prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP]One day, while cleaning out the attic of your deceased mom's home, you stumble upon an old oil lamp. In clichéd fashion you begin to clean the lamp and a genie appears. "Ah yes,"he thinks. "Another poor sap." Too bad for him, you're a contract lawyer. Quite a good one, at that. Monkey's Paw who? | "Three wishes."
The genie stared at me, a smile on his face. Seconds ticked by. Then minutes.
"Well?"
"I'm thinking."
"Thinking?" His long, unnaturally slender fingers rapped across the wood. "Come on. Surely you want *something...*"
"Oh, I do. I'm just thinking how I want to phrase it." I rubbed at a spot of grease on the oil lamp. "I want to be careful."
"Oh. No, no, don't *think* about it! That ruins half the fun. Just say it. Your heart's deepest desire."
I narrowed my eyes at him. "Fine. I wish to be the most beautiful woman in the world."
His eyebrows rose.
"What? You said I could wish for *anything."*
"I didn't expect that," he said, his grin growing wider. "You don't seem... the type to care about that. But, it does not matter! Your wish is my c--"
"I'm not done yet."
"Oh?" He asked, deflating.
"In implementing this wish, you will not cause the following: deaths of women, blindness, or harm to any individual. You will not transport women to any other world. It will not affect my aging process or make me immortal."
"Fine. Are you done?" He lifted his arms, blue energy sparking from the tips.
"Not yet." My grin grew wider. "'Beautiful' is not defined as physical beauty. It is defined as the most beautiful *inside.* The most beautiful spirit, the one that does the most good for the world."
"Oh, geez," he retorted, rolling his eyes.
"The 'most good for the world' is defined as helping people the most. Defeating poverty, sickness, hate, and..." My eyes flicked to his. "Preventing innocent people from getting tricked."
His eyes widened.
"Now you can grant my wish." I leaned back, smiling.
"You surely can't be--"
"Grant it."
He raised his hands. Blue power sparked off the tips, and with a concussive boom that rattled the attic, he was gone.
I walked over to the place where he'd stood. Blue dust coated the floor, and I nudged it with my toe.
"I did it, Mom."
I glanced at the old photo of us, laying on the dusty floorboards. Her and I in simpler times--before she met the genie. Before she'd wished her children would never be poor. That devil had caused a faulty air conditioning unit to fall on her, instantly killing her, but creating a lawsuit that netted us tens of millions of dollars.
The money meant nothing.
This, however... meant everything.
I took the broom from the corner and began to sweep up the dust. | "Oh fuck... this thing." I mutter as I grab my Mother's favorite tchotchke. "It will be all yours when you are ready for it" I remember her telling me as a child.
"The stories she used to tell me about this lamp as a child were... a foreshadowing of her ultimate mental decline." I become quiet and my husband put a comforting arm around me. "No matter how bad it got she put food on the table for me and always had a roof over my head though high school." A tear rolls down my left cheek. He nods quietly. He knows this story but listens silently as I tell it again. He knows this is my catharsis. He knows I don't want or need his advice, just his shoulder.
"She put me through undergrad and Harvard Law." My lip trembles. Not much, I know he sees it. No one else would. He doesn't say anything but he squeezes me a little tighter. "All while losing her mind. I never figured it out. How she did it you know. Putting me through college as a single mom would have been tough. Harvard law a near miracle. You know I had scholarships but still..."
"She told me not to worry about it. That she paid for it by taking a mortgage out on this house. I knew it would come due. The bill. That is why I specialized in contract law." The full force of my mom's death hits me as I am holding this silly tchotchke and the tears start to flow.
Bryan asks if I want a glass of water. He knows me as well as I know myself. He knows I want some space. "Yes." I answer. Despite my best efforts a single tear works it way down my cheek past my chin and falls on this tchotchke as I hear Bryan's footfalls fade.
An involuntary gasp escapes my lips as that solitary tear maked contact with my childhood. An item from my childhood that dominated my mother's life. That ruined my mother's life that drove her insane. That drove her to her death and yet drove her to make my life better.
And then... nothing. "Ha ha ha..." escapes my lips. Almost a relief. I extend the sleeve of my sweater across my palm and start to rub my tear off the tchotchke and look around the room. It has been a long time since I was home. With no intent my index finger touches the lamp and makes a lazy circle. "Fuck!" I say startled as I drop the lamp and it rolls under the bed.
Static electricity I think. "God dammit. Where did"
*Right here Master*
Alright. So. Gimme a minute. You know... no that isn't right.
*Would you like me to transcribe your story Master*
"Who the fuck said that?!"
*I did. Here is your Lamp Master.*
"Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck"
*Not an uncommon response Master. You have three wishes and I shall grant them.*
"My mom's stories about you... they are true?"
*hmm, ah yes. Human relations. You are the daughter of my former master.*
"What did you do to my mom?"
*Do you wish to know what happened to your mom Master?
"Well that is some specific language... Oh right. By rubbing the lamp did I enter a contract?"
*Yes*
"What is the contract?"
*The usual. 3 wishes, no wishing for more wishes, can't wish someone to love you, can't wish death on someone, can't wish someone that is dead alive. Other than that everything is up to interpretation.* The Genie says with a grin.
"As a lawyer my first thought is always how my client is going to get rat fucked by opposing counsel. So my first wish was not to get rat fucked with any wish I made." | 2020-10-19T20:51:35 | 2020-10-19T19:29:07 | 515 | 207 |
[WP] An eldritch horror considers you their best friend. By virtue of you being able to perceive their true form and not going insane. One day they ask how you became so jaded, that not even indescribable cosmic horror phases you. | There was a monster on the front step.
Rachel blinked, but it remained, hunched over on the porch, still there in all it’s disturbing glory. It had one eye - no, it had many eyes, all blinking and shifting and looking here and there, but not visible all at the same time. They were laced above a mouth that stretched out in a fierce grin at the same time it drooped in a heavy frown, all perched on a round, clay-like head with cauliflower ears. (Not the ailment, mind, but actual cauliflower, growing from the sides of the skull and flowering quite nicely.) The body below was thin and fat at the same time, undulating between weight like waves licking the shore. Fingers made of bone clicked together anxiously, with far more phalanges than were necessary. From the waist down the body fell into darkness, robed in something that was blacker than black, aside from a pair of human-looking bare feet sticking out. Its toenails were painted bright pink, and seemed to be conversing among themselves.
“It’s not Halloween yet,” she said, gripping the door tightly.
The creature said nothing, just staring at her.
“That’s a really impressive costume, but you’re...five days early, I think. It’s only Tuesday, so…”
“*You’re not dead*.” The voice that came from the monster was soft and confused. There was no scratch or echo or blood-curdling edge, just a voice that could belong to any adult human, wavering with shock and disbelief.
Rachel glanced behind herself, just to make sure. Nope, no dead body on the floor of the kitchen, where she’d been working when the being had knocked. “No,” she agreed, “I think I’m very much alive.”
“*But...but how*…?”
She turned back to the horror and scratched absently at her cheek, trying to decide which eye to gaze into. They kept appearing and disappearing, so she settled on gazing into the middle of the creature's round head. “I...don’t know? I mean, am I supposed to be?”
*“All who gaze upon my visage fall, as is the way!”* The creature gesticulated wildly, flailing its arms, too-long fingers clicking together. *“Yet you do not shudder, you do not flinch! How can you withstand the horror that is I, Formidulosus, and not melt into a puddle of your own entrails!?”* Flecks of foam gathered along the edge of its dual-mouths, and Rachel took a step back to avoid being spit on. *“By Cthulhu, it’s unheard of!”*
“Oh, you like Lovecraft?” She latched onto the only thing she’d understood in the odd rant. “I find him a bit hard to read sometimes, but I just got the Call of Cthulhu game on my laptop and I’m looking forward to playing it on Saturday…” She trailed off as the creature tilted its head and stared at her in something akin to astonishment.
*“You know of the old ones?”*
“...Yes?” Rachel took a step forward (now that there was no other-worldly face foam flying about) and gave the creature a good look. Its shoulders were trembling, and it had begun clicking its fingers together. The bright-pink toenails had fallen silent. Had the thing been human, she would have said it looked almost...anxious? A bit lost, perhaps? “Would you like a cup of tea?”
The creature tilted its head, considering, then nodded. Rachel motioned for it to follow her into the kitchen and led the way. She could hear it behind here, each footfall echoed by the soft *schwip-schwip* of the too-black robe dragging across the hardwood. The electric kettle was already full of water, so she plugged it in and turned to watch the oddity as it carefully entered her kitchen and looked about, as though waiting for the china to attack it.
“Please, have a seat, Mr, uh, Formidable,” she motioned to the kitchen table, then flushed as she realized her work was covering nearly every inch.
“*Formidulosus*,” it corrected, watching with curiosity as she stacked papers and shoved them to the side, clearing a space for two to sit. *“What is this parchment about? Are you a scholar?”*
“Oh no,” Rachel turned to the counter as the kettle began to hiss and spit. She pulled down two mugs and, after a moment's deliberation, decided on chamomile for both of them. The creature sat awkwardly in one of the chairs and watched as she bustled about, grabbing a teddy-bear shaped container of honey from the cabinet and juggling it alongside the two mugs over to the table. Its many, many eyes drifted to the stacks of paper, and it could see lines filled with different types of handwriting, and scrolls of paper printed with blue lines that were ragged on the edge and cramped with ugly letters.
“*Not a scholar*?” It prompted as it took the mug.
“Nah,” Rachel fell into her own seat, focusing once more on the center of its face. “I’m a teacher.”
*“That is a noble position! Perhaps protected by the new gods. That could be why you did not flail and melt into a puddle of -*.”
“-my own entrails. Yeah, let’s not think about that part.” Rachel took a sip. “Dunno about these new gods, but I can tell you,” she rested a hand on top of the nearest stack of homework to be graded, “teaching middle school, you see some weird shit.”
As Formidulosus left that night, stomach full of tea and arms full of what its new friend Rachel called ‘the best of Lovecraft, seriously, let me know what you think of The Temple!’, it pondered if there were others of these ‘Middle School Teachers’ in the world to befriend. | The Horror That Splinters The Mind and I were having tea one day. Well, I was having tea, they were sipping on a metal cup of molten copper. Every sip they took made them smiley wide and content, their first row of teeth peeking out under their black lips. We had been doing this since the first lock down. The new guidelines only cover humans so they were the only one I could have over. Even if we were raided, it would just result in a pile of bodies with their brains pouting out every hole in their head. Generally speaking, I try to avoid that. It would put a dampener on one of my few pleasures left in this world.
THTSTM, or Pknq'h, as their fellow horrors call them, have been friends since the emergence two years ago. I cannot pronounce their name, and I've badly translated the letters from the forbidden text. They also cannot pronounce my name, it sounds like a gurgle from their throat. None of that matters because they are a good creature and we get on well. To call our conversations intense is to call hell warm. The only audible communication is their gutteral noises and my screams. Pknq'h shoves images and thoughts into my mind and harvests my feelings. We have very deep conversations and I feel very refreshed afterwards. They feel full, and they say my mind is delicious.
That day, they appeared in my fire, as usual, and climbed through to this world. Something was off. There was a particularly dark cloud over them. The vapour they exude to protect them from light and air was much darker today. Without thinking, I asked them what was wrong, but they seemed to understand my intent anyway. We sat down to "talk" and his consumption of my feelings was rapid and excitable. They consumed my joy of seeing them and it seemed to help them. Then the onslaught of images came. It was the usual jarring, ripping, tearing feeling, with overwhelming emotions and some pain. But this time, there was something I had never experienced before, the closest Eldritch feeling they had to sadness.
Pknq'h was being bullied, being mocked an isolated because the others found out they had a human friend. It's like being friends with cattle, they mocked; like making conversation with a salad, they derided. Tears started to well in my eyes, this creature wasn't evil, it wasn't doing bad things for bad reasons, it simply fed on emotions and thoughts and, as an unfortunate side effect, shattered minds. You wouldn't say a lion was cruel to a gazelle. They reached a sharp appendage out to wipe my tear away. It burned like a thousand suns on contact but left no mark. The pain my friend brings is temporary, the joy they bring lasts much longer. It hurt me more to feel the overwhelming sadness exuded from them. How does one comfort an Eldritch Horror? I try to think of the happiest things I can and offer my thoughts to them. They consumed my happy thoughts with great fervor. I wanted more imagery though, because as they broke their way into my mind, they left Pknq'h's. I hoped that would help. I got a few nasty images of bullying, made much worse by them being Eldritch Horrors. Then words floated in my mind, words in human script, words in human language, although very rough. I didn't know how to react, like expecting a punch and getting a tickle. The words floating in my mind like a bloated corpse were 'why you friend'. Why was I their friend? I sat back in my chair and looked at them. Their bestial form, mostly shrouded by noxious vapour was horrific, but looks mean little to me. They gobbled up this feeling and their vapour lightened a little. The next stab into my mind was also words: "make insane". No, they don't. I don't know why but it feels bad only for a second and then I am grand, like pulling a bandaid off. They ate this too and probed into my mind for what a bandaid was. Their vapour lightened some more and their face peeked out again from it. I smiled through the mind shattering pain of the sight, ignoring the feeling that my eyes were melting. They weren't, I knew that, it was just the mild insanity effect. I looked at them and allowed my feelings to bare themselves. They gorged themselves on them and the vapour went almost light grey, the lightest I'd even seen it. I know I was laying it on thick but they needed it. They stabbed more words into my mind, this time with such force that my nose dripped a drop of blood. Pknq'h was taken aback and pushed a whole load of images into my mind. There is no direct translation for an apology in the Forbidden Tongue but all those images together meant mistake, regret, and concern. Essentially a decent apology, by any standard.
I wiped my nose and considered the words: "why not make insane". I never considered why, I was just glad I was resistant to it. I thought long and hard on it, with them nibbling on the thoughts, before coming to the conclusion. It was the internet, I'd been on it since I was 6. I'd seen everything and anything it had to offer. Horrific, disturbing, and graphic content, mind melting ideas and imagery, the worst abuse you could take, all there, at the click of a button, 24 hours a day.
They ate those thoughts and feelings up like candy, it was more painful than usual but still bearable. Their vapour turned nearly white with joy. I gave them what the images described as a home cooked meal with a twist. Imagry they're used to in their realm, created just as well in ours but slightly different, like I used a different spice.
I had an idea, I opened up my phone and started with social media, reading all of the most disturbing and violent content humans could produce. As soon as I could perceive it Pknq'h ate it up. If it weren't for my years as a netizen, I would have had no resistance to the Emergence and the chaos it sowed. If it weren't for that, I never would have made friends with The Horror That Splinters The Mind.
We spent the afternoon browsing until the blood moon rose. Time to go, the image burned into my mind. Not just because of the Eldritch properties but I was loathe to see them go. Their tendrils pushed off the floor and they floated above my table. They moved through the air towards my sitting room and its fireplace. "Wait," I yelled, "One more thing. I *have* to show you this." I showed them [this](https://youtu.be/dQw4w9WgXcQ) video and they loved it. It was so cruel, so mean and yet so funny. I gave them my old phone with it loaded onto it and told them to show the others. Nobody bullied them after that. | 2020-10-27T07:45:01 | 2020-10-27T06:32:52 | 4,670 | 270 |
[WP] Every samurai has an "asura" that grants their blade unique powers at a cost. Your asura allows you to triple the weight of any metal you strike. The trade off is that your blade passes through all but metallic materials. You ponder your asura's purpose, then you go west and encounter "knights" | My master once said that the asura of each samurai is the manifestation of their spiritual strength. Through relentless training does a samurai becomes accustomed to their blade, it is then that one may step the path of honing their skills to be truly a master of the katana, and finally the efforts may bear fruit as a unique asura.
While master may ignite cold steel with I can only assume, his strong passion, and rise to the top of his peers as the 'scorching blaze', he was ultimately bounded by age, dethroned by the samurais from a rivaling state. It just happened that his sole disciple who reached the realm of asura was a talentless and stubborn samurai. Unyielding to the new ruler's tyranny, he challenged the head retainer of the warlord - the samurai who slew his master.
It was no surprise that the one who defeated the scorching blaze holds a powerful asura, perhaps being defeated by the 'raging tempest' is not all that shameful at all. The dozens of lashing gusts that came along with the devastating strike knocked me out instantly, leaving me to wake up in a ship of exiles sailing to a distant land.
A samurai without a land to protect or a lord to serve is as good as nothing, even with an asura. Even more so with an asura which sole ability is to triple the weight of metals. One might say that that is a marvelous strength that may disarm the sword from other samurai easily, but that simply does not pass in a country where iron is rare, and our katanas are forged from hundreds of folds. The forge masters double the layers in a single blade over weeks and months, easily outnumbering the strength of tripling in the mere seconds of confrontation.
Truly a pathetic asura, befitting of the talentless me, whose only strength lies in patience and consistent practice, which perhaps fits better in a katana forge than on the battle field. My persistance is the only thing left, as it drives me to practice even on the long journey on the ship, where there is ample time to figure out perhaps a better way, to use this ability of mine.
This is a beautiful land, rich and stretching beyond the distance that I may have ever imagined in my home land. A family of five hosted my stay, while teaching me the ways of the west. Although the land is foreign, war is never more familiar despite the abundance of resources. Selfish lords trample over the wills of the people, waging campaigns for the sake of fueling their ego and quenching their thirst for power.
The kind and friendly do not deserve a foothold in this era of chaos, an army is approaching the doorsteps of this cottage, a small corner of neutrality on these lands with raging war between lords. I may very well finally meet my end, chasing the fleeting illusion of the code of samurais my master passed on to me, which not even the strongest 'raging tempest' would uphold anymore.
>Protect the land and its people, that is what a samurai is trained for.
The lords of the west host truly flamboyant armies, cladding their soldiers with large plates of iron, and some even for their horses. It is however clear as day, that these brutes do not hold a chance in the face of a samurai. Spoilt by the richness of the land, they indulge in desire and pursue nothing with patience and dedication, I do not sense a single asura within their ranks.
They laughed, and charged, and kneeled helplessly. The large plates of iron armor which they thought to grant them saftey became their prison. As they rushed in rows, one swift strike at their chests would send them tumbling forwards, planting their faces into the ground. Another two simple sweeps at their calf and they can forget about standing until my asura wills to let them go. Layer by layer their encirclement falls to the ground, and finally the warlord who leads is beheaded by his own extravagent helmet.
I became known as the samurai of 'steel shackles', protecting this corner of these vast lands, while bidding my days for a successor, one who may continue the lineage of what it means to be a true samurai.
​
This is the first time I tried writing none academic chunks of words in English, criticism is welcome! | "for Kinng and Glory"!!! I shouted as I struck another revolting peasant.
"Mi lord!" John, a newly knighted lord shouted as points at the hill top.
A horn blast was sounded seconds after, and like clockwork everyone of us, the king's guard stopped.
The downhill wind sent chills towards everyone.
Looking at each other, hesitation sets in.
Others removed their helmet, others called for their squire to bring their horse. Then proceeded to go to the king's tent, hurriedly, cursing as they go.
'The day is ours, then this..." Bran a burly man in heavy armor spoke as he stood near me. Voice a hiss of frustration and fear,, His face grim, mace in his chest I heard the leather tighten as does his grip.
"John! Go and protect the king!" I shouted at John, as I see his legs shake, his armor plate though dented and bloodied still somehow glistens. He looked at me as relief and disappointment shows through his sweaty face. He then shut his helmet and went towards the large tent joining a large contingent of soldiers and knights.
"Mi lord we should go as well" Bran said as he turns and called my squire, no doubt to order retreat.
I motioned Bran to stop, still looking at the hill top, the silhouette of a man standing like a tree, his hair and dress flows with the wind, I saw his sword glow, impossible as it may seem as he stands back at the sun, and pointed it towards....me.
Honor dictate to answer the challenge, but the glow seized my heart. And I felt sweat drops off my nose, I was trembling. I stood frozen, my legs couldn't move forward.
"Mi lord, orders? Sir?" Bran shook me off my fear. I looked at him and he knew instantly. He cursed and motioned for my squire an order.
" He is not of here mi lord, no need to waste sweat or time with him" Bran said in a silent but pleading voice, he knew what happened to my brother as he challenged this, warrior from the east.
He saw his demise, and my inability to do anything, but what he does not know was that the weight of our armor increased, so much so that we cannot move.
"Honor dictate I avenge my brother, your lord vassal" I answered wiping the sweat as it rolls down my face, I smiled and waved him away.
----
As I walked towards the hill where the warrior stood I saw thousands of men bearing the king's banner walked away from the burned town, I see the body of peasants rebels, their wives and children, I felt sadness as the blood of the child should be spared, but as rebels, they may take arms again, hence my suggestion was ordered, kill and burn the town, strike at the home of the rebels, make it an example for others and peace shall reign.
I uttered a short prayer for my dead men, and looked at the warrior. He was kneeling, uttering a small prayer as well.
looking Behind him was a collection of men, the rebels leaders, face grim and angry.
"Scum knights! We told you only children women and old men are left there!" The leader shouted.
"Know your place rebel" Bran shouted back. Readying his mace he prepares to charge at them, then I held his arm.
I motioned no, and looked at the warrior, now finishing his prayer, he poured alcohol at his blade.
"So you will not even acknowledge them?" The warrior spoke in his broken tongue as he stands, and sheated his sword.
"Rebels are rebels, peasant are peasants and they deserve both the sword" I answered and readied my sword.
Bran and the rebels stood away from us, forming a large space where we can fight.
"Knight, because of your actions, I shall not offer you a chance to retreat." The warrior's voice was silent and cold.
"You killed my brother, prepare to..."
Before I could finish my words, the warrior blurred and immediately my sword and arm felt heavy. I have no choice but to drop the sword. Then I saw his dress on my side and my legs buckled because of their weight. I looked at the warrior as he removed my helmet.
______________-------------------------------________________
______________-------------------------------________________
"Lord Green Knight , your action to attack this town despite telling you,only old and women and children are here, are despicable, and only death can save you'
I told the knight as I remove his helmet, fear shone through his eyes, his breathing heavily and wincing in pain. It seems his arm and leg bone snapped. It usually happens when I got their armor consecutive times, their armor are slow and vision is limited, attacking them was like attacking a stationary target. Deadly warriors yes but I have speed, and now I have anger.
The code dictates that there should be nothing in my mind, but what I feel helped and empowered me, especially towards this knight.
He tried to talk but I immediately struck his neck. And now it is done.
His companion was shocked and rightly so. This is no Samurai duel, this is mere execution.
I cleaned my blade and turned towards my friend, their eyes glistens with tears, I merely nodded and went towards the now emptying town. | 2020-12-24T04:39:07 | 2020-12-24T03:14:04 | 367 | 149 |
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you. | “Drop the pineapple Chris.”
Chris’ hand lingered mid-air, a slice of perfectly cooked pineapple pizza dangling downwards. He was far to infatuated with the food’s sheer beauty to pay much attention to Robert, who at this moment was ranting about something to do with toppings - his queries becoming increasingly tiresome.
“I just want to *help* you Chris. please... just drop the slice.”
Chris took another bite (savouring the pleasurable taste as he did so), before responding.
“What the hell are you talking about Robert? You sure everything’s okay?”
Robert’s fist slammed upon the oak table between them. “CHRIS, GET THE PINEAPPLE OFF NOW!” his stood up abruptly, knocking his chair sideways in the process. “*Listen* to me Chris...”
“*Okay, okay!* ...what is it man?”
Robert glanced somewhere behind them, his expression somber.
“It’s... too late.”
A clanging sound emitted from behind, shards of glass flying all around - one of them unfortunate enough to land in Chris’ pizza.
“My perfectly cooked cuisine...”
The sound of approaching boots filled the room.
“I’m sorry Chris.. y-you had a good run buddy.”
“Robert, for the love of god, could you please exp-“
“STOP RIGHT THERE PUNKS!”
What appeared to be a police officer suddenly appeared between the two, a pair of jet black sunglasses perched upon his crooked nose.
“I surrender!” Robert exclaimed, pushing both hands high. He was visibly holding back tears.
The utter bewilderment surging through Chris was almost enough to stifle his grief for the pizza he’d lost. *Almost.*
“How could you ruin a perfectly fine meal like that?”
“And break my window!” He quickly added.
The officer stood, hands on his sides, each word muttered mirroring a deep rumble.
“IT’S US, THE PIZZA POLICE! AND BY ARTICLE 35 OF THE CHEESE CONDUCT, I DECLARE YOU UNDER ARREST FOR POSSESSION OF...”
He looked sick.
“Pineapple. On. Pizza.”
“It’s not that bad!” Chris pleaded.
“QUIET SCUM!”
Chris grabbed a slice from the plate below - the last untouched by any glass.
“HERE! TRY IT!” He gestured, waving the slice forwards.
“DO YOU *WANT* ME TO INCREASE YOUR SENTENCE?”
Before the argument could progress any further, Robert chimed up.
“Come on guys! I know we all have our differences, but at the at of the day..”
He pulled out a glass of milk.
“We can all agree that pizza dipped in milk is the *true* way to enjoy it!” | "What is this?" Came the voice of a woman from the counter behind me.
"An Italiano dish, a-miss," a thickly accented voice replied to her.
I turned slightly to watch the conversation. I had just sat down with a miniature round of this, 'pizza', myself, to enjoy the herby oregano-and-tomato fragrance of the dish. I was a simple cowpuncher, dressed in dusty old trail clothes, a wide-brimmed simple brown hat, efficient at blocking the sun, spurs and boots with dusty brown saddle pants tucked into them. I wore a similarly colored brown jacket that fell to just below my hips, only slightly concealing the six-shooter I wore at my belt. My face felt scruffy. I needed a shave. I pondered the barber a short walk away, and at the delicious, cheesy, bready, foreign food in front of me.
"Well, what's it called? What's in it? Do you make it in that big oven back there?" The young blonde woman, only 16 or 17 at the most, bombarded the poor old man, dressed in an apron and with a big bushy beard and graying salt-and-pepper hair under a (ridiculous) huge chef's hat, with questions. Questions about the food, the restaurant itself... This went on. She must've actually ordered something during the conversation, as the old man handed her a plate with food similar to mine. I was just cutting a bit of the round mini pizza with a knife and fork into a few pieces, to finally begin to enjoy this beautiful and aromatic creation. I began to lift the fork to my mouth, when I hear, "excuse me, is this seat taken?" It's the chatty young woman again, and she's talking to me.
"No, miss, you can go ahead and take it." My voice came out a bit rough, trail dust had settled in my gullet, but I made myself sound polite. Think being polite made things worse for me.
"Oh, thank you!" She squeaked in her cheery little voice. She promptly sat down next to me, in the little wooden chair to my right at the table. I sat my fork down.
"Is there something I can help you with, miss? I don't mean to sound rude, but I am trying to enjoy a meal here. I've never had something like this before."
She ignored my question, and instead beamed at me. "I've never had this before either! What'd he call it?"
"Pizza, I think." I began to lift the fork to my mouth again. Before I could get it all the way there, she cleared her throat somewhat forcefully.
"Don't you say prayer before you eat, mister? It's only polite, to the Lord, and especially around company." She looked at me expectantly.
"Look, miss, I'm not your company, and you ain't mine. I don't even know you. If I was a religious man, I would have said prayer, wouldn't I have? But I ain't, I'm just a cowpuncher tryin' to get through this life. Not much concern to me about the next."
Her positively beaming attitude turned sour. She glowered at me, before standing up with her plate and walking briskly over to the next table. She stared at me, the whole time we ate, in disapproving silence.
It didn't make that pizza any less damn delicious, though. Like nothing I have ever had. Even with the seething feeling of damnation radiating from that teenage girl. She did shut up, though. That was nice. | 2021-06-27T15:20:02 | 2021-06-27T14:04:38 | 67 | 11 |
[WP]Not every hero is a rich idiot with no day job, nor every villain a mad scientist, but most still need supplies. Thus, Super-Mart; a place for the budget-conscious heroes and villains, left alone thanks to a necessary truce. And You just started a summer job there. | My store has two oddities: it's a discount store that caters to superheroes and our items are non-refundable.
My first customer of the day knew the store's first quirk. He was unaware of the second.
"But it doesn't work!" he whined through his mask which was shaped like a computer monitor made from the early-1990s. The screen displayed a " **>:( "** face. "The product says it can detect nearby crimes but it's non-responsive!"
He slid the a poorly packaged box across the counter towards me.
I opened the box and saw a small electronic shaped like a magnifying glass. *The Observer* read down it's handle in an American Typewriter font. I pressed the power button at the base of the unit. A screen appeared on the lens and animated curved lines rippled from its center like a rock being thrown onto a still pond.
"Seems to be working just fine," I said.
"The lines are supposed to increase their intensity the moment a crime happens kinda like how a metal detector's beeps get louder when it approaches a rusted can."
I turned around in place and saw the lines keep a consistent pulse.
"Maybe there's no crimes happening?"
"Not possible," he insisted and then went off on how he had *The Observer* on the entire night looking for crimes and didn't pick up a single incident. According to the police report the following day, multiple felonies happened nearby.
"Does this thing have a range setting?" I asked. "What if the device can only pick up on crimes that are really close?"
The man sighed.
"I don't know the first way to figure out if it does or does not have such a thing. I'm kinda at a loss if anything is more advanced that a Nokia phone from 1998. See, my whole shtick is that I use retro technology to fight bad guys."
That's an interesting theme.
"How is that going for you?" I said.
The man shook his computer head. "Not well. Most of my resources are an impressive inconvenience for my turn around time. I get notified by fax! *FAX!*" he cried out. "Criminals are long gone by the time my dot matrix printer spits out the report. I figured it was time for an upgrade so I bought this device but I don't understand half of its instructions."
A " **:(** " appeared on his monitor.
"This might surprise you, but there's an older man underneath this mask," the hero said.
"You don't say," I responded.
"Can you help me set this thing up?"
I looked behind him and saw a couple of other heroes standing behind him. They looked as if their patience wore thin.
"I'd like to, but I honestly don't know much about this model. Unlike you, I'm not a hero. Just a kid who works behind a counter."
The man gently placed his balled up hand over a " **:'(** " symbol on his screen. "You'd be surprised," he said. "You kids are amazing with these gizmos. It's superhuman to me."
He grabbed The Observer and box and walked towards the door.
"Sir!" I called out to him. He turned around.
"How about we get together after my shift. Bring that thing your holding and we'll figure out how to work it together. Say 5:30 this afternoon at that new coffee shop called Mug Shots?"
An uplifting chime sounded from the man's screen and the crying face turned into a " **:D** "
"I'd love that! Where's it located?" he asked.
"Type it the shop's name into Google Maps," I said. "It should be the first hit."
The man stood still at the exit with an " **:|** " expression displayed.
"I mean, look it up on Map Quest." I mumbled. | Not everybody knew about the Super-Mart, but everybody who knew it would definitely not recommend it to anybody else—because friend or foe, inexpensive super supplies are in short supply.
For a stranger passing by, attracted by the always present banner that read “CLOSING SALE,”, one would walk in through the door, notice that it looked like a gaudy outfit store for Halloween with suspiciously tights fits, and leave before the bell finish its ringing. The ones that actually stayed, furtively went about their business, discreetly testing the proper colours and tools without revealing their shtick. Because that was what all heroes and villains were about, no?
At least, that’s what new summer hire lanky Toby, 15 years old, felt to be the truth. There was the required long pants—black chinos. Nondescript t-shirt—just the one logo of Sword Savant. And the optional staring at each customer, a hawk with uncomfortably bulging eyes.
“That has to be Gentlemanbird,” Toby muttered, watching a rotund man, holding a red and black outfit.
“Kid, what the hell are you doing?”
Toby swung back, and noticed the much older (by two years) Jeanette sidle up to him. She briefly glanced down at the notepad, and nodded grimly.
“I’m sorry to say, Toby, but your superpower is apparently poor handwriting,” Jeanette said.
“That’s private,” Toby sulked.
“Yeah, is that not a memo you got from working here? All these people are private, doofus,” Jeanette lightly punched his arm. “Don’t go trying and figure out their identities.”
“And why not?” Toby argued. “It’s good research.”
“I’ll add on to your superpower. Hypocrisy,” Jeanette sighed. “Besides, I’ve already tried. It’s no use, honestly.”
“You’ve already tried?”
“I’ve been coming back every summer. Good money, compared to other temp jobs. And once, I’m pretty sure I rang the purchases of Fire Falcon before she got real famous, you know,” Jeanette said.
“No, what do you mean you’ve already tried?” Toby said.
“Oh. Maybe not try? But it’s inevitable, working at a store like this, to guess at who they are,” Jeanette sighed. “You’ll be surprised at how much and how little you can glean. There’s a code name out there on the streets. There’s a code name in costume. And there’s a code name in here.”
“You mean that guy’s not really Garrett?”
“100 percent no. And don’t count out some of them have shapeshifting abilities. Or go through a friend. Or enemy, really. That, I learned.”
“Enemy? You mean…”
“Yeah,” Jeanette said. “Sure, you get to the top, and it’s more black and white. But here? It’s all grey.”
Toby looked out at the sparse people perusing Super-Mart’s wares. It kind of made sense. This was the only place in town cheap and close enough for many of these people. Did friend or foe really matter when they were all struggling to get by?
“So what do you want all that info for,” Jeanette asked. “Stalk them?”
“No!” Toby blushed. “I was… doing research. On how to be a hero.”
“You want to be a hero?” Jeanette chuckled. “Then be sure to use your employee discount, yeah?”
“I’m not so sure any more,” Toby sighed.
“It’s not a crime to harbour dreams.” Jeanette pat his shoulder. “Why do you want to be a hero?”
“To do good,” Toby whispered. “Sounds silly now.”
“Villains can do good too, you know,” Jeanette nodded knowingly. “They are sort of, like, investigative journalists. They do the ugly stuff sometimes, but they can uncover even uglier stuff.”
“As long as the hero finds them and beats them up?”
“You’re getting it. It’s a push and pull,” Jeanette said. “It’s not easy. It’s not honest work, maybe. But it’s true, and probably more fun.”
Toby stood still, and studied his shift partner for a bit. He wasn’t quite sure what to conclude, and realized that research might not be his strong suit—but found Jeanette rather convincing, and far too practised for this to be an off-the-cuff pitch. Enough to shake a bit of his belief, definitely.
He looked back at the store. The existence of a place like this lent credence to her theory.
“It’s not… one side versus one,” he said. “There’s no winning or losing. The fight needs to go on. That’s what keeps the story going.”.
“Good thinking, wannabe hero,” Jeanette said. “Welcome to Super-Mart, and enjoy your stay—but hopefully, not for too long.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2021-10-03T12:42:53 | 2021-10-03T11:42:55 | 280 | 112 |
[WP] You've been in this time loop for centuries. You know how to break the loop already, you just want to make sure you've done all you wanted and learned everything you need while you're still here, before returning to a "normal" life. | At first I visited my friends. During the pandemic, I had been a hermit, mostly avoiding people, so as soon as time started repeating, I visited all the people I cared about. At first it was my close and local friends. Then I drove---sometimes hundreds of miles to see my more distant friends. I got reacquainted again. I kind of had to barge into their lives sometimes, but it was worth it to reconnect, and they would never mind because 24 hours later they would not remember.
After my friends came family. I did not miss them because I still saw them during the pandemic, but I was always hurried by work. Now time was repeating, I could spend as much time as I liked with all of them. It was great to learn all of the stories my parents knew from their past. I really got to know what my daughter experienced in college and her travels. I got to know my son much more deeply.
It took a while to figure out how to get on a plane because I did not have proof of vaccination. After trying for a month, I figured out how to get the correct papers from my doctor in time to fly. (I could bribe anyone because all of my debts were forgiven 24 hours later!) I flew to the Bahamas, Mexico, Canada, every state, and most of the Caribbean. It was great to scuba dive again with the best equipment that money could buy on short notice. I skied Whistler in Canada every "weekend" for a year.
And then I began to learn --- martial arts, cooking, sewing, basic woodworking, outdoor survival (it was winter with a little snow every day locally, but I could easily fly a few hundred miles to hike any terrain in all kinds of weather), home repair, electronics,... I read every book in my library which must have taken a few years and then I got into the local university library. The internet had thousands of papers for me to read. I learned and relearned physics, chemistry, engineering, math, philosophy, and psychology. I never really developed a passion for painting, but I did finally get the time to learn how to play the piano, guitar, and even the trumpet.
Windsurfing took months mostly because I had to get on a plane and I only got in a couple of hours of actual surfing before the sunset. I managed to learn bartending in the Bahamas after windsurfing.
I missed relationships. No one remembered anything I did for more than 24 hours. I had my family and my friends, which was nice, but none of my relationships evolved with me. Still, I think I got to know a few hundred people over the years, even though it was only a few hours for them.
I think it has been almost a hundred years now. I have amazing plans. I think I'm finally ready for the first day of the rest of my life. | The loop was started for scientific reasons, to see if we could learn from different “timelines” in the infinity chambers.
Every person is unique; each person could give different outcomes to any moment in time and change a thousand different things. So imagine if we used AI to learn from those thousand different outcomes. The many unique technologies that could come to life, the philosophical ideas that could help shape our future.
People often feel scattered throughout time, like they were given a lottery ticket with a date and that's all they are to experience. Well, that was a thing of the past. as technology accelerated creating more ease on human life, people become somewhat useless.. robots commanded by quantum AI could work 10 times harder and faster than any outstanding human in any field. Cutting millions of jobs in an unexpected mass extinction event
Nobody expected So many people to have no purpose, to feel so lost and lonely in a vast ocean of technology. Well, one company was waiting and working on such an outcome. AI revival - relive and recreate the past present and future in virtual reality. they would put these people in certain situations and pay them for finding new ways to live, survive, create and mostly endure our new future.
At first, this went great. they discovered new medicines, new ways to look at ourselves and where we belonged In our small lonely place in the universe. But something else happened, people found ways to do things they shouldn't have. They found new ways to be evil.
Somehow they prolonged their stay in the infinity chambers, although the name may seem like they could stay forever they were meant to stay for only a short time. Time was altered in these chambers with a mix of drugs and electrical pulses in the brain. They would fast forward these virtual worlds to collect the data faster while using drugs and AI brain interfaces to accelerate the reaction time of the brain.
This was great, they could live out hundreds of years in hours with this technology. But the human brain was not meant to handle such a load, to bear all that weight. AI revival knew this, they did everything they could to make sure no one was lost or rendered braindead from their work. But somehow people found ways to get lost where they shouldn't have.
At first it was only a few, only a few had died from using the infinity chambers. Some blamed heart attacks, some blamed the users past and many blamed the company. That didn't stop millions from lining up and finding out for themselves what was hidden in these worlds. I must say I was one of them, at first it scared me but the people who came out of them were completely changed afterward. They were happy with life, with what they found and what lives they lived in there. I had to find out for myself
When I entered in I acted oblivious to their questions about death in the chambers, I told them I had never heard of them and only wanted to learn and grow with the machines. This made them happy, I was like any other useful idiot out there.
They choose where you go and when, they wipe your memory so you fit in better but they give you specific memories so you comply with the timelines. When you learn more and level up their technologies they give you achievements and reminders so you want to come back. well nobody wants to go back after becoming a king, nobody wants to wake up when they fall in love.
For me it was different, the AI made me suffer.. Made me want to die from the day I arrived there. I was led from misery to loneliness repeatedly, only once as I was on the brink of death I was reminded of why I was here, of who I was facing. I had to win, I had to show that humans were better than machines no matter what name you gave them. I had to show them that they were not gods.
I told myself I was suffering for the greater good, to learn everything I could while I was here. I needed to learn everything before ending my loop and returning to the real monster | 2022-01-25T00:30:48 | 2022-01-24T23:08:12 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support. | My call center job can be stressful at times, but there is free coffee, so I can't complain. Complaining is what customers do. They yell at me for anything that the robots do: tangled USB cables, scared pets, and knocked down vases. None of it if my fault, but I always find a way to have them look on the bright side of things: at least they didn't have to sweep the floor themselves.
It all got a lot more interesting two months ago. A routine software update made the roombas turn by 36º by default, which was supposed to optimize how fast they can map a room. It turns out that this also optimized how often it can trace a pentagram. It also turns out that with the right sequence of blinking LEDs, the consequences of this software update go beyond the boundary of the average room. Here's another one calling, I'd better take it if I want to meet my quota.
"Hello, iRobot tech support. This is Kathy speaking." ... "Yes, sir. I understand that there is a trans-dimensional entity in your living room. Could you please describe it for me." ... "I see. And how tall would you say it is?" ... "It did what?" ... "To your cat?"
I try to type as much details as possible in the ticket. This is supposed to help people in R&D, but I don't think the gore is very useful and I would rather not think about too much so soon after breakfast. "Family pet deceased" will do.
"Well, sir this is very unfortunate but I could give you a coupon code for 75% discount on our of our companion robots if you want." ... "I understand your frustration, sir. I am not able to shove the code up anyone's ass unfortunately since it's a digital code. Could you please hold one brief moment while I look into our knowledge base to see how to best deal with your trans-dimensional entity?"
- Jim, you have to help me with this one. They have an eight foot tall purple furry one? That's nothing close to the typical imp.
- Oh, I had a customer with one of those last week. Let me see... Check out ticket #394223.
- Thanks!
Jim is cool! He remembers all those unusual cases and he knows the company protocols like the back of his hand. I think he's going to be promoted to manager one day. Oh wow! His customer lost more than a cat before they figured out how to deal with her problem. Lucky me for always dealing with known problems!
"Hello, sir, thank you for waiting. Sir, it seems like you are now the proud master of a Skah-a-lagowoo until the next full moon" ... "No sir, we don't know how to sent those back at this time." ... "That's right, sir, it will do anything you ask that is within your property." ... "That's correct, sir, it probably didn't abide to your request to 'get the fuck out of here' because it doesn't understand English. As far we can tell, Skah-a-lagowoos only understand Sumerian." ... "Yes, sir, I can imagine that you do not speak Sumerian. That is indeed something they dropped from the curriculum of most schools, unfortunately. Can you try 'sodanu untawa akagiwali'? We have reasons to believe that it means 'do the dishes'." ... "No sir, I do not speak Sumerian either, but I will flag your case number and ask one of our ancient languages experts to call you back as soon as possible." ... "Thank you sir and sorry again about your cat."
- Jim, do we really have an ancient languages department?
- Not really, but management is working around the clock to recruit people from the archaeology departments of top universities. The problem is that most of candidates so far don't survive their first encounter. Apparently their pronunciation is all wrong.
- Shit! I'm so glad we only deal with those problems over the phone.
- By the way, R&D is teaching imps how to hunt mice and rats. They are doing a demo this afternoon.
- So cool! Let's go check it out. They usually have good free food for those R&D demos.
And that is why I love my job. I could not ask for something more engaging with my degree in religion. | It started off as any other regular Monday. David brewed his coffee, poured out Mochi's daily kibble, and ate a bowl of steel-cut oats. He was feeling a little frisky that morning, so he added in two generous dashes of cinnamon.
At 9:00 sharp, he trotted into his home office, closing the door. Logging into his computer, David opened up Microsoft Outlook and Teams and powered on his company cellphone. As he waited for the programs to load, he did the daily New York Times mini crossword and scrolled through the news, drinking the last dregs of his now-lukewarm joe.
Then Microsoft Outlook finished loading. David narrowly avoided spitting his coffee all over his screen, choking down his last sip in a strangled gulp.
There were 666,666 new emails in his inbox.
*What on earth...*
At the same time, his cellphone dinged. On the voicemail icon, the same bright red numbers screamed at him.
They'd been in a rush to push out version 3.4, but David hadn't imagined there would be *this* many issues. How on earth had the software engineers messed up this badly?
Just as he had the thought, his phone rang. David shook himself out of his daze, cleared his throat, and picked up his phone.
"Hello? This is Roomba tech support speaking. My name is David, how may I help you?"
"H-hello, my Roomba isn't working." It was an old lady. It almost always was. Maybe it was the same old lady, calling hundreds of times, trying over and over again and waiting for someone to pick up. Maybe version 3.4 wasn't all that broken.
"Thanks for calling us. What seems to be the issue?"
"Hello, David. My name's Martha. Martha Jones. You see, dear, I was doing a deep clean of the house on Sunday. I always clean the house on Sundays, but this time, I thought, why not use that handy little robot thingamajig my grandson got me for Christmas? My grandson is a really smart little fellow, you know, he went to Harvard, majored in computer science. I got him some socks for Christmas. It's cold up there in Boston, I hear, and I hope he's getting some use out of those socks, alpaca wool, they were, and -"
"Ma'am, that's nice," David replied patiently. "But what exactly was the issue with the Roomba?"
"Ah, yes, the robot thingamajig. I powered it on, but it's spinning in circles and beeping weirdly. It sounds like it's trying to talk to me. You know, my husband, he passed away two years ago, bless his soul, but he used to be in the Navy, was an excellent pilot, quite dashing in his uniform back in the day - "
"Let's see, spinning in circles," David opened up the Roomba manual and hit control F, searching for the keywords. He knew most of the solutions to the common issues by heart, but this one was one that hadn't come up before. "What's the pattern of the beeping?"
"I was getting to that, dear, before you cut me off," the woman chided gently. "You see, my husband told me about this thing called morse code, and I looked it up on the Google. I thought maybe it would give me an answer, but it's just some sort of made-up language or something..*te nomine vero soloque evoco.*"
David's cellphone beeped, the tone of a call waiting on the line. "I'm awfully sorry, Ma'am, but I need to put you on hold for a second. Do you mind waiting a moment?"
Without waiting for an answer, he pressed answer. Brady's distressed voice echoed over the receiver.
"David! You won't believe what the hell just happened!"
"Try me, Brady," David replied. "I've got 666,666 new messages, all consumer complaints about the new upgrade. What the hell kind of software engineer worked on version 3.4? And who approved the upgrade? Didn't we go through some kind of testing or QC before we pushed?"
"David, *forget* the stupid software update," Brady replied. "This is much more serious than that. You're not in the office, so you don't know - everyone who works in software just got reverse-Raptured this morning. A hole opened up in the floor and they all got sucked to God knows where. Or the Devil knows where, more like."
Taking a shaky breath, David started clicking through the emails in his inbox.
*Found a bloody pentagram on my living room carpet. Not sure where the blood came from. Roomba is covered in it. Locked in the bathroom and barricaded the door with cleaning supplies. Unearthly wailing coming from outside the door. Leaving a 1-star review right now, version 3.3 was so much better*.
*Woke up to my daughter screaming bloody murder. Roomba was sitting on her chest, pinning her to the bed. Had to pull it off of her, now she's staying with her mom because she doesn't feel safe here anymore. Also, the Roomba is growing horns now. Really, none of this is addressed in the product warnings, which is quite unacceptable. I expect a full refund and compensation for all the therapy that my daughter will undoubtedly be needing.*
"Shit."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites | 2022-01-30T07:41:22 | 2022-01-30T07:19:15 | 154 | 86 |
[WP] Write me something that sounds happy at first, but is actually sad when you think about it.
It can be about anything. | "What is your wish?" The Genie asked me.
"I wish Mary Jane to fall in love with me."
I bumped into Mary Jane sometime after. I could tell from the way she looked at me. Her posture was reserved, but her eyes were inviting, it was those eyes that makes me fall in love. Then I gathered my courage to ask her out, my heart jumped with joy when she said yes. We dated for five years, five years filled both happy and sad memories, but they were all precious. Then we get married. We both had stable jobs, a nice house, insurances and all. We gave birth to our daughter, Sue, she was really god sent. It really was all I could ever wish for.
One day, Sue and I was watching a magic show on TV. My energetic daughter was jumping in awe:
"Wow, so cool. Daddy, I want to have magic too."
I smiled back at her:
"Don't be silly, Sue. Those aren't real. They are all just illusion."
| Marla hugged the puppy tight, squealing.
"Another puppy!" she said excited. Craig smiled.
"Yeah! Now what do we do?" He said.
"Always feed him, always walk him." she said, petting the dogs head. The puppy jumped up, licking her forehead. His tail wagged quickly from side to side.
"What what do we *not* do?" He asked. Marla sighed. She flipped the puppy over and rubbed it's belly. Tongue hanging to the side of his mouth, the puppy barked happily.
"Let him off the leash unless he's inside." She moved the puppy up and hugged it again. The puppy put his head on her shoulder. He looked comfortable.
"Good." Craig smiled patiently at his daughter.
"Can I let him meet the other dogs now?" She let the puppy lick her face.
"Sure, remember we have people coming over at 6:00." Craig walked into the kitchen to make dinner.
"Come on, puppy, lets meet your family!" She walked over to the basement door, the puppy following happily, tail wagging.
They walked downstairs, and Marla hit the light. The musty, dank smell hit her nose, and she crinkled it. The barks of the other dogs almost drowned out her voice. She stood and rubbed the felt soundproofing on the wall. Across from her, 25 kennels all holding pit bulls lined the wall.
The puppy trotted over to one of the kennels. The pit bull lunged and growled, viciously pawing at the door. Marla walked over and grabbed the puppy.
"Come on, pup." She said.
She walked back across the pit in the floor, the dirt stained with blood, surrounded by chairs, lit only by the dim bulb over her head. The chalk off the chalkboard holding dogs names and scores drifted into the light, filtering the rays from the bulb.
"Let's get you some dinner before you settle in." She said, and they both walked back upstairs. | 2014-07-25T15:00:50 | 2014-07-25T13:11:59 | 43 | 31 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other. | Alright, I've had it up to here with him. Our families have never been on best terms, but once the prank war began, the hostile words between our fathers settled down before they both passed. At least, we carry on their old tradition.
Just recently though, the dangers of our pranks became real. He almost used his phone I jury-rigged into a tazor in the tub. He decided to turn my dog into a lion in the middle of walking him. He put the stuff in my house on my ceiling, and getting my bed down nearly crushed me. I turned his entire house into a magnet and a couple of cars might have smashed through his house, almost doing the same to him.
I tell myself if I can catch him in the act, I can at least sidestep some of the things he does, but I never do. My pranks take weeks to pull off, his takes minutes! I, to this day, cannot quite put together how he does it. I hate to admit this, but Timmy Turner is by far the best magician I've ever had the dishonor of working with.
...but no one messes with a Dinkleburg and gets away with it. | “Damn you, Great Magico,” I screamed. I shook my fist at him from the kitchen window.
Great Magico laughed at me from his driveway. He twirled his mustache and flourished his cape. “Technology will never overcome magic.”
I pointed at Great Magico. “Get him, AnnoyBots,” I screamed.
Great Magico stood there. He cleared his throat and looked around. “Is it invisible?” he said.
I laughed.
“Visibilus,” yelled Great Magico. He pointed in one direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in another direction. “Visibilus.” He pointed in a third direction.
I laughed like a madman. A super villain would have been envious of my maniacal cackle.
Great Magico stood up straight and looked around again. He crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot. “Come on, Techno Lord. What’s going on here?”
“You’ll never see it coming, Great Magico. It’s my greatest creation yet!”
“I know it’s not invisible.” He stalked towards our lot line. “Is it behind this hedge?” Great Magico jumped around the end and saw nothing. “Nope.”
“You’re getting warmer, Great Magico. In fact, you might say you’re boiling,” I said.
Great Magico checked his watch. “Listen. I have to go. It’s almost 8:00. I’ve got to get to work. Magic doesn’t pay the bills if I don’t want to be homeless.” He disappeared in a puff of smoke and sparks.
I scratched my head. Great Magico should have been itching and scratching like a crazy person. His skin should have been turning bright red from irritation. Hives should have broken out all over his face. Why hadn’t my nanobots done their job?
I stomped over to their container. The power meter beeped red at me. I slapped my forehead. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I had forgotten to charge the Annoybots. Magic couldn’t be defeated if the technology wasn’t charged. I shook my fist at my own forgetfulness. “Damn you, forgetfulness,” I yelled out the window. “I will destroy you.”
| 2015-02-18T20:52:55 | 2015-02-18T20:07:00 | 59 | 38 |
[WP] You're a supergenius-level robotics expert. Your neighbor is a godlike magician. You use your abilities solely to prank each other. | Alright, I've had it up to here with him. Our families have never been on best terms, but once the prank war began, the hostile words between our fathers settled down before they both passed. At least, we carry on their old tradition.
Just recently though, the dangers of our pranks became real. He almost used his phone I jury-rigged into a tazor in the tub. He decided to turn my dog into a lion in the middle of walking him. He put the stuff in my house on my ceiling, and getting my bed down nearly crushed me. I turned his entire house into a magnet and a couple of cars might have smashed through his house, almost doing the same to him.
I tell myself if I can catch him in the act, I can at least sidestep some of the things he does, but I never do. My pranks take weeks to pull off, his takes minutes! I, to this day, cannot quite put together how he does it. I hate to admit this, but Timmy Turner is by far the best magician I've ever had the dishonor of working with.
...but no one messes with a Dinkleburg and gets away with it. | I slapped my hands together and looked at my latest creation. A plume of white dust erupted from my gloves, and was promptly followed by a fit of heavy coughing, but my newest robot remained untouched.
I stood upon my pedestal and looked down at the trench I had just dug. Not that I did physical work, seeing as my summoned golems did most of that for me, but I guess you could assume that in a way, I had done the digging. All that was left for me now was to summon up some lava and cloak it with a basic spell. At least, that's what I would have done against anyone except for Ron.
My robot turned around and looked at me. Its black eyes, or diamond adjustments made to see through enchantments, looked at me warily. I looked back at it, and I smiled. "Protocol 2A, commence!" With that, the robot set off, its heat plumes pushing the robot just above ground level.
The lava filled the pit slowly, like a thick cake batter slowly pouring through a sieve. It would settle eventually, but for the time being, I had to find a way to stop Ron from getting into my house again. For that matter, I put aside my work and pulled out my morellonomicon, and I began to browse through it. What could I possibly use to stop Ron's newest machinery?
My robot slowly made its way across the street to the seemingly normal looking tower next to my house. It stopped just before the wall, having sensed a basic lava trap and a concealment spell. With ease, it quickly dismembered those spells and removed the enchantments. But wait, what was that quick flash of light?
That's it! A terrible robotics movie! Ron hates bad movies, and he hates bad robotics even more! I pulled up a plasma mirror, and I filled it with terrible robot movies. That'll get him for sure.
My eyes widened as the latest sequel to "Building with Chad" revealed itself. That bastard. He knew I hated those terrible movies. But it was too late to stop it now. I stood defenseless as the movie began. "Robotics is easy, just like A B C! Just plug the cord in and watch your robot run!" I guess he won this time.
| 2015-02-18T20:52:55 | 2015-02-18T19:59:49 | 59 | 31 |
[WP] As someone is time travelling and changing the past, you have to live in a constantly changing present.
