as it had all begun, it stopped. And Sam stood alone in the ruins of his house, now far taller than he was before, a half-monster, half-human abomination – which one would argue was more of the former than the latter.
It only took minutes for the police to arrive upon the wretched scene, and it only took seconds for Sam to eviscerate each and every one of them, all torn apart by his gaping maw – rife with a thousand teeth.
He lost his humanity and his home, and so lumbered off into the distance, in search of an ocean, in search of the place he could call his own.
For he was welcome no more.
* * *
^^/r/khaarus | 2017-11-08T05:09:42 | 2017-11-08T05:08:45 | 1,673 | 97 |
[WP] In sci-fi, planets are commonly made of one biome-- 'desert planets', 'jungle planets', 'ice planets' etc. So, the aliens are pretty shocked to see the range of biomes when they arrive on Earth. | They were amazingly primitive. That much was clear. They'd somehow sent a few messages out, which, to our embarrassment, we had, the first few times, decided were natural anomalies rather than admit we couldn't explain.
However, they, though relatively below average in terms of almost all physical attributes, survived a chimera world of a thousand natures. Whereas we and all the other races we discovered required intensive technological planning to ever interact face to face, these "Hu-mans" had evidentally already adapted to need only a supply of the gasses they were accustomed to and to maintain a temperature that fit into a reasonably large range. But it was more than that.
They were polycultural to a degree we had never before witnessed, and within a single, for example, language culture, they maintained many ethnic cultures, and religious cultures, all existing in multiple related and unrelated layers, overlapping with their many biomes in odd ways.
We had, in essence, found what one of their cultures would call a "holy grail" of interstellar diplomacy.
And yet we, the hive of Zarcos, make them work in our slave mines? Surely, looking at them, none of us thought to ourselves "Standing before me is a creature of great physical strength"? Are our mines not overflowing with the Elrood?
Therefore, great council, it is my position that we shall make reparations, and allow the humans to "overthrow" this council, as their history books show they are wont to do, installing for the hive of Zarcos' next iteration an ally with what can surely be the cornerstone of intergalactic diplomacy.
Of course, if this is deemed too ambitious, a slave trade with near universal applicability is also profitable. | "How can such an abomination exist?"
"I am speechless also we must immediately contact the general and inform him of this."
"Look it also has deserts this is troubling, oh... my.... gnosh..... it also has ice this is bad what if they are able to live in both. no.no.no. That is crazy talk I'll leave the bridge and contact the general now." | 2018-06-26T09:16:28 | 2018-06-26T08:05:33 | 229 | 16 |
[WP] You are dating an immortal, one day, you find a photo album of their EXs who all looks like you dating back a century.
[deleted] | "Kyra, I can explain this..."
"Really, Jacob, can you? Because I honestly don't understand how you have pages and pages and pages of pictures of girls who look EXACTLY like me. Are you only with me because I look like your exes? Because that's sure as hell what this looks like, and I don't know how you're going to just explain your way out of this one. I know you're immortal, okay, you told me a long time ago and I've dealt with that up until now, but I really thought I was more to you than my appearance."
"Okay, okay, I know this looks bad..."
"Yes, yes it does."
"You might want to sit down for this..."
"Fine, fine," she replied angrily, sitting down on their shared bed and crossing her arms.
"I know, I'm immortal, and that's been hard to deal with. But I'm not the only one with a condition that's...unusual."
"What do you mean?" she asked nervously.
"You're immortal too, just...in a different way."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"In this lifetime, when you eventually die, you won't just die. You'll be born again, the same person, with the same personality, nearly identical life experiences, but altered based on the time period. You always come back again. Identically."
Kyra was speechless as Jacob continued to speak.
"I first fell in love with you back in 1915. I was an American soldier in World War 1, and you were a nurse for the army. You saved my life, and I fell in love with you. But you were killed by a Germab soldier and I didn't see you again until 1932. I was a teacher at your highschool, and you were in my senior math class. I couldn't pursue the relationship because you were 17, but it was you, I knew it was. I still thought I was crazy, like maybe it was some ridiculous coincidence. But still, you were just...you were still you. You graduated and moved on with your life and I didn't meet you again until 1955-"
"Jacob, stop, please, I get it, I get it, I get it," Kyra interrupted, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.