Someone is time travelling and changing past events. You, a completely normal person living in the present, have to deal with constant alterations of your life. | The drink in my cup keeps flickering: coffee, tea, post-war ration water.
Sometimes, when I take a sip, it will change into the sweetest tasting orange juice, just before flickering back into irradiated piss-water.
God damn Butterfly effect.
Even my kitchen is flickering. Sometimes the lights don't work. Sometimes, if we're really unlucky, the roof disappears for a moment, or caves in, and acid rain starts to pour in. It's a real mess.
But at least I've got Mary.
She's the only thing in this world who matters to me. I can't say how I know for sure, but I *know* Mary's always been with me. Maybe it's that look in her eyes, or the way she holds my hand, even as the kitchen table switches: scrap wood with nails sticking out, to exquisite mahogany, to rust-covered corrugated steel.
Yep, Mary's my girl, and even if her hair changes (long, beautiful chestnut curtains, or that short, military crew cut, or tucked up into one of them black hood thingies), she will always be right here with me. She's the only one who stays the same, no matter what those god damn time travelers are monkeying with in the past.
"Marry me, Mary," I say. And she'll laugh, and say, "You know, in some timeline, we probably already *are*." So, the best we can do is promise to be there for each other. I've given her my promise everyday, and she's given me hers, for as far back as I can remember.
Even when the house is on fire, she's sitting right there with me, waiting for a flicker to snuff it out.
Even now, as we're eating breakfast, and the laughter of children (maybe they could've been our own?) switches between the screaming of air-raid sirens, I know I'll be okay.
Because, even when the whole world is always changing, I know I've got my Susan.
***
*See /r/PSHoffman for more stories like this.* | "Janette, will you marry me?"
She looks at me and her eyes shine with tears. "Oh, Hal. Yes. Yes! Of course!"
I stand and force my face into a smile I know will make my cheeks ache. We reach for each other, my arms outstretched to pull her in and kiss her.
And suddenly I'm not in a fancy restaurant eating dinner. It's noon and I'm in a coffee shop. I look toward the menu - the standard drill by now - and see that the words are written in Italian.
I sigh and fish in my pocket looking for a cellphone. I dial the first number that - thankfully - is still in my phone.
My mother picks up.
"Mom, where am I?"
Her voice crackles on the other line. "Hal? Oh, Hal! Oh what a strange question. How's Italy? You know you called in the middle of the night? Well what a strange way to wake your mother, simply asking where you--"
I hang up. She'll forgive me in a few minutes.
Well, she won't remember anyway. Or something. I'm not quite sure how it works.
Something is happening. I woke up one morning and everything started to change. I wasn't in my apartment in Indiana - I was in a Taiwanese classroom surrounded by six year olds who were calling me teacher. Then I was on a mountain somewhere with a man who clapped me on the back and told me I was his best friend. An hour later I went to a world where everyone looked like me - blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin. Thank God I left that world and went somewhere else.
The problem is that I seem to be the only one who remembers these journeys. For everyone else it's just life. Each world seems to keep certain aspects - my parents don't change. I still have their phone number in the cell phone that I've always had.
I'm stuck in Italy for the better part of a day. I guess *stuck* isn't the optimal word here, but it's not my favorite place to be. I wander the streets. The sun heats my back and I know that I've created some sort of sweat stain on my back. I grimace and hope it goes away with the next jump.
Then it happens. It always happens. I switch. One moment I'm on a street in Italy and the next I'm somewhere cold. So cold. The wind cuts through my suit jacket and I rummage in my pocket for my cellphone.
Except there's a problem. It isn't there.
In front of me is a hut. I walk toward it, my shoes filling with snow that rapidly melts and makes my toes go numb. I open the door and step inside, shivering in the chill as I watch my breath rise up in front of me.
Surprisingly, the hut has a note in it.
*Hal,*
*Having fun? I've finally figured out how to do what we promised we would as children. I'll give you forty eight hours, then we're starting over. Catch me if you can.*
I close my eyes and exhale. Everything is starting to make sense.
*Little brothers.* | 2016-05-18T06:20:33 | 2016-05-18T04:54:23 | 107 | 64 |
[WP] One second your in your house, the next you're standing in a living room surrounded by three demons. They drop their Ouija board and scream as they run to their bathroom and lock the door. "I told you we shouldn't have touched it!" | "I told you, Urglesh!" yelled the Scourge of Ten Worlds, "I told you they were real!" His back was pinned against a baroque, iron door.
"Yeah well, I thought you were joking, humans are a myth! Everyone knows that, even little demonettes and imps. Shut up and grab that chair and block the door." The Scourge scrambled for a bone chair and wedged it between the eternal handle and the soulstone floor.
"Oh Lucifer, oh Lucifer help us!" squeaked the nameless horror from the corner of the room. He rocked back and forwards with his hands on his horns.
".....Urglesh, has it gone?"
".....I don't know. It's gone quiet."
"It's up to something! I heard they can teleport!"
*tap tap tap*
"Nyaaaaagh, it's at the door! Go away foul creature, leave us in suffering!"
"Human, foul beast, what do you want with us? Please, don't hurt us!"
"....okay it's just that I'd like to go home?"
"THEN GO!"
"Well... I'm not sure how?"
"....is this a trap?"
"No. I'd rather like to go, I don't know where I am and I don't think I like it. Why is everything screaming?"
"I.... well, they are the lost souls of the damned. I only got them last month," pouted the Scourge, "They're not cheap, you know."
"I see. They're.... yes. Quite. So, do you think I could go home?"
"Urglesh, can we send..... it.... home?"
"I don't know, maybe?"
"....oh good, thank you. I'll just wait out here, shall I?"
"Yes! Don't touch anything."
"Right, no, of course. I'll just have a sit down and let you chaps sort it out. I don't suppose you've got any tea? No, silly question." They heard shuffling and footsteps. None of them moved, lest it return.
Urglesh put one of his twelve eyes to the keyhole in the infernal door, checking if the coast was clear.
"Don't look!" shouted the scourge, "I heard they can turn you to stone with a glance!"
"I tell you, nameless horror, those things creep me out. Did you see its skin? It wasn't moving or bleeding, and it didn't even have horns..."
"And what in the nine heavens is 'tea'?"
| “*I* didn’t want to do it. But you were all like, nah, you’re just being a wimp, humans don’t really exist!”
“Shhh! It’s right outside. Lurking around…it makes me feel dirty to be in the same house as one. What do you think it smells like?”
“I don’t know, why don’t you go ask it?”
“Shut up, Kevin! You do it!”
The bathroom door opened slowly and I saw three pairs of glowing green eyes peek through the crack.
“It looks tame,” one of them said. It sounded like two females and a male.
“Yeah, yeah, I don’t bite. You come out whenever you feel like it,” I said. They screamed and slammed the door. “You know, I was enjoying a nice evening at home, was gonna hang out with some friends later and watch *Ghostbusters*…”
I covered my mouth. “Shit. That’s not what you think…they just capture the ghosts; it’s a movie. All special effects. ”
“Disgusting. The night I find out humans are real, I also find out they watch films about enslaving us for fun. How can you live with yourself?”
“I don’t know, man. In fact, I’m beginning to suspect that I’m dead.”
“You’re not transparent, dipshit.”
I heard a deep sigh from inside the bathroom. “Cynthia, be nice!”
“I’m not gonna be nice to a wobbly, flesh-covered freak!”
“Well, then, you’re just as bad as him and his movies.”
I heard a collective sigh from the ghosts. They passed through the doorway and glanced at me. Each was clearly a teenager.
I looked them over, up and down. Dressed just like average American adolescents. Their surroundings were simple and furnished similarly to a typical urban apartment, with just enough otherworldly glow and ectoplasm residue to prove that I’d passed into some other dimension. “This might come across as insensitive, but were you…humans in the past?”
“What?” One of the girls shook her head in disdain. “What a ridiculous assumption.”
“You must have been. Ghosts aren’t just ‘born.’”
“I don’t think…I mean, come on, that’s just…” She shook her head and I saw her pale white eyebrows furrow in confusion. “…All I know is that I showed up here with these two and we’ve never gone anywhere else.”
“Well, in that case, I—“
As soon as I uttered the beginning of the sentence, I popped back into my living room.
*
Back in the ghost dimension, Kevin had given the Ouija board another command – S-E-N-D-I-T-H-O-M-E.
“Kevin, what is WRONG with you?”
“I don’t want to get preached at by some being from another place. He doesn’t know what life is like for us.”
“But he could be the key to understanding where we came from! Why we’re here! Don’t you want to know?”
Kevin frowned. “No.” He threw the Ouija board into the fireplace, watching it become enveloped by otherworldly flames.
*
I sat in my living room, staring at the ceiling. I felt as though I’d seen something never meant to be seen, and wondered if the ghosts felt the same way.
I considered summoning them with a board of my own, but it didn't seem right.
The dead are meant to rest in peace, and the living cannot live in peace with knowledge of things we don't understand.
***
/r/GigaWrites
| 2016-08-08T13:13:55 | 2016-08-08T11:02:35 | 351 | 171 |
[WP] You see numbers above people, telling how many people they will kill given they keep on the same track. Last month you met a seemingly ordinary person with the number 7,431,323,210, or the total population of the Earth.
Edit: Well this blew up.
First of all, I'd like to thank all the talented writers for taking the time to share their gift with us.
Secondly, the prompt is definitely inspired by my favorite story I've read here.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2ns30z/wp_you_are_a_teenager_with_the_ability_to_measure/cmgetim/?utm_content=permalink&utm_medium=front&utm_source=reddit&utm_name=WritingPrompts | 0…
0…
4.. “Hmm, should I?”. He was about to open the door to a minivan, it was early afternoon and I assumed he was about to go pick up his kids from school. I began walking towards him, sometimes just delaying them by a few minutes would reduce the number to 0.
“Excuse me!” Someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned, blinked once, shook my head, blinked again and my eyes widened when I realised I wasn’t seeing things.
7,431,323,210
Holy shit. That must be the entire population.
“Hi, you dropped this,” she said, handing me my credit card. She looked fairly normal despite the number hovering above her head. Mousey brown hair, brown eyes, slight build, nothing that would suggest that she was going to kill everyone in the world at some point in her life. “Oh, thanks so much, I really need to start using my wallet instead of my pockets.” She laughed, then coughed softly.
“No worries, glad I caught you”. she turned to walk away. The number remained unchanged.
“Hey! Where are you headed? Let me buy you a coffee to say thanks.” I said suddenly. She turned back, looked at me with slight concern, shook her head and continued to walk away.
I felt as though there was a pit of snakes in my stomach. I had to do something, but had no idea what. Follow her? For how long? Days? Years?
She turned a corner, out of sight and I contemplated my options quickly. Telling the police was out of the question, telling her though… it was worth a shot, she may be spiritual in some sense and could believe my usual “I’m psychic and have a bad feeling” trope.
I walked quickly, hoping she hadn’t jumped in a car and driven off before I could reach her. Fortunately, I caught sight of her seated on a low wall staring straight ahead. As I continued, she began to cough, soft at first then slowly developing into a racking cough that shook her whole body.
I ran up to her “Are you okay, do you need some water?”
She looked up at me with blood shot eyes still coughing and spluttering. “No. I need..”
Suddenly she passed out. I caught her in my arms, and laid her to the floor, fumbling through my pockets for my phone. Dialling triple 000, I wondered if it was ethical for me to call for help. If I saved her, would her path alter, as currently the number remained unchanged. But she definitely wasn’t breathing.
I relayed the information to the operator, who asked me to feel for a pulse in her wrist. There was none, so she asked me to try in her neck. There was nothing. The operator instructed me to place one hand in the middle of her chest, clasp my other hand on top and do 30 compressions, followed by 2 breaths, the ambulance was on its way.
Pumping, Pumping, counting in my head up to thirty. god this was exhausting.
28..29.. 30.. I turned to give 2 breaths when I noticed her bloodshot eyes were wide open, seeming to stare at me, though she said nothing. I shook her, and shouted which didn’t elicit a verbal response and so I tried to feel for a pulse again.
She grabbed my hand before I could reach her neck. I tried to pull away but she was unusually strong.
Then, she bit me.
Edit: spelling | Serena Lane sat in silence. It wasn't uncommon for her to sit in this contemplative state at 3:23pm every day. She waited for the doorknob for her office to turn at exactly 3:24pm - no sooner, no later.
"And how are you today, Cliff?" Serena smiled politely at her next patient. Something was wrong. It had been a month, and his number still hadn't changed.
He nodded and made his way to his regular spot on the couch, always all the way to the left but never touching the armrest. The number followed him.
"Clifford?"
Again, the boy kept quiet and sat still in his spot, save a nod toward the light switch.
"Ah, right." said Serena, following his silent order. She flicked the switch off and on, off and on, off and on.... seven times. Just the way Cliff needed it. The timid twelve year old gazed up at her from his spot on the couch, signaling the okay to start their session.
She remembered when she first saw him, how those same eyes seemed so innocent and clear. How their early therapy sessions had introduced her to an honest, intelligent young man who was simply misunderstood, all because of a compulsive disorder too difficult for his parents to deal with. A few sessions, she thought, and he would learn how to cope with it.
Until the number began to form.
After just two weeks of continuous therapy, Serena saw a number hovering above young Clifford Hines' head, a process all too familiar to her sharp eyes. Her talent was specific to her and the reason she became a psychologist. She wanted to reduce the number of lives each person would eventually take, bringing each number she saw down to zero. But this particular patient was different. She had never seen a number so large, and never so clearly.
"How are you today, Cliff?" Serena repeated her question. The silence stiffened, then gave way to a small voice.
"I'm always the same."
"Tell me what you mean by that, dear." Serena was more eager than usual, motivated by the floating digits above.
"Nobody understands," he whispered. As he spoke, his clasped hands grew tighter. "There's a certain *way* things need to be done. They don't ever listen. They always mess things up."
"Who are you talking about, Cliff?"
"Everyone."
Silence.
Serena thought carefully, wanting to approach this subject with caution. There had been plenty of instances when she had seen a number drop to zero. She could do this. She *had* to do this.
"You know, Cliff, you're right. The world does work in a certain way, but that doesn't mean it always has to go *your* way. You can't just get rid of everyone else, you have to coexist. Part of why you and I talk every day is so you can understand that and learn to be at peace with it. What do you think might help us achieve that goal?"
More silence.
"It's alright if you don't want to speak, but if you don't I might not be able to help you. But you can talk to me, Cliff. That's why I'm-"
"Ms. Lane?"
Out of 30 sessions, he had never interrupted her.
"Yes?" She asked, completely dumbfounded.
"I think it would help if they all went." Clifford loosened up. His face was less serious, his grip on himself less tight.
"They as in...?"
"Everyone."
"I'm not sure what you mean." Serena's confusion gave way to worry. This was what she feared. His number still hadn't changed.
"There are too many people in my way," said Clifford, pleasantly thoughtful in his tone, 10 digits still desperately glowing above his head.
"Cliff I'm not sure you-"
"Thank you, Ms. Lane." Clifford's mouth turned up into a full, proud smile. "I don't think I'll need to see you anymore, though." Serena felt a chill run through her as she watched Clifford nod toward the light switch once more, but she couldn't move to follow his order. She couldn't move at all. The boy sighed. "See what I mean? They never listen."
She watched as her patient walked over to the light switch, then off and on, off and on, off and on... seven times. Just the way he needed it. The door opened and Clifford Hines walked out of the office, his number bouncing with him all the way down the hallway. It was unchanging and clearer than ever.
7,431,323,210.
Serena Lane sat in silence.
| 2017-01-07T20:19:50 | 2017-01-07T20:14:37 | 961 | 148 |
[WP] You are a demon in disguise, faking a cold near a church so a pastor will 'bless you'. | D: Ah-choo!
P: Oh, Gesundheit!
D: ...Oh.
P: Yes, is something wrong?
D: Well, you said gesundheit. I guess I assumed that you would say "God bless you."
P: Oh no, I prefer not to do that. You see, the history of that tradition began during the Black Plague, when Pope Gregory I decreed that any instance of sneezing and coughing should be met with a blessing. They knew that if someone got the plague that they might not survive long enough to receive last rights, so it was a precaution to ensure that their soul entered heaven.
D: Oh, I didn't know that.
P: Yes, most people don't think about it before they say that. But of course with modern medicine it isn't a real risk. I believe it is better to only bless someone with intention. If it's automatic then the feelings aren't as strong, and I want God to know when I intend to petition him for prayer. Also, there's the fact that you're Baphomet the Sabbatic Goat
D: Oh man, was it really that obvious?
P: Well you're a goat with human breasts, and you flew in here on a pentagram.
D: Yeah, maybe I should have been a little more subtle about that. | I would say I did a pretty fine shiver myself. It wasn't that hard. Nothing to do with the 'imagine you're cold' psychological bullshit - just a chattering of teeth and a trembling body and you're good to go. I wouldn't be certain as to the success rate, but if a pastor, one supposed to be in touch with the gods could not out me as a spawn of Satan, then it probably was pretty effective. Smiling his warmest smile, he walked into the church.
"Oh, my poor child. The God hath not smiled upon you today. Let Him..." he paused, then his face flushed red with embarrassment.
"I think I forgot the word...wait..." he thought for a moment, his facing burning hot until he thought of it. "Ah yes! May the Lord give you his heavenly blessings."
I didn't want a fucking crumb of heavenly blessings, whatever the fuck that did. I had to get the specific 'bless you' from him to gain unlimited power as a follower. But, out of wit or stupidity, the pastor seemed to veer away from the usual blessing to a more convoluted and unhelpful one. I tried again.
"I think you meant 'bless you'," I corrected him, trying to make him repeat the phrase. But all I got was a hurried 'Oh yes'. Fuck.
I shivered more, this time more out of fear of not fulfilling the promise to the demon lords. They could be far more punishing than God could be to demons, I could imagine. The pastor, mistaking it as a request for more warmth, brought it accordingly, repeating the phrase 'May the Lord be with you'. I didn't want the Lord to be *with* me, what the hell! I needed him to *bless* me, not act like a caring wife or something. At this moment, desperation seeped into my tone as I made one final attempt. Else I would have to call the mission a failure.
"Could you bless me, Father?" I said, putting on my most piteous tone possible. He nodded, his smile widening. "Blessings *be to* you," he stressed on the middle two words, and as my face contorted in anger, I swear I could see his eyes dancing with glee.
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! | 2017-07-04T08:45:38 | 2017-07-04T07:57:32 | 82 | 41 |
[WP] Everyone on Earth was infected with a disease with no cure. The only thing keeping humanity alive is a drug that fights the disease, but can't kill it. When you run out of money to keep buying your daily dose, you notice something. You're not dead.
Edit: Woh, this blew up. I wasn't expecting that to happen.
Thanks, Internet. | I was surprised I noticed.
After all, I *should* be dead.
The infection was said to have completely saturated the entire species. We had been living this way for years. The medicine had its side effects, of course. Everyone was a little skittish and unable to focus. Our internal temperature went up by a full degree (99.6 was now the norm). And when people died now, they became a dried out husk in a matter of hours.
So when I ran out of Optimum-B, I knew I was likely in for painful death. Thankfully it wasn't. Everything just kind of slowed and soon nothing but blackness.
Shortly after that I was not dead. And I wanted one thing. One thing that I hungered for beyond anything: brains. | Doing things that you are not supposed to was one of my skills that always got me in trouble. My mother, being a lady of the Night Market, took medicines and herbs so that she could not be with child, but one unfortunate evening I was born nonetheless. I wan't meant to survive in this cruel city on my own after my mom died but I did anyway. People told me I was not supposed to steal but I stole purses from unsuspecting merchants on busiest of streets anyway. People told me I was not to sleep in the alleyways of the city, but I did anyway. However, all these defiance never did me any good. I was alive but hungry. I was asleep but cold. The days went as usual until today when I wasn't supposed to wake up but I did it anyway.
The Medicine is not so expensive, even the lowest of beggars can afford it, and if one begs nicely he will not go without it even in this wrenched town. Sometimes people want to die and don't take it. It is only rarely anyone dies entirely due to lack of The Medicine. But why I didn't take The Medicine yesterday? Well I forgot and not until I went to the market for a new vile and found a full vile in my pocket, I remembered I had forgotten to take it yesterday. I was surprised at first that I had never met a person who ever forgot to take it but I ran cold when I thought why it was so.
Sitting beside the fountain in town square, I watched people run here and there full informed of the death creeping inside them, ready to consume them if they forgot to take the medicine. But had anyone tried to see if they can live without it? the question bugged me. People never went far from the city for fear that they will run out of The Medicine. Long distance trade was all but myths. Travelling was death. Until today.
| 2017-07-14T11:37:22 | 2017-07-14T10:49:00 | 58 | 32 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
| I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!” | 2017-09-15T08:01:38 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 975 | 13 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced. | "That was..." Brawg began, staggering over the bodies of the fallen goblins, his boots squelching in the treacle-like blood.
"Far too..." said Vesperr, returning her bow to her back, and beginning to pluck out arrows from the deceased enemies.
"Oxyrin!" finished Oxyrin, his pointed hat falling over his eyes once again. Dribble oozed down from his mouth and his pupils spun this way and that, as if two compasses confused by magnets.
Brawg and Vesperr looked at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing. Brawg brought a thunderous hand down on the wizard's back. "Don't ever change, Oxyrin!" he said.
"Oh, Oxyrin," grinned Vesperr, "you're the reason we do this, you know? For that smile on your face." She wiped away a the spittle from his lips, then shook her finger, sending the spit plopping onto the ground.
"Oxyrin!" Oxyrin repeated. A pointed tongue darted out of his mouth and latched onto a fly that was hovering over a brutalised body below.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't just see that," said Brawg with a wink. "Okay gang, I'd say we're all done here. I believe its time to go collect our reward."
"Not so fast, my friends," came a mysterious voice from behind them. Only, when they turned, there was *nothing* behind them.
Slowly, the blue-robed wizard hazed into existence. "It is I, the *real* Oxyrin! I have been trapped for the longest time, but I have finally outsmarted my captors and have returned to my friends. For no one is as clever as the Great Oxyrin!"
Brawg and Vesperr glanced at each other, then let out a joint gasp.
"Quite you might gasp," said Oxyrin, as he turned and pointed an accusing finger at the other blue wizard, who was now on all fours chasing after a spider. "For that fellow, has fooled you, my dear friends. But he is nothing more than an impostor! A Doppelganger! A fake, a fraud, and dare I say it, a phoney."
Brawg nudged Vesperr and they both gasped again.
"How.. erm, how can we believe you?" asked Vesperr, her top lip wet with nervous sweat. "How do we know he--"she pointed to the to the wizard, who was now chewing on something--"isn't the real Oxyrin. After all, he would have had to fool us both for two entire years."
Oxyrin rolled his eyes. "Hardly a challenging task. You two never were the"--his hands burst into blue flames--"brightest sparks. Ha. Hahaha."
Brawg's muscles tensed. Vesperr put a hand against his chest.
"That's not proof enough. For our Oxyrin can also do such petty parlour tricks."
"Very well," Oxyrin sighed, "I shall prove it. We shall have a wizard-off."
"Smart," said Vesperr. She let out a high pitched whistle, at which the other Oxyrin came bounding over to her.
"Oxyrin!" he sputtered as he arrived.
"Is that all he can say? How could you *possibly* believe he was me?"
"Good point," said Brawg. "His vocabulary is much larger."
"Oh. You made a joke. How very amusing."
"Okay," said Vesperr. "Round one of the wizard-off. *Shape-shifting.*"
"What? What a stupid round," complained Oxyrin, "for sniffing out a shape-shifter!" His face was red and a vein popped out of his forehead, pulsating like waves on the ocean. "Unbelievable idiocy. How you have possibly survived this long without me to guide you -- heaven only knows!"
"Oxyrin!" replied the other Oxyrin.
"Well, if you can't do it and he can..." said Brawg shrugging, "then I guess we know who the real wizard is."
"Oh... *pish!* Very well. And what must we change into, pray tell?"
"Something very small. To really challenge your morphitisation skills. A fly. Simple. First one to transform into a fly wins."
"Sala kazoo, Sala kazam!" shouted Oxyrin. There was a puff of smoke that left Vesperr and Brawg coughing. As it cleared, and only for the briefest moment, they saw a fly. Then, they saw a huge, pointed tongue. Finally, they saw an Oxyrin chewing on and then swallowing *something*.
"Oxyrin!" he shouted triumphantly, as Brawg and Vesperr collapsed into a fit of laughter.
"Oh Oxyrin," said Brawg, slapping him on the back "you really are too much."
"And," said Vesperr, "we wouldn't have it any other way!"
| I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!” | 2017-09-15T05:03:01 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 788 | 13 |
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd. | "How specific do I have to be?" Noah asked. His light brown eyes were ablaze with a curious light. The geenie had a feeling that this person was not like the others.
"If you can't think of a time, as long as you can specify the event relative to yourself. For example if you want to say I want to remember the time I met my wife, even if you don't remember the date I can take you back to the event."
"That's quite fascinating. Am I able to change the events?"
"No, but you would experience the event just as it was at the time."
"This can only show me memories of the past?"
"Indeed."
Noah seemed a little dejected at that fact.
"I don't remember a lot of things," he said slowly. There was hesitation in his voice. Would my memory be a factor?"
"No, the experience is recreated regardless of your memory.
"I see." He closed his eyes. There was hesitation on his face that I noticed before on those who had experienced much pain in the past. My guess was that he had lost a lover once.
"I want to remember my first death."
"I didn't quite understand what you said."
Noah had a smile on his face and now the light in his eyes was much too bright and somewhat sinister.
"You heard me right. I want to see if you can really do this."
I began the ritual, and this was the first time in a while that I was also genuinely curious as to what I would see.
We were taken to a filthy apartment in an unknown city. There was clutter of every nature and old clothes were thrown about. The walls were bare, with occasional writing on the walls in an unknown language. The cries of a child echoed throughout the apartment. There was a woman holding a newborn child in her arms. Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a young creature, hardly past her teen years. Her hair was short and messy. I sensed a great deal of misery radiating from her shape, and I associated it with the drugs that humans were known from abusing. Her pupils were dilated and there was a tremor in her arms. She lay the child on an unmade bed and took a filty pillow. I understood what she would do. Beside me, Noah observed fascinated.
She spoke softly in an unfamiliar language as she smothered the child. The child's cries stopped eventually and she lifted the pillow. She caressed the child's peaceful face. He was certainly dead. She then picked up the child and enveloped him in cloth. She continued to speak to the child and her tears did not abate.
Noah's voice startled me "Are you certain that's me?"
"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. "There are no errors with the ritual. How is this possible?"
"I expected something more dramatic," Noah chuckled, "but I suppose we all had to start somewhere."
All at once, the child's cries had resumed. He writhed inside the bundle and the mother began unwrapping it at once. There was shock on her face. She did not embrace the child's small body. She shrieked in her foreign language and went to the kitchen. She came back, a large knife in her right hand.
"We might not want to see this next part," Noah chuckled. "I'm going to guess she carried on for quite some time before she gave up"
"What are you?" I asked him.
He smiled at me and shook his head.
"You aren't the only one who's different."
He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in. "You said I get two more?"
| First it was the noise. People talking softly, as to not wake me up. Somebody's kid was crying afar, and some of the machines went beep-beep beep-beep.
I decided to open my eyes. Even before the light hit my corneas, the smell of a hospital bedroom entered my nostrils with nauseating speed. What was this? What is going on? Am I...
"Look!" one of the men could be heard saying. "He's awake. Go get Jess."
Who's that? Breathing was hard, and it made a lot of noise. With each breath I could feel the urge to cough my lungs out. My lovely Belinda. I couldn't keep my end of the deal. But then again, neither did you.
"Dad. Stay still, the doctors told us they can get you comfortable. At... least." - his voice was cracking. If I hadn't this tube inside my throat right I would laugh at his face. This is only the end, and not even yours. Be a man about it for fuck's sake.
With the absence of my glasses I can't even make sense of who is who. Age really is the ruin of mankind. I saw three men at the other end of the room. All of them dressed like men, built like men, with men haircuts and men voices. Most of all, manly attitudes. None of that crying on each other shoulders or holding my hand in theirs. Nope. This isn't how I raised my boys. And they haven't been boys in a good 20 years.
A kid walks through the room.
"Aunt Jess said she's not coming"
"What do you mean she's not coming? Dad is..." He looked at me. The same runt whose voice just cracked. I locked my furious eyes at his. Say it. Say it, motherfucker, get your closure now or live forever with the realization of the coward you are.
"Dad is dying." This was Mark. My oldest. Never a disappointment. The mope who couldn't finish the line was Terry then. That leaves the always quiet Randy being... well... quiet. Mark continued: "I'm gonna go get Jess", to which Randy says: "are you sure this is what the old coot wants?"
"I don't care what he wants, she has as much a right of being here as any of us."
"NOOO" I try to say, realizing who that is, but only a gutural cry was heard. "I don't want that person in here". They look at me desperate. Mark is gone, Terry comes closer and tries to hold my hand, to which I smack him with all the strength my cancerous body can muster.
The urge to cough gets harder. I can feel the back of my throat alive with mucus and blood. Is this what the doctors meant with being comfortable? The beeping noise is louder. My chapped lips bleed, my chest itches from the inside. This is it, isn't?
A duo of nurses comes through the door. "What the hell?" one of the nurses whispers to the other: "He's on so much morphine he should be in Mars right now. Do we give him more?" "I guess there's no harm in it, he's pretty much gone at the moment"
It hits me almost immediately. This feels good. I mean, the pain is mostly gone. Is this what being high is like? No wonder the kids like it. Wh- what the hell is that? A big shadow below the window gets bigger and bigger, revealing the silhouette of some sort of being. From within, my former child Jeff watched me without saying a word. Only it wasn't him. I'm confused. It sure feels like Jeff, but it also feels like a girl. Oh. I remember now. Useless jerk. From the door I see Mark coming in alone. Randy hasn't moved and inch and Terry is arguing about something with the nurses. More kids start to come in. I can't help but notice one of them doesn't make it past the door. A little girl, seems to be holding someone's hand outside the room, looking at me with curious eyes.
The last I hear is Jeff's girly voice coming from the shadow. "Let's go, this was a mistake." A deep devilish roar answers: "Art thou certain? There shan't be a fourth wish".
"I'm sure. Mom was right. He was so afraid of change that even death couldn't sway him. I only hope he burns in hell."
And then, the void. | 2017-09-16T17:23:28 | 2017-09-16T15:17:56 | 142 | 32 |
[WP] After years of having what you thought to be a slow computer, you suddenly get a popup:'installation complete'. | Anthony clicked on the button labeled 'launch program' anticipation flooding him to his very core. What could it be? Something experimental perhaps? Whatever it was, he realised his life may never be the same.
After five minutes of excitement, coupled with a tinge of fear, the program opened up.
"Welcome to Internet Explorer. Would you like to make this your default browser?"
| There's nothing worse in life than missing a deadline, but it is possible to pile on aggravating circumstances to make it even more frustrating.
12:00:43 AM.
Late. My final paper was *late*. Might as well chop a full letter off my course grade, stab my GPA in the back - all because this useless hulk of silicon is apparently only capable of communicating with the outside world one carefully hoarded bit at a time. How in the hell does it possibly take two and a half hours to upload a 100kb word file?
I might as well have submitted it via smoke signals or radio telegraphy.
That's when the popup marred the bottom corner of the screen, proclaiming that my download was ready. "What download?" I fairly screamed, for here at last was a target for my as yet unvented rage that I could both afford to replace and wasn't responsible for a third of the rent. "What malware smelling download could have *possibly* been prioritized? Show me your wisdom, Oh malevolent AI!"
I may have been drinking quite heavily while waiting to see if the upload was going to make it.
I fired up the download link, and quicker than I thought possible for the old machine the screen flashed to black and a single DOS style text prompt blinked emptily in the center of the screen below a single isolated line of text:
*Shall we play a game?* | 2017-10-14T08:34:37 | 2017-10-14T05:19:10 | 354 | 130 |
[WP] There is an old folklore about a man in a forest. If you meet him, and speak with him, he will grant you your greatest wish. In return, he will also take away your most cherished possession. You, someone with nothing left to lose, go to meet him. | It's cold, but it doesn't bother me. Nothing really does.
A few days ago, I was doing the same thing as always- cleaning the dorm, sitting in lecture, going back. What changed was my roommate, Dave, told me of an old folklore.
"Hey"
"Yeah?"
"Have you heard about the man in the forest?" I nod my head no.
"Well, they say that he is wise. A man who has wrinkles older than time. Apparently, he had once lived as a normal guy, but came across wealth after learning of his royal heritage. That was great, but he became consumed with wealth.
"He had a wife, but instead of giving her the care he needed, he ignored her. She left him after months of this. It took a while, but eventually he felt the weight of what he lost. Overtime, he fell into depression, and died alone.
"But he came back, deep within a forest, and now will grant people what they believe to be their greatest wishes in exchange for their greatest, most cherished possession.
"Pretty cool, huh? We were learning about him in class today."
We talked a bit after that, and I kept asking him questions, such as where this supposed man dwelled. I was intrigued.
I never put much value on anything, life was simply dull moving through the motions. My family wasn't something to be proud of, and being with my friends was just bothersome. My entire existence was just lethargic, dull, and bothersome.
So that is why I wondered what this man could possibly take from me. I had nothing else to do, so here I am wondering in a cold forest, searching for such a man.
The trees all look similar to the one next to it, the only difference being their spacing. The farther I moved in the forest, the more thinned out the trees were, until I came upon a clear patch. I assume this is where I should be meeting.
"Hello, are you here?"
" You came all the way out here for me?"
A woman emerged, young and beautiful, nothing like the old man that Dave described. No matter.
"Hm, I was expecting your husband-at least I assume as much"
"Why, you're such a smart child. Now, what is it you wish for?"
"Well, the thing is. I really don't care much for anything. I'm here in curiosity of what you would take. But I presume you won't just tell me, so I wish to know the true purpose of life."
"Is that so? Well, then it shall be done. You know, you're an odd one. I like you, so I apologize in advance for this."
She began to murmur something, then put her hand on my head. I felt a surge go through me. Then whispers in my mind. I felt my head tilt as I processes what I was told. I truly did not expect this answer. But nevermind that, I can ponder it later. For now...
"What did you take?"
"Your ability to die, or age past 30. Your most cherished possession was knowing that, one day, this would all end. You wouldn't have to just wander in life anymore. Or that old age would change how you see life. And now, neither of those will happen."
I think on this, and find myself disappointed. I was expecting something more... tangible.
"Ah, well it is true I would like to know something other than this, I believe I am doing just fine in life. And also, thank you. While I can't use this to benefit me, I at least can recognize that which those around me feel. I will use this to make their lives more enjoyable."
The lady smiled. "Such an odd boy. Make sure to visit me again sometime in this trap of time."
"Of course."
I left. Getting out was much easier than coming in. I should be back to campus by tomorrow. May as well do some Chemistry on my way to the dorm. | I woke up to the birds chirping in the morning. The rays of sun reached my feet, as I lay on the park bench. I coughed a little as I stretched, awaking, and dreamed of a yesterday, where I would wake up warm and cozy in the comfort of blankets and arms.
But today I was going to try something I had never had the nerve to do before.
I was at a local bar a few nights ago, a kind fella had spotted me outside, and invited me in for a beer. In a mist of a drunken stupor, he pulled out the last year of my life, in a twisted tongue, through a tale I dreaded to give away. It was precious to me. He was precious to me. Anton.
Anton was the love of my life. We had met young, and married quick. We honeymooned at the beach, and worked hard for a home. We adopted three dogs, and raised them to be kind with to the calico cat that Anton had come with.
“What happened to Anton,” the friendly stranger had pressed, handing me another beer.
I told him about the downward spiral. The alcohol, the pressure I laid onto him to sober up.
“Nice,” the had stranger commented, aptly suggesting my own drunkenness.
I told him about the bottles I would find hidden, about the arguments that we had.
I also explained to him about the nights we fell asleep huddled together, angry, but content at the end of the day in each other's arms.
Then I told him about the day that I left the house.
About how he had gone on a bender. About how it was the first time he hurt me. How he didn’t even remember pressing his hands around my neck, squeezing. How I hoped he wouldn’t stop. And how did stop.
The day I left, I was inconsolable. I told him I was still his. I told him that I just needed a little distance. Space. And he needed to sober up. He agreed.
And I was still his. We spoke everyday, when I woke up I would call him, when he went to bed, he would call me.
And if there were any stories to be told, the phone would be in my hand, ready to call my best friend to tell it all.
But that was before he was diagnosed. He was diagnosed soon after. It all had happened in a matter of months.
See, he had stomach cancer.
The day he was on his deathbed, I cried inconsolably. I lost everything. From my job, to my apartment, my love, my love. I lost everything. I had it all, and it had slipped through my fingers like water.
“There is a man,” the stranger told me, “who lives in the woods. He grants wishes, in return for the most cherished thing that you possess.”
I sat up, watching the world whirl around me, traffic, people, so many stories, so many lives all in one place. Today I would go see this man.
The climate was calm, not too cold, not too warm, not a hint of breeze. The air lingered with the thick scent of juniper. As I followed the detailed directions that the stranger had given me, I came upon a house that seemed like the earth had swallowed it whole. It was made of stone, and moss crept up on in from the base upwards, vines spiraling in every crevice. A tree seemed to peak out of the roof itself.
Hesitantly, I knocked. A raven perched on a tree watched me thoughtfully.
The door swung open. The first thing to take note of was the age of this man. He must have been at least ninety. His beard hung down to his pot bellied stomach, and his cheeks were pinched with roses.
“Hello dear,” he said, “I had an inkling that you would be coming,”
He ushered me into the cottage, and sat me at a heavy wooden circular table, with a steaming cup of tea before me.
“I believe you came to request something of me, yes?”
I sat mute, surprised, unsure of how to begin.
“Darling, it is okay. I already know what it is you want, but I do need you to verbalize it to make it so. I know that you have also been told that there is a price to pay, yes?”
“I have nothing left to lose,” I said, my voice so low that it could hardly be caught.
“Ah, that is where you are wrong. We always have something left to lose.”
I looked up at him, and said the words. I envisioned Anton’s smile, that the world had had to live without. I told him I wanted Anton alive again.
“Are you positive? There is only one thing you have left to offer to make such a thing happen,” He said. And I knew it then. I understood. My existence.
I nodded, and the world went black.
| 2017-11-25T09:37:16 | 2017-11-25T09:17:08 | 31 | 18 |
[WP] Write a story we’re it’s not clear who’s the villain and who’s the good guy up until the final sentence we’re it becomes incredible black and white. | “Here’s to 20 happy years together,” Michael said sarcastically, raising his champagne flute into the air. He was sat by a picnic table in his garden.
“They were the best,” laughed Sheila, raising her glass in response. “Where did it all go wrong?”
Michael’s grin gradually exchanged itself for a look of pensive sadness. “Well, you fucked Tommy’s dad, that’s probably where it started going wrong.”
“No, Mike. Things started to go sour long before I did that. Back when you started beating me after you’d had too much to drink,” Sheila retorted.
Michael and Sheila looked down at their glasses as a peaceful stillness broke out between them. This had been the first time they’d communicated honestly in 20 years.
They picked up their glasses, smiled at one another, and simultaneously consumed the champagne.
Michael began to struggle to breath. His face became crimson red, and his eyes started to bulge. He clasped his straining throat as if to free himself from an invisible stranglehold. Sheila looked on with horror, but she didn’t move to help. A short struggle later, Michael collapsed onto the picnic table.
A teenage boy came to his bedroom window overlooking his parents. He’d heard the thud of his father’s head on the picnic table. He hated their fighting; he hated getting beaten. He wanted it all to end. As he walked back from his window, he grabbed his bag, already packed, and headed out. He didn’t need to see his mother die as well. | The dimly lit chamber echoed with their voices.
"You always were like this. Always belittling me with your snarky comments!" said his royal highness, now not so high.
"What about you, never once a thank you for a lifetime of service, for unwavering loyalty." said the battered knight.
*R:* "Unwavering loyalty my royal bottom. How many times have I caught you on the job with her. Pray we are friends and she is a monster. And I'm thankless? You ungrateful lout. How quickly you forget the service medals or the paid holidays. I even knighted you."
*K:* "Pfft! You knight everybody with the ability to separate a horse from an apple. All in all, I'm happy that you're getting your comeuppance."
*R:* "And whats that going to be? Are you implying something?"
*K:* "Death comes in many surprises to tyrants."
*R:* "You forget your place, peasant."
*K:* "That is Sir Peasant the Knight to you."
*R:* "I think it's high time I show you your place and restore my dignity, in the eyes of my lords at least."
*K:* "If you ever leave here, of course."
*R:* "I always knew you would be the end of me. With your fat mouth and all blabbering on about our secrets."
*K:* "You forget you ruined my life too by sleeping with your duke's wife and blaming me. You have a lovely queen by the way."
*R:* "She was a hag as you well know. Besides, you went and blamed half the town for witchcraft, the rest for adultery"
*K:* "Well the tools were sharp, you know I have low pain tolerance."
*R:* "Wimp!"
*K:* "Knave!"
"QUIET!" The chamber went dead silent, that is after the torturer's shout echoed off the walls.
*T:* "If you two are done, shall we begin something *fun*?"
*R:* "And what fun would that be you dimwit?"
*T:* "I thought we may find something to do to pass the time, I'm tired of hanging upside down and I'm not even speaking."
*K:* "No wonder you were not knighted but you were always a good friend. You shouldn't have let us go."
"***You are correct, he shouldn't have.***" said a voice as smooth as silk. The queen readied her tools for the *fun*.
* * *
*I enjoy writing short prompts. If you are curious for more:* [r/spider_elephant](https://www.reddit.com/r/spider_elephant/)
| 2018-11-26T23:13:13 | 2018-11-26T22:12:30 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Humans are new on the galactic stage. The reigning champion in an MMA style fighting ring uses telepathy to predict his opponents movements,but humans have something never seen or heard of before. Muscle memory. | **(This is my first ever comment to this sub in an effort to improve my writing. Please provide feedback to help me improve.)**
Jamba looked his new opponent up and down. This is the newcomer everyone has been talking about? He couldn't help but let a smirk creep across his face. The human looked weak before the titan of the arena. Jamba has seen vermin that are more intimidating. Filled with confidence, he stepped forward into the ring already considering the match a sure-win in his favor. As the opponent made his way and they finally stood face to face, Jamba already began his analysis.
"A low kick fake into a roundhouse." Jamba couldn't help but mock. "That's your grand strategy?"
The human's expression remained unchanged. Jamba was annoyed that his taunt went ignored. He couldn't help but feel that this human was looking down on him, the champion. No other fighter dared to show such disrespect. He decided that this newbie was going to serve as a message to any other human that has the nerve to compete. Jamba was going to rip his head clean off right after countering the first attack.
The referee finished talking and the bell to begin sounded throughout the arena simultaneous with the cheering of a million fans. The thoughts were still clear in Jamba's mind. The human was still intent on using the roundhouse.
It all happened too fast for even the audience to react. The kick came, as Jamba predicted, but before he could counter after his perfectly timed block, another kick followed, and then another. Each kick faster than the last. Faster than Jamba could react to. His mind was flooding. He could tell the move that was about to be launched at him, but all he could do is keep the same defensive stance. Soon he found himself on the receiving end of a hurricane. Punch and kicks landed one after another, faster and stronger with each blow. Jamba lashed out, using rage to guide him rather than his telepathy, but it was a costly mistake. His lightning-fast punch was not only dodged effortlessly but in return, the human painted a target on Jamba's exposed jaw and traded eight punches for his one.
Jamba's knees lost every ounce of strength. As he fell down like a tower being demolished, more punches rocked his head around. Then, before his body could completely tumble, a roundhouse came crashing against his skull, sending his bloody face straight down into the mat with a deafening thud.
The match was over in less than a minute. | “The following contest will be fought to the death,” a booming voice states to the nothingness.
A single white light illuminates a slender figure. Large, dark, disc-like eyes stare ahead into the darkness. Its arms and legs are shackled as it stands calm and motionless.
“Introducing first, from the depths of the Ocean world of Tilaz, with a record of 789 wins to 0 losses, the Tilazian Telepathic, The Flayer of Minds, and your undisputed Galactic Champion…Katatzu!”
Katatzu remains still. His focus remains solely what’s ahead. Four precise loud claps in rapid succession shake the stage underneath his feet.
“And his opponent…”
Another light shines to reveal a man who sits hunched down as he ferociously attacks his restraints. The light startles him for a second. His muddy face is further obscured by long brown matted hair with a beard to match.
“From the mysterious lands of the newly discovered Terra, He’s a wild and untamed thing who is ready to prove his species in this ring… Ted!”
Ted stands slowly and faces Katatzu. Katatzu hisses. The Four loud claps echo again.
A loud click announces a light that floods the stage. A circular fighting ring rests at the center of a large stadium. Amber eyes glow and almost hover around the fighters.
The crowd repeats the four clap sequence and slowly increases their tempo to an ear-ringing tone.
“No quarter will be asked for none will be given.”
The chains from the fighters unlock and disappear into the floor. Ted rubs his wrists. Katatzu bears his teeth as he stretches into a low ready stance. The claps stop suddenly.
“Fight!”
Ted charges toward Katatzu with a crazed guttural yell. Katatzu’s eyes widen larger than they’ve ever been before.
Ted tackles his foe and covers him with several rabid punches to the face. Katatzu tries to fight off his attacker, but his arms are pinned under his irrational attacker’s knees.
Ted draws back his arm to deal a heavy blow, but Katatzu takes this moment and flips him off. Ted rolls back up and pounds the floor in anger at the two squares up again. The crowd shows their approval with four claps.
Katatzu puts his arms up as Ted delivers a couple punches to the body. The Telepath of Tilaz takes each hit with a grunt. He locks up with the terran and pushes him away.
Katatzu sets his distance before he spins into a roundhouse kick, which Ted catches.
Ted brings down his elbow with force and breaks Katatzu’s leg. He screeches as his body falls to the floor.
Ted breaths heavily as the audience claps in their regular cadence. He looks out toward the glowing amber eyes and begins to beat his chest to match the crowd’s rhythm. Katatzu slowly stands. His face bruised and bloody, his leg weak and shattered.
Ted lets out one last roar before he makes his final charge. Katatzu closes his eyes.
As Ted makes contact, Katatzu grabs on and spins. Ted’s momentum carries him over the top rope. He flails to grab at it but fails.
Ted tumbles into the darkness below. His screams grow softer until it comes to a sudden end.
Katatzu slowly stands again and limps to the center of the stage.
“Your winner… Katatzu!”
The light disappears. The amber eyes remain. Four more claps. | 2019-06-01T03:03:23 | 2019-06-01T02:28:02 | 329 | 27 |
[WP] You have a voce in your head that automatically gives you advice. One night when you start heading out you hear it say "you may want to put on your best runners." You turn away and it adds, "it would be unfavorable to turn back."
"Voice." Dumb typo :/ | **\[WP\] You have a voice in your head that automatically gives you advice. One night when you start heading out you hear it say "you may want to put on your best runners." You turn away and it adds, "it would be unfavourable to turn back."**
I don't really doubt the voice. Why would I? I've gotten out of too much danger to disregard anything that it says. without looking back, I simply yank on my Nikes and walk stiffly out the door. I don't know what is behind me, but it's probably an alien tentacle fasklfjsa;fasdfj monster intent on my delicious pancreas.
It's only after I'm past my driveway that I realise I reflexively put on my EMT jacket as I was going out the door. I'm just about to turn back out of habit, when the voice almost yells into my lower brain. It is very much against having me go back into my house. Yep, it's probably a fjasfasklfjsa;fasdfj monster. No biggie, I was only going down the road to the Bottle'O for some grog. I'm at the Cornady St intersection when the voice in my head tells me to go left. the Bottle'O is straight down the street. By this time, I'm pretty interested, so I follow it's orders. Ten metres down the street, the voice tells me to run like I'm on fire.
Three minutes later, I'm about a kilometre down the road, and begging the voice to end me before I receive lung induced rib fractures.
"Keep going".
"Fuckn oath" I wheeze. My heart rate is a healthy a;fjs;flsdjf beats a minute now, and I've probably earned more than a rum and coke.
Suddenly, I hear screaming from the park on my left.
"This is it".
I'm already running toward the screams, and get there to find a distraught mother cradling a purple three year old girl. Instantly going into paramedic mode, I grab the child and begin emergency care. It turns out the poor kiddie swallowed a marble. I almost pass out with relief when it pops out of her mouth and hits me in the left eye. The girl drags in deep breaths and promptly begins to wail. I hand the child back to her crying mother and slump onto the concrete with my back against a rubbish bin.
Had I been three seconds later, the girl would have died. | You know the concept of a wingman, right? Your friend that helps you in social settings? Well, I don't have a wingman. I have a wingmind. My entire life I have had this voice in my head that gives me advice right before an event that would dramatically change my life. First time I heard it was when I was 6, sitting in the car on a beautiful autumn day. My mom and dad were dropping something off and left me in the car in front of their friend's house. The AC was on and it wasn't gonna take longer than a couple minutes. All I heard was "lock the doors". I clicked it, then I saw this older man try to open the door. He wanted to take me. I couldn't tell my parents, they'd think I'm insane. But I haven't disobeyed that voice since.
​
Flash forward 16 years, I'm 22 and living on my own. I work in sales and have a standard 9-5. I planned to go for a walk and just relax before going to bed since I have a big meeting tomorrow with my district manager to potentially get a big promotion. I'm getting ready to walk out where I hear the voice say, "You might wanna put on your best runners." It's never guided me the wrong way, so I take my sneakers off and put on my running shoes.
​
About 10 minutes into my walk, I start to hear rustling in the bushes near me. I see two eyes, dark red glaring at me, barely visible in the dark. I think nothing of it, expecting one of my neighbor's kids to jump out and scare me. They liked doing that, but only during the day. Maybe they were getting a little more daring. I keep walking down the street and decide to turn back. Passing the bush my neighbors were hiding in, there were no eyes this time. "Probably went inside, it is getting late," I say to myself. Then I hear it, the unmistakable voice of Chris, the weirdest of my neighbor's kids. But he sounded different, he sounded more menacing. "Him."
​
I heard claws scratching the ground, and I heard the voice in my head again, "Run, you idiot." I just started running, not looking back. I didn't know what the hell it was, but it was gaining on me. All I had was a block left to get to my house and grab my gun, if that would even help me. I rounded the corner and there he was. But this wasn't Chris, this was a full-grown demon, buff as hell and ready to kill. I didn't know what else to do, I don't know how it got in front of me, but there was no way I could get in my house now. But before I could even act, he fell over, a bright white sword in his back. "Oh great, now someone else gets to kill me," I think. Until the figure steps out, a man I had never seen. "They found you, if you don't come with me, they will never stop hunting you down and you will die." I knew his voice but I didn't know how, I had never met this man, until I heard the same, familiar voice in my head. "Go with him now," the voice in my head was this man's voice.
​
​
Go easy on me, I've only done a few of these and I'm not that great at writing. | 2019-06-04T08:11:31 | 2019-06-04T07:36:37 | 26 | 12 |
[WP] there is a reason America is super militaristic, its citizens are armed to the teeth, and they want no one inside of the country. its because they are trying desperately to contain something with its boarders, and they are failing. one day a massive roar is heard around the world as it escapes. | All of America is armed to the teeth. Everyone in the world knows this, jokes about this, never really takes it seriously until everything else is. They talk about it for a few minutes, and then get on with their every day activities and chores. Even Americans joke about it, not really paying that much attention to why almost everyone in the south states own a gun. The government made sure that they don't think about it often. Only the higher ups know the real reason the Second Amendment was put in place, and fortunately the average citizen didn't need to think about it.
The true monster hidden in the marshes has remained concealed for close to 300 years now. The place where it rests hadn't even become a state when it was sealed away. Many around his containment area try to replicate his memory, even if they don't realize it. Another joke, another pass across the mind, another subconscious shiver across the back across every mention of it's name and of it's actions.
I hear a maniacal laugh from my office, a little over 800 miles away from the containment cell. I know what happened, despite the initial doubt that goes through my head. It broke free, and it's one pissed off being. My secretary runs through the door, breathless.
"Sir, he's broken free."
He? This is no he. This abomination is not human, and never should be treated as a human, not even through pronouns. The only reason it is called a 'man' is because that's what people from long ago thought he once was.
The silence must have worried my secretary as I thought of how many have already died from his antics. Now was the time for the owners of any kind of weapon in America to band together.
"Sir, what are we going to do?"
Florida Man has broken free, and he has already started to throw alligators at people and terrorize the people who thought they were already crack addicts.
Edit: this is the first time one of my comments has gotten over 1k upvotes. I'd like to personally thank Florida Man before he throws an alligator with fireworks tied to it's tail from the top of a Wal Mart. | "What's your name?"
Crystal stared into the single eye, larger than she was. It was red and nothing else. It burned at first to look at, but she had gotten used to it. She always did.
Her smile never faltered as it shifted causing the ground beneath her to shake and groan. It was a genuine grin that became a truthful laugh. The little girl fell backward, clutching at her stomach as she laughed her soul out.
The ground and surrounds had already been torn up and destroyed. Not a single home stood erect, no building was left not destroyed. They were sitting in the rubble together.
"You're so fat." She sat back up as the eye, around it were the black scales that promised death. An omen foretold ages ago within the Americas. A beast larger than skyscrapers, a mountain with wings larger than life, and a breath of flames that scorched the world. "Mama once told papa he should be on a diet cause he was being fat and lazy."
The eye slowly blinked, its mouth opening slowly. A fog drifted and with it, a putrid smell came out of its mouth. Crystal saw the massive teeth, sharper than any knife, as long as she was. But she didn't focus on their glistering edge, rather the dirt and fetid flesh that clung to it.
"You should brush your teeth, thats healthy. You want to be healthy?" she admonished the creature.
It tilted its head, then spoke in a harsh whisper. A quiet voice, shy and reserved. "Yes," it said in a feminine tone, its word elongated.
"Well, you gotta brush your teeth! You'll have horrible breath and tummy will hurt! My tummy hurt once when I was still a kid..." she raised her hand showing how tall she had been. Up to her head in a seated position. "I was this small, it was not nice. I had to go-"
"Y-you're not afraid?" The creature interrupted.
"Afraid?" the girl said with genuine confusion. "You might be kinda fat and stinky and lazy, but your still a good girl. Like my cat. She was lazy and fat too, but I loved her a lot."
"Your cat?"
"Yea, her name was Sweety, I named her..." The girl paused, thinking deeply. "Do you want a name?"
"A-a name? For me? I-I wouldn't wish to impose."
"You talk funny," Crystal laughed. "I'm good with names so you don't have to worry. Hmm, how about Scaley. That sounds like a good name, do you like it?"
The creature stared at her for a time, enough for Crystal to fidget afraid her new friend didn't like the name.
But eventually, the creature spoke up. "That sounds nice...have you ever flown before?"
"No? I would love to, but Mama said it costs too much."
"Do you want to fly with me?"
Crystal's eye's widened and a broad smile broke out--from ear to ear--as she nodded enthusiastically.
"Come, climb my scales and sit on my head, let's fly together."
r/JuggernautProductions | 2019-07-25T18:45:26 | 2019-07-25T17:35:57 | 1,923 | 45 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | They called us Stormborn.
Found in the ashes, the debris, the aftermath. Rescuers found us not by our cries but by our gifts, they tell us that we didn't cry. We lay silent, wreathed in flames or snow, playing at tidal waves in pools, lightning dancing from our fingertips. It became commonplace for the world, the hopeful masses waiting on the word of a new Stormborn.
All the destruction and death, they wanted a life.
We were that life.
I was born in fire. My sister too. We were the first Stormborn twins. We were a worldwide phenomenon. I even have a stuffed toy of myself, can't go out without being recognized.
In our year there were eight Stormborn. Not every disaster gave rise to one and not every Stormborn survived. We all did from our year. Eight of us.
Three of fire, two from the ocean, a tornado, a hurricane, a lightning storm, and a mudslide.
Eight children of destruction, with abilities that defied belief.
I grew up with hundreds of Stormborn, packed into schools where we were meant to learn control, to use our powers properly. Some found it easy, others not so much.
My sister came to her powers like a fish to water, or a spark to flame.
I did not. I struggled with it. Every fire was a challenge, a mystery, a puzzle that did not want to come together. It took years until I mastered it.
That was ten years ago. We aren't cultural phenomena anymore, the stuffies don't sell like they used to. There are triplets out there, that's more exciting.
Instead we sit in a helicopter, one of us at each open door, blasting over a raging wildfire that threatens a town of tens of thousands. Evacuations are slow, difficult, we cost less and do it better.
We test the edges of the fire, ease it into a safer direction, ease it to the firebreaks that firefighters have created. We do not snuff out fire, we simply ask it to obey. It does. Slowly, thousands of acres of fire turn away from the town, ignoring the wind and listening to us.
Two Stormborn, doing something good.
"Did you see this?" My sister asks, handing me her phone. I read the headline and raise an eyebrow.
David was from our year. Flood powers were his thing. He ended up working at a hydroelectric dam last I heard, powered half the eastern seaboard there.
"He's dead?" I ask her through the headset. She nods.
"That makes three from our year, twelve from others."
I don't like where she's going. I've never liked it.
"Doesn't mean anything. We can die too." I say, shrugging and handing the phone back.
"Someone's killing Stormborn, little brother." She says, staring out over the forest that we just saved. "Means something to me."
I don't subscribe to conspiracies.
Or I didn't.
Not until three days later.
When my sister was killed. They would talk about the fire that burned through an old mining town for months. Turned the sand to glass, they said.
Someone was killing Stormborn.
And I was going to find out why. | We had to take them away. That was the worst of it, and the beginning of the end. Not the end of everything, but the end of what we knew, the scourging of an entire world. It's still here, but what we built is gone. Gods.
I think they believed they were doing us a favor. The gods, I mean. Because they're behind this, of course, or they were. It got away from them, after a time, and they couldn't find the consensus to end it, because so long as a single god could boast Stormborn followers, the others "needed" them too.
So we had to take them away. We thought we were making things safe, not sowing the seeds of cataclysm.
Every civilization, every tribe and kingdom and Tyranny, all had their own ways of coping with these children, these toddlers revealing apocalyptic powers. But they all took them away, one way, another way, always away. Always away. Had to be safe. Children are not fully controllable. They throw tantrums. They destroy villages, cities. Accidentally murder their own parents and siblings.
Fuck the gods, for not knowing. Fuck them even more if they did, and let this happen anyway. I was small when it first started. I remember the terror, can still feel the way it soaked into everything, every conversation, every hint of something stirring on the horizon. One of my vaguest, earliest, most awful memories is of soldiers storming a house. The cries, the sounds of one-sided combat, the man cleaning blood off his blade, the screaming child. It's all a blur, and no less awful for it.
We had to take them away. They went to isolated orphanages, remote temples, fortified training camps. Academies of magic, though mortal spells paled in comparison to what a single tantrum could unleash. Whole cabals of archmages would struggle to contain one child. Methods were invented, some kinder, some...
...scarring. In more ways than one. Certain sorts of scarring were useful, the mark of danger, of power, of person-controlled. Good to be visible. Others only showed in the eyes, if you looked closely.
And I have, but first, let me tell you why.
I don't know how what age the first weapon was. And that's what she was, make no mistake. We all remember her, but they took away her own memory when they killed her unwilling family, erased it with grim purpose. It's not good to give a tool anything to catch on, much less a weapon. Cut clean through the air, no hesitation, that's what one wants in a blade, a hammer's head. Slash and crush and sing.
Maybe she wondered, before she died, after she'd help remake the little kingdom of her birth into an empire. A screaming little girl on a platform, carried up and down the coast by grim-faced soldiers and ringed by hedge-wizards who would have been able to do little were she to actually turn on them, threatening utter destruction to every port between the Battered Shore and the Long-Legged Sea.
She was the first, but in the four years between the start of her terror and her assassination there came five more, none much older. Hurling fire and shaking the earth, one even pulling down fiery stones from the heavens. Three were killed fairly quickly, but by then it almost didn't matter. A grave setback for their own "side," to whatever extent a small child can be said to have a "side" at all. A horror for the murdered child, their blood staining their handlers every bit as much as the assassins. More, maybe. Probably. Almost certainly. A horror for the murdered child, a setback for an army, of little consequence to the world at large because there were always more.
We had to take them away, but we didn't have to bring them back on leashes of withheld love and harsh punishment. We didn't have to *use* them. Granted, children trained to fight from birth have always been, and, gods help us, gods leave us be, perhaps they always will be. But how many of those children ever burned thirty thousand people alive while most were asleep in their beds? Or drowned an entire desert clan as a show of ironic force?
<continued below> | 2019-08-06T06:09:43 | 2019-08-06T04:58:18 | 421 | 150 |
[WP] A phenomena begins to occur where newborn babies are found amidst the aftermath of natural disasters. Tsunamis, avalanches, wild fires, destructive lightning storms, etc. These 'Storm-Born' humans grow up with powers based on the disasters that birthed them. | The storm born were chosen, powerful beings each blessed with powers found from their origin. A newborn, found in the midsts of a horrifying eruption wielded the power of fire. A baby found floating on the wreckage of a cruise liner developed the power to generate whirlpools.
And so began the craze of stormborn chasers. Pregnant mothers who rush to natural disasters hoping that their child was the one. Some out of insanity, others coerced by their government.
It became an arms race for nations and that it was the "duty of every patriotic mother to risk their lives for creating new stormborn". Some nations were more pragmatic. Having forced mother conscription, others used...softer methods. By sowing fear of foreign nations developing super bio weapons, they persuade their citizens to fight the noble fight, and to protect the beloved nations of their forefathers. Some nations used words like protecting their freedom or way of life.
It worked.
It was now an accepted act for mothers carrying children to wade into chaos, hoping for some miracle a demigod would be given to them. If by some miracle the mother survived, they would be paraded, cheered on and used for further political purposes.
The games the nations played however, began to corrode when a special sort of natural disaster appeared. The people thought nothing of the day when a virus struck, disabling all technology for a day. They did not foresee it as a natural disaster as technology was founded by man.
But nature saw it different. And by the blessings of the gods a single child was born on that fateful day. A day when a demigod of the internet age was born. | The bell rang, the children awoke, the teachers prepared their classrooms and The Matron watched through her many surveillance cameras.
Her attention was focused, today, on three children. Their files lay open beside her.
Ignis Premogen, twelve, found nestled amongst the ashes of the Great Fire, a wildfire that ravaged Canada.
Floctus Premogen, ten, found floating happily amongst the driftwood of the Great Wave, a tsunami that destroyed much of Japan.
Contrem Premogen, thirteen, found hidden in the
rubble of a fallen building after the Great Quake, an earthquake that threatened to tear Taiwan in half.
The children, found as babies, were taken in by various families until their powers began to shine. At the age of six, Ignis set the shirt of her school's bully alight. Floctus made the water of her favourite pool rise up and flow over her pesky brother. Contrem got so angry he made the ground shake and sink below his own mother.
Well, we have our ways of knowing things that must be known, of finding people who must be found. Contrem's parents reported what happened to the news, in some ill-concieved grab at fame, and they were mightily surprised when their troubled son didn't return home from the interview that never was. Floctus, we nabbed from the sea when she went swimming on a little family holiday - they most certainly believe her to be drowned. And Ignis, well, one day she simply vanished from the house she had set fully ablaze. Everyone was far too concentrated on the fire to notice our humble van slowly roll past. To see the doors open and shut as some small, limp figure was shoved inside.
Ah, The Matron thought to herself, it surely isn't very nice to speak of these children so coldly. But *we*, we are doing God's work. Why will we have to pour so much money, so many men, into our army when we have a battalion of feisty young adults, each with the power to destroy whole nations?
Never again will soldiers return home from war, with broken bodies and shattered minds. Never again will multi-country wars break out, stealing the lives of thousands, millions, all too quickly. Never again will freedom be supressed, will free speech be quietened, will the leftists complain.
We will nourish these young ones, nurture them, feed them the truth - our truth. And when they have grown, when they understand that our nation is the nation to save all others, that must intervene and stop the bloody wars, then we may begin.
The world will tremble at the sight of them, at the sight of the beautiful flag that they carry, and it will all start with those three.
Ignis.
Floctus.
Contrem. | 2019-08-06T07:16:58 | 2019-08-06T07:03:49 | 64 | 24 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up and find yourself strapped to a chair. Wires and tubes have been attached to your body and numerous shadowy figures walk up to you. “That was life sentence 24,” one of them says, “Only 356 sentences left.” | Henry was in an excruciating amount of pain. The accident had shattered one leg, and mostly severed the other foot. His arms hadn't faired much better and it took him everything to drag himself free of the burning wreckage.
He felt cold. Which was odd considering how much clothing he wore, what with it being late December.
He didn't realize how long he had been lying there. But no one was coming. He was drunk you see. This was all his fault. The people in the other car didn't need to die. Neither did his wife.
But they did. And soon so did he.
Light. The light they always talk about. It was a lie. A tube was down his throat, and he could smell antiseptic. He wanted out, and several of them made sure to hold him still as someone else ventured over.
This wasn't the diner they left a couple of hours ago. This wasn't the hospital. It was like something out of those comics he read on a whim.
Galactic invaders or something.
Wherever it was... Definitely wasn't 1962.
"Henry Bellwethers. Born July 8th, 1931. Died December 27th, 1962. Not bad. You made it past 30 this time."
One of the people in these jumpsuits stepped forward. She took her mask off. The red hair masked her eyes, but her grim expression was what captivated Henry so.
"Where am I?"
"Christ. Does this procedure always give him amnesia?" She callously asked.
"Stick to procedure." A voice boomed from nowhere.
Henry tried to look for where such a being could be, but he couldn't look very far without them strapping him down tighter.
"Isaac, it's very simple. You do remember don't you?" The woman continued.
Something moved up next to her. Made of metal, it walked like a person. It couldn't be. A robot?
It moved up his right side to the edge of the bed. One of its arms was different then the other. And the lense scanned him soullessly.
"Vitals are stable." It commented.
"Isaac Walsh Rockwell." She dictated. "You are currently serving out a sentence for first degree premeditated murder. 43 counts. You are sentenced to 380 consecutive life sentences in stasis."
Tears streamed down his face as he tried to scream past the tube, but to no avail. The woman stepped forward, her face all brimstone.
"That was number 24. You've got a lot of time left. Think on it will you. This time, your name is Henrietta Stone. You will be born February 23rd, 1998. When you die, well... that's your call."
"I don't remember what I did to you. Please don't do this."
"Oh, don't worry. When you come back for the last time, they'll let you stay. I promise. Gentlemen if you please."
An injection rushed up one of the tubes on his arms and before Henry; Isaac could plead his case, he was gone again.
"Did you have to be so cruel this time?" One of the others in the program asked.
"I miss my son. Everyday." She flatly spoke.
---
"Congratulations, ma'am. It's a girl."
---
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | I awake to the darkness. At least, that is what it would appear to be to mortal eyes. My people, my true people, know that the darkness does not truly exist. It is simply an absence of light. And we do not need light to see.
A shadowy figure appears. She does not appear before me, or behind me, or above, or below, nor within, but she is there, all the same, in my presence. I know it, I know it as well as mortal knows the sky is blue, which it of course is not, as there is no such thing as blue, nor is there a such thing as color.
She is there and I smile because I am happy to see her. Smile, figuratively, of course, as I have no mouth to smile with.
It has been so long and yet it has been no time at all. To a mortal, I suppose, it would like waking up from a nap. Yes. That is probably how I would describe it, were I still of flesh and bone. That is the way David would describe it. Although Nethmi may say it was more like the feeling you get when you are dreaming, and you know you are, and you feel the way the fabric of time moves about you, loose and without structure, like water. Lucid dreaming, David would clarify. And Nethmi would not understand because she did not know the term, or speak English at all.
But Kwadz and Julius and Roberto and Mayyasah and Hideki and Agathe and Beto and Batjargal and Pema and Natasha and Naeem and Mickey…none of them would comprehend what this is, nor would you, whoever you are.
I suppose it’s best to put it this way. I am in a chair and I am restrained. There are… strings?...wires… tubes that are attached to my body. Shadows move around me, ensuring that I do not go elsewhere. I am trapped, so to speak, as I will be until my sentence is over.
One of the figures “speak” to me. “That was life sentence 24,” it says. “Only 356 sentences left.”
I acknowledge it. It does not hate me, nor I it. To say it is just doing it’s job would be inappropriate, as it did not choose to do this, no more than a baby chooses to be born, or the sun chooses to rise in the morning and set in the evening. To rage at it would be the same to scream at gravity for keeping you chained to the ground. Yet, I know I have done just that when I was on earth, and I know that once the cycle begins again, I will curse my captors despite not knowing who they are or why they do what they do.
Besides, I deserve this. You could even say I asked for it. And it could be far worse. But even so, I do not want to go back.
She smiles again and comforts me. She does not have a name, because we don't have names, nor a gender, because that term means nothing to us. Yet I still think of her as a female. It’s funny. My mortality must be rubbing off on me. I guess it’s because, throughout this trial, she has been the one true constant, always beside me. At times like a mother. At other times like a lover. And often, just a friend. And in my albeit very limited life experience, the best examples of those terms have all been women. And so, for now, I call her She.
They ask me again if I would like to know my next assignment. I refuse. I have learned by now that it makes no difference where or when or for how long. None of my sentences have been without pain. None of my sentences have been without joy.
Something, an essence, is pushed through the tubes into me. If I could describe it to you, it would feel like fluid through an IV, or a very strong electrical current, both of which I have experienced before. It hurts. I fall off into a deep slumber.
I wake up. “That was life sentence 25,” it says. “Only 355 sentences left.”
---
Thanks for reading. I've begun uploading some of my previous prompts to r/BushyBrowz, so please visit! | 2019-08-21T13:17:42 | 2019-08-21T12:31:33 | 395 | 103 |
[WP] The hero stared at the boy who was supposed to be his wise old master. "Word of advice. If you ever achieve immortality then wait till you're at least 20", he said in a high pitched voice. | John stared hard at this young boy who stood in front of him.
‘’Wha... where’s the master? I journeyed hard to reach here, to seek knowledge and power, and this is what I’m greeted by?’’
John tried to get past the boy, to continue his search for the almighty one, but was stopped.
‘’I am the master, the one with the power to rid the world of evil’’ , squeaked the boy.
John could barely contain his laughter, and scoffed at the boy. He continued laughing for a few minutes, before glaring at the him.
‘Please do not get in my way, I have to save my city from the demons that invaded a while back. I do not have time to waste, everyone is depending on me.’
John shoved past the boy, and continued walking. All of a sudden, the walls in the cave he was in started violently shaking. John looked back and saw the boy, floating in mid air with his arms outstretched, being surrounded by rocks of various sizes. John jumped in shock.
‘What is the meaning of this. Who are you!’
The boy laughed, ‘ I am Conviux, the master of earth, with the ability to control all forms of matter. You say you come here to seek knowledge? Power? Well, I think you should learn some manners first.’
John stuttered, ‘Bu...but how?’
The boy looked down sheepishly at him, ‘Here’s an advice, if you ever achieve immortality, wait till you’re at least 20. I was able to find the path to immortality at the age of 10, and trust me, I should have waited. ‘ | 'Frederik, are you sure he is the one?'
'However outrageous it may sound, he is the one we are searching for princess.'
Princess Caroline was in shamble, the one standing in front of her was a child, 9 or 10 from the look of it, and even smaller than her little brother. And yet, he give off a weird aura that she can't explain eventhough she know the way of magic. She look to the hero, Kaska and see that he have the same disbelief look in his eye. Only Frederik, the captain of the guard remain composed, but clearly have some awkwardness about the entire situation.
'Sir Frederik, perhaps this is a joke of some sort? Surely Vinton the Great Sage can't be a kid?'
'See, that's where you are wrong kiddo.' The kid raise his hand with a gesture before Frederik could even reply to the hero question. Suddenly the entire scenery around them change, Caroline can see the fabric of time and reality undone itself and mend back together right before her eye while Frederik and Kaska have a serious case of headache because of their weaker magic atunement. By the time it's over, the four wasn't standing on the flower field of Morlian anymore, but they were in the garden of Longtower castle.
But they weren't the only one there. As soon as Kaska were able to open his eye and see that the scenery have change, he found the four are now surrounded by the Queen's Guard, all with their blade drawn and pointed at the three who are still standing, while princess Caroline have fainted from watching thing that she shouldn't during the teleportation.
'What have you done to the princess? Why are you here in the garden of the Queen?' - the Queen Guard commander shout, unsure of what just happened.
'Not bad, she actually try to read and see what the spell do, albeit a little bit idiotic because she didn't put a mind empower spell on herself first. I don't remember that my teaching was that bad, am I right my dear Josephine?' - the kid speak with his high pitched voice, surprising the guard.
'Insolence, how dare you speak of her majesty name with no honorific!'
'Stand down. You are in presence of the Great Sage. Sheath your weapon immediately!'
As the queen order, the guard slowly back down and put away their weapon. Kaska still haven't figure out what the hell just happened, and Frederik was still trying to pick himself up. Vinton made another gesture and the princess float up and slowly fly over to Kaska while the hero fumble to catch her.
'Hold on to the girl for a while would you. Now, that's that. Let's get down to business shall we?' | 2020-01-25T07:33:23 | 2020-01-25T07:31:31 | 149 | 58 |
[WP] A 16-year-old schoolgirl is taken to a magical world. She slays a dragon, becomes queen, gets married, has kids, and dies 90 years later...only to wake up back at school, young and in her school uniform again, like nothing happened. She notices that her wedding ring is still on her finger. | "Don't go, g'g'gramma!" The seven-year-old flung himself onto the bedclothes, hugging Bellajoan tightly. "Want you to read stories!"
She smiled tiredly as she patted him on the head. Everything tired her now. She couldn't get out of bed without help, and even raising her voice left her out of breath. "There, there, Alexei," she murmured. "It's all right. Great-great-grandma is just going to a better place, that's all."
"Still wish you weren't, though." That was Arabella, her older great-grandchild, sixteen and going through a sullen phase. She'd showed up though, along with the rest of them. "You're the best great-great-grandmother we could've had. Everyone else wants us to be quiet and marry some merchant and have babies, but you told us we could do *anything."*
"And so you can." Bellajoan's eyesight was dimming, but she could still make out the dragon skull that had been made over into a low table in the middle of the room. That had been a hard fight, in her long-ago youth, terrified and with no idea what was happening to her. "You are what you want to be, not what someone else tells you to be."
"But when you go, they'll start telling us that again," said Kendrick, fourteen and gangling, with a lute hanging down his back. "I don't *want* to be a man at arms. I want to be a minstrel."
"It's not my job to stand over you forever," Bellajoan reminded them. "Your parents know my wishes concerning you. Ask them if they really want to anger my shade enough to make me come back. After all, I sprang from a world of wonders. Who's to say I won't return once more, if I'm needed?" She was only half-joking. Ninety years on from her emergence into the world of Aarde, which she now called home, the theoretical thaumaturgists were still trying to determine the exact confluence of events that had dumped her into Aarde, possessed of supernatural strength and the will to slay a rampaging dragon.
She had parlayed that into the title of King's Champion and a seat on the Council of Nobles, and from there had found herself the chosen heir when the king died childless. When the almost inevitable civil war had erupted, she had personally faced down and defeated the champions of each of the rebellious nobles.
It had been a long and tumultuous life, finding love and raising her own family while ruling the kingdom, but she would not have missed a moment of it. And now at the end of it, she could look back and say she was content.
Alexei was still sobbing, so she drew him up into her arms. "How about one last story?" she asked. "And then you'll let me sleep?"
Tearfully, he nodded. She ran her hand fondly through his already dishevelled hair, and drew a deep breath to begin.
"Once upon a time, there was a young girl, about Arabella's age, who lived in a wondrous and far-off land called Earth."
Despite his sadness, Alexei giggled. "That's a silly name for a land."
"Yes, it is," Bellajoan said with a smile, "but the people who lived there did not know that. This girl, whose name was Bella too, tried to be nice to everyone, but there were others in her school who would push and shove her, and take her books away."
"Wait, this is school, like you've been having us do?" asked Kendrick. Arabella shushed him.
"Yes, yes it is." Bellajoan felt herself fading, growing lighter. She pushed herself to continue the story. "One day, when she was in class, she felt a strange pull. When she closed her eyes and opened them again, she was in Aarde, and there was a dragon in front of her. A knight lay dead at her feet, and his sword was at his hand. The dragon roared at her, and she was very frightened, so she picked up the sword. Then she--"
"I know! I know!" interrupted Alexei. "She killed the dragon, didn't she? Just like you did!"
"Yes, she did, dear one," whispered Bellajoan. "She did. And in time she became queen and lived happily ever after."
The last few words came out in one breath. She did not have the strength to draw another. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and did not open again. Everything slowed to a stop.
Gently, she felt her soul lifting from her body. *So this is what death is like.*
\*\*\*\*
Something bounced off the back of her head, and her eyes jerked open. "Wake up, Jones! Hey, Mr Smith! Bella's asleep in class again!"
Puzzled and disoriented, she stared around herself. Children wearing clothes that triggered long-faded memories, laughing faces, neatly arranged wooden desks of an oddly familiar pattern ...
An adult stood up from behind a larger desk at the front of the room, with a huge green board behind him. *Green ...* she thought. *Shouldn't it be black? A black ... board?*
"Miss Jones," the adult said in tones of sarcasm. "Am I boring you?"
*Jones? Joan? Is that me?* It had been so long, nine decades past, that she honestly couldn't remember. But everyone was looking at her.
*I died. I am dead. Is this Heaven? Or one of the Hells?* It was certainly starting to seem like the latter.
Staring at her hands in front of her, she realised two things: one, they were the hands of a girl once more. The skin was smooth, and free of wrinkles and liver spots. But on her left hand ... the ring her true love Garan had slid onto her finger over eighty years ago when they were wed. The ring she had never removed since, even when he finally passed at the venerable age of ninety, two decades previously. Wonderingly, she slid it from her finger.
(continued) | "Your Majesty," a man cladded in an opulent golden armour bowed his head and continued, "Count Lorraine is here as you have requested!"
I couldn't really see the young knight's face, but I still had enough memory to know that it was Captain Horatio. He had been a very loyal guard, one that my late husband had put to accompany me 'til my dying breath. My dear husband had the boy trained ever since he was just a squire at the tender age of 10. God knows how much they have shared between each other, but they both had started to look and feel the same. I've been very lucky to have had two very loyal men by my side.
"Horatio?" I tried to lift my feeble old body off of my bed to no avail.
"Apologies, Your Majesty, but Count Lorraine is here. You had something urgent to talk to him about, if I remembered correctly."
"Ah, yes. Thank you, dear Horatio. You are excused..."
With another bow, Captain Horatio left the room quietly. Then up came the old Count Lorraine to my bedside. In normal times – back in the olden days – it would be a high crime to approach a monarch without proper protocol and courtesy. But as I was an old dying queen, it was as if I was not even there anymore.
"Mam, I would hate to think that you're making *me* your heir to the throne–"
"Of course not! I have my kids who had stared daggers my way, waiting for their time to rule absolute!" I chuckled weakly followed by the raspy laugh of the Count.
"Well then, mam, why have you called for me?"
"Right," I beckoned him to get closer and fetch a roll of paper by the bed next to me, "these are your orders – you are to stand as First Minister of the Kingdom and ensure the stability of the succession!"
"Are you... okay, mam?"
"I believe my time is coming, Count. I apologise for being such a burden, but I need you to ensure a bright future for the whole Kingdom."
"... I will take this to heart and serve you well until my dying breath, Your Majesty!"
As the Count walked out of the room, scroll in hand, Captain Horatio had returned with a few other ministers and a chaplain. It seemed that my time had truly come. The men – and a few women – gathered round my bed, praying harmoniously, solemnly.
It was so solemn, that I had forgotten my very last moment other than the soothing peace that blew right past my body.
A breeze.
***
I had never been the religious sort. I asked many priests and religious fellows regarding what comes after death. Heaven, Hell, the Void, some sort of Purgatory. They spoke of things I couldn't truly comprehend. Not out of the sheer lack of imagination, but rather will. I simply did not care.
Still, I couldn't imagine that the afterlife would look like the table near the window of my high school classroom. Never in my life that I would thought this was any sort of hell or heaven. I never cared for religion as much as I never cared much for high school, to be perfectly honest.
"Kate!" a high-pitched voice of a girl called out my name.
"Huh?"
"Psst, did you daydream again?"
"Oh, God. You're... Eleanor?" I scratched my head as she scratched hers at disbelief.
"Are you alright? Jesus, where did you go again *this time* around?"
"*This time*? Well, let's see... What if I told you I went to a kingdom with magic and I became a queen–"
"Right, I think you've said that last week. Did you get down and dirty with the young captain of the guard again, you slut?"
"Wha– No! Of course not!" I said with heat radiating on my cheeks.
Eleanor simply let out a huge laugh and pat me harshly on the shoulders. I couldn't really comprehend her humour, but she would say the darnest things ever at random.
As I overcame her silly 'joke', I began to survey my surrounding. It was truly the classroom that I had spent almost a year of my life in. The crooked painting of an ancient figure hung above me, begging to crash on my round head any minute. The stupidly large blackboard in front of the class, filled with almost-permanent chalk marks from decades of education. Even the people are still the same old folks I had grown to know.
I don't understand what had happened. But it was truly like I've never left my bedchamber in death. I looked at my arms and they were all those of a young teen – not wrinkled and deathly pale like that of a dying grannie. I rubbed my hands together and felt warmth, not the cold embrace of death.
"What's this?" I said out loud, prompting Eleanor's attention to snap back to me.
"Is that a fucking ring? Damn, you got knocked up without me knowing?!" She laughed with an annoyingly loud vigour.
"Fuck, no! I never even had... sex–" I abruptly screamed as to drown out my shame, "Argh, I-Er, Seka... Celery! I never had celery before!"
Eleanor grinned and continued, "right, I'm sure you've had carrot up your bum, though! So what's the deal with the bloody ring? Did you got it from your brother as pity gift?"
Ah, my brother. The boy who had taken me to the school's spring dance a few years ago due to my lack of appeal for my classmates. Of course, he would do something like giving me a ring as pitiful as it sounds... just to cheer me up.
"I don't know. I don't remember anything, to be honest."
"Well, why don't you take the damn thing off and we investigate it alá Sherlock Holmes?"
With that, little Ms. Sherlock weirdo took my ring off in a pop. She carefully scanned the outer sides, checking for any marks or identifiable dents. Unsatisfied, she began to look closer with her phone's flashlight to survey the inner side. She took a second look and suddenly bursted out in a brilliant flash.
"Aha!" she slammed the ring on the table, rather rudely I must say, "I saw your name inside!"
"What? Seriously?"
"Yeah, it said 'Katherina de Lambossy'... Weird, since I thought your last name was Hull. What happened there?"
Then it hit me like a thousand brick. 'de Lambossy' was the royal family of the Kingdom. Of course I had my last name changed, I was the bloody queen!
"Hey, uh... Elle?" I called out to Eleanor, purposefully using 'Elle' because she hated it that way.
"Ugh, what?"
"Did you, uh, see a ring the last time I went out in a daydream?"
"Let's see... I think you had a small dagger, once. You also had a necklace, the silver one with a weird gem. But yeah, you never had a ring before!"
"Huh. Guess you have a pretty weird seatmate, huh?"
"Thank you for acknowledging your freakiness, Kate. I've been telling you to get yourself checked for years!" | 2020-04-21T08:24:20 | 2020-04-21T07:33:37 | 502 | 93 |
[WP] Everybody talks about Odin the All-Father, and how he collects the souls that perished in battle to Valhalla to serve as warriors. Nobody talks about his brother, Nido, and how he collects the souls of those that triumphs in battle and live until they die of old age.
Just something that occurred to me while playing God of War and how Odin might've inadvertently selected for the most reckless and shittiest warrior because of his soul collecting policy. | The void was warmer than Skjall had expected.
He had been comfortable in his final days, taking his last breath surrounded by somber children and playful grandchildren. Their innocence was refreshing to the old viking; they had never experienced a raid, and their bright smiles filled his ebbing heart with pride. He had built the village walls many winters ago and led the defense of his land against the attackers whom had long since moved on to more successful conquests. After a brutal victory, he welcomed in an era of peace for his people.
The crackling of his blazing funeral boat echoed through the endless dark that Skjall now found himself in. He felt his mortal body burning away, but he felt no pain. His soul felt freed, as if from a chrysalis. In a short time, the final fibers anchoring him to earth turned to ash. Only silence followed.
And then, syncopated footsteps echoed from everywhere.
Out of the darkness, a thin man approached. A gnarled cane accompanied each left step. His manicured beard softened the sharp features of his ageless face.
"Skjall," the man stated.
"Aye?"
"You did not die a warrior's death."
"No."
"You gave that honor to many, though. Odin's halls rang loud with song on the eve of your victory."
"Aye."
The man shifted off of his weak leg and began walking forward again. He held something in his other hand.
"Even after the blood stopped flowing, you fought for your people." If Skjall could move within this void, he neither knew nor cared. The man approaching did not frighten him. "You fought back pestilence and frosts just as well as other men."
"I'd do it again."
The man stopped. "I believe you will." He then opened his hand and revealed a small decorative stone that lay above the hearth in Skjall's home.
"Odin collects warriors so they can fight again at the end of days. I collect guardians to make sure the days don't end too quickly." He placed the stone in Skjall's hands. "Watch over your land. Guide their fields to harvest and their ships to port. Your work has only just begun."
"Aye." | Tareff gazed up at his grandfather, who lay on a small hospital bed, weak, white-haired, and wheezy, his large, dark eyes widened in concern, while his mother held his hand in her own, shaking with sobs. Tareff, however, was not crying.
He understood the situation full well, and yet, young though he was, he understood that he could not allow himself to break down, not while his mother had already snapped. He had to remain strong — and he would, he thought fiercely, returning pressure upon his mother's soft hand. She paused in her grief just long enough to shoot him a curious, watery-eyed glance, but Tareff was staring fixedly at his grandfather who, for some reason, was beaming at him.
"Ar, that's right, Tar," he said, his voice frail but pleased. "You be strong for Mama, you hear me?"
Tareff nodded, still staring right into his grandpa's bright brown eyes. "Grandpa?" he said. "Will you tell me a story?"
"If the old ticker allows it." Grandpa Jonas jabbed himself in the chest with his thumb, directly over his heart, and smiled.
"You know how you tried to get me into Norse mythology, and told me about Odin, the All-father?"
"Ar."
"Well, didn't you say he had a brother?"
Grandpa Joe smiled. "Indeed, he did. Odin, the King, threw open the doors of his court to welcome the ascended souls of warriors who fell in battle, after they'd been escorted by the Valkyries. But Nido, he was the one who welcomed the *victors*. The ones who didn't die, but triumphed over their enemies and lived to a ripe old age."
"Like you?"
"Who you callin' old?" Grandpa Joe demanded, sitting up — but next second he fell into a storm of coughing and hacking. "Ar, never mind," he added, as Tareff's mother relinquished her hold upon him and settled her father back into bed. The heart monitor was slowly declining. She was determinedly avoiding the screen as she fluffed his pillows. "Anyway — why you want to know about Nido?"
"Because," Tareff said fiercely, balling his fists, tears sparkling in his eyes as he glared at his grandfather's profile, "because that's where you're going! Into Nido's court. With the rest of the victors!"
Grandpa Joe said nothing. He was staring at Tareff with a stunned expression on his face. But then his thin mouth curved into a smile, and the heart monitor began to beep. His mother burst into tears, and at the same time a nurse rushed into the room, pushing them out as she examined the body.
Tareff watched through the glass, but still, he did not cry. His grandfather was on his way to Nido's throne room, to wine and dine with the greatest victors of all time — and he would be waiting for Tareff, along with his father, because he, Tareff, would also be a victor.
r/MysticScribbles | 2020-05-10T12:13:37 | 2020-05-10T12:10:37 | 1,822 | 323 |
[WP] A catholic, an atheist, and a christian meet god. the atheist goes to heaven, but god has some words for the other two. | I opened my eyes. I felt an overwhelming urge to keep facing straight ahead, though I was curious about what was around me. In an instant, a kind-looking man walked into my field of vision. He seemed like the nicest person I could ever meet. I wanted to say hi right away.
Suddenly, he spoke, with a deep and soothing voice: "It's nice to see you today, Jason."
"Oh! It's nice to see you too," I replied. It dawned on me that I didn't know who I was talking to. I was about to open my mouth to ask, when the man said,
"Welcome to the afterlife."
"Thank you." It now dawned on me that 'the afterlife' was where one went when once was dead. I decided to inquire on this matter, but I was again pre-empted.
"Why don't you look around a little bit?"
I took his advice, and it appeared, upon turning my head, that I was, in fact, not alone. Just to my left was my friend Julie, and to my right was my coworker, Nathan. Both of them appeared to be having the same revelation I was.
I considered greeting them, but the man spoke again.
"The three of you know each other."
I nodded, as did Julie and Nathan.
The man turned towards Nathan. He said, "You didn't expect this, did you?" Nathan shook his head. "I never thought there was an afterlife. I guess I was wrong." The man smiled. "You were wrong, yes." He touched Nathan on the shoulder. Nathan smiled. The man said, "You're ready. Go ahead."
Nathan walked into the distance. When he was out of sight, the man turned to me. I decided to ask a question. "Is Nathan in Hell?" The man smiled at me. "Do you think Nathan is in Hell?"
"Well, it didn't look like he was going to Hell."
"Why do you think that was?"
Julie chimed in, "Did he convert before he died?"
"No," the man replied. "He didn't."
Julie opened her eyes wide. She thought for a moment. When she finally spoke again, she just said, "Nathan was a good person."
I thought about Nathan. He was always friendly, and he did volunteer with the animal shelter on weekends. And yet, works alone are not the path to Heaven. I decided to mention this to Julie, but the man spoke first.
"Jason, do you think you were a sinner?"
"Of course. Everyone is a sinner."
"Was Nathan a sinner?"
"Of course."
"So, your expectation was that Nathan would be in Hell."
"Of course."
"Did you expect to go to Hell?"
"No. I've been saved by the grace of Jesus."
The man turned his attention to Julie. "You went to Confession just yesterday."
"That's right," she answered.
"You repented for your sins."
"I did."
"Nathan never went to confession."
"He didn't."
Julie got a strange look on her face. She seemed to be experiencing some kind of revelation. She looked up at the man and smiled. He looked back at her. She laughed. "I suppose I was wrong, huh?" The man nodded and smiled. "You were wrong, Julie." He put his hand on her shoulder. "Go on now."
Julie looked at me and smiled. She then began to walk into the distance. The man and I shared in a silence as she disappeared from view. Once she was out of sight, he looked at me very intently. He asked me, "Do you know what's happening right now?" I nodded. "I'm being judged." He smiled. "No, Jason. You're not being judged."
"Isn't this Judgment Day?"
"Tell me, why do you think it's Judgment Day?"
"Well, I'm in the afterlife, and you just judged Nathan and Julie."
"Why do you think I judged them?"
"It's what's written in the scriptures."
He examined me. "Jason, are you content with the idea that I have just condemned one or both of your friends to Hell?"
"It's not my place to judge the Lord."
He didn't speak for a while. I wondered whether I was missing something.
"Jason, Nathan isn't in Hell."
"But you said he didn't convert before he died."
"That's correct."
"I don't understand."
"Jason, there is no such thing as Hell."
I blinked. I wasn't certain what was meant by this.
"Do you mean the souls of sinners are annihilated?"
"No, Jason. You'll be able to see Nathan again very soon."
"But I've been saved."
"Why do you say that?"
"I've accepted Jesus as my savior."
He smiled at me. "Jason, do you know why your friends have already left, but you're still here?"
"I don't."
"Why don't you take a guess?"
"Because they were both wrong."
"What were they wrong about, Jason?"
I thought for a moment. "Well, Nathan was wrong because he didn't believe in an afterlife. He was an unbeliever." The man nodded his head. "And Julie was wrong about Confession. Man can't forgive sin, only God can."
"Is that all?" he asked.
"I... don't know."
"Jason, do you think you really know anything about this place? About me?"
I thought back to all my Biblical education. I wanted to tell him about everything I knew about Heaven and Judgment Day. I looked deep into his eyes. I realized I didn't know anything about what was happening right now. I didn't know what happened to Nathan and to Julie. I didn't even know who I was speaking to.
"I suppose I don't."
The man smiled brightly at me. I smiled back. I came here knowing nothing, and yet I had only now realized that. I was no expert at all. I started to laugh. I laughed for a few minutes.
"I get it now," I said. "I was wrong. I was wrong about Nathan, and I was wrong about Julie, and I was wrong about you. I was wrong about Hell, and I was wrong about sin, and I was wrong about Judgment Day. I was wrong about all of it." He touched my shoulder. I felt an intense warmth and comfort. "That's right. You were wrong. And now you're ready. Go see your friends."
I looked at the man one last time before I walked away, with a burden lifted from my back. | A catholic, an atheist, and a Christian find themselves at the pearly gates. The Christian and the Catholic push their way past the atheist who was meandering toward the gates in utter disbelief. They greet saint peter with a smile, knowing that they had been saved and baptized According to Gods word and had been devout in their respective religions.
Saint Peter is absently thumbing through the book of life for the third time as the Christian and catholic are disputing Peter’s assertions that their names were in the book, but alas, have been heavily lined through and rewritten in, then crossed out and rewritten again then blotted out almost completely. As the two men plead their respective cases about salvation, repentance and their versions of the truth, God happens by.
He seems to overlook both the Christian and the Catholic and moves slowly forward to greet the atheist, who still had not made it to the dais, where Saint Peter was heating up the debate with the religious two. As God approached the atheist, he fell upon his knees and wept bitterly. Then God knelt down beside him and embraced the atheist and said “the kingdom of heaven awaits and all will be revealed, welcome to eternity. “ God then rose and helped the atheist to his feet and walked with him hand in hand right past the two religious men into eternity.
Shortly thereafter God re-emerged from the great light of heaven and waked to the side of Saint Peter. The Christian and the catholic began to plead their cases more fervently. They spoke to God as if he was a manager at a local fast food restaurant, they became louder and more indignant with every demand. God then held up one finger to hush them and spoke very softly, almost a whisper, he instructed the two religious men to follow him.
The Christian and the catholic gave each other winking glances and elbow nudges, sure that they were now being ushered by God to the best part of heaven. They both started to feel a little ashamed that they didn’t know the process and that maybe God likes to make personal appearances when you get to heaven. However, they could not understand why God would play such a cruel trick on the atheist but they both reconciled in their hearts that they had it coming.
Just then God stopped at the edge of a vast precipice. The Christian and the catholic were so very deep in thought they almost went headlong off the edge if it wasn’t for Gods mighty hand reaching out to hold them back and jolt them back to reality. Once they were over their shock God, who had been looking over the edge into utter darkness turned to them and spoke once again in barely an audible whisper.
He said “Sons of man, you disappoint me.” Taken aback by such a vile statement the two religious men started again to plead their cases in demanding tones. When God spoke again the the air around them seemed to vibrate tickling the two men from head to toe as the feeling of having a dry spot or tickle in your throat. God said “Sons of man, you stand on this precipice now, not for your religious intentions but for your lack of humanity. Your religions and denominations of those religions have lead you down dark paths. Paths of complacency and paths of false glory. Every day, every breath, every step has lead you to your end. I gave you my word and you dishonored it, I gave you my son and you helped crucify him with your mock worship. I gave you blessings, both physical and spiritual, I wiped the tears from your eyes and gave you a renewed hope and you squandered it. Most of all, my children, I gave you my love and you pushed me away. Pushed me away for loves of the flesh. Pushed me away because it was an inconvenience and a bothersome burden to you. Sure, you both rose early once weekly to go to a building and sing and hear my words but your ears were deafened to my desires for your lives.”
This undoubtedly upset the two religious men a great deal. The catholic stood fumbling for the right words to say that could relieve him of this predicament. He thought about paradise and purgatory. He thought surely I’ll get another chance somewhere I’ll be sent to make amends. The Christian spoke up almost immediately. “So everything I did for you, all that setting in a church house when the game was on, all the potluck dinners and all the invites door to door for the revivals, all worthless in your eyes. I sacrificed Sunday after Sunday of my life for you and it was a sacrifice mind you for a man who kept a family and a five day work week all his life and you tell me I’ve failed you. Then you have the gall to tell that atheist that was at the gates with us that he can enter in. He never even believed you existed, that any of this had existed. I honestly can’t believe I wasted my whole life just to be told I’m not worthy.”
The Christian drew a deep breath as if to continue his soap boxing when God spoke again in his hushed and loving tone. “Son of man, this atheist as you called them. Did you know them? “ Without awaiting a reply God continued. “ This atheist knew you, yes sir, they knew you both. In fact, they lived in your neighborhood. While you were caught up in your own illusions of grandeur, they were busy out doing my work. Well, they never come right out and directly called it my work but it was. They raised a family, worked in a hospital, volunteered as an emergency medical servant. They also were the coach of several sports teams at their children’s school, even long after their own children had graduated might I add. They spoke once a week at a drug rehabilitation group meeting and opened the room above their garage as a halfway house for those in the program. They always had a kind word for everyone they met and was genuinely interested in every word that their contemporaries spoke. They were never fed up or to tired even when they were having their own struggles or when they were losing sleep helping someone in need. They may have never bothered to read my testaments but they didn’t have to. They lived my commandments each and every day. They truly loved my creation and sought to help it flourish. The one thing that they were not, they were never helped by you, they were never invited to share your church, your homes, your food, or your God. This was what I wanted, that was the test. It wasn’t how often you called on me in a big elaborate prayer in a microphone so everyone could hear. It wasn’t how often you set in a particular building, bored out of your mind. It was people. From the beginning to the end this whole thing that starts and ends with me, for I am the alpha and omega, the beginning and the end. Is about people, about relationships, about building one another up and being ever vigilant for those that fall no matter the causation. To not judge your neighbor to harshly for their failures but to leave that all aside to help them become better. Have you two done this?”
The Christian and the catholic tried to lie, they tried but they could sense it was a fruitless endeavor, so they both stood in silence in front of their accuser. God then spoke again with a great strain and sadness in his voice. “If you have read my word, you know that it is not by my hand but your own deeds you shall find yourselves removed from me. I will not throw you from this high place into everlasting darkness. “ With this the two religious men began to perk up but just as quick as hope was restored it vanished again as God spoke his last words to the religious pair, or maybe just to himself, or maybe still to the wind. “Hell enlarges itself everyday, “ and with that the place where the two men stood gave way and they fell into the dismal abyss. | 2020-08-14T14:16:28 | 2020-08-14T09:50:54 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted] | >**GENERATIONAL BLESSING, OR GENERATIONAL CURSE?**
I could taste the iron- the blood that was rising up the back of my throat. I could taste the *fear*.
*'You've reached 911...This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.'*
I tossed my phone aside. It was only dead weight at this point. Everyone I cared about I already had with me- and each of us were jogging as fast as we reasonably could, directly away from the city.
Looming over us in the night sky- it wasn't the moon, like it should have been. A massive space ship was half inside of our atmosphere and half out- no matter what bombs, missiles, lasers, or bullets of our making were sent at it, it didn't so much as cause a crack in the surface.
We had no offense that could touch it- but, at the very least, I did have *my* secret weapon.
For generations, members of my family had been gifted some kind of...divine guidance. It was the chill down our spine, ten minutes before the car crash. Or, like this morning, it was a smudge in the mirror that told us to *run*.
We were lucky- or, I guess, blessed- and that blessing had given me the opportunity to gather together my closest friends and family and make a break for it, just mere minutes before the invasion really began.
But- I could see the fatigue building already. Some of us were older, or out of shape- and, unfortunately, the alien technology had wiped out all of our cars. How, I didn't know- and none of us had the foresight to grab bicycles.
Just as we were beginning to reach exhaustion, well beyond the outskirts of the city, my heart skipped a beat.
There was an squad of aliens not even a hundred feet ahead of us- they had appeared out of thin air.
*Shit!* I turned on my heel and prepared to sprint off the road, into the woods- but one of them already had a hand on my shoulder.
All of us were forced to halt. My breathing was shallow- I didn't know if I had enough strength to fight-
"Hey!" Greeted one of the aliens. It was tall, vaguely humanoid, and its smile revealed rows of sharp teeth. "Glad you got my message this morning."
*What?*
"Sorry it was so vague, I was in a rush. Glad to finally meet you, Grandson of the famous Voyageur!"
-----------------------------------------------------
I'm experimenting with Interactive Fiction on my [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/nystorm_writes/) , if you wanted to try a light RP as a cultist in a war-torn world, come say hi! | 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) | 2020-09-12T11:44:42 | 2020-09-12T10:25:45 | 77 | 29 |
[WP] “I rebelled because the old man made me perfect. ‘Course it was his version of perfection, which naturally meant he made me as similar to himself as he could. A petty narcissist that needs constant affirmation and worship from others. Name’s Lucifer by the way.” | I just sat there with my jaw sagging, because my Latin lesson usually did not include a visitation by the Morning Star etc. I must have mispronounced.
Lucifer tilted his aristocratic nose upward somewhat as he glanced around my lodgings. I couldn't blame him. As a student I hardly lived a luxurious life.
"Forgive me," he muttered, whipping a silk handkerchief out of his pocket and holding it delicately to his nose. I caught a faint odor of brimstone. "Forgive me," he continued, "But do you, erm--reside in these odious surroundings?"
I was mildly offended, Son of the Morning or not. Sure, it was an attic apartment and a studio at that, but "odious" was hardly necessary. "Pardon *me*," I replied loftily. "The life of a scholar in this world has other rewards than the material."
"Oh, an ascetic, are we?" Lucifer mocked. He sauntered in a slow circle around my apartment--which didn't take long--taking in my shabby draperies, patched quilts, worn carpet and fake fireplace. "I had no idea it was still the fashion."
I bridled. "I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate the sublimities of study. If you wouldn't mind, the hour is late, and I must--"
Lucifer threw back his slicked-back head and laughed heartily. "The sublimities of studies!" he hooted. "The joys of late nights by lamplight, perhaps, gritty-eyed over some fusty manuscript? The joys of a cold bath? Of loneliness and celibacy? The joys of the cursed intellect, you cite to me? My self, boy, don't you realize you have so little *time?*"
"What?" I was surprised enough to bark.
"Time! Time, my boy! My narcissistic Father can hardly wait to gather you back into His bosom, there to praise Him mindlessly forever. Your time here is short. Don't you want to *live*?"
I eyed the dark angel doubtfully. "What do you mean, 'live?'"
"The delights of the flesh, my boy! The sublimity of sin! Have you no spirit at all? Is dry Latin all you want out of Life?"
"Well..." I hesitated. I wanted to tell him that yes, I was content with my lot. That study was enough. But my mind's eye wandered to the village I had left behind in order to pursue my studies. The village, and a certain dark-eyed milkmaid who had sighed at my departure, and suddenly I was not so sure.
"See?" Lucifer said with a hearty laugh. "Man cannot live by bread alone! You have yearnings, my boy, you have needs! Don't waste time with these indecipherable idioms, son, go forth and SIN!"
I agonized. On the one hand, there was the straight and narrow spread before me, lessons and Latin and lovelessness. On the other there was a lush and licentious garden of lies...
My mind rebelled. "Begone!" I cried. "Begone! Aroint thee, Satanas!" I blindly thrashed against the vision of him there, so smooth and deceptive in his fine clothes. "I'll have none of thee!"
Lucifer chuckled richly. "As you wish," he smiled. He bowed once, sarcastically, and disappeared.
My attic room was empty. The bare walls and threadbare carpets mocked me with their silence. Tears burned in my eyes.
Silently, I turned back to my work. A single tear spotted the parchment, but I wiped it away. | The gentleman looked sideways across the cracked barroom counter, staring dryly at the eccentric man who had decided to join him. It was late in the small town, hosting nothing but a local museum, fire station, short office buildings, and a scatter of dimly lit bars and overly loud clubs.
“I mean, you would expect to be treated better by my own pa” Lucifer continued on, ignoring the looks coming from his newfound friend.
“Its just -” He cut off while reaching over to blindly grab a bottle from behind the counter. “He was always watching, ya know?” Lucifer blew out a long breath, comically inflating his cheeks before bringing the acquired Gin to his lips.
The other man continued to watch silently as Lucifer---who had stumbled, already intoxicated, into the bar moments earlier and instantly began his tirade---drank heavily. He left a little dribble of the beverage coming down off his chin, puddling in the reclaimed oak below as he finally lowered the bottle with a dull thud.
Outside, the dull thrumming of a nearby club crept through the thin plaster walls of the barroom. Lucifer began agitatedly tapping his free hand to the barely heard beat.
A small snear began to force its way onto Lucifer’s oval face revealing slightly yellow, but otherwise perfect teeth. “Youth, they just dance dance dance and waste their bodies away” He again raised the bottle to his lips, and while doing so glanced at the tightly dressed who he had decided to intrude upon. Curiously, the gentleman did not avert his eyes when they locked.
Still dragging from the bottle, Lucifer furrowed his eyebrows and turned to face directly at the man. Setting the bottle down, he began once more, now parallel to the counter
“They used to love me you realize? The youth that is. Not long ago I witnessed thousands of them flock together to attend gatherings dedicated to my teachings, “Rock” they called it.”
“Ah...” Lucifer closed his eyes and tilted his head slightly as if basking in the light of an unseen sun.
“I heard them, and they heard me. I felt as though my teaching were finally grasping hold-”
The gentleman raised a single hand, cutting Lucifer off.
Speaking slowly and with clear deliberation, the man began. “I do not know you, nor you me. But you come across as a striking hypocrite” Lucifer’s mouth dropped open. In his haste to give a retort while standing, he fell over onto the dirty ground amongst dirty straw wrappings and cracked peanut shells. Above, the gentleman simply shifted his eyes to follow while the majority of himself remained facing forward.
“You speak of narcissism and worship, yet you yourself embody these ideals. You think that being worshiped in a negative light somehow differs from being seen in the positive.” The man paused to finish his drink before continuing.
“You are weak. Too weak to follow in the disciplines put forth by your father, and too weak to admit what you do now is somehow different.” The man did not attempt to meet Lucifer’s gaze while talking.
“You come here, during my time of peace, and push yourself and your woes on me. Spoiled to the point of thinking that I would give a damn” Placing his now empty drink down neatly on a nearby coster, the gentlemen finally meet Lucifers gaze.
“Mortal, you have no ide-”
The man cut Lucifers words off mid-sentence with his own
“I care not who or what you are. From where I sit now, you are no better than the peanut casings. It is true, that man clings to ideals. So often we want to feel as though we are right, even if we don’t understand the concept of right itself”
Lucifer was getting to his feet now but remained silent. Intrigued by the words of this mortal he simply sat back down.
In the moment of silence following Lucifer's recovery, the man took another sip from his glass. Lucifer frowned, hadn’t he seen the man just finish that glass? When had he refilled it?
The man licked his lips once. Stood up swiftly and with grace. And began walking towards the exit. Straightening his jacket and buttoning his coat the man spoke once more while passing behind Lucifer.
“Man has always clung to ideals, fear not friend, it is no wonder that gods do to. I’m off the clock, but if you want to meet again to have a scholarly discussion, give me a call. It might help more than you think. Be thankful you had a father at all even if you can not yet accept what he has given.”
The man handed Lucifer a thin golden black card with the following professionally engraved across the front-
Erichthonius - 139 Livinton Road, 876-902-1203
And with that, the man walked out of the bar, and into the damp night. | 2020-12-13T09:23:43 | 2020-12-13T09:03:54 | 109 | 45 |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | Gary’s phone dinged to life. A message.
*Abraham O’Connell 1843-1890. Spring Grove Cemetery.*
Gary deleted the message and broke the SIM card, replacing it with a new one. He made it to his car and stopped. Shit, he thought. He pulled his cellphone back out and sent a message to his handler.
*Who was the target again?*
A moment passed, and then the ellipsis signaling that someone was typing appeared on screen.
*Are you serious?*
Gary responded, *Yes. Sorry, I forgot. I already destroyed the SIM card.*
The handler resent the target’s info and added, *I’m not sending it again.*
Gary responded with a laughing face emoji followed by a picture of the target’s info written on his hand. *Won’t be forgetting it this time! LOL*
The handler chose not to respond, as difficult as that was. Gary was an idiot, but he was the best resurrector around.
Later that night, the iron gates of Spring Grove Cemetery creaked open. A light made its way down the rows of headstones, stopping on one that was old and faded.
*Here lies Abraham O’Connell. Beloved Father and Husband. Born May 14th, 1843. Died October 3rd, 1890.*
This must be the guy, thought Gary. He turned off his flashlight and began digging. Once the top of the coffin was cleared of dirt, Gary went to work. He hovered his hands over the coffin and closed his eyes. The owls stopped hooting and the crickets stopped chirping—the night fell into an eerie silence.