"Kyra? Are you okay?"
"Fuck no, Jacob, I just found out I've been reincarnated multiple times and that I've known you literally forever, and that what's why I always felt so connected to you, and I just...I don't know how to feel."
Jacob closed the photo album and slid it back under the bed, standing up and sitting down beside her.
"I know that it's a lot to take in. I was terrified too, when I realized. I always loved you, from the first time we met so many lifetimes ago. And I had to find you in every lifetime after, so we could be in love again. We're meant to be, even if I have to work my ass off to find you every few years."
"Why didn't you just tell me when you told me you were immortal?"
"Because you always find out. And every time I explain everything, you end up dead within the year."
| 'What are you doing?'
I looked up with a guilty start, in my hands the box from under her bed. There were two ways to go from here, stout denial or retaliative attack. Mentally I flipped a coin. The coin flipped me off right back.
'Well, were you ever going to tell me about this?'
'What's there to tell? I have exes. Everybody does. Especially when you've lived to my age.'
'What is that, though? You've never told me.'
'Because its none of your bloody business.'
'All right', I said, straightening up, and fanning out six photographs in my hand. 'let's play a game. Find the odd one out.'
'What d'you mean?'
'Like I said, pick out the one that doesn't look like the other.'
'...wait!'
'You never noticed?'
'..crapbaskets. When you've lived as long as me, I guess faces sort of blend into each other?'
'Nope, not falling for that. You have a type, don't you?'
'No I do NOT.'
She was pouting now. Which is usually a good thing. It means I'm out of trouble. But should I tell her?
'Yes you do.'
'Nope.'
'So they all just happen to look like me.'
'Coincidences happen. I don't have a type. They were all people who understood me really well. Like, really, really, well. Sometimes I wonder if you do at all.'
I was still shuffling though the pictures, a grin slowly spreading across my face. 'And in this one...apparently have the same birthmark as well?'
'Wait..what?'
The doorbell rang.
'Could you hold these for a second?', I thrust the box into her puzzled hands and went to answer the door. I think the time machine I ordered had just arrived.
| 2015-11-14T12:18:20 | 2015-11-14T12:12:15 | 156 | 41 |
[WP] You cannot tell a lie. Not because you're unable to, but because every time you do, a narrator's voice explains the lie in great detail! | "I appreciate it," I said to the middle-aged lady as she held open the door to the Starbucks. I had to do that awkward little half-jog to get the door since she started holding it when I was too far away.
**No, he doesn't**, the voice boomed and I averted my eyes and quietly got in line. **He thinks you're a bitch for making him jog to the door.** Fine. I did. But she didn't need to do that. I hated my narrator. It had been an on-going issues for years now. At first it was subtle, and my parents really said it was for the best. I would try lying to a teacher and my narrator would boom out the truth in agonizing detail. **He did pull Suzie's hair and kick dirt in her face and spit on her while calling her a pig,** it would boom while I sat in the principal's office and my fragile web of lies would fall like a house of cards. You'll be a better man, my dad said, always one to advocate honesty above all else.
"I hate you," I would yell, as if this was somehow their fault and not just some bizarre curse. **He doesn't,** the voice reassured simply. Sometimes it was for the best.
The line at Starbucks was long. I checked my watch impatiently. "Early meeting?" the suit next to me asked. Here we go again.
"No," is what I should have said and appeared rude and kept it at that. "Yeah, you know how it is," is what came out instead. **He actually really needs to poop,** the narrator announced and I felt my face turn bright red, like those Christmas cups that Starbucks released one year. **Those are his farts you're smelling between the whiffs of coffee.** Nice. Classy. Suit-guy inched away awkwardly and I heard giggles from further back in the line.
"How are you today?" the cashier asked cheerfully. I should have said bad. I should have said I was in a shit mood and just kept it at that.
"I'm fine," I answered and then I flinched. Why did I say that? **He's not fine,** my narrator shared. **He thinks your cheeriness paired with your incompetence is annoying and that you should do something about that faceful of zits.** Ouch. I had barely thought that. Barely. Come on, dude. Her cheeriness disappeared so at least I had accomplished that much. I felt like an asshole. I blame my narrator.