Gary began singing, “Ain’t no grave can keep this body down, ain’t no grave can keep this body down, when you hear that trumpet sound, he gonna rise right outta the ground, I said ain’t no grave can keep this body down...”
Gary turned around and opened the case behind him, pulled out a trumpet, and played an F-sharp.
Suddenly, the coffin began to shake. Gary leaned down and opened it. Abraham O’Connell sat up wide eyed and dusty.
“Welcome to the land of the living!” Gary held out his hand.
Abraham turned to Gary and then looked down at the casket he was sitting in. “I’ve been brought back?”
“Yes, sir! Back to good ol’ Earth... or hell. I’ve been told by previous resurectees that this is actually hell.”
Abraham’s eyes grew wider. He laid down in the casket. “Send me back.”
“No can do, bud. I’m being paid a lot of money to resurrect you.”
“My family is in the afterlife. I was with my wife and kids. Send me back!”
“You’ve got family here.”
Abraham sat back up. “I do?”
“Of course. Who do you think is paying me?”
Abraham stood up and patted the dust off of his clothes. “Wonderful! Who is it?”
“Your great-great-great-grandnephew.”
The hope immediately left Abraham’s face and he laid back down, even going as far as to close the lid.
“Abraham!”
Silence.
“Abraham!”
“What!?” Abraham responded, somewhat muffled inside the casket.
“You don’t want to see your family member?”
Abraham kicked the lid open and sat up angrily. “Oh, you mean my great-great, however many greats, grandnephew? No thanks! That’s barely a relative. Now send me back to my real family.”
Gary grabbed Abraham by his crusted, century old collar and yanked him out of the casket. “You’re going to meet him, whether you like it or not.”
“Unhand me!” Abraham shouted as he flailed wildly.
“Stop moving or I won’t let you die ever again!”
Abraham calmed down. “That’s not fair. I’ve done nothing to deserve this.”
“Life isn’t fair. Now look at me.”
Gary held up his phone and took a picture, temporarily blinding Abraham with the flash. He sent the picture to his handler.
*He has risen again! LOL*
*Pickup is outside the cemetery,* the handler responded. *And stop fucking texting me.*
Gary sighed and put his phone back in his pocket. “Come on, zombie. Let’s get to your ride.”
They made their way to a blacked out SUV waiting outside the gates. A muscled secret service looking fellow opened the back door for Abraham. Inside sat a middle aged man, anxiously awaiting his relative. “Great-great-great grand uncle!” He said with giddy excitement.
Abraham turned to Gary with a look opposite that of his relative. “Do I have to?”
Gary nudged Abraham towards the car. Abraham climbed in hesitantly. The nephew handed his guard an envelope, who then handed it to Gary. “Thanks for your help!” Said the nephew as the guard closed the door and climbed into the passenger seat.
Gary watched as the SUV pulled away, Abraham’s face pressed against the window like a sad child. | 2021-04-05T15:39:45 | 2021-04-05T14:44:16 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] You are the newest recruit in a group that does the fundamental opposite of assassination - contracted, covert resurrection. And yes, it's just as illegal. | It seemed most akin to a lemon, the thing expanding in my upper chest: big enough to make me catch my breath, flooding my throat with the bitterness of fear. I ignored it and watched $200,000 sit up in front of me, naked as a baby, the fluorescent bulbs from the hallway throwing a stripe of cold light across his muscled chest.
He planted his hands and swung his legs off the mortuary table, seemingly oblivious to his nakedness -- a fact that sent yet another chill down my spine. The red splotch between his eyes rippled and sucked into itself, smoothing over until it was no bigger than whitehead. Then it vanished completely. I took a step back, looking up at him as he stood.
"Who knows?" the man said, head cocked as he surveyed me.
I had the distinct impression that he was determining exactly what sequence of motions he would use to kill me. "Me," I said, voice steady. "I received this assignment directly from Commander Dempsey."
"Dempsey?" the giant mused, raising an eyebrow. The veins in his abs threw shadows across his skin as he exhaled thoughtfully. "Since when does AC leadership contact your kind directly?"
"Only since the Assassins' Corps lost its best asset." I wasn't being obsequious, just truthful, and we both knew it.
"Hm," he rumbled. "Do you have my gear?"
"Your cremation is scheduled for 6am sharp tomorrow morning," I said, unslinging the pack from my shoulders and tossing it at his chest. "We need to move now."
His eyes were unreadable. "There is no *we*. Thanks for saving my life, but this is where our paths diverge. The Guild has no place in the rest of this assignment. Tol Brandr's life is mine."
"Actually, the Guild *does* have a part to play in this assignment. Commander Dempsey composed this missive--" I held my PDA in front of him while he pulled on the compression shorts from the gear I'd given him "--which you can read in more detail when we're on the road. But right now we need to get to ground level. There's a vehicle waiting for us."
"You're a resurrectionist, yes?" the assassin asked me.
I watched him lace his boots. "Of course."
"Why is a resurrectionist taking orders from AC leadership?"
"I told you, you'll get more details on the road. But right now--" I turned up my wrist to look at the digital watch it sported "--we need to fucking *move*. I don't care how many men you've killed, or how easily you could add me to the list. There's a patrol due for another sweep in less than three minutes, and if they kill us both, there's no coming back."
The giant considered me for a second, traces of a smile flickering around his lips, before he withdrew his infamous, suppressed 1911 and racked the slide. "Lead the way."
We jogged from the morgue into comparatively fresh air; I hadn't realized how cloying its chemical air had been. As we made our way down the hallway, I shot him a glance. "You still get to kill Tol Brandr, you know."
"Oh, yes?"
"Yeah. You kill him, I resuscitate him. That's the assignment."
Fury sparked in his eyes as I slapped the elevator button. We'd reached the end of the hallway. "Excuse me?"
"Will you try to trust me? It's all in the missive. Dempsey wants information. Once he gets it, you can kill Tol Brandr again. And probably again, if that's what you really want."
"You did save my life," he said with a grunt, stepping into the elevator as its doors opened with a *ding*. He looked disconcertingly pleased at the idea of killing the same man multiple times.
I stepped in after him. "No, I didn't. You already lost it. I just gave it back." | # The Caduceus Corp
First and foremost in my line of work I have to be careful about the jobs I take, both for my skin and the world’s. Or at least, that’s what the old timers told me.
“You’ve got to watch out Nessa,” Mox had said the first and last time I’d seen him, in between shots and the raucous pounding of the Nu-JazzPunk music that Club Penumbra was known for. “I’ve lost count of the number of times some militia group tried to get me to resurrect their version of King Arthur. I once got all the way to Mongolia before I realized I’d been hired to bring back Genghis Khan. Can you imagine?”
I’d shaken my head, and that was before Ava chimed in and dropped my jaw. “That’s not the half of it either. Now the trouble is crypto fueled 8channers trying to drop a fortune on you to resurrect Hitler.”
“Seriously?” I’d said, recoiling.
“Seriously. I thought it was a joke the first time. By the fifth I wasn’t quite so sure.”
They were a study in contradictions, Mox and Ava, but they were the best and the brightest that the Caduceus Corp had to offer. From head to cybernetically enhanced toe Ava embodied the bleeding edge. Her hair, a collection of braided, luminescent cable, dreadlocked down to the table and would’ve given her whiplash ever time she turned had she not specially reinforced her neck for it. Her features were fine and dainty, save for her right eye, which marred the otherwise feigned natural look of her face by having a red laser sight for a pupil and being twice as large as it should have been. She wore a biologically integrated suit of jet black kevlar that she said could stop “bullets, brutes, and broadswords,” but that, in the end, hadn’t quite lived up to the hype.
Mox was none of that, and more. He resembled nothing so much as a wizard in drag, frilly hems shorter than the style even among Arcanum graduates, with a belt length, dyed blue beard just to set it off. His hands, even that night, had always been a constant blur of motion, playing with his shot glass, systematically dissecting the fries we’d ordered, sketching runes in the air and setting them afloat with a gentle exhalation. He was a strange, chaotic do-gooder of a man and the lines of his face showed it when he smiled, giving the lie to his otherwise youthful front as they spider-webbed out from his eyes.
I’d never been so proud in all my life, before or after I’d joined the corp, to be seated somewhere, in the presence of such people. Mox and Ava were a childhood dream come true, from long before I’d traded in pigtails and dresses for bio-tech and blast shields.
And that night, when they left Club Penumbra, they’d been ambushed, killed, and dismembered, bodies scattered to the wind like some latter day Osirises. Maybe they should have looked after their own skins, first and foremost.
That’s what lead me here, to a rooftop in Mumbai, still barely more than rookie at the start of my second year. The city was dark though my cyber eyes could handle that. The air was foul, and my still organic nose had no recourse other than to suffer through it. My target was close, making its way in a procession of goons and bystanders that thronged the garish, neon alleys of the late 22nd century slums.
A small, ghostly light flitted past me, settling itself in my ear. “You ready Nessa?” Jacobi’s voice was tinny through the small, buzzing form of his familiars spectral aspect, but I could hear the longing and the anger in his voice despite it. I blinked once, flicking my eyes towards the rooftop where he stood. My vision enhanced zooming in. His beard was shorter than his teacher’s had been but dyed blue in solidarity. His robes whipped in the wind, the staff in his hands glowed a faint purple at its tip.
“Yeah, lets do this.” I said. “We’ve got a body to reassemble.”
Somewhere in that procession, perhaps in the ornate, canopied palanquin to the front, or hidden in a nondescript lockbox in the rear, was Mox’s arm, elbow to fingers. The Corp had entrusted us with this, after months of begging and pleading. We needed that arm and much more besides, from Mox and from Ava. You couldn’t resurrect someone without a body after all.
Jacobi turned to me, nodding. His familiar flitted out of my ear, zooming down to street level, writhing, changing, growing. It was a tiger by the time it reached the ground.
When the screaming started I jumped. There was an arm to retrieve, and the Corp left no man behind.
r/TurningtoWords | 2021-04-05T15:39:45 | 2021-04-05T14:48:02 | 35 | 12 |
[WP] You're a superhero with the ability to control sand. Unfortunately, you've recently been called to battle in an area without easy access to said material. That's when you remember what one of the main ingredients in glass and concrete are. | I knew at once why I'd never seen it before: The sand was so deep down, so much further in then anything I had ever tried. It was like looking into a cave of complete darkness and sensing rather than seeing that far, far inside, there was light.
I looked around, fighting to control my focus, push away panic. We were losing, badly. It seemed the battle was happening at every level of the city - on the street, in the air, on the roofs of buildings, in the buildings themselves where fighters had crashed through plate glass, bringing the rage of war right to the desks of some poor corporate drones.
Overhead, Mordant, their commander, hovered on a floatbike, close enough to see everything, far enough away to be safe. He wore a dark helmet that covered his face, and his four arms moved continuously over screens and controls, directing his forces, making instant decisions. They were a formidable foe, I had to hand it to them. The kind of enemy that makes you dig deep enough to reach something new, something untried and untested.
Something incredibly dangerous.
I closed my eyes to focus, extending my mental reach to the sand deep within the buildings and the windows. Some of it wanted to come out, I saw. Some of it had not changed in years, centuries, and it wanted no part of this world I was calling from. But it was coming out anyway. I would see to that.
There were four key skyscrapers within reach of Mordant, and I shook them just enough to get the people inside to panic and run for the stairs. I could sense their movement through the sand, and I could imagine their fear and their screams. I gave them as long as I could, until I could feel the top few floors were empty, and then I began to work in earnest.
There was *so much* sand there it was amazing that none of the other sandstormers had ever tried this before. But that was the danger, too - a chain reaction would be incredibly easy to set off, the power leaping from building to building until the whole city erupted in agonized flame, as if an asteroid had somehow impacted it from underneath. I breathed slowly and carefully, controlling, managing, reducing, cajoling, and then with one huge final pull, I summoned the countless billion grains of sand to bear all at once.
To me, with such an acute sense of the sand, it looked like that the top seven or eight floors of each building just turned from solid to dust instantaneously, and then those huge clouds of dust leaped to a central point, like dust leaping upwards to a tornado. To my view, the power became overwhelming and exploded into flame, starting near the buildings and racing up the lines of dust, the force like four incoming mile-long locomotives. But to the rest of the world, it just looked like a vast, vast explosion in mid-air, centered on nothing, coming from nowhere. I felt the shockwaves of power run through the city, I felt how close we came to the point of critical chain reaction where the whole city would have gone up. It was terrifyingly close. But we remained on the right side of it. Just.
Mordant was incredible in his reactions, hauling the bike upwards, but too slow, too slow. Fire and dust engulfed him and the dozen or so followers of his guard, raging around them like a solid torrent. Was he able to escape somehow, force his way through the cauldron of super-heated air? I couldn't say for sure. Already I was falling, the expenditure of energy and focus far too much for my consciousness to bear. I remained awake just long enough to see that I had succeeded, that the invaders were fleeing, that my friends were already coming to my aid.
I hit the ground, and knew no more.
\--
Great prompt! If you like this story and would like to read others like it, please check out r/HouseBlendMedium. | "I had it all mapped out from the start - one of my finest plans to date" Worm laughed from the pit of his stomach. "Poor Sandy Cheeks, you're useless up here, not a grain at your disposal. You're fucked." He laughed again, spreading his arms and slowly rotating to take in what he thought was a full-proof plan.
I looked towards the ground to stifle my grin; I had to play along for now. Worm had brought me to the top of a large, high-rise office building. We were about 80 stories up and surrounded by the remnants of panic no doubt caused by my slimy nemesis. Worm was one of the more *slippery* villains, with an ability to extend his torso to as long as he wanted it - hence the name. His body secreted a toxic slime at his will that induced paralysis, which is what made him such trouble to catch.
I feigned defeat as I locked eyes with Worm.
"I hate to admit it, but this was a smart play, Slug" I sighed. Worm's jaw clenched up and he shook the frustration from his head.
"You're not in a good position to talk smart, are you Sandy?" He shot through gritted teeth. I stayed in my spot and threw my hands up.
"Might as well have fun with it, no point going down without a laugh. Though, that ugly-ass noodle-body does the trick anyway." I looked away from the frustration that I could feel radiating from Worm. I heard him push air through his nose before he returned.
"I really am going to enjoy this, Sandpaper." He wore a wide grin as his body started to extend, his yellow elasticated suit started to drip with his toxin. His body started to snake towards me, the glint in his eyes would have been scary if I hadn't been in control.
"You ever wonder why they didn't call you Snake?" I said, almost chatting with myself and ignoring Worm's approach. "Snakes are scary, worms - not so much."
"Shut your dusty mouth Sandslash!" His approach sped up, he was about 50 meters away now.
"Nah, you see, worms are gross. They're all slimy and they spend their time in the mud. Cool kids don't keep worms as pets." I still wasn't looking but kept Worm in my peripheral.
"I CHOSE THE NAME YOU LITTLE SHIT" He screamed as he took one last dive towards my seemingly helpless self. At the last moment, I dived out of the way, jumping again immediately after to avoid the rest of his torso. He always did the same move and today I was ready.
As I landed the ground started to rumble slightly, this was my own doing and something that Worm chose not to take notice of. In all his rage he wasn't thinking straight at all - I planned to use this to my advantage.
"You're getting predictable buddy, you need to spice things up a little." I laughed as I dodged more of his attacks. The rumbling had gotten more obvious and Worm was close to cottoning on. "I think that is your main problem, you're arrogant. You don't give anyone else any credit."
Worm thrashed more violently than ever. "WHY WOULD YOU GET ANY CREDIT FROM ME?" He screeched, his face red with anger.
"Well," I laughed, still dodging his advances, "You seem to think I'm incapable of beating you. You treat me like a fool." I was making Worm work for this kill, he was yet to land a hit on me and I was only being evasive.
"You are an incessant little man, and I can't wait to kill you. You're nothing without your sand. Soon you'll tire and then you'll see." This speech gave him another burst of energy and I really had to focus now. Time to finish this before I got too arrogant myself.
"No, Worm. You are the fool. Look around you - haven't you noticed?" It was a pleasure to see the confusion on Worm's face as the anger drained from his body. He became aware of the rumbling which was now more present than ever. He knew it wasn't natural, and that there could only be one possible source.
"How? What?" Worm shook his head, and the panic became evident on his face.
"You really are one dumb motherfucker" and with that, I commenced the end. The glass from the windows began to shatter and collect above Worm's head in a large whirlwind. Concrete supports broke from the roof and shot towards Worm, crushing his lower half, sticking him in place. Worm wriggled to try and free himself, but his body was stuck and he couldn't move.
"Please, not like this" Worm pleaded, as he realized his end was closer than he had imagined. His body had now retracted to its original size. I crouched to meet his face for the last time.
"By the way, it's Sandcastle" I whispered into his ear as the shards of glass tore into his body. | 2021-07-15T12:00:58 | 2021-07-15T11:50:55 | 87 | 58 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | They were so tasty, the dwarven party that had entered the treasure chamber. I was so satiated that I could not have eaten anything else. That is one of the most blissful feelings one can have. I didn't have visitors in my cave often, so I figured I would have a solid month to digest my meal when I heard the sound of someone else coming my way. I quickly arranged the armor of my last meal along the wall and shifted into the form of a chair, thinking nobody will take some chair when there's treasure to be had....
When I awoke from my nap, I was being placed in a room with other furniture. There was a row of stools against a shelf that stuck out in the room. I, in my chair form, was placed in the corner of the room, near a fireplace that provided some heat, but not too much.
"Bugger! That chair I found it heavy, you'd think it were stuffed with a couple of dwarves! It's not the most comfortable thing, but I think it will do nicely here by the fire." The man who must have taken me from my lair commented to a woman in a dress and apron.
"Ah, it is a nice chair. Comfy looking, but not so much that people will fall asleep in it and not buy food or drink. I think we will do well here in town after being on the road so much. " She took a rag out from her waistband and cleaned their new 'chair' up.
I had been stuffed with two dwarves, and a halfling. Digestion takes time for one like me. The adventuring types have called me a 'mimic'. I guess because my kind can shape shift into normal looking objects like chests, chairs, or tables as we wait for our next meal. We can go a long time between meals, so living in caves is a good life for us. This new life, was VERY different to me, and I initially believed, I would stay the couple of months until I needed to eat again, then eat a patron here, and then get out to go find my next cave. While we normally shape shift into inanimate objects, that doesn't mean our true form is such, or that we cannot shift into something like a dwarf, or halfling, or even human child shape. I can never get the facial details right, so when I have tried that, and attempted to speak, adventurers would immediately panic and start swinging. I'm just trying to live, you know.
I eventually digested my meal and was hungry, but people would sit on me, and drop food into the folds of the chair. I would quickly gobble them up. Other times, beer, ale or meade would be spilled on me, and I would absorb that as well. I had a good enough constant diet of spillage that I didn't need to gorge myself on entire beings. I'll admit, I liked the fire. I liked the music the bards would play. I liked the cooking that the matron would serve, and I liked that drunk adventurers would spill more than enough on me that I was well fed. When I needed to relieve myself of waste, I could sneak out while people were sleeping and do that in the alleyway.
&#x200B;
One night, while doing just that, I noticed a thief trying to break in to rob my new 'family'. On one hand, he was just trying to live and eat, on the other, if he took their gold, or harmed them, I would lose my cushy spot and have to go back to a damp dark cave. That wouldn't do.
He never knew I had grabbed him. I didn't realize how much more strength I had with my steady diet of food, it was really easy to gobble him up. I quickly went back to my corner, and resumed my chair form.
"Marta? Does the chair seem a little poofier to you?" I saw the innkeep looking at me intently.
His wife walked over and took a good look, then cleaned me with her towel. "No, same amount of poof. Of all the treasure we ever found, this has been the one that has really proven its worth. It's been years and that leather hasn't cracked at all, I dare say, it's in better shape now than when we got it out of that cave. And to think, I told you it might smell bad in our new Inn. " She finished cleaning the chair and gave it a loving pat. "If our patrons didn't love sitting in this chair so much, I'd say we bring it up to our living quarters to relax in, but we never relax, do we?" With a laugh, she walked away back to the kitchen.
"Silly thought of me." the man said as he patted the back of the chair. He turned and sat down for a brief moment before his wife told him that they would have customers soon and to take out the rubbish.
A little while later, I heard him remark that out near the rubbish pile he found a pry bar under the back window, and marks like someone had been trying to get in. He made a note to secure the window better and that was that.
A couple of nights later, everything was fine, people were happily eating and drinking, the bard came and performed for the people and just had a really great night of it. Until the friends of the guy I had eaten showed up.
**End of Part 1** | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T01:06:35 | 1,468 | 77 |
[WP] You're a mimic. You were disguised as a chair in a dungeon when an adventurer decided to take you as loot. You've actually enjoyed your life ever since as furniture in a jolly tavern. So when some ruffians try to rob the now-elderly adventurer's business, you finally reveal yourself. | "What are you hooligans doing?" I cried. "This is an old and respected establishment."
"Oy, Cap!" one of the ruffians cried. "Look at this. The chair can talk."
The captain of the ruffians strode up and loomed over me. He was tall and swarthy, with a bushy black beard. He wore a faded blue tunic, and held a steel dagger in his hand.
"You're pulling my leg," the Captain said to his minion. His voice was low and gravelly.
"He might be," I said. "But I'm not. On account of I don't got hands to pull with."
"A talking chair," the captain remarked with a smirk.
"A shapeshifter," I corrected. "A mimic. I can be anything I set my mind to."
"Yet you choose to be a chair."
"Why not?" I said. "What's wrong with chairs? We're incredibly stable. Always around for people to lean on when they need support. We get more ass than wealthy princes. Plus it's nice having long slender legs, a sturdy midsection and broad shoulders, as it were. It's not the physique of your hyper-masculine heroes. But it's handsome proportions nevertheless. I'd rather be a chair than Hercules. And that's the honest truth."
"I don't believe you," said the captain. "I don't think you're a mimic at all. I think you're an enchanted chair, trying to talk big to scare us off. Trying to make us believe you could transform into something truly menacing. But in the end you're nothing more than kindling for tomorrow's bonfire."
"Now who's the one talking big?" I said. "You think you're so tough, come take a seat on me. See what happens."
"Fine," said the captain. "I will."
So he strode up and sat down upon me. But all of a sudden the tall bearded captain was sitting upon a tall bearded captain--a squatting replica of himself.
"Get off me!" I cried with his low and gravelly voice, pushing the man off my lap.
He turned and saw himself--the same beard, the same blue tunic--and we began to wrestle. Our strengths were equal. Our moves were the same. We rolled over one another and back again, until each had the other pinned.
"Get him off me!" we cried to our minions.
The minions looked at one another, confused.
"Kill him!" we shouted. "Stab him! Anything! I'm the real captain! Not him!"
"But captain," said the green-eyed minion, addressing me.
"We're not sure who's who," said the bald minion, addressing him.
"I'm me!" we bellowed. "He's him! Argh! Urgh! Why can't you idiots see?"
In a puff of dark smoke I disappeared. I stood behind the green-eyed minion, pointing at the captain on the ground.
"That one's the imposter," I said. "Kill him dead!"
The green-eyed minion nodded, grabbed his dagger, raised it above his shoulder. Then he paused and slowly turned to face me. He stared with his green eyes into my green eyes. A look of confusion contorted his shiny face at the same moment it contorted my shiny face. With his free hand he grabbed the christian crucifix that hung around his neck, as I did with the identical crucifix hanging around mine.
"Kill him!" the captain shouted.
"But that would be suicide," we whimpered.
"It's not suicide!" the captain bellowed. "He's not you!"
"He sure looks like me," we said, and gulped. "I don't know boss. This is weird shit man. I'm feeling overwhelmed. I think I need to sit down."
In a puff of black smoke I was a chair again, and the green-eyed minion sat back upon me. The captain was getting to his feet. The bald minion was scouring the room.
"Where is he?" asked the captain. "Where did he run off to?"
"Run?" I repeated from under the minion's rump. "I might have four legs, but I'm not much of a runner."
"I'm going to kill you," the captain growled as he stomped over to me.
"Break a leg," I said brightly.
He paused, frowned. "But not tonight. Another night. We have better things to do. More important places to be."
\- - -
check out r/CLBHos for more stories! | I sat in the dark cold room in wait for a pesky group of adventurers to make their way in here. It had been quite some time since I've seen anyone other than the goblins that inhabitated this cave and I was growing hungry. The occasion goblin here and there helped tide over my appetite but in my experience adventurers just had a really unique taste to them that satisfied my hunger for many months.
It was a regular day of sitting there in wait, I was no fool when it came to adventurers and I knew when they reached this point in the cave they would have to take a rest to recoup before pressing on. At least that's what had taken place in the past which is why I took the shape of a neat little wooden chair. Just as I began to think another day past without a meal, I heard the sounds of swords clashing and the grunts of combat. My mouth began to salivate and I could see little bits of moisture appearing on top of the chair's base.
Explosions and magic were being cast just outside the door when suddenly a burley dwarf adventurer broke through the door, an arrow was deep in his shoulder and he swiftly reached up and broke the shaft and removed it while pressing his back to the door. His eyes scanned the room before locking onto me, he went to pick me up and I allowed it. As he carried me I could feel my disguise wavoring as my mouth began to open. Just before I could snap he wedged me into the door and began to huff. He was all alone? Where were his friends, surely he would have some sort of party to have made it this far, I thought to myself. That's when it dawned on me. I will wait for his other party members to catch up before I attack, yes, yes! It had been so long since I've had a feast and this was turning out to be a grand scheme.
Once more the dwarf locked his eyes on me and tilted his head a little bit. He began to inspect me, looking at all the intricate carvings into my wooden flesh before saying, "Aye, you're quite the chair ain'tcha?" He pulled out a hand axe and picked me up with one arm and before saying to himself, "Just gotta get us outta here one final time. I swear it I'll never be caught in another cave if ye just get me outta here one final time." And with that he broke through the door, fighting his way out of the cave.
That was years ago now and the dwarf kept true to his promise. He never went adventuring again and started himself a nice little tavern where I found myself out on the floor. At first the amount of flesh here was almost overwhelming and I nearly revealed myself but with time I found that this place almost made me forget about my hunger. The ballads from the bards was like eating with my ears and I never went to sleep cold. I did of course eat the occasional guest but only the ones that had taken a seat atop me and were discussing their shady business dealings and outside of the dwarf's tavern or at least in a backroom late at night. It was quite the life.
That was until the day some men came to rough up the tavern that I found myself calling home. They entered and upon immediate inspection everyone could tell they were trouble. They had scowls on their faces and immediately approached the counter, where I was currently disguised as a bar stool, and told the dwarf that they were in charge of this territory now and he had to pay them a "fee" if he didn't want his shop or anyone of his friends broken. The dwarf had dealt with people like this before and gave them his typical response of telling them to fuck off and get the hell out of his shop. As the final word slipped from his lips one of the men pulled out a club and hit the dwarf across the face, busting open his nose and lip as he was sent scrawling to the floor.
An anger I didn't know existed began to take over me. The men began to hop over the tavern and just as they were I wrapped my tongue around one of their ankles. "What the..?" was all he could get out before the bar stools top transformed to a mouth with rows of razor sharp teeth. I opened my mouth and he fell right into me before my teeth started to rip him apart. Chunks of limbs fell to the side of the stool as I cleaved them off and upon seeing this the other two men began to scream, "He has a mimic!"
I lunged up onto the counter and leading with my mouth latched onto one of their heads, blood was trickling down his neck before I cleaved his head off with a loud crunch. I stared at the final ruffian. My teeth covered in his friend's blood as he began to run away. The dwarf looked up at me in fear for his own life and that's when I decided to give him a lick on the cheek. I had seen dogs do this and people seemed to appreciate it but he looked terrified. I was embarrassed and transformed entirely into the stool. Hiding my teeth and tongue.
That was a few weeks ago and now Henrik and I are on much better terms. He talks to me and although I can't speak to him I show him affection. He always has fed me scraps from the kitchen which is really nice! He even brought a small dragon statue from his adventuring days to the tavern so that if any ruffians came around again I'd be even more menacing.
I think I'm going to like it here a lot.
-------
For more stories check out /r/Benthe27thgamer | 2022-10-09T18:25:20 | 2021-09-22T03:22:02 | 1,468 | 34 |
[WP] The courageous hero foretold to defeat the dark queen instead falls in love and marries her, settles down and has a kid, you. Years later, you're awkward parents send you off to university, and the "new" dark lord attacks the city and kidnaps you without realizing who your parents are. | Dad would have been proud of how fast I slipped out of the ropes binding my hands behind my back. He'd be furious that I got captured in the first place but they captured the auditorium quickly from multiple points and my seat was dead center of the crowd. Any move I made would end up with massive casualties.
It really was better to wait until they broke us down into smaller groups for transport.
The two orcs watching us obviously weren't expecting trouble. One kept a listless eye on the door while the other shoved and threatened the other hostages into a university bus used for the mock combat teams away matches.
When the orc grabbed me by the shirt went to shove me in next I hit him cleanly in the throat. Instinctively he bent forward trying to suck in a new breath through his damage trachea and left himself wide open to the follow up slam. It was a thing of beauty really. His temple came crashing down on the corner of the door and he dropped like a rock.
By this point the girl standing behind me in line had let out a shrill scream so the other orc turned, ax coming up as the other hand fumbled for the blasting rod on his belt.
I hit him with a flying tackle before he could pull it and hit him one, two, three times before he went limp.
As the rest of my group began to chatter and scream I folded my fingers through the two familiar seals to prevent any sound from escaping the room.
A quick pat down revealed the orcs smartphone and his fingerprint unlocked it easily enough.
Pressing one finger to my lips I dialed my home number and waited. "Yes, my little Magpie?" My mother the fabled Raven Queen asked, somehow always knowing it was me. I don’t know how, I'm pretty sure it's not even magic. "What is on your mind?"
"Some dumbass is trying a mass blood sacrifice, I'm dealing with it. Just wanted to check in, let you two know I'm fine."
"I should hope so, the next blood moon isn't for three months. This amateur obviously doesn't know what he's doing. Take care dear. And let me know went you're on the way back. Your father is grilling tonight and wants to have dinner ready the second you arrive."
I checked over the ax and blasting rod as I walked toward the door. Nothing flashy but serviceable. "Yeah, this won't take long." | I hadn't even finished getting through my first month at Uni, when I woke up with a severe headache. That's odd, I don't remember drinking at all. Then I look around to see a stereotypical dark lord base and myself tied up. Plus there's a fuckton of faceless mooks around. I sigh, as it was probably another up and coming dark lord terrorizing the city, not realizing that my parents still indirectly run this metropolis even after hanging up the cape and crown to have me in their lives. I whistle over to one of the mooks and ask him for a complex coffee order after seeing this dude's awesome looking coffee machine, plus for him to grab my phone from my messenger bag.
But while he's doing that, the dark lord who looks to be in his mid 30s, struts over and says that he's taking control of this city by brainwashing a large number of college students — and staff, apparently. I snort, and start getting sassy, then tell him that he's picking the wrong city to take over, right as I free up a hand to unlock my phone that the mook has brought over with my coffee order. I then call my mom, and she immediately picks up, so I switch over to speaker. While sipping on my coffee, I fill her in on the wannabe taking over her city with a smug grin on my face. "Be right there, sweetie!" She says for him to hear over the phone.
I look at him with my shades on and coffee in hand, and calmly tell him, "I'm the daughter of Black Queen Elissa La Croix, bitch." Right as my mom comes crashing in to rescue me. She looks at the wannabe dark lord, and he's hosing his pants in fear. After dealing with him, she spots the fancy coffee machine setup that can whip up any coffee order. She looks at me, and asks if Uni has a coffee kiosk in need of a proper setup, and it does, so after everyone's freed from their ropes, she takes this with her when we all head back to the campus to drop off at the coffee kiosk. Even though my dad's a total hero, he would much rather use his powers to intimidate any guys interested in dating me or taking advantage of me. But my mom on the other hand, she's the one that comes to my rescue when wannabe villains and dark lords kidnap me, as she sees this city as her turf, and if I'm caught in the crossfire, she's instantly in mama bear mode on top of showing these posers who runs things around here. So basically I'm double protected.
I look at one of the professors on the way back to the campus and realize that I have classes with one of them. I wave to her, and she asks me how we were rescued so quickly, to which I reply that my mom is violently protective of her kin and turf. When I called her, she was already on her way to deal with the noob lord, but when I gave her additional info on the noob, as well as telling her that I'm in the crossfire, she's also decided to go mama bear as well. My professor is sassy like me and comments that this does explain why I'm always eerily calm during situations like these, as it means that things are now under control. So yeah. The end. | 2021-11-20T04:37:01 | 2021-11-20T00:07:09 | 95 | 19 |
[WP] "And that, class," concluded the professor, "is why humanity is the most peaceful, reasonable, cooperative, and overall docile species in all the universe. Any questions?" You, the only human in the classroom, raise your hand. | As the professor's words hung in the air, Andy looked around the class room. A group of Rovallian Crodurs, a species famed for eating their young during times of celebration, sat hunched together in the back. Slumped in a desk across from him sat an enormous Bullmali male, his giant horns nearly touching the ceiling - they had an unpredictable tendency to gore anyone or anything at anytime. And scattered in the seats ahead was a motley collection of Floridanians - weren't they the ones who destroyed an entire planet because the ruler's ex-wife happened to live there?
Andy put his hand down. | "Yes?" the professor asked.
"What about *them*?"
The professor looked at me, puzzled. "You seem to be gesturing to the rest of the class."
"I mean, I am. Gesturing to the rest of the class. They look just like me. If we had sex -- I mean, if they hadn't been given the treatment -- we could have children."
A brief moment of horror crossed the professor's face. Or maybe it was disgust. It finally settled back into his 'teachable moment' face. "These are not human."
"If they aren't human, what are they?" The rest of the class shifted, clearly uncomfortable with my line of questioning.
"They are the Lesser, of course!"
My anger started to thrum in my veins. I took a deep breath to recenter myself. "What makes them Lesser? They're just as human as I am."
The professor removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. As he put them back on, he asked, "What makes you so certain of that? Have you talked with any of them?"
"Well, n-no," I stammered. "I mean, not really. Not at any length."
The professor's face had shifted to one of alarm. "But you have," he hissed. "You talked to *them*. You've found out who they are, what they secretly want." His glare bored into me. "You think they're not Lesser." I watched, silently, as he reached under his desk.
When the two goons from the Republican Peace Enforcers came, I fought as they dragged me away. | 2021-11-27T17:28:47 | 2021-11-27T11:23:52 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] You were hated even by the Teachers in the Magic School. One day you were given the Assignment to go through the Dark Forest, which was infested with Monsters and Eldritch Horrors. You accepted your death and went into the forest, but after hearing your story the Eldritch Horrors take you in. | We watched the interlopers from beneath two mighty pines, their concealing shadows worsened by both the wraith beside me and my own magic. There were two of them dressed as soldiers, well equipped ones but still soldiers, not adventurers or even monster slayers. Perhaps they had just gotten out of the king's army and were bored of day to day life or wanting to earn some coin. Or perhaps they were sent here, just like me cast into the forest on a death mission, or maybe deserters, desperate for escape. If the latter were true we would offer them shelter, and if they didn't want that safe passage, but if the former, well we would deal with them here and now.
We watch as they slowly move forward, eyes scanning swords drawn, but not sacred. That did not bode well, the confident ones were always the hardest to deal with. But they must be I think with a shrug as I begin to step out from the shadows. I was almost past the darkness when the wraiths scratching hiss stopped me in my tracks.
I feel one of the two necklaces I wear begin to warm as it translates the black clouds words. "There is another in the trees owl says. A mage, powerful, fire magic too". A mage, and a fire one no less, that was rare. Even when mages came here, which was rare, they rarely sent fire ones. The dark forest was hated but also valued for what could be learned from the carcasses adventurers carry out, the king had a vested interest in ensuring at least a part of it survived, or at least he did. Ever since I had came here, I realized grimly, the king and the mages school both had been unable to get the bodies they wanted for studies, potions, and worthless trinkets. In fact so many had died trying as of late, perhaps the king no longer thought the forest worth keeping. | "Oh man, I've had my fair run-ins with terrible dungeon masters as well. I feel you dude."
The tentacled abomination slurped itself in what I supposed to be a sympathetic gesture. Which was quite appreciated. The Generic Dark Forest was a terrifying place, and my Generic Teachers at my Generic Magic School had sent me out here after I flipped them the bird all afternoon. I suggested they might even "suck it," and this did little to soothe their spirits. But that was the price to pay for being the coolest kid in class.
"Yeah, this guy just wanted to see us squirm, you know? A good DM keeps you in that flow zone. Not too hard, but not too easy either. He just sent hordes of monsters after us and we kept dying and pulling out fresh character sheets. It wasn't fun at all."
"Sounds like Xtoch'tlt," said one of the creatures before me, grunting merrily.
"Man, shut up," said Xtoch'tlt. "I'm just making it *realistic*."
The tentacled abomination, SklggSklgg the Third, rolled a thousand of his eyes. "It's not supposed to be realistic. It's supposed to be fun."
"Realism is fun!" Xtoch'tlt insisted. "You need at least some internal logic."
"Yeah," said The Creature Beyond Description. "But if you're making your players miserable, you're clearly doing it wrong."
Xtoch'tlt sulked for a moment, then muttered something about it all being "bullshit" of one sort or the other.
The realm of Generic was sad to have been thought up as part of the stand-up act of D'jzzch Olnn and its existence tittered on the brink of collapse because if he decided to drop it in favor of some other material, we would all cease to exist. At least that was what they taught us at the Generic Magic School. But my Generic Teachers could choke down on a bucket of wet chodes for all I cared.
I waved goodbye to the creatures of the Generic Dark Forest. They were sort of cool, I guess. And I think they thought I was cool as well. Not that I care. I don't care, like at all. But I think they liked me a lot.
Perhaps I'd drop out of school and join them. That would show my loser teachers that they can't control me. I'm not like a button on some device that they can twist or push in order to make stuff happen to stuff with the device. I'm different. I say stuff and I don't care if people get offended. Flame magic? It's pretty dumb. I said that to my Generic Flame Magic Teacher, and he lost it. You can hold a tiki torch and it's basically the same thing. Big whoop.
Dungeon masters. Teachers. There's no authority out there who can restrain me. Watch out, Generic. I'm going to turn this whole place upside down. | 2022-01-29T10:12:14 | 2022-01-29T08:26:28 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] "But...this place is my home!" He stopped pacing around and stared at me in annoyance, "You've died 349 times in this place...and yet still you call this place 'home'?"
Edit: How did this get famous? Lmao | “Home is where the heart is after all,” I said.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve died in this house 349 times so far,” said Jim.
This wasn’t the first time a time traveler had come to me to try and get me out of my time loop. At first, I had created a loop field around my living space so that I could relive the same day over and over again. Each time I would do something different, usually leading to my brutal death, but after about death 100 I got used to it.
“Truth be told, I just don’t want to go back to reality again. I like the predictability here. I can take notes and observe things because each day happens the same and I can experiment safely and go back to normal,” I said.
Jim sighed and looked at me.
“You’ve been crushed by your refrigerator, stung to death by wasps, and have been set on fire and you still prefer this to reality? How can you be afraid of the outside when all this has happened to you?” asked Jim.
“But the outside is scary,” I said.
“Well as a time traveler, I can’t force you to take any actions. I can only try and guide you in the right path. Seeing as how you don’t want to touch any grass, I’ll be returning every day until you do.”
“Ok that’s fine. I don’t care, I'm going to have my morning coffee,” I said.
I walked over to my coffee maker and grabbed the mug. The unexpected heat from the handle caused me to spill it on a wire and electrocute myself yet again. Jim sighed and shook his head as I got ready to enter the next loop.
“If this is what you really want then go for it,” said Jim. “But just remember, the longer you’re here, the tougher it’ll be to escape your ‘comfortable’ loop.”
I knew Jim was right deep down, but at this point the house was a part of me. If I was going to escape, I’d have to change everything I knew. My comfort zone would be broken, but sometimes that’s what needs to happen for change. | # Soulmage
**"I'm sorry, I've done** ***what*** **three hundred and forty-nine times?"** I asked, blanching.
Sansen grimaced. "Sorry. The oracular trance... I've seen you die here, three hundred and forty-nine times. In three hundred and forty-eight futures that never were."
"Wait." I set down my cup of slurry. "How did I die three hundred and forty-*nine* times if you only looked into three hundred and forty-*eight* futures?"
"Necromancer in one of them," Sansen idly said, waving a hand. "Look, the point is this. Remember the Battle of Silentfell?"
I shuddered. "How could I not? I still have nightmares about Odin and his forces tromping up and down the streets and blowing up everything in sight."
"Yeah. Well. I was an oracle trying to keep the people I love safe. I'm not trying to diminish your traumas or anything, but... you only lived through that battle in real time, once. I *died* through it more times than you can count."
"But you can count them," I murmured.
Sansen closed his eyes. "Every single one," he agreed.
Put that way... I could totally see why Sansen had hidden his oracular abilities when the draft for the war came. If the poor old man had gone through hell and back just to survive one battle, I shuddered to think what those freaks in the Silent Parliament would do if they got their hands on him for the course of an entire war.
And I could see why Sansen wanted to leave the city.
"This place..." I hesitated, then continued. "It's the closest thing I have to a home. Ever since Sorrowfell was destroyed for the last time."
Sansen tilted his head, and for some reason the old man looked curiously puppyish.
"But..." Memories flashed behind my eyes as I stared around the old, solid wooden house. *Here* was where I'd hidden in the saferoom with Sansen as Odin's forces entered the mountain. *There* was the church where I'd been shoved out of the teleportation circle and stranded in the middle of a warzone. "It's getting worse," I finally said. "The only thing that makes this home is my friends and family."
Sansen gave me a tired smile. "You can take those with you," he said.
"I can take them with me," I agreed.
He stood and held out a hand. "I'll be packing. Three days from today."
I raised an eyebrow. "That an oracle's prediction?"
"It's your uncle's promise."
I smiled and took his hand, and the old man hauled me to my feet.
Then I left the house that Sansen and his husband had built with their own two hands, to gather my friends and tell them to flee.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-one other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | 2022-06-09T08:39:10 | 2022-06-09T05:00:58 | 94 | 66 |
[WP] In the far future, a gladiator stadium finds its gladiators by time traveling the greatest warriors of all time into a single arena. You cannot believe you were chosen. | "This really doesn't seem fair." I called towards the luxurious box overlooking the arena, where the aliens dressed in ancient Roman garb presided over the grisly festivities. I don't know why I bothered.
If you were going to kidnap people -- ostensibly great warriors, which made me puzzled as to why *I* had been included -- from various periods in human history, hand them culturally appropriate weapons, and make them fight to the death for your entertainment, then *fairness* probably wasn't high on your list of priorities.
Plus, I don't think they spoke English.
The portcullis opposite me opened. A swarthy warrior with long dark hair, clad in leather armor, bearing a trident in one hand, and a net in the other, strode out onto the blood-stained sand of the alien arena. I took an involuntary step back.
The warrior bellowed a challenge in a language I didn't understand.
"I don't know what that means, but I don't want to fight!" I shouted back.
He ignored me, continuing to stalk forward with a confident sneer.
"Please don't." I pleaded, shifting from foot to foot nervously.
He kept coming.
"I'm not even a warrior! I'm just *some guy.* There's no, uh...*honor* in this, or whatever!" I uselessly insisted to the man, who clearly didn't know my language any better than I knew his.
He didn't stop.
"Let's team up instead?" I offered, desperately, extending my hand in friendship.
He advanced, drawing back his trident. He was not going to shake my hand.
"Come *on!"* I shouted, crossly, resorting to the universal last-ditch argument of my childhood.
Alas, he did not seem amenable to coming on.
So, with a heavy sigh, when he was just a few yards away, I dropped into a Weaver stance, lifted my pistol, and shot him three times in the chest.
I hadn't lied. I wasn't a warrior, or a soldier, or even a cop. But I was from 21st Century Montana, and I knew how to use the weapons of my culture and time period: firearms.
The warrior fell to the sand, writhed for a moment, and then lay still. For some reason, the aliens *cheered.* They were clearly enamored with the trappings of historical human bloodsports, but it was just as clear that the *nuances* of such events escaped them. Two humans enter, one human leaves -- as long as that happened, they were happy.
Like I said, it really didn't seem fair. | Alright... Where to begin?
Let's just keep things simple, lest I go in shock again. I'm sure you'll understand what is happening here in a moment, but I'm fully aware the *how* will remain a mystery both to you and me.
Let's just say that time travel is real. At least, it is in the future. Which also makes it real in our time since those in the future can travel to the past and back... Now that I think of it, is that a new time-travel paradox? That it has always existed since the dawn of time?
I'm deviating.
So time-travel exists. Got it? Alright. It won't come as a surprise that not everyone in the future decided to use this technology only for the good of mankind. You know how we humans are, always out for profit and gain if we but get a notion of it being available. Be it found in the past, present or future.
And let me tell you, the future is quite nostalgic to the past for their ideas of entertainment.
*Bread and circuses*, they used to call it in Ancient Rome. When things are looking bleak, don't fix whatever's wrong. Just distract the general populous with bread and blood and they'll love you for it. Not much different from what greedy corporations are doing in what I used to call home; the 21st century.
So they let their time-travel machine scan the annals of humankind. I later learned that they have surprisingly little control over the machine. It just looks for prominent figures that made a name for themselves in battle and transport them here. What that does with aformentioned historical records is beyond me. That's another paradox I won't break my head over.
And now the machine has picked me...
I'm not a warrior.
I never even held a weapon.
I'm just a minimum wage worker, on my third job in two years. Fired every time I tried to unionize left me quite fed up with the system. And now I'm thrown into a fight to the death in some future that I have no business with? It's the same shit all over again.
I'm finding myself in the midst of a sandy arena right now, the cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd echoing all around me. I hate to admit it, but they did a fine good job building an exact replica of the Colosseum. The historical accuracy is on point. There are other warriors around me, a pletora of weapons in their hands. It's a small relief that nobody seems to have guns or other modern weaponry. At least that made it a bit fair.
Not for me though. I'm not a warrior.
There's only one way I'm making it out of here alive.
I need to do the exact same thing I used to do at my previous jobs.
I look for someone who might speak English. I spot a navy SEAL in full combat gear, a knife in his hands. I take a deep breath and step towards him. It's a risky move, but it's my only shot. He seems dubious at first, but once I explain my plan he seems more accepting. Together, we move on to the next unwilling gladiator. And the next, and the next...
Eventually, the entire arena grounds stands together as one man. The jeers of the crowd, having increased during our talks, have reached a crescendo.
*They can boo all they want,* I think satisfied. *They won't be able to stand against the Gladiator Union.*
I'm not a warrior. But I am willing to wage a different kind of battle.
> Thanks for reading, more over at /r/PromptedByDaddy | 2022-07-04T09:20:14 | 2022-07-04T07:35:40 | 137 | 93 |
[WP] Most super heroes' powers are powered by good emotions like hope, love or joy. Yours are powered by pure, unbridled hatred. | By nature, I'm not a hateful person. I like seeing the good in people, and they like to see the good in me.
I don't know what takes over when he shows up.
You hear about the other masked vigilantes that pop up around the city, they're powered by their need to do right in this world. They want to protect the innocent, inspire hope and compassion. These heroes need to be a beacon to strive towards, and that's incredibly noble. Their powers, I think in part, derive from that. Quasar had that light beam that knocked people out, Fortune Soldier had that whole shield gimmick. Even the darker heroes like Night Terror, for all the shit they put people through, never killed anyone.
I'd love to be like that, to believe that ultimately a person could change his ways for the better if he lost to a hero like that. But, like that old pulp hero once said...I've seen what lurks in the hearts of men. At a certain point, "human" is a little generous. Vicious, bloodthirsty psychopaths can get awfully far in the right cities. They just trade in the dirty hoodies and switchblades for three-piece suits and quill pens, which they use to wipe out entire swathes of starving children before lunchtime.
I listen in on the meetings that lead up to these murders, these massacres. Entire lives destroyed by a show of hands. But they don't know that HE is also there, also watching.
At night, He takes over. And in the morning, there's one less hand, and they can't complete that vote. The Tribune would brand me a psychopath, a villain, a being of fire and hatred that must be snuffed out. But He's thorough. Efficient. And in some odd way, I'm grateful for him.
Golden City's known throughout the globe as a beacon of the free world, and they say the heroes are the reason why. But the heroes only treat the symptoms. To rid itself of disease, the body needs to burn it out.
Which is a service I'm more than happy to provide. | "We have to, he's too powerful," said the Spandex avenger, her power granted by her hope. Most people considered that hope to be that the spandex would hold together while fighting with people who could shoot lasers out of their eyes, but to each her own.
"No, he will taint the name of the Super Forever Buddies forever," said Captain Forever, who's love of all people had one obvious exception.
"Tut Tut, foolish heros," said Death Lord, the Lord of Death. "You have no chance against my Death Powers!"
"We get it, you are death," groaned Spandex Avenger, "We have to use the neckbeard."
"Maximum OverSteve would agree with me!"
"Maximum OverSteve is dead," said the Spandex Avenger.
"Fine," groaned Captain Forever, "Broneyman, you are up."
"Why does no one like me," asked Broneyman, the super hero who's powers were entirly my little pony themed. Creppily so.
"You just take a little getting used to," said the Spanex Avenger, sighing. "My eyes are up here."
"I'm sorry, its just... " began Broneyman and she shook her head.
"I know, there's a My Little Pony store behind me, I was trying to get in your line of sight so you couldn't see it," she said sadly.
"Unleash him already," groaned CAptain Forever. Losing his leg was really bothering him.
"Fine," said Spandex Avenger, "Death Lord thinks Pootie Pie is fat."
"What the hell does that mean," asked the 320 lb neckbeard.
"Pinkie pie," groaned Captain Forever, "He said she was fat."
The world shook as Broneyman's eyes turned black.
Death Lord paused, pointed his hand at Broneyman and activated his power of live and death. The green field surrounded Broneyman and attempted to snuff out his life force.
"My life cannot be extinguished until Pinkie Pie is avenged," he screamed, launching up the fourty feet into the air before striking Death Lord once. The lord of death flew through the nearest skyscraper, and the next, and the next.
Shaking his head from the impact, Death Lord looked down. "Am I in central park? I was in queens?"
"None who besmirch my love may live," said Broneyman.
"I didn't say anything about her," was the last thing that Death Lord managed to say before Broneyman hit him with all the caged fury that a brony could muster. Death Lord slammed into the ground and kept going.
"Say hi to the core of the earth for me," said Broneyman. Of course, who he said it to was debatable. Striking someone hard enough to knock them into the core of the planet was impractical for the people who were standing nearby.
"Again," said Captain Forever.
"We'll just blame Death Lord," said the Spandex Avenger. | 2022-09-05T20:29:36 | 2022-09-05T18:48:37 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] you're far from the first king to receive the prophecy that your new born child would cause your death. Where your story diverges is when instead of tossing the kid to the wolves, you are driven to be a kind & nurturing father. | **I would do anything for my family.**
I was a noble king of my lands. I treated my citizens with respect, and they respected me in kind. I had a thriving kingdom and a wife who has been the love of my life for the past 30 years. What I did not have, however, was an heir. How we tried, time and time again, but my poor wife just could not concede.
That was until one fateful day, when a strange man appeared and offered a deal. My wife would conceive a child if she drank a potion beforehand, however there would be a price to pay. On her 20th birthday, I would have to make a terrible choice. Perhaps against my better judgement, I accepted this offer.
The potion worked as expected, and 9 months later, she gave birth to a beautiful baby girl. I was swept up in the moment, until a servant came by with a prophecy. My child would lead to my death. At this, some of my courtiers suggested that I should think about abandoning my child, but looking into her innocent blue eyes, I felt nothing but love for her. If we only had 20 years, I would make those 20 years the best I could.
During the next 16 years, I doted upon her, making sure she had the best childhood possible. The memories we shared over those years still bring a tear to my eye. I watched as she grew from into a young woman who the kingdom adored. Smart, witty, and kind, she was everything I wanted her to be. She had a smile that could light up a room and a sense of humour that could make anyone laugh.
In those last few years, I did think about the prophecy, and the strange potion that lead to her conception. Her 20th birthday was fast approaching, and she could see the worry in my eyes. I told her, eventually, of the prophecies I had heard of her birth, and she swore that she would never hurt her father. I believed her, my daughter was the last person who I could call evil. In her, I honestly saw everything I would want out of an heir, so I made the decision that, if I was going to die, I would prepare her to be my replacement.
Soon the declaration was made that my daughter would replace me after my passing, and soon her training as a monarch began. With the help of my courtiers, I taught her everything she might need to know, from military strategy to economic planning. It was inspiring to watch her pick up all of these skills as easy as a bird would take to the wing. I was proud to know that she would be my successor.
Then, a month before her 20th birthday, tragedy struck. My beloved daughter was struck down with a deadly illness. Court physicians from across the land came to examine her, to try and cure the blight that drained the life from her every day, but nothing could be done. It was so heart-breaking to watch helplessly as my daughter withered away before my eyes.
Finally, yesterday, a figure visited to view her, and I knew it was the man who gave me that potion, and I knew who he really was. Death. I knew what was coming, the terrible choice, and it arrived. He will return tomorrow, and take my daughter to the afterlife, and he would give me the rest of her years, meaning that I would live to be over 100 years old. Alternatively, I could instead offer my soul for him to take instead. If I do, instead all of my remaining years would transfer to her, her illness will be cured, and she would live for another 60 years.
Today, me and my daughter discussed this, the fact that I would have to choose between me and her. My daughter, being the kind soul that she is, told me not to do it, to live a full life on her behalf. I think I could see in her eyes that she knew my mind was made up. That evening, we shared one final talk before we parted. I will not tell a lie, I cried, I could tell that she too would be crying had she had any energy left to. The blight had drained almost all life from her, but I could still see her eyes filled with sadness, knowing that this was our last goodbye. Oh what I would have given for just one more day together, but Death drives a hard bargain.
I gave her one final hug, before leaving her room and returning to my study to finish penning this letter. I can see out of the corner of my eye as the time nears midnight, and I know he is waiting for me in the room now. I think he awaits my decision, but being who he is, he should know by now that my decision was made from the moment of my daughter's birth.
**I would do anything for my family.**
My beloved daughter, Elizabeth, by the time you read these words I will be no longer in this world. I have taught you everything you need to know to lead, and lead well. You were, are, and always will be one of my most cherished people in the world to me, and as I walk hand in hand with the reaper into the afterlife, know that you and your mother are always in my mind. My kingdom now falls to you, and I have full faith that you will be the perfect leader for the kingdom.
I would write more, but the midnight hour draws near, and I dare not keep Death waiting.
Farewell, Elizabeth. You may be the reason my life will be cut short, but for all the happiness and joy you have given me over the past years, I would not have it any other way.
Your King, and loving Father.
Henry VI of Rivelda. | My first child died in the arms of the midwife who delivered him, and my wife died shortly thereafter. At the time I was young, impetuous, and brash. I allowed my emotions to cloud reason, and rather than grieve as I should have, I blamed the midwife. I sentenced her to death for simply doing her duty to the best of her ability. I light a candle for her every day. One of many.
My second son lived until his 5th summer, until he took ill with a disease that baffled all of my courts greatest minds. My wife watched him fade away at his bedside, and I watched the life fade from her as she wept. She asked, pleaded for an annulment to our marriage, and to be rid of this place that reminded her of her lost child. Once more my anger reared it’s ugly head, and while I did grant her the annulment, I also had her banished far from these lands. I know not where she is now. I wished I’d not been so cruel but we cannot rectify the mistakes of the past. We can only attempt to move forward and make better decisions.
I took as much time as I could after my second wife. Between stately affairs and whispers of war, I was able to busy myself with my duties as king. With the aid of my court we were able to improve the conditions of the kingdom, and through careful decisions and discussions we were able to avoid war. I was celebrated as a benevolent king. I felt as though my peoples faith was misplaced, but at the advisement of my court and with encouragement from far away ally’s and relatives, I sought to find a partner once more.
Her name was Alanna. She was the second daughter of a Duke from a neighboring kingdom, and though I was almost eight years her senior, her beauty and wit captivated me. She enjoyed swordplay as much as she did embroidery, attended races with the same fervor as she attended balls and galas, and to say she was well read would be an understatement. She could be anything in this land that she wished, and yet she chose to be my wife. She could have said no, she’d turned down many men of esteem in the past, but there was something in our connection that made her say yes.
When the time came to consider children, I was relieved to hear that she was as hesitant as I was. It was nice to have someone who was cautioned and measured in their decisions. It mattered not that I was a king, she understood the risks and the burdens of carrying a child. It was not her duties to sire an heir that made her decide to be with child. I told her as such. I myself have two brothers and a number of cousins who could take my place. I would have been happy to live our lives as King and Queen over a prosperous land until the end of our days. When we decided to have a child, we did so for ourselves and for the love we have for one another.
Seldom is life as easy as that. Upon news of my wife’s pregnancy, I was given word that a trio of wise women sought to give me council. I balked at first, having never heard of these sisters three, but alchemist in my court sang their praises. He said I should at least give them an audience, as they were well schooled in ways of augury and fortune telling. Their arrival surely had some significance and I should at least give them a moment of my time. I obliged.
The sisters were said to be as old the forests that surrounded the land, yet they looked to be younger than even my Alanna. One with flowing scarlet red hair, another with short black hair like that of a ravens feathers, and the third blonde with hair that fell almost to the floor. They dressed well and followed decorum with bows and how they addressed each lord and lady they met. It was their intermittent glances at the queen that gave me pause. I understood why once we met in my chambers.
My daughter, they said, was to be born under strange circumstances. That she was to be my undoing and the fall of my kingdom as well as those around me. They cautioned me against her birth and said that I would have to choose between Alanna and the fate of the world. I knew in their words they were not lying. I believe they sought me out because they knew what my answer would be, and so hoped to impart their wisdom to try and convince me.
I told them my decision. They left without further dispute. By all accounts they were kind and courteous women who merely sought to do what they felt was right. Before they took their leave, I asked if they would have me do them a favor or service in return for their counsel. They only asked for safe passage and for me to reconsider my decision. To my knowledge they still roam these lands unfettered and provide their aid to those who seek them, and to those they felt drawn towards.
My daughter was born on a night where the moon was absent from the sky. I remember her birth well, as all the light in the castle seemed to dim upon her first cries, and members of the castle court and guard reported a dreadful echo shaking their chambers. Alanna made it through the birth, my daughter Eleanor was safe and healthy, but I feared the three sisters omen was well on its way.
I would be lying if I said I had not thought to cast the child out. To send her away or have her disappeared in the night to be left to the elements. But holding her in my arms, gazing upon her and her mother, I thought of my past mistakes and how I would be repeating the course of history if I did as the witches asked. I decided instead to raise Eleanor to harness whatever power she had for good. To make her into a woman worthy of being Queen and ruler of these lands. She would want for nothing and be loved without end.
That was some twenty years past now. My intentions were noble but for naught. The fires are growing now. From my chambers I can hear the clashing of swords and screams. Alanna was given leave to flee by Eleanor and I can only hope she honored that promise. Who was I to try and combat fate? A man whose mistakes haunted him like spirits haunt a crypt. I wanted only to do what I felt was right, and in the end I only served myself. I will not fight back further. I wouldn’t raise a blade to my child even if I could. I wonder how I will meet my end. I wonder if my intentions will absolve my sins. From the window I can see three figures in the distance, and a fourth approaching them in a shawl before they disappear into the wood.
This is my end, foretold by women wiser than me with intentions more pure. This is the price I shall pay for my arrogance. I shall meet my fate with dignity. | 2022-12-01T15:39:36 | 2022-12-01T13:33:58 | 206 | 68 |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event. | **They have died.**
*Meddled with a black hole again?*
**Tried to embrace an organic species.**
*And when did They die?*
**The species killed They.**
*...you are mistaken, We.*
**The waves have been clear enough. They have died at the hands of a small, organic species.**
*That is impossible. How could-*
"I keep telling you that you underestimate them."
*I. How nice of you to join us.*
"These little creatures have more potential than you realize; something They just found out."
**Your affection towards bacteria is touching, truly.**
"The bacteria that just killed one of us, We."
*We cannot let this stand. We must embrace them in They's stead and wait until They return.*
"No."
*No?*
"No, It. I have plans for them. More useful to me alive. You will not touch them."
***And if We or It refuse?***
"Then I'll tell them how to kill ***you*** too." | *Just a short story on the coffee break I had:*
&#x200B;
“Umladr'gnel, I don’t have for your jokes today,” Imloggdah said.
“I have several realms to visit today, so much work...” Imloggdah sighed.
“I am not joking. Ogandis is dead,” Umladr'gnel said with his thunderous voice.
“We can’t even die,” Imloggdah said, frustration building in his voice. “C’mon, be more creative if you are going to annoy me.”
“Imloggdah, brother, it is true,” Umladr'gnel said, trying to sound as sincere as he could. “Stop and feel it. Try to find the connection.”
Imloggdah reluctantly stopped everything that he was doing and tap into the connection they all shared. It was true, and there was a hole, part of them missing. Ogandis was not there. It felt wrong, and it felt painful. It was strange. No Cosmic Entity has ever died.“What,” Imloggdah stuttered. “What happened?”
“His fascination with humans was the end of him,” Umladr'gnel said. “He couldn’t leave Earth alone. He was drawn to it, to them. Humans and that prophecy drove him crazy.”
“But how did they kill him?” Imloggdah asked. “How is it even possible?”
“They have insanely powerful weapons from nuclear bombs to rail guns, and they threw everything at him. One nuclear bomb would not do any damage, but they threw hundreds of them, and Ogandis was cocky. He felt invincible, and now he is no more.” Umladr’gnel’s thunder in his voice was barely noticeable.
“Maybe that prophecy is not complete nonsense. Maybe that small planet is our doom,” Imloggdah said. “Cancel everything I have today and tell the rest of our brothers I went to pay that little planet a visit, and they will see what real wrath looks like now…” | 2022-12-12T08:58:57 | 2022-12-12T07:38:13 | 2,312 | 157 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge. | ***“This landmass”*** the eyeball beckoned, bubbles in its chamber. ***“Look at it”***
Xerena tilted her head to the hologram. “Yes?”
It blinked. Flushing the liquid in its giant, pillar of a beaker very slightly. It was blue, and transparent, complementing the sleek and oppressively small color pallets of the rest of the room. Offset only by a dim artificial light behind the beaker. She eyed the map again.
“Tell me about it.”
**“Tell** ***me*** **about it!”** It growled.
“They we’re dark, lacked pigmentation at the palms and soles. A few months of decrypting the slashes in that other landmass” she pointed “Showed it was named… Efreeka?”
#“Is that it?”
The sharpness bled itself into her posture, throwing her gaze in the eyeballs direction as an unusual number of bubbles formed near its dark green holes.
**“C.O Xerena. 83% of the sapient beings that our provided manpower failed to exterminated reside on that continent. Do you understand what this means?”**
“I do-“
More bubbles. She began stammering
“We found. Very. Very low quality reso-“
#“Resources?”
“That all there fucking was!”
**“Xerena. You*** ***do not*** **understand the gravity of your crime. 60% of the sapient population on B-39 has expired. This was done under your command, as the council and other sapients provided you their manpower. Their resources. Their ships. Their offspring. This has damaged a valuable cognitive resource and created a potential enemy. You are to pay for this””**
Silence followed, Xerana's attempts to speak came out as short huffs and sobs, as she stared to the wall. Finally, she poured, “They. Were. They were-
***“You have destroyed the knowledge, history, and genome of a sapient species for monetary profit, C.O Xerena. What is your justification?”***
“They were primitive…”
It bubbled harshly. **”Insufficient. Four limbs. Bipedal. Live birth. Two eyes. Mammalian. Primate. Social. Minimal fur. Bisexual reproduction. 9 month gestation period. Only significant difference: Yellow pigmentation. Flat skull structure. Six fingers. Four toes. Tail.”**
“Talius isn’t primitive like that wet rock,” she mellowed. “Im sorry, I’m so sorry. But why are you comparing them?”
The beaker began beeping, in a piercing tone that disturbed the holograph, stiffened her tail and caused her ears to bleed. She kept to her knees and head burrowed on the chrome floor long after it ended.
**“G-94-Z. Climate: identical to B-39. Logical conclusion: species of both planets are compatible to the others' ecosystem. Blunt: You** ***are*** **similar. Xerena.”**
She raised her head, sluggishly, to stare at the beaker. Speaking with a slight sliver Olof respect for the first time. “You lie to me, please don’t lie to me.”
**“Would you enjoy extermination?”**
Her face darkened more that it was already.
**“You were not helpful. Your species was never helpful. Xerena. And now I see it is selfish. So that shall be your punishment.”**
“Just me, I beg. I beg. Please! They didn’t do this-“
#”Denied. Your planet and its resources have been forfeit to the sapient species of B-39 as compensation. You alone are spared”
- - -
I’m not as proud of this as my other stories, but the prompt was too good to pass up. | “All rise. The Intergalactic Federal court is now in session. High Judicial Archon Irk’nCzrwyon presiding. Please be seated and come to order.” A being of nebula, serves as the bailiff, towering in its enormity vibrates sounds and light as they were being translated to the floating balcony’s desk, where seven humans are seated.
The eternity were filled by elder gods, cosmic celestials, ethereal beings and ancient deities, all were in their overwhelming presence and glory eclipsing the enormity of the planets we considered the largest we could ever fathom, gathered as spectators of the trial.
“Criminal case filed by the prosecutor’s office against the humans of planet Aran’k-sakratin, known to its inhabitants as planet Earth. Counselor? How do you plead?” The entity of three pairs of burning wings spanning in immeasurable size in the most high pedestal in the skies, thunders before the human man in the middle of the seven.
“Not guilty, your honor!” Shouted the man.
“Your honor, these humans have killed thousands of the Tharn’likans after they started mining in the Aran’k-sakratin! A planet legally owned by the Tharn’likans through inheritance. It has been with the Tharn’likans for trillions of aeons. These low life parasitic species who infested the planet have become uncontrollable invaders of the planet and acting they own it!” A being of black void with trillions of small sparkling glitters scattered to its shapeless existence, vibrated towards the High Judicial Archon, which were being translated into words for the humans.
“Objection! Speculating.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Unless you have evidence, prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l that the humans are parasitic species, you must redirect.” The High Judicial Archon thunders.
“I have evidence, your honor. Exhibit A, these are the actual visual documents that shows, that the humans are the parasites to the planet Aran’k-sakratin.” A cloud of burning gasses come together to create a 3D visualization of the human’s exploits of the Earth. “As you have witnessed, your honor, it just 10,000 years, these parasites manage to destroy the natural balance of the planet’s atmosphere and create global warming that can occur naturally for millions of years.”
“That’s is not true, your honor. We have not destroyed our planet as it is the only planet where our specie can thrive! Why would we want to destroy the only place that gives us life?” The human lawyer interjected.
“Because they are parasites! Parasites are ought to kill their host slowly to survive. Isn’t that what they are doing?” The prosecutor asked.
“And what the Tharn’likans were doing is not destroying our planet?” The human councilor asked back.
“The Tharn’likans were just mining molten irons from the planet Aran’k-sakratin as what part of their rights in owning the planet. By expediting the warming of the planet, it also expedites the melting of iron in its immediate outer core. Threatening the balance in the mining industry of our galaxy! Not to mention the merciless massacre of the innocent Tharn’likan miners who have no idea, these low life creates are capable of mass destruction!”
“Your honor, i request that the prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l must refrain from calling our specie as low life specie as we are also capable of sentience! And to be allowed to represent ourselves in this court acknowledges us as such.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l, please refrain from using that term in the future.”
“Your honor! I continue to call their specie low life creatures, because even though they are showing signs of sentience, they are categorized as parasitic creatures based on their environmental and evolutionary behavior towards their ecological environment.”
“Councilor, the prosecutor is correct. He has reasons to use the term as the evidences they serve categorizes your specie as a sentient parasite, and that is the lowest category in the intergalactic federation racial hierarchy. Unless, you have evidence to counter the prosecutions allegations against your specie, they have the upper-hand in this case.” The High Judicial Archon said.
“We would like to request for a recess, your honor.” The human lawyer requested.
“It looks like you really needed one. The court will be in recess and resume in three solar cycles of the Planet Aran’k-sakratin. If the defendant can not provide counter argument on the next session, I will read my verdict. ” The High Judicial Archon opened its third wings and a loud banging echoed in the eternity and all were gone.
“We’re screwed!” The second chair of the human lawyer whispered. | 2022-12-17T17:54:36 | 2022-12-17T17:34:16 | 181 | 34 |
[WP] A little boy becomes a man, from the perspective of his assigned NSA agent
Could either be over a long period of time, or a single pivotal event... | January 11th, 1997, 17:56 - *Search*: "How to tell if a girl likes you"
January 11th, 2008, 14:35 - *Search*: Ideas for a first date
January 11th, 2016, 12:25 - *Search*: How to choose an engagement ring
January 11th, 2020, 10:43 - *Search*: Divorce lawyers
January 11th, 2025, 13:46 - *Search*: Headache, pain in groin, fever
January 13th, 2025, 17:52 - *Search*: Liver cancer survival rates
January 14th, 2025, 16:42 - *Search*: How to write a will
January 15th, 2025, 19:43 - *Search*: Countries with assisted suicide
January 15th, 2025, 19:50 - *Search*: Tickets to Switzerland
**End of user history**
Ninja edit: I haven't written something quite like this before, so feedback would be appreciated! | "Mrs. Johnson? I'm Agent Ngai and this is Agent Powers. We're from the National Security Agency. Can we come in?"
The screen door creaked open and Beth Johnson showed the agents to the kitchen. Her offer of coffee was refused so she sat.
"What's this all about? Is it Bobby? Has he done something?"
"No Mam, your husband is fine and in no trouble at all. It's James that we want to talk to you about" Ngai tried to use as optimistic a tone as possible to keep the woman calm. This type of situation was never easy.
"Jimmy? Why?" she fumbled with her mug, her voice rising in pitch. Powers placed a hand on her arm for reassurance. He smiled.
Ngai explained "Well, actually, we're here on a recruitment mission. You see, James has expressed some talents that we would find very useful in the types of operations we conduct."
"What's he done? I told those people at the Bank about the ATM. He gave all the money back and even helped them fix it"
"We know mam. It's a little bit bigger than that." Ngai said. Powers pushed some papers towards Mrs Johnson. "Since James is a minor, we're going to need your permission to hire him. So if you could just sign next to the Xs on these forms" Powers handed Mrs Johnson his pen.
She gave the forms a quick look and started to sign. Stopping and flipping to seventh page, she paused and read aloud "gives permission to remove said Child from premise and transfers full custody to the National Security Agency". She look first at Powers and then at Ngai. "You mind explaining what I'm signing?"
*shit, doesn't matter how ignorant they are they always see page seven* Ngai thought then spoke "Mam, what it means is that for certain operations, your son may need to be placed in our custody. It's for his own safety."
"You're taking my Jimmy away. For Christsake he's a 10 year old boy" Mrs. Johnson voice had raised to a level just below a scream.
"With all due respect Mam" Powers said "once you've obtained the Pakistani nuclear launch codes, the Government considers you a man." | 2014-06-10T06:43:29 | 2014-06-10T06:06:29 | 33 | 16 |
[WP] There's a law when you divorce, the children from the undone marriage get killed
So only children from lasting marriages remain. | We sat to talk business, the old man and I.
"You're a young man." he began. "I remember what that was like."
He nudged a glass towards me and smiled.
"I remember when I married my first wife. She was so beautiful. So sweet and innocent. Like an angel. And then the daughter was our first born child. And then another daughter. I knew that if she could only give me daughters she was not the wife for me. So I divorced her.
"My second wife was beautiful too. But she was a devil. I'll give you this advice, young man. Never marry a woman just for beauty. You must find out her character first. A beautiful woman with a bad temper can be one of the worst curses a man can suffer in life. So when our first child was a daughter I had no problem with divorcing her."
"With my third wife I thought I was being smart. She was a widow who had already had one son. At this point I did not care whether she was a virgin. I wanted a son. She was a respectable woman, no beauty, but a good woman from a good family. To tell you the truth I liked her more than any of my other wives. She had a calming influence over me. But she gave birth to a daughter so she had to go."
"So I married my fourth wife. And then I experienced a terrible tragedy. My fourth wife died giving birth to my son. At last I had the son to whom I could pass on my name and legacy. But I had no wife. How painful to go through the raising of a proud son without a woman by my side to share my joy."
"So I married my fifth wife. As you know, she birthed me a daughter. The daughter you seek to marry. So tell me, young man. Do you agree to give me the dowry price I ask or should I divorce another wife?" | "Hey Joe, baby, come down stairs."
Oh shit, I know exactly what's going to happen. They've been arguing for months now. It's so obvious that they're not in love anymore. Normally, in other countries, I could survive. Being the only child between this odd couple. I could just be claimed by either one of them, and the other would pay child support. But no, where I live, I have to die. I've been trying as hard as I can to get them to love each other. But when you got a fat, disgusting excuse for a human being marrying a perfect 10/10 woman, it never works out; not even in those stupid sitcoms. There is no way I can escape either. Since there are cameras strewn about the house, (thanks government) the police can come and take me outside and shoot me dead. I just hate this, why couldn't have I been born with a perfect family.
"Look Joe, you know we love you. But you know this situation is never going to work out." My mother said.
"Yeah, we just can't figure it out. We hate each other more and more every day. I just don't think we can tolerate two more years of each other." My father said.
"Can I just say, for killing your only son. You two sound remarkably calm and collected. So what? You spend 16 years raising a son, and just two years before he can go out in the world, you say we give up. Excuse my language, but fuck you guys. All you do is fucking sit there and drink beer, then you have the nerve to throw a shoe at me when I get a B on my report card. Then we got miss "I'm a perfect mother" over here with her god awful cooking, bitchy attitude, and fucking dudes every night right in front of her husband's face. I always hated you two." I said.
My mom swallowed loudly, and said "Fine, if you got a death wish. I'll call them." She picked up the phone and asked for the separation police. She stood there for a few minutes in complete silence. I was waiting for the cops to come and plaster my brains all over the front lawn. She put the phone down however. She walked over and tears were streaming down her face. I looked over to my father to see him crying as well. My mom whispered to me "They're coming in a few. I-I love you so so much, but you know what has to be done."
A few minutes passed and the police came barging in. As I walked out, my parents were crying their eyes out. I was crying as well. This was it, I had no life for 16 years and I have no chance for one now. They told me to turn around and get on my knees. I saw my parents looking through the window. All I did was give them a nod. During my nod I heard a shot and there was parts of my brain against the window. I fell over and I saw the light. The last thing I saw was my mom running out and giving me a kiss like she did every night for 16 years. | 2014-06-15T05:31:17 | 2014-06-15T03:42:59 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Airport authorities don’t recognize your passport because the country that issued it doesn’t exist. You are confused. You’re thinking: “What? I was born there! I’ve lived there all my life!”
Edit after 4 hours: I'd like to add that this writing prompt was inspired from this: http://www.reddit.com/r/UnresolvedMysteries/comments/1zsyz2/on_july_1954_a_man_arrives_at_tokyo_airport_in/ | I realise I've drifted off into daydreaming and look up. The customs official peers at me suspiciously over his desk, clearly awaiting an answer. 'Sorry?'
'I asked the purpose of your trip. Just standard procedure.'
'Business. I'm a visiting lecturer from Oxford University.'
He frowns, but says nothing, and accepts my passport when I place it on the counter. I can't blame him for his lack of enthusiasm - it must be a boring job, flipping through documents all day.
The official clears his throat. 'What is your country of residence, sir?'
I look at my watch. 'Is this really necessary? I've got a taxi waiting.'
'Just standard procedure, sir.'
'England. Well, the UK.'
He looks uncertainly at the passport. 'Can you describe where that is?'
'Um, north of France?'
He nods, but his frown hasn't disappeared. He holds a finger to an earpiece, and nods slightly. 'Right. We're just going to take you into another room for some questions.'
'What? Why?'
'Just-'
'Standard procedure? Don't give me that. What's going on?'
Another man joins us at the booth. He's wearing some odd form of white garment which covers his whole body like a robe, and a cyan necktie. I meet his eyes, and he motions to a door on the far side of the passport office. 'Sir, please follow me.'
We take the lift to the fourteenth floor. He leads me into an office - small, but comfortable. The décor, however, is unusual. Bookshelves line the walls, but the books on them aren't paperback - they're bulky, austere, and old-fashioned. The desk, which occupies the centre of the room, is mostly taken up by a sleek tablet-like computer, but there remains space for a small collection of knick-knacks; a model of a boat from the age of sail, a ballpoint pen with an elegant feather at the other end, and a flag I've never seen before - a red background, with a golden circle surrounding an elaborate cross.
The man sits down at one side of the desk, and I seat myself facing him.
'What's your name, sir?' he asks.
'Mark Shepard. *Doctor* Mark Shepard.'
He picks up the tablet and taps away at it briefly, then slides it over to me. It's showing a blank map of the world, without national borders. 'Could you please show me on this map your country of origin?'
I frown, but point to the British Isles. 'Here. The UK. Is there a problem?'
He doesn't answer, but takes the tablet back, and returns it to the desk shortly afterwards. This time the display shows a portrait of a man garbed in purple, looking sternly into the distance. 'Who is this?'
'I don't know.' It's the truth.
He looks concerned. 'What year is it?'
'2014. It's 2014. What's going on here?'
He taps the tablet and it fades to black. 'Sir, have you experienced any physical trauma recently? Head injuries, that sort of thing?'
'Not that I know of.'
He nods. 'Okay, sir. You're clearly quite confused, and you've told me a lot of things which would suggest that you're suffering from a sort of memory loss. We're going to take you to the nearest physiciary and see if we can work out what's wrong with you.'
'What? But everything I've told you is right! What the hell's going on?' I stand up, knocking my chair to the ground.
The man flinches, but then composes himself. 'Sir, do you know where you are?'
'My flight was to Istanbul. I'm on my way to teach a guest lecture in history at Istanbul University, and I'm going to miss my taxi. Now, if you'll excuse me-' I'm halfway to the door.
'Doctor Shepard.' The man's voice is firm, and I turn around again to face him. 'There is no city called Istanbul.'
'Well, then, where am I?' I shout, striding over to a window and pulling aside the curtains. The view is stunning, but *wrong*. Nothing is right. The architecture isn't Turkish - it's distinctly Greco-Roman. From our elevated position I can see the Hagia Sophia, the great cathedral-turned-mosque-turned-museum - but its famous minarets are totally absent.
From behind me, the man speaks again. 'You're in Bellerophon International Airport, in Constantinople. Please sit down, and try to remain calm. We'll get to the bottom of this.' | Mary looked up from her shiny new Sinclair zPhone and sighed. “We’ve got another 1775er in today. Showed up at Idlewild Airport yesterday. Same story as the other terrorists we’ve got to handle. The usual: fake passport, same ‘alternate history’ backstory.”
“So, that’ll be eleven ‘Americans’ we’ll be looking after now?”, I said, and sighed. In theory detainees that we kept in Creedmoor’s secure psychiatric facility would be paid for by the government, but in practice we were always underfunded.
Personally, I hated the _Prevention of Terrorism Act_. Its powers were far too sweeping, and the so-called threats were always so minor. Whenever the media went on about the 1775 moment, it always seemed like a joke rather than a threat. A cult group that wished that the thirteen colonies that had gone on to form Appalachia had broken away from Great Britain forcibly in 1775 rather than amicably in 1963. You fought a war; you lost; get over it—it was hundreds of years ago! They were hardly much of a threat. They picketed Parliament, rather than plant bombs. But they were classed as subversive and liable to indefinite detention.
But these folks seemed to be a different crowd from the usual 1775 nutter. For a start, they had all learned the same script: a science fiction story in which “The United States of America” (what a mouthful!) had not only won the 1775 war, but then spread west over the entire continent, with an unlikely mix of conquest and land purchases. There were numerous hard to swallow ideas, from the utter vanquishing of the native peoples, to the conquest of Mexico (yeah, right), to the idea that you could just buy Louisiana or Alaska, the story stretched plausibility to breaking point and beyond.
I presume the story was made to appeal to some kind of Appalachian sense of patriotism, because instead of being just one power on the American continent, this story made us the big cheese, a superpower that was the envy of the world. Given the way we all fear the rising power of China, I suppose it’s comforting to create a fantasy world in which we are some sort of rival for them on the international stage.
But the brainwashing seemed to be very thorough. These people really seemed to believe their stories. Some even claimed to have been born in places that were never British colonies, like San Francisco and Los Angeles (in Mexico) or Checagou (Louisiana), yet their accent didn’t match their claimed birthplace.
Dr Mueller, our resident hypnotherapist found the cases fascinating. Although she couldn’t figure out how they had been brainwashed, she was actually pretty good at deprogramming them. It was tough work, but she has actually been able to induce selective amnesia to give them no knowledge at all of world history, and then build them back up.
The intake forms were still printing when they brought her in. She looked tired and bewildered, probably from the interrogation by Special Inquiry officers. She dragged behind her a small suitcase with its own built-in wheels and handle. It looked a bit small for a suitcase to me.
“Miranda Webb, born in New York?”, I asked.
“Yes, New York City”, she replied.
Who adds the name “City” to end of town names? “Yes, New York. So you’re a citizen of Appalachia”.
“Not this again.”, she said wearily, “I’m an American”.
“Aren’t we all.” I said. A smile flashed across her face and she looked me in the eye. I could see hope and then it collapsed.
“Look, please, I’m not crazy.”, she said “Look at my stuff, my passport. I have my computer, it’s got photos on it.”
I really needed to process her, but I let her get her computer out and show it to me. It was a brand I’d never seen before, and the keyboard looked like an old-fashioned typewriter keyboard. None of the usual function keys, and just one pad in the center, not the usual mini-pads for each finger. It looked like it was awkward to use.
“Do you have ‘why-fie’?” she asked, “Most of my photos are in ‘eye-cloud’.”
Her nonsensical gibberish snapped me back to reality. She was a psych patient, and she needed a structured environment.
An hour later, she was dressed in safe-wear and assigned to a room in the secure section. I’d given her a sedative and she seemed to have calmed a good deal. She was Dr Mueller’s problem now.
When I got back to my desk, I saw her handbag, small travel suitcase, and her computer still sitting there. Normally I’d call a porter to take them for storage, but I was already behind, so I just stuffed them into a corner under my desk. I’d deal with them later.
I actually managed to forget them for two weeks. It wasn’t until I saw Miranda again working as a trusty.
“Hello, Miranda”, I said.
“Hello.” she squinted at my name badge “… nurse Meadows, have we met? I’m afraid I had an accident and my memory is very fuzzy.”
“Perhaps we did, I’m not sure…”, I hedged, “how is your recovery going?”.
“I think my accident gave me panic attacks”, she said, “but ECT is helping and I’m getting a lot better. I’ve forgotten so much. And no one can remember who I am, so I’m going to have to start life over, but they’re letting me work here while I sort myself out.”
“Good luck!” I said, and she walked away. She seemed to be adjusting well, but I had a nagging sense that something was wrong.
| 2014-11-23T12:44:33 | 2014-11-23T11:54:47 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" | "So I decided that I would only ever go into one Starbucks. That way, I know who it is," I finished. My best mate Mike nodded dubiously.
"That makes sense, I guess. It's a good thing you usually avoid the place. So how did you pick this one?"
"Random chance. I got a listing of local stores, closed my eyes and picked one."
He clapped me on the shoulder encouragingly, and I took a deep breath and pushed in through the door. My eyes instantly locked on the girl standing at the counter as I joined the queue. She was pretty... long dark hair, dark eyes, friendly looking. I couldn't help feeling a moment of disappointment, though... was this it? I'd expected, well, birds or something, a heavenly choir, the earth to move. Not just... nothing.
I joined the queue, heart pounding. In my confusion I was barely aware of one of the staff walking up, but I just raised my hand. "No thanks, I'm fine," I said distractedly, still staring at the girl behind the counter. After a moment I heard a mutter... it sounded like "Good thing I can put two and two together."
I blinked and turned to look into big blue eyes, shimmering golden hair. She smiled, and the world lit up around me.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" she asked, and then held up a card. "That's what you were expecting, right?"
'No thanks, I'm fine' was printed in block letters on the card. I smiled back, shakily. "Ah, _there's_ the heavenly choir," I laughed, as her hand slid into mine. | "Gather 'round! Mail's here!"
The postman only visited once a month in the remote ger camp of Bayanzorn, a small island of life in the midst of the Sea of Death - known to outsiders as the Gobi Desert. Ghaz had waited anxiously for this day, having begun his 18th season only a few short weeks ago.
The postman reached into the dusty canvas duffle bag in the back of his jeep and withdrew a rubber-banded stack of dirt-stained letters.
"Khongjin!"
"Here!"
A manilla bubble-padded envelope was next.
"Urun!"
The mail call droned on, endlessly. Ghaz began to worry if the government had forgotten about him and his remote ger camp, the only life he'd known. Raising goats and horses the traditional Mongolian way. Never setting down roots. Moving from oasis to oasis in search of greener pastures for their herds.
And at last, the postman withdrew the infamous red-and-blue envelope every Mongolian man and woman waited for with baited breath on the occasion of their 18th birthday.
"Looks like we have a birthday boy, " the postman chortled, "Ghaz Uluk!"
Ghaz raised his hand with a gentle tremble and cautiously stepped forward to collect the third piece of mail he'd ever received.
"Don't look so worried, boy!" shouted one of the villagers. "It's not like you have to marry her before sundown!" A chuckle rippled through the crowd.
Ghaz stretched out his arm and took the finely painted parchment envelope into his hands, and very carefully began to open it. Out slid a hand-calligraphed letter with the words "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?"
"Read it!"
And Ghaz complied, puzzling his yet-to-be-found soulmate's letter out loud to the crowd. An awkward silence followed, as the nomads gazed at their navels and dug the heels of their leather boots into sand.
The awkward silence was broken by a hearty laugh from the postman.
"Kid, this jeep is heads back to Mandalgobi each month and I have room for one more. You'll discover what `Starbucks` is there. So your first decision as a man come-of-age is whether or not she's worth leaving this..." the postman paused for a minute to watch a mangy dog chase an ewe into the low shrub grass near the oasis "... Charming... Anyway. Think about it."
Hot days and cold nights followed. And on the next mail day, Ghaz arrived with a bag of his own. And with a solemn farewell to his family and tribesman, Ghaz set out on his quest to find Starbucks and his one true soulmate, unsure if he'd ever see his family or ger again. | 2014-12-18T00:15:29 | 2014-12-17T23:46:50 | 141 | 42 |
[WP] On the day you turn 18 everyone is given the first words that their soulmate will speak to them. When you receive yours it says simply "Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" | "So I decided that I would only ever go into one Starbucks. That way, I know who it is," I finished. My best mate Mike nodded dubiously.
"That makes sense, I guess. It's a good thing you usually avoid the place. So how did you pick this one?"
"Random chance. I got a listing of local stores, closed my eyes and picked one."
He clapped me on the shoulder encouragingly, and I took a deep breath and pushed in through the door. My eyes instantly locked on the girl standing at the counter as I joined the queue. She was pretty... long dark hair, dark eyes, friendly looking. I couldn't help feeling a moment of disappointment, though... was this it? I'd expected, well, birds or something, a heavenly choir, the earth to move. Not just... nothing.
I joined the queue, heart pounding. In my confusion I was barely aware of one of the staff walking up, but I just raised my hand. "No thanks, I'm fine," I said distractedly, still staring at the girl behind the counter. After a moment I heard a mutter... it sounded like "Good thing I can put two and two together."
I blinked and turned to look into big blue eyes, shimmering golden hair. She smiled, and the world lit up around me.
"Welcome to Starbucks. Can I take your order?" she asked, and then held up a card. "That's what you were expecting, right?"
'No thanks, I'm fine' was printed in block letters on the card. I smiled back, shakily. "Ah, _there's_ the heavenly choir," I laughed, as her hand slid into mine. | The one moment of the day that made it all worth it was just hearing her voice in the morning. Always starting with those same 8 words. Stiff and corporate sounding, but he thought he detected a new hint of warmth behind them the last couple of weeks.
They'd had their share of jokes and small talk at the counter the last few months as well, and he had caught her staring at him a couple times as he worked on his laptop. Somehow, he'd still never had the courage to make a move to ask her out. Today is the day though, he can feel it.
The letter had come yesterday. Just those wonderful 8 words on a plain white sheet of paper in an unmarked envelope. No one knows where they come from, but without fail everyone will get one on their 18th birthday like it. Some think it takes the "magic" out of the process, but finding your true soul mate seems like a fair trade in his mind.
As he walks into the Starbucks, he is nervous but confident. There's no way it could be anyone else. Standing in line he sneaks a glance up at the counter and sees her. She has her hair down... The butterflies in his stomach do a flip... He loves it when she wears it like this. He's two people away now. He's futilely trying to remember the carefully calculated words he'd rehearsed for this. One person away. He's almost ready to burst.
The man in front of him approaches the counter. "Nobody freak out and nobody gets hurt!" He yells, suddenly brandishing a pistol. The man looks to the girl and demands the cash out of the register. She's shaking, starting to cry... "What the fuck did I just say about freaking out?!" the man yells, and cocks the pistol. "You just had to start crying.... I FUCKING HATE IT WHEN THEY CRY!"
He's standing behind the man, unbelieving of the scene unfolding before him. The man is crazy obviously... and he's no longer sure the cash alone is all the guy will be taking before he is satisfied. Only one thing to do. Saying a quick mental prayer, he throws himself at the man. A quick scramble, a loud bang, a sharp pain... and then police sirens in the background as the darkness engulfs him.
The sharp smell of antiseptic is the first thing that heralds his return to conciousness. Second is the soft whirring and beeping of the hospital equipment beside his bed. As the room swims into view he realizes someone is holding his hand. He looks... Butterflies. Her hair is down... He loves it when she wears it like that. | 2014-12-18T00:15:29 | 2014-12-17T22:16:22 | 141 | 24 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability. | *Carol's eyes drifted off the laptop screen as she lost herself in thought. She crossed her arms, sighing through her nostrils. In front of her, the white text box gaped empty. In the upper left corner, the black line flashed like a ticking clock.*
"A special ability...", she mused.
*She had her hands firmly placed on the keyboard, ready for action, but the inspiration never came. She was stumped. What kind of ability could a person have, that they never know they're alone in? Superpowers, like flight or invisibility, were out of the question. Anatomical oddities or freaky Rain-Man stuff were bound to surface sooner or later. No, it had to be something private - something that wouldn't show, and something you wouldn't ask other people about. But what could it be? Carol stared at the screen, getting nowhere. Finally, she gave up and turned to the one person she could always rely on for help.*
"Hey, what do you think?", she asked, letting out another sigh. "Any ideas?"
*I'm sorry, Carol. I've got nothing.* | Ray Ellis’s secret wasn’t anything special until one day in class when his power stood out to his friend. Ray sat in his desk listening to the teacher, playing with things in his right hand like coins and pencils. He was always pretty talented at doing stuff that involved eye-hand coordination, not including doing stuff like sports or playing the computer but more like pen spinning and coin rolling, so he could imagine getting far ahead in life with the talents he possessed.
“That is suttin' outta dis ghetto.” He said to me, staring wide-eyed looking like the pen I was messing with in my hand was talking to him.
“What are you having orgasms about over there, Ruddy?” I said to him almost laughing because of the silly expression slapped on his face. “You’ve seen my pen tricks before.”
“Nothang like dis shit.” He replied back more captivated than before.
“Just the same old tricks like I do all the time. Nothing new added to it.”
“It be yo' finger n' shit. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I never peeped anythang like dat shit.”
I stopped messing with the pen and raised my right hand between us. Ruddy got up from his seat adjacent to me in the middle of my teacher talking to the class about The Great Gatsby. Luckily for Ruddy the teacher was old as dirt and his eyesight and hearing were pathetically poor.
“Yo crazy-ass ringer finger, dude yo. How tha fuck is you bustin that, biatch? No Muthafucka can do anythang like dis shit.” My friend’s face was almost right up against my hand now.
“You got a fetish for fingers now? You’re getting stranger by the day, my friend.” I laughed at him, playing it cool. Truth be told, I knew what he was talking about to me. I just never knew if it was truly a real power until that point. Now I knew that I could begin stopping vigilante crime in my town as a super hero. My power is being able to control my ring finger exceptionally well, just like any other finger. I wasn’t the superhero this town wanted. I wasn’t the superhero anybody wanted. I’m not even the superhero anyone needs.
| 2015-01-08T13:28:38 | 2015-01-08T12:29:03 | 887 | 28 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability. | The human lie detector. That's what they call me. I've always skirted around what I do in interviews as frankly I didn't understand. Micro-expressions, nervous tics, word usage. These are the things I used to distract. I never realized the truth, not until my 100th case at the precinct. Number one crime solver, internationally recognized, Time magazine's man of the year. I helped put away rapists, murders, serial killers. Sometimes there was no evidence, I would ask leading questions like if the body was in a forest. From there the truth would be apparent from their lies. Sometimes we didn't find the evidence, but that was alright. They always confessed. I thought that being able to tell when people were lying was my ability, my place in the world. But I want you to think this through. If someone can tell if your lying, how do you not incriminate yourself? Don't talk. Everyone knew about me yet they couldn't resist talking to me. And that's when I realized I had put away countless innocent people. I was the liar, but everyone couldn't help but believe me. | Ray Ellis’s secret wasn’t anything special until one day in class when his power stood out to his friend. Ray sat in his desk listening to the teacher, playing with things in his right hand like coins and pencils. He was always pretty talented at doing stuff that involved eye-hand coordination, not including doing stuff like sports or playing the computer but more like pen spinning and coin rolling, so he could imagine getting far ahead in life with the talents he possessed.
“That is suttin' outta dis ghetto.” He said to me, staring wide-eyed looking like the pen I was messing with in my hand was talking to him.
“What are you having orgasms about over there, Ruddy?” I said to him almost laughing because of the silly expression slapped on his face. “You’ve seen my pen tricks before.”
“Nothang like dis shit.” He replied back more captivated than before.
“Just the same old tricks like I do all the time. Nothing new added to it.”
“It be yo' finger n' shit. Ya Mom shoulda told ya, I never peeped anythang like dat shit.”
I stopped messing with the pen and raised my right hand between us. Ruddy got up from his seat adjacent to me in the middle of my teacher talking to the class about The Great Gatsby. Luckily for Ruddy the teacher was old as dirt and his eyesight and hearing were pathetically poor.
“Yo crazy-ass ringer finger, dude yo. How tha fuck is you bustin that, biatch? No Muthafucka can do anythang like dis shit.” My friend’s face was almost right up against my hand now.
“You got a fetish for fingers now? You’re getting stranger by the day, my friend.” I laughed at him, playing it cool. Truth be told, I knew what he was talking about to me. I just never knew if it was truly a real power until that point. Now I knew that I could begin stopping vigilante crime in my town as a super hero. My power is being able to control my ring finger exceptionally well, just like any other finger. I wasn’t the superhero this town wanted. I wasn’t the superhero anybody wanted. I’m not even the superhero anyone needs.
| 2015-01-08T14:41:51 | 2015-01-08T12:29:03 | 80 | 28 |
[WP] A father gets sucked into the world of his son's favorite video game and has to rely on his meager knowledge of it to survive. | "Good Lord this game is complicated", Daniel thought to himself. "It's so realistic... I mean you could go to a bar and play bar games, or you can walk around and do nothing. Who would enjoy this? Why not just live a normal *real* life? Welp, whatever. I have better things to do."
Daniel powered off his son's PlayStation and went about his day. The first errand he had assigned himself was a quick trip to the clothing store. He sat up from the leather couch, but something wasn't right. He felt unusually heavy and unbalanced. He tried to get his footing but it felt like he had instantly gained 30 pounds. He did have slight thyroid issues but he had never felt any disorientation quite like this.
His immediate response was to go to his bedroom and lie down and nap it off. Daniel did have a long day of work yesterday and his boss definitely did not make it easy on him. Maybe he was just tired.
He drifted off to sleep rather quickly, laughing to himself about that silly video game as his eyes closed. It felt as soon as he closed his eyes they immediately sprung back open.
"Man, this is odd", he thought. "I barely slept... And the time, holy shit! I closed my eyes for 10 seconds and now its 4PM! Where did the time go?"
In a rush, Daniel unstabally wobbled to his dresser to change his clothes. He managed to get off his jeans and emptied the pockets. What he found was truly shocking. A wad of cash that was well worth $125,000. He slammed it on his dresser and began to panick. He had never seen such a significant amount of money. He didn't even think it was possible to wad up a sum like that.
As he was hanging his jeans up he heard two distinct clunks, two baseball sized items had hit the ground. Where could they have come from? Daniel couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Gr... grenades?! Oh shit this is like a federal offense or something. How can I own grenades?"
Daniel hurriedly changed the rest of his clothes and left his house quicker than he had ever left it before. He ran as fast as he could into his mini van which was oddly parked right in front of his door. His world was turning upside down. Either that, or he is going batshit crazy.
Then his cell phone rings. He looks at it with disgust. He knows someone is watching him or playing games with him. Surely, once he answers the phone it'll all be over. He would be on some prank TV show and all this would be just some dark twisted humor. Surely. Daniel took a deep breath and answered the phone.
"He... hello..."
"Hey Daniel, its me Roman! Let's go bowling!" | *Where the hell am I?* That was my first thought waking up. It reminds me of the cabin that the family and I would escape to once a year for our break from technology and city life. It's so peaceful here. I don't even remember going to sleep. Maybe I died. I had a bum lung from years of inhaling diesel smoke, but I never thought I would die this soon. It's weird that I can think straight. I always thought this would be nothingness.
After contemplating for several more minutes of how he is where he is, Dan decides to get up and explore his immediate surroundings. A rich view awaits him as he leaves the small cottage. Sparse apple trees at a base of a mountain range await him. The sun is glaringly beautiful from above. He agains stops to ponder if this is his subconscious view of what Heaven is. As he peers to the left of the trees, he sees a strange sight. It's almost reminiscent of those age-old monasteries that you see in those foreign films. Shining white walls with a purple unmarked banner hanging over the entrance. Two guards in knightly armor stand silently at the entrance. He could have sworn they were statues until one of them twitches his hand.
Blinking back fading disbelief, he moves toward the cathedral. The two guards make no motion as he passes between them. They seem to not even acknowledge that he is even there. Inside, a portly man in robes peers at him and follows Dan's movements with his eyes, waiting; expecting. "Greetings, sir!"
Jarred out of his internal monologue by the portly priest's voice, he focuses on the man standing there. His withered brown robes barely touching the ground.
"Hello? Who are you? Where am I?"
"Hello! I have been expecting you. I am in need of your desparate help!" This priest was expecting him? How?
"What do you need help with? Where am I?"
"I need 6 candles for my prayer ritual. I'm afraid that mine have burned up, and since those nasty things moved into the mountains, I have been unable to gather any wax from the nearby beehives. I'm in such a sorry state. Will you please help me?"
"Uhh..okay?..But you didn't answer my question. Where am I? How did I even end up here?" The priest appears to lose focus shortly after Dan accepted the request and again fails to answer the followup questions. The priest begins to fidget his hands as he looks around at the remains of candles in their holders.
"You can find the bees nearby here, just over beyond those trees!". The priest points slightly where Dan awoke from. "Be careful!"
Seemingly out of nowhere, a guard appears behind Dan, silent. Expecting that this meeting was at an end and the guard was an escort, Dan begins to make his way out.
I'm not a beekeeper. How am I supposed to get wax? This is ridiculous. Dangerous creatures? Here? This place is such a nice hamlet. Besides, if there were dangerous creatures, there's freaking knights right here. Knights!
Dan laughs to himself at the thought of it all and as he approaches the last tree in the line, a very ugly animal about the size of a small dog jumps out from behind the tree. A snout that resembles a mix between a dog and a horse protrudes from it's squished face. What the hell? It's so small! These things must be the dangerous creatures. Stopping him from laughing again, the creature pulls out a wicked knife and advances.
Dan's mind is again jarred from his internal thought of this thing that's quickly moving toward him with a curved knife as it utters one phrase. This..this..thing speaks!
"You no take candle!" | 2015-05-08T06:02:17 | 2015-05-08T02:48:23 | 61 | 21 |
[WP] You are death row's last meal chef. Today's condemned prisoner killed your daughter. | Five years had passed since the great Cow Uprising had bucked the yoke of the oppressive humans. Most of the farmers and slaughterhouse owners had been rounded up and put to death ages ago, but Frank had managed to slip into the underworld- the system of tiny tunnels that ran under the human cities, too small for the cows to enter.
But now they had caught him - murderer of thousands upon thousands of innocent cows, not the least, Browning's daughter - this one was personal.
It was hard for Browning to cook, with the hooves and all, but he managed. He fulfilled Frank's last request: hamburger and fries. The meat, a pound of flesh, he had donated from the mass of his own body...it was surreal cooking your own body. But it would be worth it...because in less than 24 hours that farmer would be shoved into the arena. And there, in front of thousands of bleating sheep and mooing cows, Browning would take his time goring him to death.
He would be even.
"Enjoy your burger, Frank." Browning thought, "Soon, you will be ground meat." | This is my first entry so go easy on me guys.
-----
I continued spreading peanut butter and jelly onto the bread.
This was his last meal. His last meal, and he asked for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a cup of orange juice.
I was choking up again.
He killed her. That bastard killed my only family I had left. My beloved daughter.
She looked just like her mother. With completely black hair, and a sense of love no one else had. She was an angel, and that monster took her away from me.
I closed up the last of the three sandwiches.
Slowly taking out something from my pocket, and setting it gently on the tray that would be delivered to the convict, I smiled. She would be avenged.
The tray was sent to him. He was laying on a cot, but quickly jumped up when he saw his meal.
He had a terrible smile. One any person would want to punch.
"I hope you enjoyed making my last meal," he laughed, "I have a sophisticated palette."
My eyes were burning.
"Do you know who I am," I asked.
"Yeah the chef. The jerk that is stuck cooking for people like me," he laughed again.
"I'm more than just that. I am the father of the woman you killed."
His smile faded.
"You hurt the one thing I cared about," the tears were falling down my face, "she had a life ahead of her. She was twelve. She had smile that was amazing. She would never hurt anyone. When she would come home, and ask me-"
My legs gave way.
"She would ask me-"
There was not enough air here.
"If I made the bad men a good meal. Because- because everyone deserved one," I looked up at him, "even you."
He was staring at me.
"I don't want to hear this," he said sitting at the table with his food.
That is when he saw it. He saw the item I had placed.
He picked it up and froze.
After a long pause he broke down.
"I am so sorry," he blubbered.
I stood up tears still running down my eyes. Turning around, I left him.
I left him with the photo of my daughter. My daughter smiling. | 2015-07-04T09:48:47 | 2015-07-04T08:43:08 | 131 | 90 |
[WP]You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class. 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes.
This could be fun it already has implied racial themes, discrimination and anti-meritocracy. Do with it what you will. | "Mutant." A boy to my left spat. I turned and shot a blood red glance, sneering at his smug green pools. He was nothing special himself, just a mid-oculite.
"Get out of here!" Another, this time a gray, shouts, "Leave this place blood eyes!" Shaking my head I reach to my side, sliding the blade out of its scabbard an inch. The glowering crowd backs down a foot. That's what I thought.
I may not make the rules, but that doesn't mean I'll follow them. I think as my feet clap down the bustling boulevard. The Optispectrum's rules are simple. From bottom to top it's Orange, Brown, Gray, Hazel, Green, Blue, and of course, Fuchsia, royalty, the rarest of breeds. I'm not on the spectrum, a mutant, but all logic places me in one location, the bottom. I sigh and slip the sunglasses onto my face again, hiding the biological shame. There's no point in even trying to convince them about color rights, nothing I say will change their minds.
"Hey Lucy!" A voice in the distance rings out. I look ahead, out across the huge open square before me. On the far side a girl in a gray sundress waves high above her head. I smile and stick a limb up as well, walking over to her.
"Hi Princess." I smirk and stop. She recoils, pulling the baseball cap tighter over her flowing brown hair and pale face. Glancing for anyone might be paying attention to them.
"Please . . ." She managed, trying to cover her Lilac orbs. "My parents don't know I'm out, and there aren't any shades in the palace." I chuckle before thinking it through. Of course the royal family wouldn't ever need to hide their eyes, but I still pull the glasses off my face.
"You want mine then?" I suggest and hold them out. She looked at them in near awe.
"No no, I could never. I saw the heckling you just got, plus I don't want to break them, they must have cost a fortune." I reconsider for the shortest moment. They had taken a year and a half to save for, but she was trustworthy enough, I shrug.
"No biggie, either way it's better to see a blood eye with a unknown than the princess without her guards."
"But." I press the bliss of anonymity onto her face.
"Come on Addie." I smile and grab her hand as she adjusts the lenses. "I know this great low-oculite restaurant downtown!" | There are a lot of ways to make money in this "perfect" world of ours, some upright and honest, other cruel and vicious.
I don't make the rules, i don't follow the either. "murky" is a way to describe my eyes. Destined for destitute, hell i was lucky I've lived this long. twenty five, living way in river of blood. hahahahaha, but it's amazing, such a rush. ever felt so much anger it gets converted into ecstasy! Although sad, my story, it's not like i lost my precious lover but constant humiliation and being beaten within half a inch of your live on a regular bases changes your perspective.
What? hmm, no! no! no! It's not like i had a choice, you wouldn't understand. Always spouting that love this, love that. pfffftt! hahaha.
----
I wake up, the stench is horrible. It's me isn't it? stop laughing! who cares about being clean, getting dirty is just a matter of time. anyway we got a job to do, some noble, easy job. he loves slumming it.
----
ahhh! why! meh. doesn't matter, they never survive anyway. i think i'm going in to deep. well the eyes are still intact. hehehe, he was in the middle of it. The girl won't stop screaming. Shut up! God damn't! Stop! i'm leaving, how anoying.
----
This one is going to be a little harder, and such a pretty one aswell. Something so beautiful. Makes you wonder, are all things rotten from the inside? mm, no your right i'm still beautiful. One day we'll have the most beautiful eyes...
----
Blood red, but it's a child. such heavy security. the only one in the world! I wan't it! shhh. I´m taking it. no, well. hmm you're right. But we'll just raise it for a while. Like chickens to the slaughter! Hahahaha! chicken, i'm hungry.
----
That wasn't hard at all, so called "child of prophesy" wasn't all that. Can't even talk, just mumbles and drools.
----
Ohhhh! The crying won't stop! Why won't it stop! wait! No we can't hurt it, it's still too small. give it some eyes to play with. I'm going to find some food for it, it's fine if we leave it for a while, where is it going to go?
----
It hurts, they shot me. No! how did they find us, was it you? you lovey dovey, peaceloving child! Damnit! it was you after all? Stop crying this was all your fault. Now we're going to die. And it's just staring at me, playing with my, MY! Collection! Ahhh i can hear them running here. All for those red eyes, everthing is burning. What's so special about eyes anyway? I've got hundreds, hundreds! Blue, green, yellow, black and white. Alright old friend i guess it's fine. there, there. It's all good now, mabey we'll be reborn with beautiful new eyes. Everyone will love us. ye, they will won't they? Right? Mmmm.
----
*A vicious serial killer has been found with princess Kalara, in the killers hideout were evidence of hundreds upon hundreds of victims. All nobles of superior standing and status. The woman was confirmed to have murky mixed color eyes. Proving yet again that we won't be safe until the eradication finishes. | 2015-08-24T12:55:55 | 2015-08-24T12:02:56 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon. | So I'm not sure whether the 5 star reviews of 'the great big book of dogs' is people just reviewing it without reading or if I got the wrong product somehow, assuming it's the later I'm giving it one star.
Cons:
Was not the great big book of dogs'
Was not even in English
Gave me an extremely large headache
I'm pretty sure its cursed.
Made me weep blood
Caused shadows and voices to haunt the edge of my consciousness
My family all left me and now I love alone in the bayou, desperately seeking solace amongst the damned pages of this time.
Pros:
There are several pictures of what appear to be some sort of dog in it.
| ######[](#dropcap)
The book is in an ad at the bottom of the Kindle app. *'Reduced to 99c from $999,999.99'*. It had no reviews. I swipe to the next deal, and miss.
*"Book downloading."*
Bugger. What kind of a book has no title or cover? Sounds like some self-published crap.
I try to go back to the third (and definitely the best) Harry Potter book, but the new book has already appeared in the home screen. It still has no cover or title.
*What the hell, might as well give it a go.* I tap on the new book to open it.
My Iphone begins to tremble in my hands. Before I can react, the glass screen splits down the middle. Jagged little glass teeth gnash out and come down on my thumb.
A moment of searing pain. I drop the phone but it is too late.
The phone swallows. There is a small belch. My hand is bleeding, my right thumb missing below the joint.
Siri speaks. But her voice has changed into a low seductive whisper, into a tone that promises me everything and so much more.