"I'll have... I'll just have a fresh brewed coffee, black." She nodded wordlessly and a moment later I had my drink in my hand. She could do that right, at least.
"Good morning, Ted," Janice the secretary said as I walked in.
"Morning," I responded. My curt response was rewarded by silence. If I said it was a good morning, my narrator was sure to comment on her hideous hairdo or the obnoxiousness of her shrill voice.
"How are you today?" She just had to ask. I hesitated.
"Been better," I said finally and I shuffled off to my desk. Neutral enough. My narrator remained silent and I wondered what barrage of truths he would unleash at my next slip.
"Did you get that report done?" my boss asked and I sighed.
"No..." I answered. He looked at me expectantly. An excuse was in order. "I... I was busy with another task," I added vaguely. "Laundry." Had I done laundry last night? I swear I had. Then I heard my narrator chuckle. I winced in anticipation. **Laundry?** the voice boomed. Apparently I had not done laundry. **You should have done laundry and washed that sock you're always jacking off into. You should have done laundry and changed your underwear instead of wearing the same pair for the fifth time this week. You were busy eating a frozen pizza and watching television while you swiped right on every picture that might have a heartbeat even though every single one of them swiped left.** Ouch. Low-blow. My boss stared at me impassively but I could sense the gears working in his head.
"Just get it done," he snapped and he turned back towards his office.
"Will do," I said with a nod and I unlocked my computer and opened Reddit. **No, he won't,** the narrator corrected and I threw up my hands in frustration. **He's going to click around on Reddit all day and then tell you he had to catch-up on emails.**
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | “I love you,” Jack said, taking Katie's hand in his.
**He loves looking at her. In fact, he loves looking at every bit of her, even as she leaves the room. He loves telling all of his friends that they are together, and he isn’t quite sure that he will get anyone better.**
Jack let out an agonizing scream. He understood that he was making the scene even more complicated, but he couldn’t contain it anymore. When the noise died out, he looked over at his girlfriend across the table.
She had pulled her hands back away from him and her eyes were wide. Her mouth was slightly agape.
Jack’s eyes shifted focus just behind her to the tables and waiters that mimicked her expression, all staring directly at him. A soft sigh followed his dramatic scream, and he took a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I just get so tired of…”
“Of the only thing that tells the truth?” she asked.
The words stung. He rubbed his temples and tried again, “I get tired of the big guy making me look bad.”
**He gets tired of everyone realizing he doesn’t quite tell the truth-**
“Enough,” Katie said firmly.
To Jacks surprise, the narrator actually stopped. No amount of yelling had gotten the infernal announcer to ever stop talking and ruining his every moment.
“Thank you! I can’t tell you-” he began to say when she interrupted him as well.
“Enough out of both of you,” Katie repeated and crossed her arms against her chest.
Jack found his own eyes widening, and the bottom of his jaw going slack. He kept silent, not finding the words to properly respond to the situation.
The pair sat in silence, her arms crossed and his under the table in his lap while the restaurant managed to go back to a normal rhythm.
“Jack,” Katie said after a long while.
Their dessert and came and gone- both plates untouched. They had finished a bottle of wine, and Jack had begun to wonder if they would speak again at all that night.
“Katie…” he started and then hesitated, unsure of if he was still supposed to be silent.
“Do you like dogs?” she asked.
Jack furrowed his brows. The question was out of left field, and he had no idea how it figured into the rest of the night. He wracked his brain, trying to figure out if they had this conversation before. He knew his narrator was extra obnoxious tonight and didn’t want to start a fight. It was such a simple question that it honestly felt like a trick.
“Yes…” he said, his voice lifting up at the end of the single word.
“Do you like cats?” she asked, her facial expression unreadable.
He let his face relax a bit with the follow-up question. “Yes.” He took a drink of his fresh cup of red wine.
**He likes to lock them in the bathroom-**
As the narrator continued to talk, turning Jacks face a deep shade of red, Katie stood up. She threw a 20 dollar bill onto the table, slid her purse onto her shoulder, and walked out the front door.
25 years he had lived with the voice that was currently droning on about his dislike of felines, and he somehow still let it win. He let out a long sigh and finished his glass of wine.
/r/Beezus_Writes | 2019-06-21T07:18:58 | 2019-06-21T07:07:10 | 498 | 101 |
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