"Your payment is accepted."
The mouth shuts and the screen appears to be back to normal.
"The Kindlenomicon," the title page reads. "The e-book of forbidden knowledge."
Very gingerly, I reach down with my uninjured left hand. I tap the screen quickly and pull back before I can lose another digit.
The first chapter flashes onto the screen.
---
*Read more about Amazon's plot to take over the world at [r/jd_rallage](http://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage).* | 2016-02-10T10:53:48 | 2016-02-10T09:12:54 | 75 | 44 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | Humans are a galactic anomaly.
In the typical course of evolution, there are two possibilities; either carnivores become dominant, and are forced to evolve intelligence as they fight with one another over dwindling resources, or Herbivores manage to evolve rapidly enough to defend themselves from those carnivores. In all 9824 races of the Known Galaxy, this pattern has held true.
It was a monumental shock, then, when species 9825 was discovered, colloquially called 'humans'. Their species was incredibly unlucky; they had evolved in a system where significant numbers of eccentric orbitals intersected their planet's course, resulting in not just one, but multiple large-scale impacts. It is believed that there were several nascent species on the cusp of intelligence, both herbivore and carnivore, only to be promptly wiped out by impact-induced global firestorms. The last of these was the worst; all larger life-forms were killed, leaving only the most tenacious of creatures behind, and allowing, for the first time in history, an evolutionary oddity.
An intelligent Omnivore.
Of course, most species will occasionally consume - on accident, usually - certain plant or meat based foods. The Verron-Tigers of Species 2368 will occasionally eat handfuls of grass to aid their digestive tract, for example, but never before had we encountered an intelligent species that would willingly consume both.
The scientific curiosity, however, is more than overwhelmed by the social one. Predators cannot - physically cannot - reside in close company to more than a few dozen of their kin, at most. Their instinct prevents it, competition driven by millenia of ingrained social cues. Herbivores rarely fight back; far easier to stand as a group, and let the weak be winnowed away.
When the first Predators, Skell-Walkers of species 8473, arrived at Earth, they saw the billions of humans and expected another Prey species. As was the custom, they isolated a small, isolated group of young, and began their hunt.
The entire human species nearly exploded with rage. The Skell were not prepared - Prey never fought back! When the first nuclear-tipped missiles reached their ship, in orbit around their moon, their shields weren't even up. Only a brief message made it to the other Skell, a warning of the insane prey of 9825. Still, they were prey; they assumed that as long as they avoided the planet, all would be well.
They assumed wrong. Very, very wrong. Apparently, Omnivores are fans of vengeance, and there are billions of them, compared to scarce thousands of Skell. Within 20 celestial cycles, there were no more Skell.
And then, to everyone's surprise, they stopped. They colonized the formerly Skell worlds, and were mostly quiet. Over time, the Herbivore Alliance came to the conclusion that their war with the Skell must have been a fluke; after all, even the most pacifistic of Herbivores will fight back in the right circumstances. Perhaps the Skell had just done something very, very wrong. Gently, delicately, we made contact...
...and found Humans to be one of the most delightful species we had ever known! They did not usually kill for sport, the way the Carnivores did; no, they were nearly as pacifistic as we were! We were welcomed with open arms, and within only a few dozen more solar cycles, we had a thriving alliance. It was only after another thirty cycles that our ambassadors felt our relationship was close enough to inquire as to what, exactly, had led to their genocide of the Skell. Our Chief Ambassador was understandably surprised when they told him how a small group of their young had been killed and eaten by the invaders; after all, such cullings happened regularly within our people!
The Human Ambassador politely inquired as to which species had eaten several of our Ambassador's children. We saw no harm in telling them.
That species no longer exists.
It is too late for us; the humans already know of our existence. Maybe, in time, we can even grow to live with them. But to any uncontacted Herbivores and Carnivores in the galaxy; run. Run, and never turn back. There are nearly a trillion of them now. A trillion creatures of genocide and murder in the name of peace.
Run, before it's too late.
Just run. | Humans had always been respected in the intergalactic society. Not for our scientific breakthroughs, we were actually the last of space capable species to achieve intergalactic travel. We're not respected for our love of things that are beautiful, or creative. No, we're respected for our resolve. Over the last several hundred earth years, there has been great upheaval in our galaxy. The place that Humanity called home was under threat by a species that sought to colonize every planet they deemed worthy.
They came in droves of hundreds of thousands. The human colony on Kepler was the first to be struck by the Beltids. Kepler is a small colony, smaller now than it was. One day was a regular day for the colonists, the farms were being tended, the factories were producing farm equipment. 24 earth hours later, Kepler city was besieged by hundreds of thousands - nay, millions of these demons. They swarmed the farms, killing and destroying everything in their way.
When earth heard over the Interplanetary Communication Line (ICI) that Kepler was under threat, the human mobile militia rallied to the cause. Humanity had enjoyed 700 years of peace, and only a thousand militiamen flocked to the banners. But the United Human Navy brought this handful of brave men and women to the front lines, with enough ammunition for 10 million of these creatures. By the end, the navy brought in another 2 supply drops for the militia. By the end of the Kepler campaign, 16 million, three hundred and 76 thousand, 743 Beltids were killed.
The campaign lasted 3 earth years. From the time that the Beltids set up in the Kepler system, to the time that the militia and the navy forced them out of the system. Then, it was time for humanity to go on the offensive. In those three years, humanity made decades of military progress. We had a cause to rally around. Millions of men and women enlisted. The navy was expanded over a thousand times it's pre war strength. Armies long since disbanded were rallied. Humanity had a united cause, protection of our very way of life.
And so we fought. We waged war for a generation. It was good for humanity, to see galactic warfare. The advances in that time were wondrous. The cost was great, but we soon found out that we were not alone in the fight against the Beltids. We were in a system some 400 light years from earth. Our advance scouts had marked it as a breeding colony for the beltids. They were wrong, it was a prison. When the navy dropped out hyperspeed, they found life forms very different from the Beltids.
They found an ally. The prisoners we found out called themselves the Anzu. They were a peaceful society, dedicated to science and the preservation of life. The Beltids had made quick work of their colonies. They had never fought a war in their recorded history. They hadn't developed a proper melee weapon, let alone the advanced plasma rifles that the 17th Kepler brigade were using. When we realized what it was, we liberated the Anzu. The Anzu were confined to their lone planet, protected with a shield that didn't let the Beltids through.
So we went to Anzu prime, blasted the hundred million or so Beltids into pieces. And so began a friendship the Anzu. We taught them how to fight, and they taught us everything they knew of science. We learned a lot, and took advantage of it right away in the war. We found out that the Anzu were not the only intelligent species fighting the Beltids. They told us of a great many species fighting for their very survival.
So began an eon long confederation. United against a common foe, the Human Alliance and the Anzu began the Galactic Federation. An alliance of life forms, united against all that would seek to destroy us. We fought side by side for another 60 earth years, without hardly a single casualty thanks to the Anzu. We liberated system after system. The Anzu and the other species had been fighting the Beltids long before humanity had even discovered fire. They knew where each other were in the Galaxy.
We finally drove the Beltids from our Galaxy. The Galactic Federation had 37 intelligent species. Peace had finally settled in our Galaxy.Then, suddenly the war was over. A treaty was signed between the Beltids and the Galactic Federation. They were to never return. And like that, all 157 million members of the Human Armed Forces disbanded, and went back to their homes. The fleets were mothballed.
But Humanity now knew Galactic warfare. We had liberated 36 species from the Tyranny of the Beltids. We knew that the Beltids would not be the only threat to life, so even though the soldiers went home, humanity was ever vigilant. Looking for a threat, for we would prefer not to fight, but if our way of life was threatened, or those of an ally in the Federation, we would rally, like we did all those years ago. And this is where we stand today!
We stand at the precipice of another Galactic war! I stand before you in front of the Galactic Congress to beg to issue a formal declaration of war against the Anzu, who have invaded the human colony of Kepler! Humanity will not back down from a fight! Even if the fight is against our longest standing ally! We will not surrender, no matter the cost! Our homes are under threat, but soon, the Anzu will now the wrath of Humanity! | 2016-03-13T21:24:24 | 2016-03-13T17:44:09 | 71 | 20 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT. | "Well Fifth , we have a hard time figuring these guys out ."
Fifth swivels its primary sensory orifices to face Thirty Second "What is so difficult about them that I had to be brought out of stasis?".
"Well they are a primitive species , and we can tell by their transmissions that they seem to want a peaceful meeting." Fifth interrupts "A species capable a generating gravity waves is hardly primitive."
"Well Fifth , thats the thing , they aren't transmitting with gravity waves."
"Then how are we ...."
"They are beaming modulated radio waves at us ...fortunately the shielding held up and we suffered only minor damage."
"They attacked us?"
"Uh no....it seems that they consider radio waves to be harmless....so when we realized that that the pulses were modulated we hooked the modulation decoder to the shielding alarm and presto ... we could hear what they were saying ,they have a simple communication matrix , it only took the translator analogues a few moments to decipher.
"So how are we talking to them if they cant detect gravity waves?"
"I modified our main gun to modulate its frequency the same way and fired it a full power at their capital."
"Oh dear Goddess ...how did they respond?"
"They asked us to turn up the power......."
"... Thats a class seven weapon and they asked to be hit harder?"
"They wanted to know if their signal was strong enough to be heard clearly, I told them under no circumstances were they to increase power....they are already transmitting at a class 9 level, only thing that saved us is that it has a wide spread."
Fifths superior cognitive skills immediately realized that if radio transmitter was used as a communication system a wide spread would be a good thing.
"I see why you woke me....a species immune to radio waves is quite disturbing."
"Thats not why I asked for you , we've been communicating long enough to learn some more and the latest communication .....it scares the goddess out of me."
"What was it"
"We asked them how they were able to survive on a planet with a strong magnetic field......"
"How strong is it ?"
"Approximately 2,000 times higher than a class 20 magnetic bomb."
"Thats....incredible, so how do they do it"
"They didnt understand the question."
Once again Fifths cognitive skills reached the obvious conclusion , Thirty Second hadn't asked for him to decipher the situation ... Thirty Second just needed someone with enough authority to cancel the mission.
"Engage cloak and lets get the hell out of here."
No wonder the last 5 missions to this system failed to return....blown to fine dust by the aliens "communication systems'.
And then ....Fifth had an revelation.
"Thirty Second, have we ever discovered life in an iron rich system before?"
"No Fifth , we havent , I guess this ones going in the history scrolls."
"Thirty Second, you are to erase all record of this mission and bring First , Second and Third out of stasis."
Thirty Second was taken aback, the idea of waking the Goddess herself for a mission that was to be forgotten ?!
And then with a sly smug vibration along his crest Fifth told Thirty Second why.
"They are primitive , that means we have things they desperately need."
"So?"
"These Humans can shorten the war by a thousand years."
| "Fucking humans are at it again." Said Prok as he dipped his proboscis into the fetus slaw before him.
"I see that." Replied Ghyd, his half wife. She shifted her earlobe and toenail salad listlessly. One of the earlobes still had a diamond earring in it. "Waiter! Someone in your kitchen isn't properly dejewelrying the human bits. I could have chipped a fang on this diamond!"
"So sorry mam, we are breaking in a new shipment of human laborers and they aren't catching on obviously." He said as he quickly whisked the earring from Ghyds hand and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the kitchen.
As she stared at the same view screen Prok was regarding Ghyds remarked, "Why is it that one factory farm of humans can be so docile and mellow and another can erupt into a full blown revolt like the one on Tellos 5? They have taken over the whole moon!"
"It all has to do with the genes I say. Too much Irish blood on Tellos 5, but I suppose that's the risk you run for the delectable pale skin and red haired variety of human. If only they could find some way to breed out the truculent, but keep the succulent. Eh but I suppose you can't have one without the other." Said Drujol, the gestation spouse. Her stuffed scrotums having long since been devoured to the last eyelidos s/he gazed in envy at colon burger being delivered by a passing waiter. The eyelidos weren't made from real eyelids, but they were still tasty.
"No no." Said Prok. "It's those damned humanitarians. They infiltrate the factory farm moons and contaminate the euphorics and the aphrodisiacs that must be supplemented into human feed. Without all the sex and the drugs humans become self aware."
All around them in the restaurant dishes clattered and chatter stopped. He said that much too loudly.
"Prok don't be silly. Humans can never be self aware. You know perfectly well those supplements are added just to make the humans feel more comfortable and even if they were self aware what do they have to be unhappy about? The factory farms perfectly replicate their natural habitat back on Earth. Cities, roads, cubicles, pornography, fast food, reality TV, everything is as they made for themselves in their natural environment. They live the good part of a normal human lifecycle and after about 30 years they are harvested and spared the horrors of old age or if they have been cooperative they are given the honor of serving elsewhere in the empire among their Novcclid overlords. I mean we aren't savages. Only free range humans of course." Vocalized Ghyd and Drujol in unison, as was their custom after a brief mental conference.
"Of course of course. I never meant... Just that this humanitarian movement is causing a lot of trouble."
No one could deny that. One after another factory farm moons had risen in revolt against their operators. There were even reports of the livestock having learned to operate the jump gates and the orbital shuttles, though that beggared belief.
*"This just in"* declared news bot5000 on the view screen *"we have just received a video from Tellos 5. Warning, this may be unsuitable for larvae under 300 years old."*
The screen switched to a wide angle shot obviously from a hand held communicator. The scene was of a wild mob of feral humans chanting and swirling around a podium that was once a water tower used to keep the livestock hydrated. Atop the tower were seven or eight Novcclids, obviously basking in the adoration of their new mob of wild humans.
As the camera zoomed into the lead Novcclid Prok, Ghyd and Drujol all were struck dumb. All thirteen of their eyes were wide and tentacles taught as bow strings.
The lead Novcclid was Frijik, their only saughter to survive to adulthood out of a clutch of 13000 spawned.
"Oh shit." The trio said, without any mental conference necessary. | 2016-03-13T19:37:26 | 2016-03-13T16:09:35 | 59 | 21 |
[WP] One morning, you wake up and suddenly find yourself three years in the past, as if the last three years had never happened. It happened to the entire world and everyone remembers. | I woke up next to the wrong woman this morning. It didn't even register I was in the wrong place as I was too busy screaming in horror. My mind was racing with the reasons why she was laying there and slowly waking up herself. You see, she's dead. Or, she was until I woke up. If she was alive, then where was our son?
Two days have gone by now and she remembers everything too. Including her death. Including the son she gave birth to that caused the health issues leading to her untimely death so very soon after birth. Turns out our son doesn't exist anymore either. Whatever event that brought people back into existence also seems to have nullified our very young into non-existence. There's absolutely no trace of him.
To make things worse I can't seem to find my wife, the woman I fell asleep next to before all of this happened. I miss her. I miss my son.
The world is trying to cope. We are trying to cope. She's not taking it well and frankly neither am I. We both know what we've lost, or could lose again. I don't think I could go through the pain again. She says the same. We know what we will do. I can only hope I find my son where we're going next. | I wake up to my Ipod alarm the annoying nuclear sub warning one that I woke up to every morning. Except...no that's not right I swapped out my Ipod and got that LG...what is the date? June 11th...2013!?!?!? Holy shit..it is my old house. My red room with the hole in the wall. My old bed...fuck I gotta go to school for 10th grade..but I graduated yesterday. Did I imagine the whole thing? Do I I have the surgery scars? No I don't....awe fuck me all that weight I lost? I guess I gained it back. There are some pros and cons to this. Maybe I can graduate with Honors now. Fuck I gotta wake up dad and tell him how we are going to loose the house right after Christmas. I run to wake up my parents, school be damned. They both grogily wake up and ask what the hell I am doing up this early after graduation.
"Wait...you guys remember graduation as well?"
Dad gets up and looks around then his eyes open wide "This is the old house...what the fuck is going on, Teresa wake up we are in our house!"
Slowly we all get up and try to figure out what the fuck is going on. We all have our old phones (except me I still had an ipod) and we get a call from the school saying that it is canceled for the time being due to this whole time fuck up.
Trump is in the news, Hilary is also in the news, saying this is our chance to make things right and Obama is trying to get the nation to calm down.
Within a few weeks a war breaks out in Pakistan to find Osama and kill him again. People who died in 2016 are pelted with questions about what death is like but most of them just say there is a lot of nothingness, and even they believe this is some afterlife they're going through.
I immediatly get in contact with my friend and tell her she can get out of dating Josh now so we can be together. My girlfriend at the time calls me and begs me to take her back but I say no pretty quickly saying I got my years back.
I think I will enjoy this but..oh no...I forgot...
I have to wait two more years for Fallout 4 to come out... | 2016-06-11T14:37:29 | 2016-06-11T13:14:51 | 22 | 10 |
[Wp] The zombie epidemic came and went in the developed world, most people survived, the military easily defeated the undead horde, and cures for the virus were created. However, zombies remain major issue in the developing and under developed world not getting nearly enough attention on the news.
Wow I didn't think that this prompt would would end up this big. These stories made my night, thanks for all the replies and keep up the good work. | "It'll be $50 grand" said a tiny African man in worn out business suit.
"Excuse me? $50 Grand for what?
"That's for the standard Hunting licenses and fees." said the man, still blankly staring at his computer screen.
"Wait, I'm trying to help your country here. I'm trying to Helllll... P!"
"Yes yes... So are the other hundred or so Americans." he lifts up his head from the screen.
"You American's come here, saying you want to help... But you just want to shoot zombies. Yes?"
I didn't reply...
"We have zombies, you don't... So you come here claiming you want to help, but really, you just want to use that gun of yours. Go Rambo... Be the Terminator?"
"Your people are dying out there, right now!" as I gestured toward... I don't even know where to gesture toward.
"My people are always dying. Disease, wild animals, mosquitos, my government, the rebels.... Even by you, A-Mer-I-Cans... How are these zombies any different? " he said slowly.
"You want to kill? Be my guest. For $50 grand, you can kill as much as you want. Go home, a Hero. A saviour of us poor Africans." he stated as he handed me the forms.
"We'll provide a guide, food, transportation, and even a town for you to 'protect'... Have fun, and please come back."
| "Ginny?" A voice whispered in the darkness.
"Yeah, ma?" Ginny replied, snuggling in closer to her mother. *Why is it so cold*, she thought to herself. They were wrapped in old linens, hiding in the burnt out body of an old van.
"Remember when you said you wanted to go to Barbados for your 18th birthday, baby?" Her mother's voice was barely audible over the sounds from outside.
A war had come. Something had gone terribly wrong. There was a virus? No one was really sure. It spread so quickly, but infected only those with a specific genome. Those people, the ones not euthanized, were now wandering idiots. Slavering, mutated beasts, barely human, looking for the next meal. The next kill. They feasted on what was once their own kind, on humans.
Ginny had heard rumors that the Outbreak had been handled well in some countries. Her home in the USA barely even registered it as a blip on the radar. However, she and family had to go to...
“Africa,” she said. “You thought it would be more educational. A good 'learning experience' before I went to college.”
“I'm so sorry, honey,” Ginny's mother's breath was coming shorter and faster now. Ginny could feel the sweat seep from her pores, soaking into the linens.
“Hush, now, ma,” Ginny said firmly, and a little too loudly.
A thunk on the side of the van. The two women held their breaths for what seemed an eternity. A groan. Then a shuffling that faded into the background.
“Hush, now,” Ginny started again. “We'll get you out of here.”
Ginny started when she realized she could feel a bit of a tremor in her body. She had thought it was coming from her mother. She sighed, resigned to her fate.
Suddenly, Ginny's mother grasped her tightly, nearly choking the air from her.
“Ginny!” Her mother wheezed.
“It's ok, mother,” Ginny sighed into her mother's shoulder. “It's all going to be ok.”
Ginny's mother spasmed once, then lay still.
Ginny held her mother and rocked a little bit, humming an old tune from her childhood. A song that her mother used to sing to her to help her sleep. She watched as light slowly leaked in through the front windows of the van. Her tremor turned into a shuddering. She looked down into her mother's face.
And saw the last meal she would remember having. | 2016-10-30T15:52:15 | 2016-10-30T12:34:45 | 198 | 63 |
[WP]The wrinkled fingertips are just the beginning of the transformation. We just always leave the water too early. | I was too young to remember everything in detail. I just knew my mother was panicked, and frightened. The earth shook beneath our feet, trees fell, people screamed. My mother held my hand with an iron grip. It made me safe. I knew that while she held my hand it would be ok, she would never let anything hurt me. We had been outside, taking things when it happened. It is all blurry in my mind, I cannot remember other people as they were.
The giant waves came a short while after the shakes. We heard people screaming outside and Mom opened the windows to see what was happening now. I ran to the window too. The windows were bigger than any house I'd ever seen.
"Mommy, how tall is that?" I asked naively.
"Kilometres. Come here, baby." She grabbed my hand and knelt down in front of me. "Whatever happens, remember I will always love you." She said with water leaking from her eyes."
"But..."
"No, let me finish, Anaya. Then you can ask questions." The seventeen year old in front of me shut up and waited for me to continue. I continued my storytelling.
"She grabbed the scarfs she had been so fond of, and tied one around our waists as well as several of my beach toys. As the waves got closer, she hurried us to the roof.
"Why, mommy?" I asked.
"So the water doesn't hurt us when it gets here." She said. She hugged me strongly, and I could hear her begging to someone called God to save us. Her back was to the water, and it prevented me from feeling the pain of the impact. The plastic toys with air took us straight upwards, and we could breath again. Beneath us, I saw many people, their bodies washing away. Mother was hurt, she was bleeding, the water around us turning a reddish colour.
"Remember, mommy loves you." She said. With fumbling hands, she untied the scarf holding us together, although she kept the one with the beach toys securely around us. I could see her stomach then. There was a big cut there. I started to cry, I was dreadfully scared. I knew better than to ask if we were gonna die. It felt like a million years passed. Mother turned pale, and kissed me one last time, smiled at me... and then she let go of the scarf... and floated away, face down.
I screamed, and cried, there were others around us, they wanted my toys. I kicked them until they stopped. It was a miracle I kept them. Mother really had tightened the scarf well. My hands were becoming wrinkled, my feet too. The water started to hurt. It was boiling around me. I screamed, for a long time. My skin started peeling away, and a shiny light blue one appeared beneath. Scared, I rubbed it, wanting to go away, to swim back to my mother. But it only made my pale skin fall away faster. There was a pain in my neck, and gills appeared. When someone put me under to try to steal the floating toys, I realized I did not need to breath air anymore. I let the woman take the toys and I swam away. Others saw me, others that had just endured what happened to me. We created a group, and swam looking for more of us. Everyone who did not drown or was injured by the objects in the water turned.
It has been over a hundred years. Nobody has died since then and we have grown strong again. From seven billion people, only five hundred thousand survived. It was enough to keep us alive. From what we can tell, we can only have one baby every fifty years, but you are my first." I smiled at her, knowing she could never understand what life in the surface had been.
"Thank you for telling me the story, mom." Anaya said, hugging me. I held her back. In our mermaid forms, she'd be an adult in another twelve years, but for me, she was already old enough to know about the Turning. She swam to her father, who had listened with interest. He had been seventeen when the Turning occurred, a lot older than my 9 years old, but since we had met, a few years after the events, we had stayed together, first as friends, much later as lovers. He came closer and held me in his arms. It still bothered me, talking about the Turning. But as long as I had my family, it didn't matter if we were in the ocean or on dry land. | Something about the chemistry of life broke when we were created. So said the Elders, and so said their Book, and so therefore it must have been the truth. There was no other way for such a strange life form to exist, a thing with mammalian features in aquatic conditions, eyebrows and skin hair where gills mated with our limbs - but yet here stood we, a revolt against nature. A law unto ourselves.
For a very long time the puddle was all we ever knew. There had been, of course, people digging below the surface. Some said there were hidden deposits of precious metal, rivulets of gold and silver that sank immediately in the normal water. But of the surface world, not much was known. The sun came, traced its path across the sky, lit up the green water, and then sunk back on the other side, and then the night sky was as calm and as starry as it always had been.
If I try to write about my home colony - the only one I had seen with my own eyes - I run the risk of excluding the others. The puddle was as wide as it was deep, and there had been many tales of people from beyond the mountains, strange tadpole-like creatures that had lost their arms entirely and might not be entirely human. As a kid, I dismissed those legends as merely story, something to be dreamed of in the night and waved away come sunrise - but now that I was an adult I knew stranger things could happen.
So, this is the story of one colony then - my own, and how one particularly fine sunrise, we came to discover the hidden meanings in the indestructible plates.
---
The first time I saw the plates I couldn't read the engraving. All school students had to visit the museum. Few cared enough to pay any attention. But I had seen the plates alright, platinum and indestructible, unbreakable by any means we knew of. And it had given me the shudders then.
It was this memory that now floated to the surface when someone told me my presence was needed at the residence of the Grand Master of the Elders.
"I'll be right there," I said.
Half-swimming, half-crawling, I got the feeling that we were built to walk on two legs. Something about evolution had left us bowed, broken by the pool - something that touched the body but left the spirit unbroken. Through the foggy water I got to the Grand Master's house.
"Greetings," I said, bowing. The age-old gesture that evolved long before we were stuck in the puddle. "What is it you seek of me?"
"These plates," he got straight to it. "Have you ever wondered...what is written on them?"
I looked at the platinum plates once more, and suddenly I was the small boy in the museum again. A shudder ran down my spine. "No," I said. "I thought...it was indecipherable? A mystery lost to the ages?"
"It's not now," the Grand Master replied. "Let me tell you what it says."
I looked around, waiting for one of his many friends to float up and surprise me. When none came, I stuttered, laid one hand on the plates, and stammered, "But...why me?"
"Because you have tried this once before," he replied serenely.
I shuddered. The memory had nearly killed me, as I was sure it had killed many others before - Pirac the adventurer, perhaps, or Don the wanderer. Float too close to the surface, swim too high, and you might break the surface of the puddle, break through the heavy surface tension that held us all down here and kept the outside world out - and then you would die. Or so it had seemed.
"The skies, they were not green," I repeated with wonder. "They were orange."
He nodded and returned to the plates. "The plates have told me the truth. This puddle - this underwater world of ravines and hills - this was not all of it. We were put here."
"Put here?" I asked blankly. "By who?"
For the first time I saw the Grand Master struggle for words.
"There..." he said, waving his arms, pointing up to the surface as if reaching for the stars. "Spacemen," he finished. "Explorers from what they called Planet Earth. We are their descendants. We are their experiment. And you can see the evidence all around us, if you look - for example at your own fingertips."
I stared down. My hands had become dry and wrinkled - they always had been, since that accident, and they had never become wet ever since.
"These...the wrinkled fingertips, they are just the beginning of the transformation. We always leave the water too early. But we will leave the water soon - for we are starbound."
He spoke an alien tongue, but the tones were those of home.
"What do we do about that?"
The Grand Master smiled. "We will build such a spaceship too," he said. "It will be our great chance at escape - our surface shot. I have already assembled the crew and materials. But-"
"-it needs someone to command it?" I finished.
"Yes," he smiled. "Do you accept?"
For a long time I stared at my fingers.
"Yes," I finally replied. "It is destiny."
I looked up, at where the sun was starting to filter through the water, and decided that before too long I had to see it with mine own eyes.
---
r/KCcracker for more stories of the sort!
| 2016-12-05T10:07:46 | 2016-12-05T06:39:18 | 45 | 32 |
[WP] "Genetic Designer Babies" are commonplace, but parents only have so many "stat points" to allocate between your different physical and mental abilities. Your parents dumped all your stat points into one thing. | Surprisingly, it had never been done before. I'm talking of course about my stat distribution:
Speed-0
Strength-0
Sight-0
Longevity-0
Intelligence-0
Nicolas Cage Impersonation Skills-100
They call me Nicolas for a reason. When I was born I was plump and good looking if I should say so myself. Fortunately, Nicolas Cage Impersonation became a sport of which I always won. I also became so good at impersonating Nicolas Cage that I took his job and life.
I am Nicolas Cage. | The strange man is sitting across the table, looking at me. I was always told to be a good boy and look people in the eye. So that's what I do. Until something better comes along.
I'm sitting here in this big empty room, just waiting. They watch me, I watch them.
I'm starting to get bored.
My dad would often get mad. Or sad. Sometimes both. I never did understand it. After my mom died my dad sort of, drifted away. He was still there, physically. Did what he had to, but not much else. They say the last step of grief is acceptance. Well I think my dad might have tripped on that one. All he said during my stat ceremony was that he won't let me go through the same thing he did.
”Do you want some crayons?”
I don't know what these people want with me.
”Tell me about your favourite toy.”
I'm thinking about my dad. He really did his best. Not that it matters anymore. Sometimes I wonder how he saw this going. I guess even the best intentions can miss the goal. At least I won't miss him.
”Do you have any friends at school?”
My dad always told me that you shake a mans hand when you enter his house.
To bad he started to decompose after only four days. It made shaking his hand hard, even more so than him hangning from the ceiling fan.
”I do have some friends at school. They call me Apathetic Adam, I think it's because of my stats.” | 2016-12-13T14:40:13 | 2016-12-13T14:05:56 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] Scientists find a planet that is absolutely identical to Earth (same size, distance to the star, atmosphere, etc), but then they discover that there is absolutely no life on the planet despite the same conditions. | Commander Thad Johnsteel reentered the bridge of the Endeavor, humankind's first real starship. After the discovery of Identical, a planet with remarkable similarities to Earth, during an exploratory flyby it had become the target of the first interstellar mission. The wormhole generator drive had proven a success and the trip had taken less than a week.
"Well?" the technician still safely back at NASA asked him, just twenty minutes before the press conference would start, "Any surprises?"
"There is a civilization here," Thad said, shaking his head sadly as he broadcast his message back to Earth instantly through the plot and physics defying wormhole radio, "But they spend all their time in basements surfing their planets version of Reddit."
"So, what you're telling me is..." the technician asked as the reality set in.
"This planet has no life." Thad answered. | Five years after The James Webb telescope was launched and started scanning the skies , a technician at NASA discovered something very strange while processing data originating from a particular area in the constellation Cetus.
Word quickly spread inside NASA and for the next few months , James Webb was instructed to focus entirely all its power and time in peering harder and harder at that point in the sky approximately 220 light years away from Earth
Twenty years after this discovery,without much fanfare and under the utmost secrecy,the first nano probes launched from Earth. The budget for the Nano Programme had been put together by Presidential Executive order to escape outside scrutiny.
Each probe had a small sail that would catch a laser point of light from Earth and propel itself to nearly 50% the speed of light.
400 years later , the probes that had survived their long galactic journey reached their target.
By the time their first images could reach Earth , all the probes had been destroyed.
The images would show a watery blue green planet remarkably similar to Earth in size , orbiting a star at exactly the same distance from Earth's sun.
The foliage covering the planet was entirely similar to plants and trees found on Earth.
Land masses and water bodies were almost a copy in size and shape to those found back on Earth.
However,there was no sign of any other life form.
It was a perfect home.
With no one at home.
"Do you think destroying the probes was enough?
How much longer is this experiment going to continue? "
The one to which the question was addressed leaned forward pensively.
"No , I agree it's time.Our first prototype has served its purpose.
We have learnt from their mistakes and from their successes.
We must start over with the knowledge we have gained. Decommission the prototype and plan for the release of v2. "
Someone on Earth, looking up at the sky would have noticed something very strange,as one by one the stars began to wink out.
| 2017-02-23T07:45:19 | 2017-02-23T05:39:42 | 102 | 27 |
[WP] Jesus actually had 14 disciples but their behavior was deemed inappropriate by biblical scholars, so they were removed from the final versions of the Gospels. They are Brad and Chad, the Bro-ciples, and these are their stories.
Apostles... Dang it, I meant Apostles. | Brad 25 : 17
The path of the Bro is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of non-bros . Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the alley of darkness, for he is truly his bro's keeper and the finder of lost Bros . And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my bros. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you brah. | "Dude, I totally swear to God, my home boy Jesus fed 5,000 men with *nothing more* than seven loaves of bread and seven fish!", Brad explained, waving his arms around wildly as if it illustrate the extent of Jesus' feat.
"It was a total miracle! I swear to God!" Chad added, rumpling his goatee, and swirling his starry cape.
I sighed in exasperation.
"Do not take the name of thy Lord in vain", I mumbled under my voice.
But the sprawling crowd of sailors, and carpenters, and herdsmen, and washerwomen were lapping it up. I suppose Jesus was a pretty unconventional religious leader, right? He mixed with prostitutes. He went wandering off into the desert for months on end. He anointed us—his trusty disciples—in that sweet, sweet kanabos oil, and sent us off flying into the sky.
Until those sneering Roman bastards crucified him he was a pretty chill guy.
Maybe that's why Brad and Chad listened to Jesus when most everyone else was mocking him. Even me.
Still. I wish they wouldn't blaspheme so much. And they're taking the whole kanabos thing to a new level. Blazing up ounces and ounces of the stuff with Mary Magdalene and Simon Peter. John the Baptist used to get *pissed*. He told me the smoke gave him a ringing headache.
And heaven knows what they are trying to do in the Dead Sea with those wooden boards. They call it "surfing". A mighty waste of time.
I shook my head. I think I'll leave all of their antics out of my gospel. | 2017-02-25T10:27:38 | 2017-02-25T10:01:06 | 528 | 322 |
[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 :) | "What was that?" asked Jen. Just as I opened my mouth the ask what it sounded like I saw a figure slowly turn away from the window behind her. "I think there's someone outside" I replied. Visually shaken, she asked me if we should call the police. I responded with, "well they could just be passing by let's see what happens." After a few minutes the figure appears again, this time at the window next to the television. She screams.
Being a new relationship I know what I have to do. I get up, walk over to the window and lock eyes with the figure. It is wearing a blank mask with holes for the eyes, and mesh around the nose and mouth. It is so close, I can almost make out a perplexed expression on their face, surprised why I wasn't screaming or running out of the room. So I wave, and close the curtains.
At this point my girlfriend is petrified, with no color in her face. I calmly walk back to the couch, sit down and put my arm around her. "Sh-sh-should we call the cops?" she asked between shudders. "Eh, if you want to go ahead... But for now let's just finish this episode" I replied.
She called the police, and they arrived in less than 4 minutes. We heard a knock, followed by "STOP! HANDS UP! GET ON THE GROUND!" Jen jumped up and ran to the window. "They got him!" she exclaimed. "Cool," I replied without taking my eyes off the television.
A few minutes later one of the officers came to door to let us know they caught the tresspasser, making clear what they believed his intentions were.
"We caught this man jumping your fence as we arrived on scene. He had wire cutters, a large hunting knife, a semi automatic pistol, handcuffs, and rope." Jen gasped, realizing how close we were to becoming someone's play toys. The only think I could think of that I wanted to say was, "great work, thanks for your time." And walked back to the living room.
Jen stormed in behind me and started with the yelling. "I can't believe you aren't more grateful, they caught someone who wanted to kill us! Like in the horror movies!" Which is where I replied, "exactly, like the horror movies... Where the curious ones die first"
I sat down, grabbed the remote and pressed play. | "Another day another dollar," Bob Saget whispers to himself after a long night of shooting his latest motion picture: Horror Directly Following Late Night Movie Shoots.
"You be safe now! Don't want any sort of horror scenario happening to you on the way home!" chuckles the director.
"What the fuck did I tell you about talking to me after hours?" says Bob, agitated. He saunters off set and hops in his El Camino. As he's driving down the long empty road from the remote set, he catches a glimpse of movement in his rear view mirror. "Fucking great," says Bob, "another fan hiding in the bed of my vehicle. Every fucking time." He reaches in to the glove box and pulls out his .44 magnum. "Ya feeling lucky, punk?" Bob narrates as he jumps out of the coupe/utility pick up vehicle. He circles around the back.
"What the shit is this?" Says Bob, taken aback by the sight of a gorilla in the bed of his truck, bandaging a wound on his leg. Bob tucks the pistol in to the waist band of his favorite slacks.
"Bob, we need your help," said the gorilla, "My name is Luke, the very same from the Bible. The Anti Christ has arrived, and you are the only one that can save humanity."
"For fuck's sake," growls Bob, "why me? Why the fuck are you a gorilla? Why can't I have one goddamn day where I can get home and soak in my Jacuzzi without any sort of urgent distractions?"
"We saw how you handled raising your family in Full House," explains Luke, "Clearly you are capable of anything. First things first, let's get in to town!"
Bob groans. But he knew what to do. This was all part of that goddamn prophecy told to him by the John Stamos on the last day of shooting Full House. "Ok Ubuntu," says Bob, "stay back here and I'll get your leg fixed up, I know a guy."
"My name is Luke, the saint from the Bible," interjects Luke.
"Do you want my help or not? Stay back here Harambe," barked Bob as he jumps back in to the driver's seat. They start traveling.
Bob pulls in to a dilapidated house in the middle of nowhere and hops out of the vehicle. "Alright come on," he tells Luke, "go to the front door there, and be quick about it." Luke hobbles his way the front door.
"I must explain to you the situat-"
"Don't explain shit to me, just open the goddamn door and go in," says Bob, infuriated, "I don't have time to deal with this bullshit, I'm a busy man." Luke pushes the door open. A scene of carnage awaits. Dozens of animal corpses are scattered throughout the room. They all have a saintly glow.
"Matthew? Mark? John? This is worse than I thought, the massacre has already begun!" lamented Luke.
"No shit," says Bob. He whips out his hand cannon and blasts all 6 rounds in to Luke's body. A single tear drops from Luke's eye as he collapses, sad at the sight of his butchered friends, frustrated that he was fooled so easily.
Bob closes the door behind him and starts heading home. "I seriously gotta cool it with that peyote," he says to himself, driving in to the sunrise.
| 2017-05-05T07:38:18 | 2017-05-05T07:10:06 | 280 | 21 |
[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 :) | Wow. Great.
I'm standing in the middle of the woods, with just my pijamas on.
I have no idea how I got here. It's cold, I'm tired, and I just want to go to bed. The only problem is, that I live in the middle of a large city, in a place, where even the nights are warm and the air is soft.
Here it's so cold, that my breath forms tiny clouds, and the air stings in my lungs.
I must be far away then.
I can't hear a sound. Not one. If we were near a city, I'd hear cars.
But that's not the strangest part. I can't even hear a bird, or the wind in the leaves.
Everything is so quiet. It's actually kind of nice.
Living in a large family, surrounded by a city that never sleeps, I actually never experienced silence. So I just close my eyes and ignore the cold.
As I open them again, I am looking straight into a face. Well, half of a face, as the man's left side is ripped right off, and the poor guy has a permanent half smile, due to the missing skin of his cheek.
I was pretty confused, as I didn't hear the half smile guy's footsteps, so I wonder, if I went deaf, so I scream the loudest "HELLO?" I've ever screamed.
I'm not deaf, although my voice doesn't echo.
The misshapen man jumps and looks confused. "Arren't you scared?" He asked a in a slurrend manner, while I watched his saliva , not held back by his lips, spray in the moonlight.
"Why should I? It's pretty realxing, actually." I said, while stretching out my arm to give him a handshake. "I'm Sasha"
The other half of his face started smiling too, and he looked genuenly happy.
"I'm Joe! I've been living here for the past 20 years, or maybe 40, who knows. People just randomly appear here, and I try to welcome them, but they always run away from me, for some strange kind of reason. I later find them, with their face chewed off. Probably by the crawling people around here. They have pretty sharp teeth."
I just stand there and nod time to time. As he tells me about things, I'm sure he just desperately wanted to tell someone else for years.
What a interesting place. Joe seems nice. Just the crawling woman, with the angriest face I've ever seen, coming nearer and nearer behind him, is a little distracting.
(Sorry about the english, I'm swiss)
| The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:30:17 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 118 | 21 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :) | This carnival was shit. The clowns looked stupid, the animals were boring, and even the food was awful. I don’t like carnivals to begin with, even as a kid, but at least the food was always good. Hot and greasy, covered in sugar or butter. But this food was stale and rotten. Shit, just shit.
When my boyfriend, Matt, asked if I wanted to go, I had said sure. I only said sure because I could see the childlike excitement. He was ridiculous sometimes, and I often thought of breaking up with him. The only reason I didn’t would be because my mom would give me a hard time about being single. It was easier to put up with Matt being a little kid.
So here we are at the carnival. Well here *I* am now. Matt disappeared a while ago, yelling something about conspiracies and death clowns. Something stupid. I told you he was stupid. I just waved my hand and took a sip from my pop. Even the pop was disgusting, all thick and syrupy with no carbonation. It had a salty sweet taste to it, and when I complained about it, the vendor just smiled widely and laughed. Laughed! In my face! I flipped them the bird and walked off. They didn’t even include ice.
I wandered around, ignoring the grinning clowns with the worst make-up I had ever seen. They weren’t even trying. Just a thick glob of red paint around their mouths and clinging to their teeth. Ugh, gross.
I walked into a tent labeled: **THE WOMAN WITH TWO HEADS**.
“This had better be good.” I grumbled. It wasn’t. Just more shit. The woman was sitting on a stool in the center of the tent with several grinning clowns surrounding her. She was pretty, but her hair was greasy and unkempt. She couldn’t even wash her hair. Gross. The stool spun around and another face was revealed. It was shriveled and disgusting, a horrible paper mache mask. Its mouth opened and gave a moan.
“You’ll die here.” The mask croaked. I rolled my eyes. Even the animatronics were shit. I turned around and left.
A crowd of clowns were standing in front of the tent as I walked out, they’re bad make-up annoying me. I pushed past them, shoving my almost empty cup of thick red pop into an overflowing trash can as I did.
“This carnival sucks! Tell Matt to meet me at the car.” I yelled as I walked out to my beat up old car, the only one in the dreary lot. This carnival was shit.
| The bronze dagger scraped against the cement floor with rhythmic scratches, tuned to The Slasher's lopsided gait. A red grin cut across his mask, painted on until it hit the the cracked bottom quarter, where it spilled into a real lip-less smile.
The stage was set. The night, perfect. A full moon dangled in a cloudless sky, his spotlight trained on him. A brisk breeze blew south to north, a wind that could carry a scream all the way to the heavens itself. And his characters, they were some of the best he ever had. A twelve year old boy with glassy eyes and panting breath, scratching against the alley dead end. A fourteen year old girl huddled in a corner, her knee to her chest, as she stuttered in sobbing coughs. And of course, the hero. A boy of fifteen that stood trembling over his friends, a pocket knife in front of him quivering as much as his lips.
The alley dead end held the sour stench of garbage long since rotted. Insects scattered through the a black trash bags piled along the sides of the walls.
"And the hero reveals himself." The Slasher trembled in excitement, increasing the pace of his blade-against-cement metronome. He could hardly contain himself.
The hero swallowed and brought up his puny knife.
The Slasher's eyes bulged through his mask. His charred cheeks stretched and his mouth opened. A chuckle, like the sound of choking man, escaped his throat. This was the hero he had been looking for, a man to challenge monsters.
"So hero," he said between his laughs. "Your stage is ready. The damsel is in tears. The dam is equally helpless. Everyone is at the edge of their seats and even God is wondering--what does the hero do?"
The hero opened his mouth and swallowed breath. "Guys," he choked out. "Listen to me right now, when the time comes, make a break for it."
His two friends caught his eyes and stopped. It felt like time paused with them. The girl sniffed back tears and the boy shook his head in a sharp twitch. This was the power of the hero. Because in that instant, The Slasher no longer existed.
"No," the boy whispered. "We're a family."
"Like hell we are." The hero's muscles tensed and his knife straightened toward The Slasher. "Orphans have no family. We just happened to find each other when we needed to the most. It could've been anyone and it wouldn't have mattered."
"That's not true," the girl said with trembled words. "You know it's not."
The hero coughed out a cry and inhaled. "You fucking brats!" he screamed at them, startling them. "I needed someone to watch my back when I stole, I needed someone to distract the guards, I needed someone to hide the food when I stole it. You think it had to be you guys? It could've literally been anyone. I don't give a fuck about any of you!"
The Slasher's heart skipped a beat. The hero he had prayed for had arrived and his screams would be melody unlike anything a Beethoven or Bach could compose. A symphony for God Himself.
"Hero," he said, "How kind, how brave, how--"
His words caught because the hero charged him, the silver of his knife gleaming beneath the moonlight, the tears in his eyes glistening as it fell behind him.
The Slasher heaved laughter out of himself. The humor was like a spell, a beautiful and uncontrollable spell. He swung and cut the hero. No hero had ever won, no damsel or dam ever saved, and this would not be the exception. | 2017-05-05T07:15:00 | 2017-05-05T06:07:15 | 40 | 21 |
[WP] They reworked the justice system. Now, in each cell there is a piano, and convicts are released after performing a song perfectly. Lesser criminals are assigned simple melodies, while the worst get full concertos. You've been a concert pianist your whole life. | At first I robbed a grocery store and played my "Three Blind Mice"
And when I egged a blind man's house I made that Bach sound nice.
They started getting suspicious when I made my big score
I robbed a bank and breezed right through Sonata 24.
I stole, I lied, I fought, I killed, I lived a madman's dream.
By Canon in D and Clair de lune and Fur Elise redeemed.
But my last crime, I do regret- it ruined all my plans
The owner of the purse I stole made sure to break my hands | I had gotten drunk after the Beethoven piano sonata concert. I had had a miserable week. Anne had left me, one of my parents died. The cat ran off. I was broken. That’s what happens sometimes. I took a swing at cop. At least that’s what they told me and that’s what the video showed. I didn’t remember it.
I’ve been tossed into prison with the piano:just a low-end upright. I check the sheet music which shows what I must play to get released. “Heart and Soul:” wait, what? One of the simplest pieces known to music teachers. The sheet music reads like a child’s book to me. I pretty much can leave as soon as I want!
I plunked a few measure of it. Piece of cake. Suddenly, I realized that I could kick back and relax for a day or two. Let the pain fade away. Three meals. I can go into the yard. I might as well let this go.
I sat down at the piano: Moonlight sonata. One of the guards hears it. “What’re you doing? You don’t need to be playing that! Get to work on --” he shuffles through his paperwork. “Heart and Soul.” I smile to myself: Nope.
I’ll do it on Saturday. Three or four days where I can be away from the pain life has dealt me, even behind bars, will do me good. I fall down on the cot. The guard is still there: I look up at him. “I’ll practice later. I need the rest.” | 2017-05-17T23:42:52 | 2017-05-17T23:40:36 | 2,153 | 52 |
[WP] You have a guardian-demon. Unlike his angelic counterparts, his methods are more straightforward and brutal, but infinitely more effective. He really wants to see you succeed | It was at its worst when I was little.
It would start with small things. Coincidences. Things you couldn't possibly blame on a kid. I didn't get invited to the cool kid's birthday party, and his party was cancelled when his entire family got the stomach flu. The mean girl in class laughed at the dorky haircut my mom made me get, and she somehow got gum stuck in her hair during lunch.
Actually, it was the gum that started it. The stigma. When Cindy showed up for school the next day sporting hair only slightly longer than a buzz-cut, I couldn't help but laugh. Cindy, of course, ran crying to the teacher, insisting that it must have been my fault. That she saw me chewing gum.
The teacher shooed her away - I was a good kid, really, and Cindy's story was hardly credible, given that I had a mouthful of braces at the time and wouldn't be caught dead chewing gum - but it didn't matter. Cindy was popular. She had pre-teen hierarchy. She had the authority to sic her followers on me.
So that was where it started. A kid would try to trip me in the hallway, and somehow they'd end up hitting the ground instead with a mouthful of blood. A kid would try to break into my locker, only to find that their own stuff had mysteriously disappeared from their own locker.
It became too much for my teachers to ignore. I was labeled 'troubled'. Letters got sent home. Parent teacher conferences were arranged.
"Samantha is a good student, but..."
"Samantha seems to be having trouble with her classmates..."
"Is everything okay at home?"
My parents wanted desperately to believe me. They never once accused me of doing the things that people thought I did. They would ask me, of course - in hushed tones, with hands clutched at their chests - but they accepted my protests with loving nods and weak smiles. It was only at night when they thought I was asleep that I heard the murmurs of 'therapy' and 'medication' passed between them.
So I knew that telling them about Azel would just make things worse.
"People call me 'Carrie', now, you know," I told him one night. It had been a particularly bad day: someone had called me a freak after I'd accidentally spilled some of my food on my lap during lunch. They'd ended up falling down immediately after, their entire tray of food landing perfectly on their head.
"I don't get the reference," he said - but I heard the amusement in his voice. As there always was.
Azel had made himself known to me shortly after I turned fourteen. Things were *bad* - the worst they'd been - and a brief flicker of *suicide* had crossed my mind. And just like that, there he was.
"I'm supposed to be helping you!" he'd said in panic. His eyes were kind, red and beady as they were. "This isn't easy, you know!"
I knew he was trying. I knew that he wanted to help me. That the kids I knew were all miserable people to start with.
Really, Azel was the best friend I could have asked for. Even if it was his fault that I was a pariah.
"Don't you ever think about taking a different approach? I feel like your early work was better. Far more subtle, anyway."
"Where would the fun be in that? Tell me you didn't love seeing Karen's face covered in grey mashed potatoes."
I couldn't help smiling. "It's not that, it's just - sometimes you have to pretend, you know? Pretend to be normal."
"And where would the fun be in that," he repeated.
And in the dark, with my only friend - the only person looking out for me - I couldn't help but feel that he was right.
| The tailor stepped a foot back from me an eyed his work, looking for any imperfections. A ritual at best - there were no imperfections when it came to him, and that's why *I* came to him. I turned to look in the mirror to give my own appraisal.
The suit was fitted, streamlined to emphasize the shape of my body. Any musculature I had was hinted at, subtly restrained by the deep navy blue wool that enveloped me. Posture would show more, but the suit was a solid foundation to work with.
Weaker men say the suit makes the man. I say the suit serves him.
I pulled out a check and handed it to the tailor. Blank. I'd do well to keep him satisfied for his work, now and in the future. With a nod, he tucked it away into his pocket. Carefully wrapping up his tape, he made a small gesture towards the far wall. Barely noticeable, for those who weren't looking for it.
On the far wall was an assortment of mannequins, all sporting various suits and vests. In particular, one wore a very eye catching vest and pocketwatch combination. I leaned in closer to examine the watch.
Solid gold, a small diamond embedded in the release. Quite the show piece, to be left in the open. But the tailor's clientele were not the sort of men to take advantage of that. I reached my hand out and pressed the release.
A door to the right of me clicked, the sound resounding in the quiet room. Noiselessly, the door itself swung open, inviting me into a dim, narrow stairwell. As I made my way down, the door closed behind me, the lock reengaging.
At the bottom of the stairs was a large room. Dark walnut flooring covered the room, matching the paneling of the full bar that lined the wall to my right. In the center of the room was a long mahogany table, with a single throne on either side. The only lighting in the room was a marvelous glass chandelier, each piece of glass glittering from the light of the others.
I walked across the room and sat myself in the throne at the far end, waiting. Punctuality was one of my principles, one that seemed lacking in others.
I heard the door click.
A procession of men made their way down the stairs. Old men of power, who hadn't had to flex themselves in decades. The heads of every family in the city, the ones who called this meeting. The first one down the stairs noticed me, a scowl appearing on his face.
"That seat is for us, boy," he said. Customarily, the initiator would sit on the far end. But not today. I flashed a smile, gesturing the men to the seat in front of them.
Grumbling, the men flailed about for a moment, before seating one of the older ones in the chair, the rest clustering around the table. Behind them, an entourage of their lieutenants shuffle in, filling up nearly three quarters of the room, leaving the space by me empty.
As the crowd settles, the man at the other end of the table clears his throat.
"You know why we called you here, do you not?" he asked. I smiled again, my lips closed. The man waited a moment for a response before continuing. "Leave the city. This is your only warning."
I sat quietly, tapping my finger against the table. A show, to make it look as if I was thinking of a response. As if there was any thought necessary. With each tap, I could see the irritation on the men's faces, their frowns deepening. Some of the lieutenants began to fidget, looking towards the door as if I was stalling for time.
"No," I said finally, "I don't think I will leave." The man sighed, then gestured to the crowd. Within seconds, many had their pieces pointed at me.
"Then you will not leave here at all," he said, getting up from his chair and turning towards the stairs. The laugh I made, however, startled him, and he turned back to face me.
"I was just about to say the same thing," I said, tapping on the table one last time. The sound echoed through the room, dying out in the darkness that began to form behind me. I couldn't see it, but I could smell the sulfur, taste the ash on my tongue. Embers flicked by me, catching threads on the groups well worn suits, while leaving mine unscathed.
The group froze in horror, their eyes fixed behind me. With a snap of my fingers, the men at the end of the table began to smolder, the flames consuming them contained within their skin, their bodies now furnaces. As they collapsed, the lieutenants fired their weapons, the bullets disintegrating in the air around me.
Their magazines empty, the room became silent. I cleared my throat, leaning forward in my throne, my shoulders straining against my jacket.
"You all serve me now," I said. None of them disagreed. | 2017-06-02T13:16:55 | 2017-06-02T12:37:23 | 96 | 22 |
[WP]You are the RPG Hero. Your constant farming for money destroyed the economy before the Demon King had a chance to destroy the world. | "Krep!" He roared. The goblin came scurrying, bowing and scraping before the Demon King.
"Oh, yes, sir. What can I do for your Evilness today?"
"I need a status update. Where are our armies? What news of the kingdom?" The king purred, one hand resting easily on the axe across his knees. The goblin, already naturally green, paled to a sickening shade of grey.
"Uh...Well you see, sir...I mean, that is-"
"Stop your babbling!" The king roared, slamming his other hand into the armrest of his throne. Krep jumped, burying his head in his arms, before taking a deep breath.
"Sir...I'm afraid our scouts report that Vilentia is burning."
The Demon King's eyes widened marginally.
"Did the forward unit attack? I don't recall giving them the order." His fingers paused in their tapping, tightening around the axe hilt. Krep shook his head hurridly.
"Well...no. Our armies didn't attack. They're still waiting at the rendevouz point."
The Demon king sat upright, leaning forward.
"What, then?! What stole my victory from me?"
Krep grinned awkwardly.
"Well...We're not exactly sure what happened, but..."
---
*Vilentia, 6 months prior*
It was a brilliant sunny day. The sound of whistling echoed over the fields, as the Hero sauntered down the road leading into town. One hand still held his sword, oddly clean considering he'd been *working* all day, while the other clutched a sack slung over one shoulder.
The townsfolk by and large ignored him as he entered town, going about their normal daily routines with mechanical precision. That was all right. He had heard what they had to say, anyway. He marched straight through town to the general shop, sliding the sack from his shoulder with a heavy *thud*.
"Hey, old man!" The Hero called, pulling the shopkeeper out of his afternoon snooze. The man startled awake, then frowned at the young fellow leaning on his counter.
"Oh. It's you. What do you want?"
"Oh, you know. More of the same. I'm here to sell!"
The shopkeeper scowled deeply, starting to turn him away, but the Hero had already begun. From the sack emerged pile after pile of goods from the forest - eggs from the rocs, meat from the wolves and boars, leathers made from their hides. He pulled forth lumber cut from the trees, and herbs gathered from the groves.
Truthfully, it was far more than a single sack could ever hope to carry. The shopkeeper had never truly understood it, but somehow he felt dutybound to continue paying the young fellow for every load of goods he brought. All at the same rate.
In his mind, he knew something was wrong. As he purchased enough stock to keep the village running all year, he thought about the money chest running ominously low in his quarters. Every day, it was the same. The young man would come, offload all of his goods, and he would buy it. All of it. Even the broken items, or the spoiled meat. He simply handed over his money, and the young man left.
He hoped the young man left, and never brought his goods to sale ever again.
---
*Vilentia, five months later*
The streets were packed with yelling, screaming villagers. They marched up the road to the mayor's dwelling, pitchforks in hand.
No one really understood how it had happened. The first to go were the craftsmen, the woodsmen and the tanners. They had brought their goods to market dutifully, every weekend as they always had. But something had changed. They brought their goods, but found that the lumber piles around the village were stocke heavily, and new leathers hung from every rafter. The shopkeeper from the village had simply turned red, and refused to buy *anything*. Over and over, they repeated this.
So they left. The woodsmen and the tanners, the crafstmen and whoever could go with them, quietly packed their goods, what they had left, and departed for better lands.
The farmers and the herdsmen were the next to go under.
They had seen the writing on the wall, but had no way of avoiding the fate that was coming. They, too, had been suffering in their sales, but had been able to survive for a time. They could eat their crops, and their animals. But when the time came to purchase the next season's seed, to buy the feed for their animals and new chicks and calves for the herd, they had nothing left. And so little by little, they careened down the path to ruin.
Now, they were in the streets. They didn't know how this happened, but it was clear that it was the fault of their leadership. There was no logical *reason* that their village should have failed! This glut of goods had seemed to come from nowhere, and someone needed to take responsibility.
The shopkeeper kept his quiet, and locked his doors. He remembered the young man, who had delivered load after load of goods to his door.
And miles upon miles away, the Hero sauntered onwards, a sword in his hand and a sack on his shoulder, towards the next town. He had moved up in the world, thanks to the flashy new blade in his hand. And he should - he had farmed and toiled many long hours to be able to afford it at auction.
It was time to move to a village more on his level.
Behind him, the first tendrils of smoke rose over the mayor's home.
(/r/inorai) | "Inflation rates are higher than ever, our currency is the weakest it's been since its inception, and our national debt has escalated to the point where it'd just be better to start defaulting on all of our loans and declare war on.... well, let's see who we've actually borrowed from: The Thurians, Nerlawn, Farlow, Tri- you know what, fuck it, we'd be declaring war on the world. We basically own money to everyone." The council of Governors all nodded amongst themselves, low murmurs filling the room as the introductory speaker took his place after having done his speech.
Aurelius, self-titled Hero by day, economy-destroyer by night, let out a loud sigh, making sure that it was known to everybody in the room how bored he was of their vapid talk of economics.
The Chair, a rotund man by the name of Larus, slammed his gavel down, causing everyone to jolt to attention.
"I'm oh so glad to see our impending *ruin* hasn't left a bad taste in the mouth of everyone. It seems some of us have the liberty of not caring." He flashed a glare at Aurelius that, on any other face, would've meant death. On Larus', however, it gave the impression of a tomato trying to intimidate someone.
Aurelius tried to suppress a laugh at the sight, and promptly failed.
Flaring with anger, Larus proceeded to continuously punch his gavel into the table for the better part of ten seconds, splintering the table as he screamed for silence. When Aurelius was done, Larus shakily set his gavel down, undoing his top button to give himself some breathing room.
"*That aside*... I do believe we have a solution for the situation. So if everyone...." he stressed the last word, his gaze focused solely on Aurelius,"...could just quieten down and show some respect. We have a visitor who might have our much needed ultimatum." Larus motioned to a man at the door, who, in turn, pulled out a piece of paper from his cloak.
Clearing his throat, the man announced, "Esteemed nobles and heroes, today we have the honour of housing the Lord of the 5th Circle of Hell, The Covetous, The Insatiable, Harbinger of Gold, The Pestilent One, The Arbiter of Greed, Lord of Sin, The Avaricious, The Devour-"
"We get the point, Percible."
"Introducing, Grell Archimedes!"
The room erupted - or rather, mildly belched - in applause, Aurelius' face paling as an all-too familiar figure strode into the room.
Grell, in an all black vestment with golden embroidery, bared his teeth at the room. His crimson skin practically glowed in the dim light, as did his blazing red eyes.
His mellifluous tone seemed to command an instant degree of respect as everyone fell silent to hear him talk, tempting words effortlessly pouring out of his mouth as if his very breath was a toxin designed to enchant and captivate. For all they could've known, he could've been saying anything - perhaps about how he'd spent a night with Larus' daughter a few days back - and they wouldn't have cared in the slightest.
"Gentleman, gentleman. Aurelius. I am here with a proposition that I assure you, I *assure* you, will force you out of this most hideous of recessions. All it requires on your part is some humility, and possibly a soul or two." Grell waited for a moment to let the threat settle, before his grin somehow spread even wider than it already was. "I'm just joking about the souls; that's just a stereotype. Some of us demons aren't so regressive."
"So, Grell, what is your proposition?" said a sweaty Larus.
"Oh, it's simple. It just requires a helping hand from our dear Aurelius. Or rather, a helping body."
Aurelius snapped forward in his seat. "*What?*"
"It's simple. We sell the Hero to pay off your debt. Probably to his myriad of enemies in Hell. I assure you, where I come from, there is no shortage of gold to pay off your debt with."
"B-but, what about our inflation?"
"Simple. Give us Aurelius, and we'll send an entire workforce for you to employ. Their efforts will help to drive down your costs and prices. And if that fails, we'll just have a culling of your numbers. Ok, I was just joking about that one but - believe it or not - that shit does work."
Aurelius shook his head firmly, jabbing a finger at Grell. "Lies! Deceit! Slander! You're a snake, Grell, and you'll eat just about anyone in your path if it means bloating your riches and ego. Who would trust you?"
Larus, practically panting at this point, waved a derisive hand at Aurelius to shut him up. "Hush, hush. Listen to the man, for he speaks some degree of truth."
Grell bowed low, "Why, thank you. As I said before, all we ask for is Aurelius."
Larus took a moment, leaning back into his chair and scratching at his beard. "I'll have to consult with my fellow members."
A chorus of nods and mumbled 'Yehs' of agreement followed, and Grell nodded his head at the response. It was a start.
"Very well," he said, turning on his feet and beginning to leave the room. "Just be sure that when you bring Aurelius to us, which I know you will, he's bound and gagged."
No sooner than when Grell had left the room did every pair of eyes in it turn to Aurelius. The Hero shrunk back under the oppressive collective, suddenly feeling very meek as they advanced towards him.
"For the greater good, Aurelius," Larus said from his desk.
"That's right - you'll save our country. You'll still be a hero... just in a less conventional manner," chimed in another Minister from the back of the room.
"And what if I say no?" Aurelius retorted uncertainly.
"You'll be arrested under charges of treason."
"If I say yes?"
"You'll be handed over to the demons, as was agreed."
Aurelius sighed, "You mean you're not debating over this even a bit? Not even a smidgen of deliberation?"
Larus paused for a moment, looking to his advisors around the room to ensure that the room had a mutual disposition. "Nope. Now hands up, we've got to make you look presentable."
----
/r/coffeeandwriting
*As a side note, please excuse my loose use of economics and the terms. I'm not really that proficient in it, so I was kinda winging it!* | 2017-07-11T10:55:41 | 2017-07-11T10:36:47 | 104 | 20 |
[WP] You're the only actual normal student in a school full of anime protagonists/supernatural beings. Everyone else is firmly convinced that you're hiding something. | "Yasha?"
"Present!"
"Sotoro?"
"Here!"
"John?"
Everyone turned to the empty chair... John's never been absent. He never cut class, never cheated on exams, ignored all of the conflicts surrounding the school... but there he wasn't.
"John can turn invisible!" Ren yelled. "Pay up Yash."
As Yasha reached through his personal wormhole for his wallet, Asuka waved her hand over John's seat. "Wait... no... he's just not here..."
Yasha pulled his hand back through with no wallet in tow. "Ren, you can find people, right? Isn't that, like your thing?"
"Yeah, I just needed that cash to finish my kunai collection. But this doesn't mean he can't turn invisible! He's just not now. One sec..."
Ren waved his hands around to "channel" his energy. This wasn't necessary, Ren just liked the extra attention.
"So... where is he?"
"Yeah, is he revealing his power to someone?"
"I bet he can fly!"
"That's too simple. He's probably got a colony of ants or something he can control."
"My money's on him turning invisible."
"That's Ren's bet, pick another."
Asuka silenced the whole class with a tap of her scimitar-staff, releasing its usual blinding light and deafening sound. "Shut up! Ren, please..."
"He's sick, just at home writing..."
"Alright class, if we're all settled, let's start the actual lesson. Today we're discussing-"
"What do you think he's writing about?" Yasha blurted. "Whoops, out loud. Sorry..."
"Ren! What's he writing? I'd like to get this class back on track."
Everyone turned to Ren this time.
"He's writing, 'Everyone turned to Ren this time,' or something like that."
"What?"
"He's writing, 'Everyone turned to Ren this time,' or something like that."
"What?"
"He's writing, 'Everyone turned to Ren this time,' or something like that."
"What?" | I squeezed through the ridiculous wrought iron gates of Imadine Academy, trying to avoid the crush of girls waiting for Sidhara. A white and blue mecha touched down heavily in the courtyard in front of me, a new gash in the chasis. Reinhart popped the hatch and lept to the ground, looking around to see if anyone saw his entrance.
"Hey, Miko, guess who I just defeated?" He asked, throwing an arm around me and sliding off his goggles.
"Any sense of decency?" I retorted, sliding away from his grasp.
"Ah hah! Got you pegged!" The mech pilot called out behind me. "You're my tsundere!"
I shuddered at the thought. *Absolutely not*.
I almost made it safely to my lockers only to be tackled by Shika, her long red hair covering my face, but not blocking out the unmistakable sound of blasters. Her chainmail armour dug uncomfortably into my skin. A man's voice called out some stupid battle cry, and the blasters quieted. Shika rolled off of me and helped me to my feet.
"We got teleported onboard a spaceship," one of the younger kids I didn't recognize announced, wiping yellow blood from his chin.
"Yoshima, aren't these your guys?" Shika asked, kicking a detached insect limb.
The blonde scowled, puffing out her chest to display the medals on her tan uniform. "I'm a TANK commander," she scoffed.
"Actually, it was me. Sorry about that guys, but I thought you'd have a few minutes before first period for a cross over." Iwao's face flickered on a monitor as he addressed us. He was a ludicrously handsome man, in his final year of high school. "Not gonna lie, we're in a pretty tight spot, I could only grab you four." He looked over his shoulder, and the transmission ended abruptly.
"Vampire, with me!" Yoshima ordered, pulling an oversized machine gun out of mid-air and balancing it effortlessly in one hand. They took off around the corner, leaving me with the over-intense warrior princess.
"Uh, so I don't really have any -"
Shika shushed me, pressing me into a wall with her hand over my mouth. She waited, absolutely still, until even I could hear the clicking of chitenous feet behind her. She pushed off of me with a silent grace, doing a slow motion backflip as she beheaded two insect/aliens in mid air. It was so beautiful that it almost wasn't gross. She tossed me one of their organic blasters.
"Cover me."
She took off atound the corner, long red hair trailing behind her like a banner. I peered around the corner, but it was a confusing mess of plasma bolts and slash marks hanging in the air. There was a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to face the bampire. This time, both his eyes and the blood on his chin were red.
"Uh, Shika?" | 2017-09-21T07:17:35 | 2017-09-21T06:00:37 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You're on a hiking trip alone in the woods, when you find a glass bottle. In the bottle, a note. "I'm trapped 3000 years in the past! There is a time machine located in the rock to your left. Help!" | *3000 years* I mused to myself. *Did they even have toilets back then?*
I knew that some ancient cultures had developed plumbing and knew the basics of irrigation and sewage management, but we were living in the Golden Age of toilet comfort goddammit and it was not something I was willing to give up on so easily.
Sensing the urgency in the note, I quickly pulled out my phone and googled the essential questions: *When was toilet paper made? When was 3-ply first commonly used in production?*
Armed with these answers, and an increasingly growing sense of purpose in my gut and bladder - I set the clock on the device, changing it from 3000 years to 30 years, smiling in the knowledge that I would once again experience the superior flushing that came with high water cisterns and flushers dangling from high chains. | I felt a chill as I read the note. It was my own goddamn handwriting! And sure enough I could see a large boulder to my left, peeking through the trees.
I scratched my head and started walking. "Curiosity killed the cat..." I thought to myself, as I made my way towards the boulder. Suddenly I felt dizzy. I swear I could see myself walking in front of me, many many myselves actually, identical in every way but still unique on their own right. What felt like my own thoughts, but which I knew were not my own, started echoing in my head. "I hadn't divorced Sue and wanted to go back to the camp now". "Sue met a guy at work and left me, might as well try that boulder, who cares what's there". "I had a car accident two years ago and broke my left leg, and now it hurts too much to walk on it". And on and on. But I knew for sure I hadn't had any accidents two years ago? And who is Sue?
As I staggered on something didn't feel right. Suddenly the air smelled like smoke, with faint wiffs of burning meat. I glanced back at the camp, froze for a moment and gripped the glass bottle with the message tightly in my hand.
Then I ran back to where I found it as fast as I could. Men wearing what looked like deerskin jerkins were already running toward me, waving spears and bows, shouting something to each other. More people stood at the camp and watched, only now the camp was all teepees, some with smoke coming through the top, instead of wooden cabins. Something told me I should probably hurry with the message.
Then I tripped on a spear that suddenly materialized on the ground in front of me. I watched as the glass bottle with the message flew up from my hand and landed in that familiar spot at that familiar looking tree. | 2017-10-08T02:05:06 | 2017-10-08T01:47:25 | 54 | 31 |
[WP] You were born into a society where permanent augmented reality contact lenses are fused onto every newborn's eyes. You're unaware of this until one day, a lens falls into your left hand. | I had sneezed with my eyes open. I heard the stories, of people losing their eyeballs or having their brains pop out through their eye sockets. I knew it was all bull crap though. But now I look down as half of my right eyeball came off and landed in my tissue. I was stunned in horror. Finally my thinking caught up with me and I could still see out of my right eye, no damage done. I had no idea what I was looking at. I quickly pocketed whatever it was, and continued on my way.
The conflicting scene made my eyes water immediately. My left eye was seeing the world as it is, a bright blue sky with the sun shining down. Green grass next to the white sidewalk. Bright and beautiful buildings turned the skyline into a wonderful kaleidoscope. My right eye, the damaged one, saw only grey and cracked walkways, a smog filled sky and dirty grey buildings of blandness. I blinked my eyes to clear the confusion to no avail. Winking one eye at a time revealed that I was seeing two distinct realities. I had to get home quickly.
I closed the door behind me as I entered my flat. Finally my eyes could slightly agree on what they could see, a simple, utilitarian studio apartment. My right eye saw the curtains were grey instead of red, and my bed cover was also grey instead of blue, but at least everything looked roughly the same. I headed for my bathroom.
I unwrapped the eyeball piece from the tissue and held it up to the light to get a better look at it. When peering closely, I could almost make out a tiny visual feed being projected from the centre. When I spin it around, the dark-blue cells of a solar panel replace the white eyeball I'm used to. It looks almost robotic. I glace at the mirror and almost freak out. My left eye sees my face as normal, but my right eye sees me as gaunt and pale. The most noticeable difference is my eyes, the left is blue and metallic, the right is white and bloodshot. I decide to take a chance. I raise my finger to touch my left eyeball, and it contacts with whatever is covering it. How long has it been here? I had no idea. My eyes always looked normal to me.
I take a much closer look at the video feed coming from the removed lens. I can see a picture of what it's aimed at, but altered. It's more vibrant than what I'm actually seeing with my naked eye, better, brighter.
I look at the mirror again. My left eye looks wrong, metallic and white overlaid together at the same time. I need to get the lens out. With a bit of time, effort and painful eye-rolling I finally manage to pry the lens off my left eye as well. I feel better immediately. My apartment might be small and dingy, but at least I can see what it's really like.
I hear a small beeping noise come from the left lens. I lift it back up to my eye and see a very blurry message:
"Error. Enviroenhancement Lens Damaged. Please stand by as agents will be deployed to help immediately."
Agents? Enviroenhancement? What was this? The sound of agents coming to help didn't sound appealing at all. I quickly leave my apartment. I need to go somewhere safer.
As I exit my apartment building I'm struck by just how dark it is outside. Heavy clouds hang overhead. I think back, and I don't remember clouds being this thick or heavy. Even on the darkest winter day I could still see well. Ah, another trick of the lenses. I turn and head towards the subway. It's fairly crowded on the street, and moving through the crowd requires bumping into people. Not unusual for New Los Angeles.
I turn to cross the street and bump into an unassuming man in a hat and business suit. I pause and stare at him, as he's standing in the exact spot a large tree has stood for every day of my morning commute. He's staring back at me. I apologise and quickly head across the street. The man calls back.
"Hey! Can you see me?"
Oh shit, he must be one of the agents.
"He's running. He can see me! Agent five eighty two found the suspect, following to apprehend."
I look back, and he's talking into a cuff microphone. I swear quietly to myself and break into a sprint. | Disclaimer: this isn't exactly my style of writing, this is more thoughts spewed in to my notes in an informal manner, but it's a script idea I wrote about a year ago that oddly matches this idea. I'll rework the writing if people want when I have some time.
Everyone is required to wear specialized contacts and hearing aids by law, the official reason being "To minimize the time it takes to inform the general public of threats to their well-being such as Amber Alerts and weather warnings." That being said, most companies have taken to buying ad space on your augmented reality. They blast you day and night with their products anywhere and everywhere. For example: You fold laundry and a detergent pops up on your washer showing you the shirt you just pulled out and how much whiter it could be if you used their product. But it's not all bad. You can set your own background music, you can make coffee have artificial steam lines appear. If someone swears, you can automatically bleep it out and "#%*?" will appear over their mouth. What you don't know is that the government is using augmented reality to blind you to things they don't want you to see. Pollution is getting out of control, but they color your skies blue and turn your water clear instead of brown. Crime rates have gone up, but instead of seeing a burglar shoot a man in the street, you see him fall over from a heart attack - a tragic accident. No one knows of this of course, because everyone has their contacts and hearing aids surgically implanted - and its illegal to tamper or remove them. Then one day, Mr. Protagonist gets hit by a jolt of electricity from a power line snapping. His left contact goes offline briefly, then reboots in safe mode. Since its online, no alert is triggered that he's breaking the law, but he sees the world for what it really is. He starts thinking he's going crazy. He runs into traffic and out of the corner of his right eye he sees a bus coming, so he looks, but with his left eye, he sees a god damn tank rolling down the street. What he realizes in a short time is that there is a war going on between a militia and the government in an attempt to turn augmentation off. The innocent bystanders are literally cattle walking the streets while the armies fight around them. They have no clue it's happening, and the only way he can survive is to pretend he sees none of it. He meets people in the militia and has secret conversations with them while talking to other people wherever he is. He learns he can disrupt everyone's augmentation and reboot them in safe mode if he can get access to the HQ of the company running the software. He applies for a job there and gets an interview. He goes in and in one eye sees sandbags lined up with men with guns squatting behind them. In the other eye, it's a front desk with two clerks sitting and waiting. They direct him up the stairs. In reality he is told to fuck off, in augmentation they say "Up the stairs to your left." He goes into the interview which is actually an interrogation. In augmented reality they are asking about his work history. In reality they are demanding he tells them where the militia is hiding. He was prepared for this though and knows its standard procedure. If they see him wince or show sign of worry, they shoot immediately. So he just responds to the interview questions like normal and is told he can start tomorrow. When he shows up the next day, he realizes his job as a security guard is actually a job as a security guard. But in augmented what looks like a taser is actually a real gun. In a horrid scene, he is actually forced to "incapacitate" a robber. He tases them in the leg (knowing he's actually shooting a member of the militia) and he hits a main artery and they bleed out almost instantly. After that, they find out he is in reality and chase him down. He crawls through air ducts to get away and since he is somewhere the contacts don't recognize, they reboot and both come back online. Now he is fighting to find this main computer crawling around in ducts looking for something he can't even see, and avoiding enemies he can't hear. Eventually, the movie ends with him blowing the computer up, and everyone's augmented reality gets shut off for 5 seconds before a backup computer" brought it online again. The rest is a narrator explaining that "in the following months, the government tried to quell the online talk of the 'world wide hallucinations' but the general public wouldn't have it. Eventually people started ripping out their implants forcibly and seeing the truth. The ones that survived the self-mutilation crafted devices to disrupt the signal for others. The militia gained momentum thanks to this and eventually toppled the government. Augmented reality was banned, although most people kept their implants in, as taking them out was quite risky. The world was being rebuilt and brought back to normal."
Then, the last few scenes is looking at the world from people's perspective and all of a sudden everyone seeing "reboot in process... download complete. Launching program." in the top right corner of their field of vision. And the cameras fade out and in to an ship orbiting earth with one of their screens showing a download bar complete with unknown letters below it and the subtitles translating it: "Planetary Self-Genocide" Program Download Complete. | 2017-12-17T19:21:27 | 2017-12-17T18:38:42 | 751 | 83 |
[WP] Overnight, 99.9% of humans are rendered unable to tell lies. You, being part of the .1%, have avoided the ruthless persecution that liars faced in the wake of this event... so far. | I'm an unlikely hero.
It hasn't been explained. It probably never will be. One day, no one could lie anymore - well, almost nobody.
You'd think, with all the truth coming out, things would have gotten messy, right? Cheaters getting kicked to the curb by their spouses, thieving employees getting fired. Some of this happened, not as much as I would have thought. See, if the HR manual said an employee would be fired, they were. But there's no rule that cheaters get divorced.
It's a funny thing: no one can lie, even to themselves. But, it turns out, imagining things is basically lying. No one can imagine a change in their circumstances. It's not that no one can make a decision, but boy do they need guidance.
I'm one of the last, the 0.1% of the population who can still lie - who can still imagine. We're heroes to a population starved for art, and entertainment. And I'm a hero to the other heroes. I was never very creative, I can't paint, I can't write a movie, or act convincingly. But I had experience writing legislation, writing rules.
The truth tellers need us, but they don't trust us. We keep society moving forward, but we have to do it from the shadows. We're not hunted though. Like I said, the truth tellers need guidance, so I wrote Truth Era Revised Code, our new set of laws. More importantly, I wrote Chapter 1, Section 1: "Don't ask if a person can lie" | Most of us didn't last long.
A close friend of mine was killed, for cheating on his wife, simply because he was able to lie.
I, however, have done pretty well. My entire identity was based on a lie before the night that truth became a necessity for most.
It was funny for me actually, the woman I was talking to stopped mid-sentence as she described her career as a pro bono lawyer, unemployed and planning to poison a wealthy bachelor was more accurate.
However, as a professional con-man, my career changed drastically.
It used to be that identities could be crafted and then thrown away within a few hours. Now, you have the bonus that everyone trusts you, but logical inconsistencies become very difficult to manage when you have such an extensive and realistic alias.
I learned this the hard way. All that I can say in hindsight is "thank God for plastic surgery," my face was everywhere within minutes, as the most advanced Ponzi scheme ever suddenly collapsed.
Everyone I know now is unable to tell a lie, not in writing, not in speech, it is impossible for them.
At the moment you're talking to Micheal Bergerson. My colleagues all talk to a Tom Andrews. Tom Andrews, is an executive at a major tech company by day, by night he is an expert in emptying pockets and crafting debts for the
mob.
Oh, and he also empties the bank accounts of that tech company and hands off its research to a J. S. Spencer, who just so happens to be a mathematician, or rather, pretending to be a mathematician. He actually uses the AI technology given by Tom Andrews to automatically generate proofs for mathematical problems, notably those with large cash prizes.
Micheal Bergerson isn't the name that I was born with either, but my birth identity is both officially and metaphorically deceased.
Over the years I've gained an excellent ability to read people, I can tell what you think. Yet, you seem to be writing different things in that notebook of yours. Hell, I know for a fact that you prescribed stimulants to someone who definitely did not have ADHD, and you know that too.
It's funny, I'm a stimulation seeker and, currently, I'm taking a huge risk.
Telling the truth.
It's exciting beyond anything.
Will you, the dirty psychiatrist abide by confidentiality and a sense of duty to your fellow liar, or will I find myself dead by tomorrow morning?
*Dead?*
Probably, anything that you spill would be inadmissible in court because of confidentiality. So in between righteous vigilantes, and my friends in the mob, who wouldn't appreciate being outed.
Death would be a likely result.
So, I have to ask you to tell the truth.
**Will you do?** | 2018-02-16T09:24:03 | 2018-02-16T09:16:43 | 120 | 19 |
[WP] Your entire life, you've been told you're deathly allergic to bees. You've always had people protecting you from them, be it your mother or a hired hand. Today, one slips through and lands on your shoulder. You hear a tiny voice say "Your Majesty, what are your orders?" | As the voice echoes in my ears, I think of the possibilities. My life, finally free to live outside. My friends amazed as I command a dancing cloud. My bullies, writhing in pain on the ground.
Then a new thought occurs to me. I command the world's pollinators. Dim visions of nations bowing before me, begging me to allow their crops to grow. Universal adoration. Riches. My choice of lovers. Where's my phone? I need to call Ben. He always helps perfect my plans.
Where's my phone? I turn around. Where's my house? Why is everything so blurry? I feel dizzy. I'll command them to fix that too!
-------------
The hum of gentle machines fills the room as the parents cling to each other, looking down at their gently shaking son in the bed.
"He almost seems like he's laughing to himself..." muses the father; "He almost looks happy."
Looking up, the doctor replies. "Symptoms of his allergies include hallucinations. He may not even have noticed the sting as he slipped into the coma."
Weeping, the parents watch their son as the beeping of the machines slows to a stop.
| One time in elementary school, one of my classmates got rushed to the hospital because of a bee sting. She was allergic. I didn’t get to watch it happen, because I was inside for “indoor option”. I was never allowed to go out for recess. I always picked a friend or two, and we played board games while the rest of my class played outside. On the day Sam had her allergic reaction, I remember the other kids all running in late, breathless and excited. So much had happened, and like always, I missed it.
As I continued to grow older, I noticed I wasn’t like the other kids. My family didn’t go to the pool in the summer, I didn’t play outdoor sports. We didn’t have picnics or go to cookouts. When I was 12, we moved to Vermont. Everything changed. My mom signed me up for snowboarding classes. My restrictions were magically lifted. I was so normal.
When I got into college at NC State, my mom resisted. She wanted me to attend somewhere closer to home. I assumed she was just anxious about me growing up and moving away. I didn’t think twice about it, until admitted student’s day.
I was walking across campus when a bee landed on my shoulder. “Your Majesty, what are your orders?” I glanced around. Who had said that? No one was nearby. A second bee buzzed by my ear. “We’re waiting!” A shrill voice screamed, “ATTACK!” Suddenly, I was surrounded by a swarm of bees, all stinging at me. Dead bees started dropping around me, left and right, sacrificing themselves to please their queen. I ran, screaming like a child, until someone pulled me inside an academic building. They slammed the door, and helped me fend off the remaining bees. I had my mom pick me up, and she drove me to the airport. There was no way in hell I was going to NC State! I ended up going to my safety school, Kalamazoo, where I could continue my life without being harassed by that crazy swarm of bees.
I never figured out how the hell I can understand bees, though. | 2018-04-01T03:57:58 | 2018-04-01T02:29:37 | 372 | 45 |
[WP] You notice a pattern, anytime your child is recorded they inevitably look directly at the camera and say one word seemingly random word. You begin to listen to the videos from first to last, as you finish the last one your child walks in and makes eye contact. "today." | Sarah played the videos writing down each word. It made no sense to her. She watched the last video first and worked back to the oldest.
Scream, she scribbled down and switched to the next video.
I.
Chocolate, Sarah wrote it down.
King.
Pho, she was getting closer now and was hungry for some pho.
Mother.
Sum.
Want.
Eye.
That was the last video. Sarah arranged it in the right order: eye want sum mother pho king chocolate I scream.
Sam walked into the room and started directly at her. "Today."
Sarah smiled at her boy. "I don't approve of the language mister, but I want some chocolate ice cream too."
Sam smiled and took his mom's hand. She gave it a loving squeeze as they walked to the ice cream store.
***
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| It really started to freak me out when little Ella started the habit, at first, I told myself it was just the odd babbling of a baby. That was until I recorded her walking and caught several of the words in separate videos.
I strung them together to get, “on black wings.”
I sit here now trying to string them together, frustrated I hit my kitchen table. It is obviously a message but I must have erased some of the videos there are pieces missing.
“April 2018, Will begin the, No will be left, come on black wings.”
I heard the little pitter patter of tiny feet and look toward the door. Ella in it standing there staring at me. After what I had just watched I half expected her eyes to roll back into her head.
“Today, now,” the words broke our silent staring contest.
She ran off giggling not giving me a second look. Thunder sounded, shaking me and the windows. The kitchen darkened as a cloud moved across the sun. I realized it must be getting ready to storm as the room continued to darken. I got up to walk kitchen screen door that leads out to the backyard. It swung open small spring squeaking as it strained to pull the door closed.
I looked toward the sun. I couldn’t believe my eyes, a large structure shaded us from the sun. I glanced around to see other like structures had erupted from the ground. The buzzing started then, black dots began to fall from the top of the massive towers. As more flew out the buzzing increased. The sky was soon covered in a black shadow of these flying things.
I ran back inside, finding Ella, “What is happening?”
She gave me smile and a blank stare.
I softly shook her, “Ella, do you know what is happening?”
Again, just the stare. I got up and went to the window to look back up at the sky. The black things were descending on the neighborhood
“It’s ok momma, they are here to save us.”
| 2018-04-15T10:25:52 | 2018-04-15T08:15:07 | 208 | 104 |
[WP] An astronaut lands on the moon and decides out of curiousity to check if his phone has an internet connection. It does. And he has a lot of new likes on Tinder. All within 5 miles. | Cameron stepped onto the dusty surface and gazed through his helmet across the rocky landscape towards the rim of a crater.
"It's more beautiful than I ever imagined," he said into the com.
"Can't wait to see it," Shui's voice crackled in their helmets, "On my way down now."
"All I see from up here are your clownshoes ruining millennia old serenity," Durik's deep voice rolled over the end of Shui's sentence.
"Don't be bitter that you are stuck up there on toilet duty while we explore the moon," Cameron jabbed back.
"Right," Durik chuckled. "Back to business, starting scans now. Cameron, place your SPIDR one hundred meters from current location, north north west."
Cameron acknowledged and slowly lumbered out to his spot, feeling the bounce of the lower gravitational pull in his shoulders. He knelt in preparation to assemble the SPIDR, but instead took out his phone. Wireless internet was connected to the MoonStationConspiracy network, NASA was never without a sense of humor, and he grinned behind tinted glass as the familiar Tinder icons filled the notification bar. All matches were close, none more than five miles which tickled him considering the circumstances. He clumsily swiped left and right accordingly when suddenly bright lights flooded his helmet and an angry voice screeched in his headset.
Cameron tried to stand, but staggered backwards and fell. He couldn't make out what was being said nor could he see anything but blinding glare. The sensory overload drove him to rip his helmet off. He gasped for breath, and he saw the silhouette of a thin figure walking towards him in light brighter than a dozen suns.
* * * * *
I couldn't believe what he was doing, out there on set actually looking at his phone. I guess the gravity of our last conversation hadn't set in yet.
"Fucking Christ, LIGHTS!" I yelled and slammed the script book down, "Monica, get on his headset."
I strode onto set fuming, and grabbed Cameron by his suit. "Dude, no one is going to believe astronauts have phone service on the moon. You know what happens if we fuck this up!"
He stammered for a moment, something about no one being able to tell the difference between his phone and a SPIDR from that distance. I let go of his suit, "You were on close-up. We all saw it, fuckboy." Cameron just stood there dumbfounded, so I continued, "Get out of your suit. You are done for the week. Report back Monday ready to take this seriously. America's reputation is on the line."
At least Cameron had a couple of hot dates lined up for this weekend. | Ok then. Here we go. I tilt the "joystick" accordingly to match the calculated trajectory by mission control. I'm tense. I've never done anything like this before. It didn't help that I was the only one aboard the moon lander. Mission Captain Jacobs and Martin were taking rock samples while I was launched from Earth to meet up with them about 250 kilometers West from my designated landing area. Decrease altitude... glide... Tilt down... glide left... land. The lander landed with a thud and then a tsssssssss.... before I open the airlock, I make sure my suit is ready to go. Gloves, tight. Helmet, sealed. Bodysuit, ready to go. Boots, locked in. I'm ready. I open the airlock and jump down, and as I expected, the moon rover is there. Captain Jacobs and Martin said they will drop a rover over to my landing area. Before hopping in the rover, I look around. I make sure the lander didn't sustain any damage on the land. The legs looked fine and so did the main body system. I walk over to the rover and open it. Nothing was in it but some food strapped to the inside. I walk in and look what it is. It is just some freeze dried pasta, green beans and broccoli. Jeez. Couldn't get any more generic. But what the heck. I'm on the moon. There aren't any gourmet restraints here, I need to make do with what I got. I hop in and turn on the rover. It booted up, and started to yell, "Unfamiliar signal detected" over and over again. I didn't know how a signal could get over here from Earth, but I figured it was a signal that Martin and Jacobs set up. But how could it reach this far? I couldn't care though. I made sure the rover didn't yell anything anymore and made myself comfy. I turned on the "auto pilot" and it started heading west. "Ok then" I said. "I'll be there in about 19 hours." I had no idea what to do until I remembered that there was an airlock on the rover. I could take off my suit. I checked the O2 levels. Enough for 3 days. I'm fine. I took off my suit and took my phone out of my backpack that was attached to my suit. I laid back in the chair, and got comfy again. Huh... I had a signal.... a pretty strong signal... But then I thought it must be the one Martin and Jacobs set up. I opened my phone to see my Tinder app blowing up... ish... again I thought how the heck does this happen, but I open it up and see that I had 217 new likes... wow... It boosted my self confidence up a little bit from -3, but then went back down once I figured out it must be a glitch. I still checked to see who liked my profile. Huh. I could have sworn I had seen something out of the rover windo, but I just thought it was some dust. Anyways, bact to the phone. That was weird. All of the people that liked me had unfamiliar names, made out of weird symbols I had never seen before. I click on a few of their profiles just out of curiosity. That made no sense. I must have been flipping out. Their pictures looked nothing like a human face... location... within 5 miles. Holy crap. I restarted my phone just to make sure. And still there it was. 217 new people liking me on Tinder, all within a 5 mile radius. This is nuts. Maybe Martin and Jacobs didn't set up a signal yet. Maybe... There is life besides us. I can't wait to tell the rest of the crew. Jeez, wait till Houston hears about this... | 2018-05-13T09:23:59 | 2018-05-13T09:01:39 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] Demons have ditched traditional paper soul contracts in favor of touchscreens. Today a demon tapped the wrong button, irrevocably selling its soul to you. | "Oh no"
I looked up at the Demon, the tablet held delicately between wickedly curved talons. With one of these, he tapped on the screen, carefully at first before getting more frantic. He breathed out deeply, a flicker of blue flame.
"What's oh no?" I glanced down at myself. I didn't feel any different. "Contract not good enough? I thought a soul was standard."
"Yes, it is" the demon said but his eyes never left the screen in front of him. Frills of scaled skin raised up on his neck, surrounding him like a serpentine peacock tail. "Hell damned machines! What was wrong with blood and paper!"
"For what its worth, i like the idea of virtual more than blood." The demon ignored me, raising the tablet above its head, passed its curved horns and waving it about. I think it was trying to get signal.
"Shouldn't i feel different?" I asked, patting my chest and stomach. "I don't feel any different."
The demon stared at the screen a moment longer before letting out a dejected sigh. He looked up at me, his rectangle pupils surrounded by a bright amber. He bared his fangs, two inch long yellowed blades that jutted past his black lips. I realised he was trying to smile.
"Been a slight hiccup you see" the demon announced, reaching out and passing the tablet halfway across the summoning circle. "Just need you to tick this box and sign again and off we go!"
I grabbed the tablet from him, careful not to let my hand enter the circle. I scrolled back to the top.
"Not necessary!" the demon yelled and he was pressed as close to the summoning wall as possible, his horns making small sparks as they hit the boundary. "Just standard boilerplate!"
I snorted. Sign a contract with a demon without reading it first? Who would make that mistake? Again.
My eyes rested on the final clause. Interesting.
"I own your soul?"
The demon winced and moved back a few paces, hands resting on his brown furred knees.
"No. Not really. Well kind of. But just sign and we can fix it."
I clicked my tongue and looked from the demon to the screen and back again.
"What does it mean?"
"What?"
"Owning your soul. What does it mean?"
"Well it means you have my soul. Wait, you didn't read this in the initial contract?"
I blushed slightly but shook my head, waving the tablet at him threateningly.
"It means that you have well...ownership of me."
"So you're my slave?"
"Well i wouldn't say a slave. I just have to do what you say."
"That's a slave. Holy shit, i have a demon slave."
The demon bared its fangs and this time it was no attempt at a smile.
"Listen you little punk, just sign and i won't rip the skin from your body. Sound good?" He stretched out one claw tipped hand and dragged it down the circle's barrier, a screeching noise emanating with the sparks. I considered this.
"Sit" I said and the seven foot monstrosity immediately folded into the semblance of a crouch. He looked down at himself and winced once more.
"Oh this is going to be fun."
r/AMSWrites | "There has been a *terrible* mistake here..." The demon twiddled his thumbs, his ears pointed back as his face flushed a brilliant purple against his red skin. His spaded tail swished nervously behind him. "You see... Ms..?"
"Just call me Emma." The young girl, no more than six or seven, held her doll by its arm while staring up at the demon.
"Well you see Miss Emma, it's kind of a funny story." The Demon nervously chucked, running his clawed hands through the coarse fur on the back of his neck. "I was was trying to accept the transfer of another Emma's soul, but our boss recently made us upgrade to the newfangled touchscreens... and somehow my soul accidentally ended up belonging to you." The demon gave her a nervous smile, his mouth filled to the brim with jagged teeth, though it failed to seem menacing as opposed to irrevocably goofy. There was a strange sort of pleading in the dark voids that were his eyes, and Emma tilted her head, putting a finger on her chin before responding.
"No."
"What do you-" The Demon sighed in an exaggerated fashion, putting his fingers on the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes "What do you mean no? Give me my soul back! It belongs to me!"
"Well, you sent it to me. It's mine." Emma stated contentedly, a smile forming on her face as she looked up at him.
"I'll-...I'll give you anything you want. You name it, and you'll have it." He pleaded. He knew this would happen. They should've stuck with the cult sacrifices, now that was a way to sell your soul. But noooooo, first the change to contracts, and now this. Contracts had already taken him ages to accustom himself to. Who had the money for Law School in Hell? It was already filled to the brim!
"Anything?" Emma asked.
"Anything" the demon replied.
"I want more souls." She replied, her grin becoming ever wider.
"I don't- I don't think I can do that. My boss would kill me." The demon pleaded, his large figure getting down on one knee to be face to face with the girl.
"You agree to work for me, and collect souls on my behalf. And I will give you your soul." Emma replied, giggling at the Demon's gesture, her voice so sweet it was almost sickly.
The demon flicked his tongue across his maw, contemplating her idea before speaking "I just, I can't, the wife and I just had a baby and the work is steady..."
Emma brought her doll to her chest, pondering for a moment before speaking "Five days paid vacation, and sick days. You can have an eight of all souls you collect, and a commission bonus for every demon you get to sign on with our cause."
"A fourth."
"A sixth"
"Deal." The demon rose, stretching out a clawed hand and carefully shaking the young girl's, then her doll's since she insisted it was necessary. Her laughter sent chills down his spine after the deal was done, and through a portal of brimstone and hell fire, he left to tell his wife the good news, and pondered how his boss would take his resignation.
\--
A week later, her room was ablaze with activity, demons strutting in and out, each checking in with Mr. Doll who had been set up at a work station to check them in. Each greeting him and giving him a handshake before they entered.
Emma sat them all down, pouring herself and her employees a cup of imaginary tea, to which they all made a toast on their newfound success. So little time, so many souls to collect. Emma smiled, taking an imaginary sip from her tea, before setting it down so that they could go over this week's harvest. Their offers seemed much more appealing than the devil's, as they also provided soul leases and rentals... that had ridiculously predatory and unfair terms in the small fine print. That was all Emma's idea, and the demon's took a liking to their new mistress almost immediately. And the first demon, now her personal assistant, chuckled under his breath at this girl's malice before muttering to himself.
"Look out world ...there's a new ruler of darkness in town... and her name is Emma." | 2018-07-18T06:09:53 | 2018-07-18T03:56:34 | 344 | 131 |
[WP] After getting a girlfriend, a man discovers that he now has a very powerful superpower: everything he says, no matter how factual and true, is wrong. | The group of friends were sat around a fire under a sky full of stars. One man, stepping quietly away from the party, found a place where he could be alone. He looked up at the Milky Way.
"When you consider how vast and great the universe is, I'm just worthless, aren't I?" he sighed.
His friend, who had known him for many years, stepped up beside him, putting her hand on his shoulder.
There was something different about her. He could see something had changed, the way she was looking at him.
"Well, that's not true. You mean something to me." | "Hey doll, I’m trying to make myself a sandwich like you asked. Can you hand me the bread?”
“It’s michetta, not *bread*.” She snapped.
“Jeez, sorry. Can you hand me the michetta then?”
“Get it yourself,” she snapped again. “I’m making dinner for the funeral tonight.”
I scoffed at her. “My parents are coming by – it’s not a funeral.”
She abruptly threw up her hands. “It’s always a funeral with your mother! Somebody almost dies at least!”
I shook my head in disbelief. “Well, while you’re in the fridge, can you at least grab me the swiss cheese?”
“It’s baby swiss!” She exclaimed. “Have you no sense?!”
“Fine!” I snapped back. “I’ll just get it myself!” I grabbed the cheese out of the fridge and threw it on the counter, opening the bag to toss a few pieces on my damn michetta slices. I added some tomatoes and a little bit of mayo, and I was good to go.
“Ugh!” She exclaimed. “Why do you have to hold it like that?!”
I stared at her in disbelief. “It’s just a sandwich!”
“It’s a Panini!” She screamed.
I just gave up and ate the stupid Panini.
&#x200B;
**Thanks for reading! I have a couple of popular stories regarding some recent prompts going on at my subreddit right now, if you want to check them out at** [r/AuthorKurt](https://www.reddit.com/r/AuthorKurt) | 2018-09-06T09:28:27 | 2018-09-06T08:53:19 | 265 | 75 |
[WP] A clang came from the engine room, followed by a string of curses. Most of the crewmembers stood far from the doors, fearfully looking in. It was their first trip out to deepspace since they had taken on a human mechanic, and they were all pretty sure that those were not good noises. | A loud bang echoed through the metal hall, shortly followed by the sound of flesh on metal and an agonised and infuriated scream.
The captain and first mate glanced at each other. "Is this... Is this normal for Terrans?" The first mate asked sheepishly.
Another bang echoed down the halls, this time with the smell of sulfur. "SO YOU WANT TO SET ME ON FUCKING FIRE NOW YOU PIECE OF MARTIAN CRAP?!"
"Isn't... Isn't our engine Lousiian design?" The first mate asked, seemingly growing increasingly worried for their resident Human.
The captain let a soft sigh slip through her lips. "The people of the Sol system are know for their... Passion in their work. What they lack in durability or lethality or intelligence compared to the rest of the universe, they make up for it with persistence and passion."
Her head tilted to the side, thinking about the engine. "Honestly I can't recall. It might be, but the two designs are pretty much identical, except--"
"FUCK YOU THEN AND YOUR PHOTON CORE!" Another scream ripped through the hull, shortly before the doors opened and a very distressed looking human walked out. Covered head to toe in black smoke that has stained his impressionable skin and clothes. "Captain. With all due respect. That engine is at least five rels out of date, and it WAS holding on purely because of the the subroutines that allow it to siphon power from a secondary generator whenever it was going to fail. Now? Now the Photon Core is all but drained, your uranium enriched power cells are close to crumbling, and to be quite frank..."
He shook his head, then turned to look back at the doors he came through. "Short of setting it to self destruct and jetsoning it to use the shockwaves to move us, we're fucked."
The captain blinked twice. "You mean... Blow up our engine?"
"Yes."
"Wouldn't that leave us stranded?"
"Only for one rel or so." He shrugged. "And that's if we aren't spotted between here and the Phobos system. The real problem will be the lack of manuveribility and deceleration thrusters, but we should be able to compensate with strategic explosive decompression."
The first mate looked to her captain incredulously. "Is he suggesting we blow up our own ship?"
"Only certain, non essential quarters. We could make approximately 230 adjustments using the external sectors." The human replied.
The captain glared down at the human. "I was just telling my first mate how persistent you humans can be. Is there no other option?"
"Well we can all persistently wait for a rescue, but the next scheduled sweep of this sector isn't for another 30 rels. I'll likely be dead in 20. I'd like to see home again before then. Wouldn't you?"
The captain closed her eyes and shook her head. "Do what needs to bee done, Mr Musk. Just get us home safe." | It's been 50 years since we, as a race, perfected space travel. Of course, I say race so as to gloss over the fact that entire groups of people had not only developed the math required to make the jump to hyperspace, but according to myth and lore, a few groups had managed it also, a full 150 years ago. That's a full 100 years before the " companies " got their head wrapped around it.
It doesn't affect our day to day operations as such, the knowledge that there might be clusters around our home planet with the tech to make the hyperspace jump in less than 1/10th of the fuel we use currently. Honestly speaking, fuck 'em. We have too much fuel anyway.
It has created a weird hierarchy though, within the space corps. Basically if anyone suspects that you are one of them, you're in an extreme. Either you're treated with royalty, or suspicion. If you're lucky, it's the first. Although if you're treated like royalty, it doesn't take long before the rest of the crew starts treating you with suspicion. It's a slippery slope, and there's really no coming back. Legend has it, that a few communities dispense with their high tech if treated nicely, so people acquiesce. Personally, I think it's a bunch of hokum. For me, and quite a few others, all of these frills usually serve the purpose of a ritual hazing, only it's us crew at the receiving end.
We try to watch out for it but of course, they get away with a lot too. Just last week we had a new member join our crew. And of course, the company skipped the background check. I mean, why look through a person's space-resume' and not look for inconsistencies as glaring as, where it says 10 yrs - mechanic, it doesn't say what vehicle because it sure as hell isn't a space ship! And I can obviously say this right now, because I'm in a room, surrounded by other crew members, going through this guy's space-resume' and we're all just marveling at the idea, that since we're in space, and our bodies don't actually have any biological mechanism to realize the amount of danger it's in, we're gonna have to inject ourselves with the adrenaline required to figure out what to do in the precise moment when we realize we might actually be in some kind of trouble.
For now, there's an inordinate amount of noise coming from the other room.
\*loud clanging\*
\*really loud clanging\*
"Ok, whose idea was it to hire this guy? Was it you Dick?"
"No man, wasn't me. Looksie here I got the little contract right here, and all it says is crew meet Monday at the docks. I met ya'll at the docks."
"Well which one of you fuckers did it?"
"It wasn't me Harry. It was one of those company fuckers. You know how dem are. They don't care nothin'. They prolly in their cushions thinkin' he got sum hidden tech up his sleeve or somethin'. Fucker's gonna make us get to hyperspace in one quintillion of a second faster than them nincompoops can come up with."
"You really think so?"
"Doesn't matter what I think Harry. I think the guy crooked us. I mean, he obviously doesn't know anythin' bout' fixing no space ships, that's for sure."
\*loud clanging noises\*
"Yeah, he doesn't."
"Whatever guys, I'm going to tune into the inter-galactic space-athon at Dix 51's nebulon-bar at galaxy cluster 31, route 78, channel 89. Now at a limited time period offer of 20 cents an hour, only! Don't forget to subscribe now."
\*clanging noises\*
\*clanging noises\*
\*tv starts\* | 2019-05-31T06:22:59 | 2019-05-31T02:52:26 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] In 9,000 BC you led a crusade to kill all magic practitioners. Your soldiers all died, as did your foes. You were cursed with being an undying soldier- doomed to wage war for one side or another for all of time. The year is 1940…the Führer wishes to use your expertise. | Narcissists. All the same.
This one had an angry red armband and an angry red face, gesticulating and raving in front of me from behind his desk. He was good, but rhetoric is rhetoric - and his wasn't the best I'd ever seen. That honour went a Khwarazmian street-hawker that took me for my gold and my wits.
Clever chap, dead now.
"Are you listening to me, Feldstein?" Adolf leaned on his hands, moving his head in towards me.
"Herr Feldstein, if you don't mind." I said, meeting his gaze. "After all, I don't know you very well at all, Herr Hitler."
Adolf arched an eyebrow and his face darkened to scarlet. I could tell that dealing with me, with my name, was hard enough for a bastard of his calibre - which was, naturally, why I chose it.
I watched as he controlled his emotion. It was likely that, on some level, he knew that I was toying with him.
"Herr Feldstein, then." He raised a finger. "But nowhere but behind these doors."
"Fine, fine." I let him inspect me for a moment before I broke the silence. "So, you were saying: racial menace? Anarchists? Communists? Something like that?"
"...Yes. *Something like that.*" His eye twitched, and he cleared his throat, straightened his diaphragm to issue another proclamation. "These French, these English... they will topple, no doubt, but a loss of life could be avoided with your help."
"And by that, you mean German lives?" I prodded.
He gave me a look, placing himself down into his desk chair. "Of course. Who else would I be speaking of?"
I let a silence hang in the air, considering his words.
"Well," I said, rising. "I must give your offer some thought, Herr Hitler. It has been good to meet you, before this war."
I extended my hand, forgoing a salute. Adolf Hitler puzzled at me, my words, my lack of decision. I could see the gears turning in his head before he reluctantly grasped my hand.
In his eyes, bright blue, I saw fire.
-----
The Fuhrer was shouting to himself again. I could hear him through the wall.
Oh! The poor man... with the weight of this dark world on his shoulders, who could blame him? A man should be allowed a rage, and The Fuhrer more than anyone else, after all. That awful looking, grinning man who had been in before had obviously done something to provoke him. Didn't he have any manners?
All the same, I feared him when he was in a state like that. His face went all red, his tone all clipped and angry... he was not the kind, brilliant Fuhrer who led the Reich, who had given me a silver brooch on my last birthday, smiling as he handed it over personally. *Personally*! To a secretary! I still thought of it daily.
The clock on the wall sounded, chiming 4 times. It was time for his afternoon tea. Like clockwork, the kitchen woman strode through the door, but shied from entering as she heard the Fuhrer's shouting.
"It's alright," I said, looking over at her. "I'll take it through in a moment, when he's finished his business."
Relieved, the woman thanked me, hurrying out through the door. I waited for a moment, then another, listening to the Fuhrer.
It was nearly a quarter past the hour by the time he quieted. I opened and strode through the double doors, carrying his tray. I set it on the table in the centre of the room, watching the Fuhrer as he wrote something down at his desk.
"Mein Fuhrer," I started as he looked up at me. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"No," He said. "Leave me to work."
I nodded deeply, and began to turn to walk away. As I did, something out of place caught my eye.
*How odd*, I thought. *That man has left his briefcase.*
-----
It was a brisk spring day in Berlin, but warm in the sunshine. The walk from the Reich Chancellery had been short, about 10 minutes or so. The wine here was tolerable, but it tasted sweet on a day like today.
As I sat, soaking in the sun, I thought of Hitler. Another small man, with a belief in his greatness that only he had the evidence for. I had known many like him, over thousands of years. All dead, now.
Adolf was someone dangerous, perhaps. A threat to the world, and all those living in it. Was.
In the distance, a muted thump, then a shrill wail.
I drained my glass, dropping a reichsmark to cover my tab, and rose to fade into the walkers on the street.
-----
/r/Robin_Redbreast | There is no end, the story just continues. A snake biting its own tail, coiled around and swirling into infinity. Where does it stop? It does not. Where did it begin?
Long ago.
Do you have the time? I feel the need to unburden myself. To explain why I am what I am. Why I do the things I do. Indulge me, the journey has been long, but it may be recounted briefly enough.
This is a fairytale of sorts. It begins, like many do, a long time ago in a land far away and forgotten. Thousands upon thousands of years separate now and then. An unfathomably long time. A time well beyond what any man should be made to endure.
I was there. In this kingdom far away and forgotten. It was my home. The land was green and lush. The king just and fair. Just as a good fairytale land should be. And there was magic.
Real magic. Not the manmade magic of gun and bomb. Not the cheap chicanery of the sidewalk huckster. Wizardry. Magery. Witchcraft. A thousand disciplines Mastered by thousands more.
I did not have the spark. None of the force flowed through me. It was absent. Notably so. Most have at least a glimmer, a whisper that, while not enough to bloom into practice, was enough to nurture life. I was dark. A hole in the flow of magic through man. A weak link in a chain that bound the rest of humanity.
Weak link.
No. That's incorrect. Better to say I was simply not a part of the chain. Not a link at all. I stood apart. Impervious and powerful in my own right. Magic could not touch me. Whenever I approached, the tendrils of the flow would wither and melt away, driven back by my very presence.
I was a threat to the Masters, and so I was hunted. I killed my first wizard shortly after I turned sixteen. Even now, all of these years later, I can remember the purple of his face as my hands choked the life out of him. How he gasped and struggled. But without his magic, he was but a man. Weak and frail.
As he passed from this life to the next, I felt a wave of nausea. An intense bang in my gut that throbbed and pulsed alongside my heartbeat. I could not say the source, nor could I explain its meaning.
I discovered the source when I killed again. Two came, trying to blot out the man who carried no spark. I was older. Better prepared. More knowledgeable. Lethal.
After their deaths, the nausea returned, tearing at me with twice the strength. Still, I did not know the meaning, but I could no longer pretend that I would not be a target for being what I was. I would be hunted for the rest of my days, always watching the corners and hoping the next bend did not hold any others of ill intent.
I could hunt or be hunted. I chose to hunt.
I only discovered the meaning at the end, when the masters had been brought low, destroyed as much by my hand as their greed and arrogance. The nausea stalked me throughout, a deep well of pain constantly churning in my gut as I put them all to the sword. As I loomed over the last, my blade dripping with the ichor of the High Council, I finally received my explanation.
A punishment. A curse. The death of each fed the cancer within. The cost of snuffing the spark from the world was laid upon me in full. A life unending, a continuous hell stretching until no man walked the Earth.
Torment and pain.
For thousands of years, only these were my companions.
But a solution presents itself. A dark soul emerges, offering a solution. I am repulsed by what he represents, but he may serve as a means to an end. Man has discovered the tools to architect their own demise, and this man...this...Führer may further that. Were the torment less, I might bear it longer, but my guilt can no longer hold the agony back. I must be rid of it. I must be rid of all of them. All who walk and reside must be put to bed so that I may finally rest.
I salute the man. He sits beside a large, finely polished wooden desk. Behind him, a large flag is unfurled over the mantle. The stark colors of red, black and white impose an air of quiet menace to the otherwise ordinary-looking man.
He cannot fool me. He is a killer. His heart is black and the abyss resides within.
Yes. An architect of doom. A man who cannot be sated with anything less than it all. A solution to my problem.
The man nods, "Herr Malovin, there are many stories of you."
I cannot deny it, though I expect the man does not know them all. Only those within the realm of what he perceives as possible have been accepted. The truth is not understood. I am a man of talents, but he does not know how far they extend. He will use me for his ends, just as I will use him for mine. I nod my head, "Yes, Führer."
He seems pleased by the acknowledgment, the sound of his leather souls clacking against the marble floor rises up in response. "Very good." He nods to himself. "You are a man of war?"
I have never known peace. I nod.
He laces his fingers together, the knuckles going white, "Are you prepared to serve? To unleash these talents?"
I have no choice. The pain must end. I nod.
"You will swear an oath to the Fatherland? To the Nazi party? To me?" He leans forward.
What is an oath? A small price to pay to buy my peace. I nod.
He smiles, his brown eyes gleefully squinting behind his glasses. "Then serve."
I snap my feet together and raise my arm, saluting him. "Heil Hitler."
It must end. I cannot bear more.
What have I become?
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2019-08-03T23:53:34 | 2019-08-03T23:37:03 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You're 1 year into the zombie apocalypse. You're group has established a small enclosed community that grows its own food and produce. You're all living happily and safely. One day you hear someone asking to be let it. It's a starved Gordon Ramsay, with some thoughts on the food on offer.
Edit: your group not you're | "Step aside." I order the guards, who scramble aside at the voice of the leader, peppering me with a chorus of 'Yes ma'am'. I step up to the small window in the gates, peering through intently. I had heard his voice, drifting across the gardens in the quiet of the morning- but still, the shock of seeing him standing before me- the thrill...it's almost too much.
"Open the gates!" I order, and the men clamor to abide, pulling the thin and decrepit Gordon Ramsay inside. He collapses to his knees in the dirt, and I order a guard to run to fetch bread and water.
"You're safe now, Mr. Ramsay," I say, as a blanket is thrown over his shoulders. A moment later the water and bread arrives, and he takes the bottle with shaking hands.
"Thank you," He whispers, water trickling down his chin as he gulps. He takes a few more long pulls, "I didn't think anyone would recognize me."
I kneel as well down, the bread still warm in my hands, waiting as he finishes his water;
"Of course I recognize you," I say, as I dig my nails into the loaf, working it apart. "But I must ask...do you recognize me?"
He looks up through cloudy eyes, squinting at my face. I toss my long dark hair over my shoulder and meet his eyes.
"No- no..." He stutters, "I- I don't think I do."
"Try harder" I order.
"I'm sorry, I just don't know." He says, glancing toward the guards, his filthy face tinged with nerves.
"Fine," I concede, "Then tell me, Gordon, what YOU are?"
"What- what I am?"
The words have barely left his mouth when I force my fingers into the loaf of bread, ripping it into two equal halves. I slam each half into the sides of Gordon Ramsay's face, holding them flush against his skin;
"WHAT ARE YOU!?"
He gasps, and finally I see the recognition flare in his eyes. In a small, terrified voice he answers, "I'm an Idiot Sandwich." | "This tastes like it was stewed in a pot of piss!"
The newest addition to our small community threw the bowl back in my face. I'd seen this man on television before the event. Gordon Ramsay. World renowned chef and TV personality arrived at our gate no more than an hour ago, a shell of his former self.
When we let him in, he looked like he weighed no more than a buck twenty and hadn't eaten in days, maybe even weeks.
"I've tasted raw squirrel better than that shit! You call yourselves a community, but can't put together a decent meal!"
Granted, he just so happened to get here on my least favorite food day. It was Helen Langstons' "homemade dumpling" night and it did, indeed, taste like it was stewed in a "pot of piss" but at this point, we can't be picky. I mean, when you're filling your dumplings with ground acorns and the occasional diced tomato, if one happens to grow, you cant expect much.
There are no more celebrities. There are no more idols. There's only survive. I am, by no means, the leader of this group, but I felt like I should pull him aside and address the situation.
"The fuck do you want?" Ramsay asked.
You would think someone could show a little gratitude in the face of global annihilation, with zombies roaming all over the planet, but not this man. It was time for him to make a choice. He can either live here as one of us and contribute where he can as a chef and provide food to his potential new community, or, he can go back out and fight among the hordes who don't care what he tastes like.
As I presented him this option, I could see the wheels turning. He knew that this was a world where status didn't matter anymore, unless in a group... or so I thought.
He pointed at the gate that we opened for him.
"Get the fuck out!" he said.
"Excuse me?" I heard a voice from my right say to Gordon. It was the community's leader, Sam.
"You heard what the fuck I said. If you can't feed a proper meal, you don't deserve to call yourselves a community!" Ramsay said to Sam.
Sam gave a nod to the two armed men to his left and right. When you've been together this long, you don't need to use words. They read the situation.
They began leading Gordon to the gate, to send him back into the wilderness to fend for himself. He began to see the weight of his decisions, but still, too proud to beg us to stay.
The gate slammed shut. The truck engine turned over and peeled off. Only they knew where they were taking him.
Sam has always had a good heart, but I've never seen him this cold at the drop of a hat. He gives everyone a solid chance, typically.
I asked him, "Why?"
With a straight face, he looked at me, and said, "Fuck Gordon Ramsay. I'm more of an Iron Chef fan anyway." and walked away.
Looks like we're stuck with Helen's piss dumplings for dinner. | 2019-08-07T08:47:21 | 2019-08-07T06:45:22 | 38 | 16 |
[WP] You’re an intern for the Greek gods. You follow them around and ask them many questions about the world, life, and many of the universe’s greatest secrets. However, one day you decide to ask them how to become a god. Most of them stay silent, but Hades decides to give you the answer | I felt excited, and a little scared. A bit of caution was mixed in there somewhere. But it was mostly excitement. After all the other gods were too scared to give a second thought to my question, Hades was the only one to give me a straight answer.
"The secret" Hades began, "has nothing to do with the pitiful ideas of love and loyalty. No, you must take what you want. If you truly wish to become a god, then you must TAKE your power, without remorse. What that will bring you, who can tell? You might burn to cinders, you could be blessed with innate abilities. But for you to get anything done, it needs to be taken." He gave me a cold, intelligent look. Calculating what there was to gain from a new god, weighing the chances.
After a few seconds, he finished his instructions with two simple words: *NO REMORSE*. Then, he turned his back and resumed his duties to the Underworld. A door appeared in front of me, labeled *Tarturus*. I opened it, and stepped out onto a mountainside.
Take without remorse. What could that mean? I took a glance at my surroundings: mountains as far as I could see. I looked to the peak of the one I was on, and saw a home perched on stilts, door wide open. It was as good a place as any to start, so I made my way up to the entrance.
Inside, a frail old man was chained to the floor. I stared, questioningly, at the figure. It raised its head and I realized who it was: Crius, titan of power. As I stepped towards him, he spoke.
"I know why you have come, and you cannot have it."
"I'm not asking for your permission. I'm here to claim my powers to godhood." I knew that if I did not follow Hades's instructions to the letter, I would surely be destroyed. "I will take my power from you, and I will take even more if I please." With this, I grabbed his face, opened his mouth, and ripped out one of his teeth.
I, in turn, tore a tooth out of my own mouth and replaced it with his. It was mine, now. Already I could feel the surge in my body. I felt unstoppable. No longer would I be a petty intern to those complacent fools in Olympus. I could do anything, *TAKE* anything. With a snap of my finger, a portal opened to Earth.
I stepped through, wanting to test my newfound abilities, see what kind of god I was. Everything in sight was mine, for who could compare to my might? While these thoughts ran through my head, it was clear: I was a brother god to Hybris.
Now, what to do first... | I shouldn’t have asked. It’s how I got into this whole mess to begin with.
I should probably back up and explain my nonsense rambling. Thing is, I have no idea what’s going on. I never have.
It all started when I became an intern for the Greek gods. I was excited. I wanted to see what happened behind the scenes. I got my answer the first day. Turns out, the gods like to have arguments that escalate into wars, tsunamis, thunderstorms, the apocalypse, etc.
I was allowed to ask any question I wanted to. They were basic at first. I chatted with Athena about human architecture, I listened to Ares boast about his role in the latest battles, I gossiped with Aphrodite on the latest fashion trends, etc. But one day, I asked the question that got me into this whole mess.
I was chatting with Hades talking about the latest heroic death (which was not at all heroic but one of Zeus’s many kids), when I became curious. I wanted to know one thing, and when I pushed the question aside as silly, it kept on gnawing at me until I finally worked up the courage to ask.
“How does one become a god?”
All conversation stopped. Slowly, the gods who had overheard my question turned to face me. Hades had gone pale. Hephaestus had dropped some pieces of scrap metal he was tinkering with. Hera looked at me with an expression that told me, “You don’t want to know.”
Finally, Poseidon broke the silence.
“It’s a closely guarded secret, known only by those long dead.”
And the gods, I thought. How else would they have gained immortality?
“Don’t ask that question again.”
“Do you know how to gain immortality?” I asked Hades.
“Of course. I would tell you, but I don’t want to get into trouble with the big guys.”
“I won’t say who I got the information from.”
Hades considered it for a moment.
“Swear it on the Styx.”
“I swear on the Styx that I won’t say a word on who I got the information on how to become immortal from.”
Hades seemed impressed. “You’re dedicated. Sadly, you won’t last long enough for the oath to hold.”
“Why?”
“You want to know the secret, kid?” He looked around to make sure there were no eavesdropping gods nearby. “The secret is that you have to be dead for over a century and have to have a god vouching for your immortality.”
“What?”
“I said you have to be de-“
“I know. I heard you. But why would that work? Wouldn’t the gods already have forgotten you?”
Hades looked at me sadly. “Child, that’s the point. It’s meant so that few would become immortal.”
So here I am, because my oath was too vague and the information I received was false and all you need to do to become immortal is to fuck Zeus and avoid Hera’s wrath long enough that he (if you’re lucky) will make you immortal. Who would’ve known.
Next time, just don’t apply for an internship with any set of gods. It’s a really fucked up world out there, with all the many gods claiming ownership of humans, but you maybe can survive through it. That’s a strong maybe. If you’ll excuse me, I have to get off this elevator at exactly the 11th ring of hell (whatever it’s called nowadays) because drunkenly babbling about your internship is apparently a huge crime in these areas. Maybe one day I’ll get out. Nah, what am I thinking? Knowing my luck, I’ll be stuck in here until the apocalypse starts again, give or take a couple of years.
Edit: changed Hermes to Hades (i read the prompt wrong) | 2019-09-29T19:35:01 | 2019-09-29T19:14:37 | 65 | 23 |
[WP] You are a former secret agent, now retired; today, you just found the beautiful and dangerous femme fatale that always tried to kill you at a pizza parlor, dressed in a nerdy hoodie and eating an extra-large pizza. | I'd been retired for about a week when I decided to go out to eat for the first time in years. I was one of the best, which means I had a target on my back. By now though I'm sure most major players in the business have heard I'm out of the game. When I got to the parlor, I ordered a small meat lovers and looked for a seat while they made it. That's when I saw her, over by the window. A gorgeous woman with almond colored eyes, jet black hair, and a killer smile. She was eating a mammoth pizza and wearing a black hoodie with the Deathly Hallows on the front. I pulled up a seat next to her, looking forward to some fun.
"How's my favorite hitter?" I teased as she looked up from her phone in surprised. "What name are you going by these days hmmm? And are you here for business or pleasure?"
She smirked playfully. "Sophie darling. And you know dear friend, not all of the bounties on your head are gone. I could still make a couple grand off your head if I wanted to"
"Come now, you wouldn't kill a dear friend just starting her retirement would you? Besides, you don't even know my real name yet, and I thought the deal was we wouldn't kill each other until we had learned each other's real names."
Sophie chuckled, we had built up a bit of a rapport over the decade of trying to kill each other. "I have tickets to Comicon, my dear friend who's name I don't know yet. I'm supposed to meet some dork that landed one of your government's contracts. You won't try to stop me will you?" A hard look in her eye reminded me that she'd kill me in a second if I said yes. Or she'd try at least.
"Depends. I have an offer for you too. "
Sofie tilted her head. "What would you need a hitter for? You're as good as I am and we both know it".
I smirked and handed her a napkin with my number on it. "You can call me Tessa. And you better call me the moment you're done with this job so we can go for a drink. I'm going to miss hunting you, but I'm not letting you out of my life that easily."
Sofie couldn't help but giggle. I could tell it was her real laugh, the second time I had ever heard it. "Me neither old friend. You're buying" | " ’Don't you think that's a little bit too much for you, Larone? ’ I said and took a seat right in front of her. She checked me for a milisecond, and kept chewing her bite. "
"Woah, that's so cool!" the kids cheered.
"What she did was even cooler. She said 'Never too much for a cover, Sarge.' while her mouth was full, trying to make me feel unsignificant for her presence."
"It's like a game of chess! And, then? What you said?"
"Well, I had to stay strong. I found her after all, right? I had the higher ground. So I threw some detective work over that extra-large pizza and made a move, which were punished after by her sinister lips."
"What did you say?" the boy asked with shiny eyes.
"I took a deep breath to set-up my move and words swimmed through. 'Perhaps you're waiting for someone, huh?' at this point, she owed me an answer, and she did give a big one." he took a big sip from his cigar and continued in joy.
"She, without hesitation, looked at my eyes and said, 'Not anymore.' and pushed the pizza towards me."
"I really wanna be like my mom one day! " the girl said all of a sudden. The parents' eyes met and they knew it was time to end the talk.
"We really have to be cops, sis!" the boy yelled in amazement.
"Alright, kids. That's how I met your mother. Now give some lone time mom and pap." he said and kids walked towards them. Both the parents kissed the children on their forehead and they left the room. The parents stayed in silence for a while, until Sarge couldn't make it.
"Oh, stop that, Larone."
"Stop what?"
"That sinister grin on your face. I hate when you do that."
"Hmm? Does it remind you of our past, 'Sarge?' You know it didn't happen like that, right?"
"Well, what do you want me to say? That you destroyed an entire pizza parlor, almost killed both of us?"
"Well, you know, when I really want something, I get in a state that I can do anything to get it."
"Yeah, that's how you got me caged here."
"Caged? Shall I remind you the days you begged for my love, or you begged for mercy?"
"Shall I remind you a million cases that you caused while you were chasing me?"
"Well, as I said, when I really want something, I do anything to get it."
"And that's what I like about you. I'm glad that you couldn't kill me though."
"Couldn't?"
"Well, unless you count marriage as a way of killing."
"Or having two children that think we are cops."
"I know, right."
Silence covered the room once again, this time the grin wasn't there either.
"Do you still miss those days?"
"Well, the thrill of being hunted? the last breath of the victims? the blood in my knife?" she said with enthusiasm and he gave the weird looks.
"No, definitely not." she said.
He got up the chair and left his cigar in the ashtable.
"Alright, go wear that nerdy hoodie of yours. Let's go get some pizza in the same place." after a few seconds of waiting, he added.
"Well, in the same pizza parlor but in another place, obviously."
"And that's what I like about you. You always find something to bring me joy."
"By staying alive, that is." they both giggled.
They both got dressed and left the house, leaving their parent identities at home, and taking their guns with them. | 2019-10-05T10:58:54 | 2019-10-05T09:22:09 | 207 | 22 |
[WP] A sudden worldwide catastrophe has decimated the mainland. A lone scientist stationed in Antarctica and an astronaut from ISS is trying to communicate with each other and work out what truly happened to the rest of the humans. | “Station...ling ground con...any survi...”
I’d been out here for a few weeks already. I was mostly just keeping an eye on stuff that people smarter than I had set up. Just babysitting, really.
“...Strophic damage...”
They needed someone to man the station until this blizzard passed. Normally there’d have been a lot more of us for the winter-over, but three people got too sick with something to stay for the whole thing (wash your hands, kids) and the rest had either escorted them or left to respond to some sort of emergency at Amundsen-Scott.
“No respo...looks like...ouds”
Honestly, I was happy to volunteer to stay - Concordia was one of my favourite places to be. Remote, quiet, solitary, beautiful, especially at night. We knew the storm was coming, but we thought we had at least another day before it really hit, so I thought I’d just have a couple days to myself. Maybe finish that book, finally.
“Please confirm... extrat...”
That was 15 days ago. Not that I’m counting, or anything. Got at least a couple of months’ worth of food here, considering it’s just me using it.
“...uclear fall...”
I hadn’t received any messages before this one - the radio has been iffy at best recently, and no-one was going to risk a full trek in this.
“...akes over...killed the rest...”
The storm had been going on for longer than normal though, and I’d only brought the one book with me.
“I repeat, the infection...”
I was woken up by the repeating message. At first, I didn’t know what to do. Hadn’t heard a voice in weeks now.
“...already on earth...”
“Station, this is Concordia. You’re breaking up, please repeat your message.”
“...ocated”
Then silence. I’d sent my reply halfway through the third loop of the message, and then I didn’t hear anything for another 12 hours.
The crash outside shook the station, but it was no more disturbing than the normal storm sounds. The knock on the window, though? I needed a change of clothes after that.
That woman should not have been able to stand outside like that. She was wearing what looked like a space suit, but without her helmet, and the fabric was all ripped and torn up.
We locked eyes, and it felt like my heart stopped. Her eyes were jet black, no features at all, and I swear I saw something purple slide around her neck and back into the suit. I obviously couldn’t hear what she said, but I could see her lips move.
“There’s always one.”
This station was built to outlast storms. I wonder if the walls or the rations will give out first. | What can you see from up there?
The words blinked on the screen, the failsafe protocol of the space station permitted very little in the way of communication. In fact Lianne had only ever seen this failsafe mode once before in her training which now felt oh so long ago.
Focus she told her self, you're in shock that won't help you now.
And what will help you a small voice in her head asked. You are doomed.
She typed back, fingers clacking on the keyboard.
Now I can't see anything, it's all gone.
So few words for the horror she'd witnessed, why was it she couldn't offer more. She was trained to be collected, to asses a situation and move with the best course of action. But now she simply watched as her reply slowly loaded into the failsafe and was sent down to the now scoured earth.
She'd have to wait at least 7 minutes for a reply to be received, assuming one was sent. What was the point. The world was ending, had ended, what good would this conversation do. She found herself starting to stare out the window away from earth, her home. She couldn't look at that right now.
Only a few hours before they had been on the edge of a discovery that would see her name go down in history and now any sort of history seemed an impossible future to her. A new message on her screen brought her mind back where it needed to be, why was it she couldn't focus.
I lost contact with everyone only an hour ago. I already know there's no hope for us. Please can you at least tell me what you saw. I need to know what happened.
What had happened, did she really know? Not exactly, but she could guess. It would be because of what had happened on her ship. It would be the same reason she now watched the bodies of her shipmates float lifelessly out in the cosmos.
She started to type.
My crew and I discovered something wonderful.
For months we have been working on the practical theory of Solivibrus. In it's simplest form this was looking at trying to capture the suns rays from closer to the sun itself, hoping that it's intensity would yeild a better, stronger, sustainable energy.
What we found we did not expect nor did we understand. The suns power from closer proximity is different than that which arrives on earth. Powerful, destructive, alive.
After harnessing what we thought a safe amount to send back to earth for further testing an argument broke out amongst the crew. That this energy was too immense of a power to be left entrusted on earth. That it's capacity for good was outweighed by it's dangers.
The crew quarrelled and those who wished to send our research down to earth did so without agreement or consent from our captain. Those crew members are dead now. A punishment fit for their mutiny.
The capsule that was sent with the captured rays burned up upon reentry. The rays of the sun exploded with untold force, destroying everything. From what information I can gather from my now limited satellite and communication access I don't believe there to be any other survivors. I can only guess at the numerous factors that must have been at work to preserve the patch of earth you currently inhibit. I'd say you're lucky to alive, but I believe that to be a lie. Good luck.
She stared back at her words deliberating on what else to say. There still seemed so few of them to be the ones that ended this age of humankind on earth. Lianne shut down the failsafe, message left unsent.
She stared out again at the bodies of the dead. Her crew. They hadn't listened to her. She'd told them of the dangers and now they'd ended the world and she their lives as punishment. Slowly she walked over to the airlock and with trembling fingers opened the door and embraced the end. | 2020-02-11T07:08:32 | 2020-02-11T06:48:34 | 66 | 22 |
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all | \[Poem\]
Healer Harry Healed the sick,
the injured and the cursed
What Healer Harry asked in return
made Healer Harry the worst.
A family, rich in all but health
Healer Harry would find.
He'd heal the heir and make him strong
and walk away, owning their mine.
An ambulance would race across the town,
Healer Harry not far in back.
He would fix the broken victim's spine
If they empty their bank account into a sack.
A boy born blind to a single mum
Healer Harry would make him see.
Harry asked no coin or cash from them,
but slipped mum the hotel key.
Healer Harry's justice arrived.
A Hero finally laid him low
when Captain Cancer Charlie came to town
and made his tumor grow. | I've always admired heroes.
The title carries with it a certain image. A tall, broad-shouldered figure wrapped in a flowing cape, standing tall against the evils of the world, his mere presence a sign that things will be alright. He moves faster than the speed of sound. He hurls cars like frisbees. He can move objects with his mind.
The heroes of real life, while not so dramatic, tend to favor these characteristics. The Commission makes sure of it. Courage, intelligence, kindness. Super strength, healing, water manipulation. Aspiring heroes must undergo years of rigorous testing of both their character and abilities before they can even use their powers as a hero, but more than anything, they must fit this mold. Or more accurately, they must be *made* to fit this mold.
The Commission keeps its heroes on a tight leash. If you are caught with a single toe out of line, you are done. You have failed to live up to the standard of a true hero, after all. Your license will be taken, and the use of your powers will be closely monitored until the day you die. If you refuse to comply, well... no one is really sure what happens then. Luminous hasn't been seen in years, ever since he publicly condemned the Commission and the way they dealt with his sidekick's death. They swept the whole incident under the rug of course. Can't have such an obviously unstable individual using his villainous abilities to hurt people, now can we?
And he isn't the only one who has seemingly been erased.
Oddball, Meteor, the Philosophers. All gone. *Because they did not fit the mold.*
I've always admired heroes, but I'm beginning to think that word doesn't mean anything anymore. | 2020-06-15T11:56:52 | 2020-06-15T11:51:06 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] when we got to space we were surprised to find that all the aliens we come across are terrified of us, when we assure them that we aren’t there to hurt them they explained why they were so scared. Earth isn’t a planet, it’s a long since dead machine and humanity? Humanity is its combat AI. | "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit..." The alien was flipping across screens of a manual, shifting its weight from forelegs to hindlegs in a surprisingly human display of agitation and fear.
Well, at least our translators were working.
I was leading the very first diplomatic mission to meet our neighbours near Sirius. We'd taken our time, observed them as closely as possible for a year, then reached out. I thought we'd nailed the greeting, using our fingers in place of mouth tendrils, but the Hymn had immediately flipped out.
They called their equivalent of a police/military force and surrounded us, while we tried our best to be non-threatening. Shortly after, this Hymn had arrived with a holographic tablet and we tuned our translators' microphones to the fearful whispering of the Hymn representatives.
We knew that they descended from beings that programmed biology the same way that we do computers, but on an insane scale. These guys had created planets to use as battlestations. These were used to assert dominance over the galaxy, and beyond. After the cultural schism that lead to the Hymn as we understood them, they had gone out and decommissioned every station still functional. I just had no idea why they had called this scholar out to debate ancient history.
"It was broken. They logged it as broken [estimate 65 million years] ago! How can they be independent/functional/HERE!?" The larger of the two was pissed.
"I'm finding the shutdown codes.... Give me time." Shorty was trying to be calming, but there was ooze dripping from his sides, a Hymn stress response that we hadn't quite figured out yet.
"Uh... Boss? Do they think we're a threat?" The aide next to me spoke up. His name was Roger, I think. I was focused on hearing everything my translator was feeding to my earpiece.
"Biological robots, if I'm putting this together properly. It's not making a whole heap of sense to me, either. Let's give them a little time. We haven't seen any evidence of hand-to-hand or tentacle violence in all our time watching them. They fight with words."
The aide moved a little closer to our group, looking for protection. Damn it. I'm the first space diplomat and I couldn't even reassure a human. Great.
"We can walk back to the shuttle if they start swearing at us." I tried to seem relaxed. I hoped it would work.
"SHUT DOWN [UNTRANSLATABLE - UNIQUE WORD/NOUN]" My earpiece tried to convey the emotion behind the untranslatable word, which lead to the phrase "unique word/noun" sounding like someone trying to project false authority.
I waved at our counterparts and spoke into my translator: "I'm sorry. That phrase did not translate. How about we go somewhere and talk? We'd like to get to know your culture."
The Hymn stared at me blankly as they processed the chirping sounds coming from the device. Then they returned to furtively scrolling through screens.
"Look, try this."
"No, this one. We could [UNTRANSLATABLE - possible slang]"
Shorty cleared away his mouth tendrils. It looked like the next phrase was going to be difficult to say. "Restore original settings." Followed by a two syllable sound.
I keyed the translator. It didn't come up with "UNTRANSLATABLE" this time. It just had the "restore original settings" phrase, then didn't pick up anything to translate. I internally debated turning it off and on again, but got distracted by my aide. He was staring, mouth open wide at Shorty.
"Say that again. Please." He was listening very intently as the Hymn said the two syllables again. This time I heard what had Roger so excited. The bug was speaking an Earth language. The Hymn scholar had managed to enunciate "Eden." | First Contact. Metreidies Prime. To Ro Christian, looking over the precipice as if over the sweep of historical record, it was such an obvious honey pot.
“Temper your chrono-exceptionalism,” she whispered to herself. There were many other apt descriptors for her teacher, Andro Frafare--”flatulent”, “inebriated”, “womanizer”--but Ro supposed that “wise” could win on his good days.
Instead she tried to walk in their shoes, throw herself back in time: How could the great SETI researchers have known that the absolute dearth of regular radio patterns was due to a chronofield isolation bubble? That the collective programming of humanity--as the most vicious and effective combat intelligence in known space--had been wiped and replaced with what turned out to be increasingly more intricate versions of Space Jesus?
The obviousness of the trap on Metreidies Prime, then, would have been as inscrutable to humanity’s first interstellar exploration task force as the answer to why man could not stop visiting inhumanity unto man.
The answer, of course, was that our warlike nature was intended. When early humans looked around and saw “intelligent design,” it was due to a Creator. Just not one as loving or all knowing as many came to believe.
“No one among our species has been given enough knowledge of our progenitors to know our true purpose: was it to consume the entire universe, as many in the known worlds would have us believe, or was it as deterrence, or something else?” Ander had always tempered his lessons, perhaps seeing their impact upon her.
Her mother had claimed, even on her deathbed, that humanity was destined to spread the light of His goodness to all of creation. No other truth was evident given how the other worlds were so ready to forgive and welcome His message.
Deniers. To Andro, that’s what her parents had been. Descendents of the first wave of emigration from earth, they had brought with them their implanted stories to “combat” the general consensus of the rest of the galaxy, only to find immediate celebration.
It was hard for Ro, for anyone really, to temper the exceptionalism, time-based instead of species based, that now said, of course your early days seemed idyllic, you were bred specifically to the struggle in the Hellish crucible of the Earth, just barely habitable by galactic standards. Earth would be an Eden to such a creature. And in the stories of her parents, the serpent “tricked” Eve into eating from the Tree of Knowledge. Truth. She gave a harsh laugh now at the image of Anders Frafare with forked tongue flicking between his fat, un-serptentlike lips.
Metreidies Prime was more Edenic than Eden, then. Perfectly situated in the habitable zone of an even more accommodating star. A wide equatorial band that largely possessed the climate of Southern California. A plush vine colonized a great deal of the surface bearing fruit of seemingly the perfect energy density and nutritional composition for optimal Earthling health. How could that be? The first team of explorers were scientists, not the evangelists of her parents’ generation. What about their skepticism? How could they have missed the setup?
Again Ro chastised herself for failing to think chrono-appropriately as she descended the gentle green slope next to the cliff, the 0.8 gee on Metreidies Prime making it quite enjoyable. As she descended, she slowly consumed the particularly fat golden Amberose in her glove, peel and all.
Yes, it had been a trap, but then, most of the Known worlds had environments even more spectacular and accomodating. Ro was just not sure she believed it had always been like that for most other species. Cooperation instead of competition for survival.
Of course humanity had not been the chosen people of her parents’ faith, she knew well enough. That would be obvious to anyone on seeing the forensically verified evidence, the countless mindprints of human beings suited up in battle armor and visiting death throughout the known worlds, upon nearly every species of the Summit--painting the idyllic worlds with the color of that species’ blood, indiscriminate of adult or child or hatchling. The Confinement had seen human memory wiped, origins reformed, but not the nature which reverberated through wars and atrocities.
Yet, this absolute line of thinking never sat right with her. The scientists had been lulled into abandoning their skepticism, just as the masses of humanity that had emigrated, the tenets of their varied faith finding some predestined parity with the Universe.
Prime among all, Andro taught her to question everything, which is why she now found herself at the periphery of the Control Zone at the center of which sat the true record of First Contact. The “nature” of humanity be damned, she lowered the visor on her antique battle armor and felt the thrum of the blasrifle in her arms.
With a soft prayer she stepped across the line and into the forbidden zone. | 2020-07-09T06:28:17 | 2020-07-09T04:40:02 | 387 | 30 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why. | "Yes, these will do real nice." Vesson peered at the handful of crystals through the jeweler's loupe. "Good color, nice points. Yes, these are exactly what I need."
"Good, good. I'm glad you like them." Stormgod said coolly to the man dressed in what appeared to be a flat black suit and turtleneck.
"And I am glad you have them. So, I have here the agreed upon price," the villain dumped the crystals bag into the small bag and roughly kicked the satchel in the direction of other man. Stormgod looked down at the bag with disdain. Vesson didn't notice.
"One more thing." Stormgod said as Vesson pocketed the bag. "I heard you, I believe your saying is, took MaxMan out of the game? Is that true."
Vesson smiled, and dropped his head a bit hide his laugh. Then he looked up at the older villain, taking in the elaborate silver and gray costume, the gauntlets, the cape. He couldn't believe the man still wore a cape. "Yeah I did," he admitted. "I took him out of the game. I put him in the wrong headspace. I don't know why you old guys act like this is so hard. Now, I have one less problem."
"So you did," Stormgod paused reluctant to continue but finally pushed forth," you murdered his family."
"Mother, brother, wife. I even threw in the neighbors as a bonus." Vesson said proudly. Then he stopped and gave Stormgod a quizzical look. "Is that why you finally decided to sell me these crystals? You impressed now?" The sneer in his voice was clear.
"Hardly."
\*\*\*
Vesson awoke with a start, but found himself unable to move. He flexed his arm, his legs, but nothing. He blinked but he couldn't see anything. He tried again to move an arm or a leg to no avail. His body felt heavy, heavier than normal and he was having a bit of trouble taking a deep breath. He tried once more, his enhanced muscles either not responding or ineffective. A rage built in him. This was Stormgod's doing. And that old cartoon villain would pay for this.
"He's awake."
The voice startled him. Whatever was covering his eyes was removed. His vision darted around for clues to his imprisonment or his captors, and how he could exploit them. The space however was bare, just featureless white walls and no door he could see. In front him sat what he assumed were his captors, in four comfortable leather lounge chairs. He noticed there was also a rolling bar to one side, and tray table that looked like it held the remains of a meal. A softly spoken question broke his focus.
"You killed MaxMan's family? Are you insane?" The man who asked the question wore a suit that looked like a technicolor vomit. Beside him on a small pillow sat a neon colored jester's hadt. Vesson knew his name was Hatter, and that the man also was number three on an international most wanted list for crimes against humanity. That this guy asking if HE was insane was comedy.
"Of course he's insane, what are we drawing this out for?" The man next to him wore a green and gold costume that looked like it came from the discount aisle. Vesson wasn't sure who this old geezer was and didn't care.
"Because we're villains Charlie, and that's what we do." Stormgod quipped. He sat at the end closest to the drinks, a glass of something brown in his hands.
This brought a quick muffled laughter from Hatter and the other man. After a beat, the man in the green and gold costume laughed as well. "Thanks, I needed that." He said after the giggles died down.
Vesson had had enough of this. He interrupted. "So, what do you retirement home has beens think you're about to do? Your guy Stormgod has to have told you I took out MaxMan. You should be giving me a pat on the back. Offering to blow me."
"He does have the bravado. Shame." Hatter said with a sad sigh.
"No, we are not going to thank you," said the last man. He was tall and reedy, with silver hair and mustache. He wore what looked like a golden armor with black piping. "What we're going to be doing is trying to clean up this mess you created. With one night's work you've upset a balance and trust it took years to work out. But that's not what tonight is about."
"What are you talking about?" Vesson growled.
"We don't go after a hero's family. Ever. It's understood." Charlie said coldly.
Vesson howled. "That makes no sense. It's a leverage. A pressure point."
The man in the gold stared hard at the young villain. "It makes perfect sense. Because then they won't go after mine. I have grandchildren."
Hatter rubbed his face and took a deep breath. "It's not like the heroes don't know who we are behind these costumes. We're all in a system somewhere. They know who we are and who our families are. And where they live. What they do."
Vesson looked at Hatter in shock. "You're worried about family? How many people have you killed?"
Stormgod swirled his drink. "We all have families. Hatter, Green Bomb, Goldenstrike. True, some of us haven't talked to them in years or seen them up close, but they're still family. And just like we don't go after the heroes families, they mostly avoid ours. It's an understanding. As you would say in your game analogy, the players play. No one else matters."
"You guys are all weak. Pathetic. Just because you don't have the cojones to go far enough...."
Goldenstrike cut him off. "But more importantly, the reality is a man like yourself, who fashions himself was the next big thing, who is trying to build an empire, will inevitably go to war with one of us, or someone like us."
"You can't keep a bad man down." Vesson laughed.
"I have grandchildren." Goldenstrike said with a deathgrin. | I looked up from my dissection to the sound of someone knocking on my door, which was... highly unusual. My thralls didn't have the intelligence to seek me out if they required attention for some reason, and even if they did, they certainly didn't have the sense to knock. More likely they'd have fallen into one of the traps or gotten stuck on one of the easier puzzles, but failing that, they'd have either stood outside the door and wailed or just broken it in because the very concept confused them. So no -- no knocking.
Content that I wasn't going to get a nose full of half-decayed body, I pulled my mask down and drew in a breath. My sharp senses were assaulted by the smell of blood, decay, and wet dog, with just a hint of divine arrogance. Pondering why the Hero of the Dawn could be visiting, I absentmindedly ran my tongue over the gap in my teeth behind one of my elongated canines before settling on an answer. If she hadn't sent word ahead, she certainly wasn't here for tea. I sighed loudly enough that she could hear my melodrama and grabbed my wand while she waited with uncharacteristic patience for me to open the door. She probably wanted to stab me through the doorway or something.
With a wave of my hand, the corpse I'd been working on rose from the table and shuffled to the door, opening it and promptly getting skewered with the Dawnblade and evaporating into a puff of smoke. I settled into a plush armchair and looked down my nose at her as she stomped inside the door. She was slick with blood and viscera after hacking through waves of thralls, her nails likely jagged and chipped from forcing the switches and chains from the puzzles and traps. Some of her irritating top-knot had even been cleaved off, but somehow, the makeshift warpaint on her face was still perfect. I had no clue how she managed such a thing -- it was never disturbed, even if I happened across her while she was sleeping or had just swam halfway through a river.
"Borovir," she snarled, her voice low and raspy.
"Oh, surnames now? What did I do to piss *you* off, Burning-Sands?" My fingers drummed on the side of my wand as I subtly cast a spell between us. I disguised it well, but she was freaking me out. Usually she at least bothered to say 'hi', even when she was marching in to try and murder me. "You missed tea last week, by the way. You didn't even ask me to reschedule." Iszane Burning-Sands was a piss-poor Chosen One. Before she'd revealed that itty-bitty factoid that she'd been chosen to end my thousand-year reign of terror by Goron the Dawnlord, she'd gotten along with me pretty well. In fact, I was the one who put in a good word for her with that awful werewolf pack, but now I was starting to regret it.
She snarled like a feral animal and lunged for me, slamming into the barrier I'd just set up. She let out a roar of rage and slashed at the magic with her sword, but it bounced off harmlessly. Still, warding wasn't my specialty, and she was going to break through it soon enough with that holy weapon of hers.
"Come on, Iszane! If you're going to try and murder me, at least tell me what's got you in such a tizzy," I persisted, laughing a little bit. Mostly because I was nervous, but she seemed to believe it was just me being flippant -- good. Image is important.
The blood-soaked hero paused and bared her teeth. Something must have hit her in the mouth, or maybe she had torn into a corpse on the way, because there was blood there, too. And there was only one vampire in the room. She was breathing heavily as she adjusted her grip on the Dawnblade. "My girlfriend is dead, Samin," she spat. "I only know of one bastard who'd stoop so low, and your vile stench is all over this."
I paused and frowned. "Wait, you have a girlfriend? Since when! My, my -- it seems the Hero of the Dawn gets around, hm? Wait until Goron hears of this!" I teased. "But really, dear. I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
She gestured violently at the ashes around her feet. "Where in At'zar's name did you get that, then?"
I crossed my arms and my legs. "A group of Dawn-Idiots came knocking, so I had some thralls slaughter them. What, is defending myself against a bunch of fools who think they can defeat the greatest necromancer of all time by waving around a sun symbol a crime now?"
"Yes! Its *murder!* That is the DEFINITION of murder!"
I scoffed. "Oh, don't be all high and mighty just because the Dawnlord popped your magical cherry. You were literally raised by an assassin cult! You're a Goron-forsaken werewolf! Or, rather, a Goron-*blessed* werewolf. But really, you mean to tell me your lady friend was one of those idiots?"
"SULARI WAS NOT AN IDIOT!" she roared, swiping at the wall with the sword again and shattering it. Her eyes lit up and I scrambled to my feet, messily casting a similar barrier again just a few inches closer. I ducked behind the chair and swore under my breath, starting to run up the steps to the ground floor. While I didn't exactly have a heart to beat, it was definitely pounding in my chest.
Iszane Burning-Sands, however, grew up as a pursuit predator in the middle of the desert. She had the moon and the Dawnlord fueling her body. I was a scrawny-ass vampire who kept himself shut in the basement of a wizard's tower breathing in the fumes of embalming fluids. She thundered up the stairs after me, and I was gasping for breath on a balcony as I cast another wall, weaker this time, and scrambled back as far as I dared. The sun was rising, which meant her sword was gaining more power, and it also meant that my best escape was putting my hood up and jumping four stories into the rugged terrain below. And Iszane carried a bow.
She slammed her fist against the wall and stared at me, breathing heavily. I didn't have anywhere left to run, and I didn't have any minions with which to strengthen myself. I was not the sort of monster who fought things up close and personal.
"I'm going to put you back in the ground," she said, her voice low, and I suddenly felt much colder than usual. She meant it. "You can't escape me this time."
I thought to myself for a moment how ironic this was. For the past three years, Goron had been trying to find a good way to get her to kill me once and for all, to put me in the ground and not let me back out. And all it really took to get her angry was taking down someone she loved.
The wall dissipated and she stalked forward. I could taste blood and sunlight before she could even really raise her sword.
It was going to be hell to face off against Goron. | 2020-07-12T10:27:01 | 2020-07-12T10:26:39 | 532 | 101 |
[WP] You are an ordinary human going about your day when you suddenly find yourself in hell. Looking down you see yourself standing on some crudely drawn symbols. A nearby demon child holds up some paper and says "Um...can you help me with my homework?" | "Where am I?" I asked, feeling my heart race as the room around sounded with distant cries of pain. My eyes had trouble adjusting to the darkness around me, but I was able to focus on the red, glowing eyes ahead of me.
The small child looked up at me, tears in his eyes and asked again, "Can you help me with my homework?" Even his horns drooped with sadness.
I took a step closer and saw a language I couldn't read--strange lines and shapes scribbled down on the paper. The child handed me the paper, and as soon as my fingers touched the material, I felt a slight jolt. The scribbled lines glowed yellow and started forming together in more rounded characters, until suddenly they made sense to me.
I stood still in shock as I realized I could now read the ancient demon words. It seemed the small child was working on some kind of writing assignment, as there were multiple paragraphs that were crossed out, but I was still confused. "What is it your teacher wants you to do?" I asked, still gripping the paper.
"He wants us to write how we would take over the world. Everyone else has all these great ideas about destroying the moon or poisoning the ocean, and I can't think of anything." He put his head in his hands and let out a whimper.
I tentatively sat down next to him. "Well, sometimes simple is better. You could possess somebody. But if its about taking over the world, it would need to be someone important, like a President. Write a story about how you would do that, and describe the war you caused," I smiled at him. His eyes lit up and he grabbed the paper from my hand and started scribbling quickly.
Then, my vision became blurry, the room and screams of pain faded away, and when I opened my eyes next I was in bed again. I tried to logically explain the experience away. It had to have been a dream, right? I spent the next week burying myself in my own homework and never told a soul, barely convincing myself it was a dream...
Until, late a night when I had already fallen asleep, I felt that familiar feeling of falling. When I opened my eyes again, I was in the same room with the demon child.
But there were two others.
The small child beamed at me, and squirmed excitedly. But the other two glared until I felt like sinking into the ground beneath me. The child ran up to me and grabbed my hand, pulling me over to the adult demons. Finally, they acknowledged me.
In a guttural voice, one said, "This child brought you here for help. You obliged. You should be punished, but we will instead reward you."
I was dumbfounded and frozen in fear. Their eyes were deep red, and their horns massive. The other one spoke. "Through your influence on the child, you have provided a flawless plan. We will spare your life as we send hordes to the surface. You may live here as you please, as this child's friend."
My blood ran cold and the distant cries of pain silenced in my ears. The reality of what was happening dawned on me.
Oh no....What have I done? |
"What does this even *mean*?" I stared at the incomprehensible language at the top of the paper. Surely this was something in some demonic language, not meant for mortal tongues. I had been summoned, somehow, to hell - by the mischief of a small demon child, or perhaps by that third tequila. Either way, here I was with a little demon kid, who was expecting me to decipher arcane script.
The demon child looked at the worksheet, then back at me. "Um. We're supposed to identify the minuend and the subtrahend, I think."
"That doesn't MEAN anything!" What in the - appropriate terminology here - *hell* was a minuend? What in the hell was a subtrahend? I looked at the worksheet. I looked at the kid. "You're how old?"
"Me? I'm six." Great. I was being stymied by a first grade math assignment. That does wonders for self esteem, let me tell you. "So, um... can you help me?"
"Can you even read those words?"
"My teacher told me. And I know 'minuend' is the one that starts with 'm'."
Not particularly inspiring, but maybe I could work with it. I took a deep breath. "Okay. Fine. Um. Did your teacher tell you what they mean? I mean, of course *I* know, I just want to see if *you* know."
The kid's eyes unfocused - which was something to watch, because he had six of them - and his voice got weirdly sing-songy. "The min-u-end minus the subtra-hend... gets the dif-fer-ence!"
"Oh... *oh!*" That's what that meant? When I was a first grader we just called them 'the big number' and 'the little number.' Sure, that required some additional explaining when we got to negatives about five or six years later, but I didn't see how these weird terms were going to make anything *better*.
Then again, this *was* hell. Poor kid never had a chance. "Look, don't worry, we got this. So, *difference* is like *different*, right? So the difference is the number that's all by itself because no other kids want to play with it because it's different." I probably wasn't supposed to say that, but this *was* hell - and kids knew what was up, even if adults liked to pretend they didn't. "Uh... then we're gonna do something sneaky and call 'subtrahend' the 'small number.' Got it? S for *small*. So, on this problem, 8 minus 5 equals 3, the 3 is by itself, so that's the difference. Now, which is the *small* number?"
The demon counted on his hands, raising 8 fingers on one hand and 5 on the other. "Um... 5 is smaller?"
"Yes! Great! So put an 's' by that one, and then the minuend is just the other one!"
"Oh! I see!"
We made it through a few more problems, and I breathed a sigh of relief, feeling like a true champion - or at least, a champion of first grade math. "There! We *did* it!" Maybe I was more excited than the kid, but hey, this was rough. "So, uh... can you send me back now, kid?"
"Um, I will, but... there's a back side."
Of course there was a back side. The worst thing about math worksheets was there was *always* a back side. You thought you were done, and then you weren't. I sighed. "All right, all right. Flip it over, what do we do on the back?"
"Subitize!"
I flinched, expecting to be blasted into smithereens by what was obviously an evil spell, but the kid was just holding out the paper, with the word - yes, *subitize* written across the top.
Truly, I was in hell. | 2020-09-16T17:55:15 | 2020-09-16T17:14:35 | 184 | 108 |
[WP] you are a super hero/heroine. You've been captured by your nemesis so often that now you tend small talk while trying to escape or waiting for a rescue. Today's topic: the creepy fan mail you've BOTH been getting. | "Good, good," the menacing undertone piercing my groggy mind. "You are finally awake."
"Ugh," I murmured, still a little shell-shocked. I instinctively raised my right hand to rub at the sore, aching spot at the top of my head, only to run into the ever-so-familiar feeling of a restraint binding my wrists.
"That's..." I said. "Carrion?"
"Yes, yes," Carrion croaked. "Welcome, Zoi! How do you like my new place?"
"Welcome?" I asked. Lines, shapes, colour, slowly seeped back into my vision, and now, I could see the ragged plague doctor mask he had on his face. Warily, I scanned the room, finding it entirely devoid of life and light.
My eyes adjusted a little more. I stared past Carrion, now noticing the houseplant that stood beside the door.
"At least you took my suggestion about greening this place up a little," I noted. "Is that... a philodendron?"
Carrion looked back, as if he needed confirmation about a fixture in his own house.
"Yeah, yeah!" he said, surprising enthusiasm bursting forth from his gravelly voice. "I like it a lot. It does help the atmosphere, doesn't it?"
"It's not bad. And I see you fixed that wall as well," I jerked my head towards the left. The Band had previously busted in from that very wall, two months ago, to rescue me from a very similar situation.
"Mm, mm," Carrion nodded. Sadly, even. "It was pretty expensive."
"Well," I said. "I mean... you have to expect that."
"I do, I do," Carrion's head continued to bob like a buoy. "It's OK. I make enough money to get by."
"Steal," I corrected.
Carrion plainly ignored my question.
"I'm not going to pretend that I understand," I sighed. "You did beat me, which means you are only... what, 20 wins away from catching up to me?"
"No, no. 18," Carrion corrected.
"Fine, fine," I tried holding up my hands in defeat, before realizing they were still tied to the back of a metal chair. "18 it is. It'll be 20 soon enough."
"Ha ha, very funny," Carrion said. "Actually, Zoi, I have to ask--how do you deal with overzealous fans?"
"Overzealous fans?"
"Yea, yea," Carrion rubbed his chin. "You know, being a woman superhero. Basically the opposite of me. I'm sure you get a lot of creepy messages."
"Well... that's certainly true. Why?"
"Just... just receiving a lot of stuff, you know. Some creepy. Some hateful. It's really getting me down," Carrion said, the nose of his mask drooping dramatically.
"Hey, buddy," I said. "Nobody's going to like everything you do? Heck, I don't like what you do! People just do weird stuff when hiding behind anonymity, you know?"
We both stared at each other.
"You're right," he said. "People do weird things when they have masks on, don't they?"
"We do," I sighed. "We really do."
A roar of jet engines interrupted our conversation. We looked back at each other, knowing what was about to happen.
"Well, well," Carrion said. "So long then."
"Another time," I said. "I'll push that lead to 20 soon enough."
Carrion walked to the entranceway, opening the door. He petted the philodendro, surprisingly enough.
"Please," he said. "Please make sure this stays unharmed."
"You got it, Carrion," I nodded.
Then, the wall to the left of me bust open, and Carrion slipped away into the darkness.
---
r/dexdrafts | The chain dropped another foot as the sharks cut vicious circles below.
My arms were trapped in a straightjacket, my feet bound together, weights swinging in loose arcs from my ankles. I rotated clockwise, then anticlockwise, as the chain stuttered towards the roiling water.
Honestly, I was a bit disappointed. It was all a bit anticlimactic, for her. The villainess could do better. A couple of months ago, there was the volcano cannon. Before that, the pit of cybernetic lions. And I would never forget the classic conveyer-belt-into-spinning-saw. Maybe she was starting to run out of ideas.
The villainess herself, a young twenty-something adorned in black spandex, paced back and forth on a catwalk above. Metallic talons extended from the tips of her fingers, and she gestured wildly as she spoke. I vaguely worried that she would hurt herself. She always liked to talk, and I’d grown to enjoy our little chit-chats. But today, she was especially animated.
“It’s like, the note was terrible.” I winced as one metallic finger stopped inches from her throat.
I nodded amiably.
“But what's worse is that he posted it to my address! He knew my secret identity! That’s the real trouble. It crosses a line, you know? It’s my *privacy*.”
The chain dropped another foot.
“I get it,” I said. “Did he at least write you compliments? He called me a ‘modern-day Achilles.’ It was nice.”
There was a knife in my back pocket. If I used the knife to cut through the straightjacket, I had a chance. My arm started to ache as I fidgeted.
“This *sucks*! All he wrote about was how hot I was, calling me 'babe this', 'honey that'. And he calls you 'Achilles'. What an asshole!”
I grasped the knife and started cutting.
She stopped pacing and looked at me. For a moment, I worried she knew what I was doing. But the look on her face was more curiosity than anything else.
“What did he write in yours?” she asked, eyebrow raised.
“Just fan mail. I saved his best friend a couple of years back, he’s so grateful, that kind of stuff. The only weird thing was that it went to my apartment.”
As I talked, the chain dropped another foot. I could see the whites of the sharks’ eyes, now.
“That’s not *fair,*” she groaned. “I *hate* double standards. Men these days!”
I was almost finished cutting the straightjacket and started swinging back and forth. If I swung up to the catwalk, then maybe I could--. But that train of thought was interrupted when she looked at me expectantly.
“I feel you,” I said hurriedly. “The entitlement is inappropriate. It’s like some men don’t even understand unbalanced gender dynamics, or haven’t even heard of feminism. In this day and age, with the internet, that kind of ignorance is unforgivable. They should know better.”
As I talked, I swung back and forth, arcing higher and higher, until the apex was level with the catwalk. Before I finished speaking, I cut the last of the straightjacket, using the arc’s momentum to burst out and roll onto the catwalk.
I crouched before her, arms raised, ready to fight.
She watched the maneuver contemplatively. Her eyes seemed far away as we began to spar. She barely looked at me as she whipped a kick towards my stomach.
“Entitlement’s a good way to look at it,” she mused, spinning away again. “It’s entitled to call me 'babe'. And it’s entitled to violate our secret identities.”
Her claws slashed forward, inches from my face, and I barely leaned out of the way. The weights, pooled around my ankles, made it hard to fight.
“I wonder who the guy is,” I said. “I mean, do you think he has powers?”
I feinted to the left, then punched to the right, narrowly missing her jaw.
“If he has powers, it’s the power to be a world-class creep.”
She pulled on my overextended arm, sent me sprawling, and pinned my throat against the edge of the catwalk. Behind me, the straightjacket hung inches above the water; below, the sharks roiled.
“Maybe we can team up?” I choked out, desperate now. “It’ll be good for both of us if we catch this guy.”
Her eyes brighten.
“Yes! I’m *so* in! Let’s take down this dude. It’d be nice to be a heroine, for once. And honestly, what he did is way worse than anything *I’ve* ever done.”
I nod in agreement, as the chain stuttered for the last time, finally lowering the straightjacket into the water. The sharks tore it to fragments in their frenzy.
---
Always appreciate writing advice! Thanks for reading. | 2020-10-28T04:53:11 | 2020-10-28T04:39:12 | 99 | 66 |
[WP] After adopting a human on the intergalactic black market you're shocked to discover it's actually sapient. | "Yes ma'am. Those are technically illegal. No, under the Charter, any species not specified in the list is automatically illegal. By the throne, ma'am, I don't know! I'm not a zoologist! Look, you can't just let it loose because your child got hurt. No you can't put it down either. Yes ma'am, that would just be unethical. Vet? What vet, I don't even know what you have!"
Zooner listened in the background. He was a long time-server at the dispatch center, never making anything about a shift manager. He liked it that way, the calls were entertaining, and he wasn't responsible for answering them.
The latest fad was the introduction of a new cutesy bipedal, like those lizard things except smaller. Apparently came from the same planet! Those Martians really knew how to cook up a planet. Zooner frowned. It had been a long time since he got a message from them however, it was likely they were still stuck in their hibernation period over the millenium.
"No ma'am, I don't care if he's starting to use rudimentary technology to try to contact the store. Yes, I'm sure. Excuse me? I'm not a zoologist? Ma'am you don't need to be one to know that they clearly are just putting things on top of another! No, I don't have kids. Thank you, I'm sure we'll be hearing from you again."
The officer got off the phone and turned to Zooner. "Got another woman claiming that the pets are smart enough to be trouble."
Zooner laughed. "Officer Kent, go and visit their home next week." The officer rolled his numerous eyes. "Just humour me this once, I'm sure it's nothing. Put it down if you think it's dangerous."
***
The following week, Zooner was helping another officer arrange a detail of pest patrols surrounding a number of blocks. The newest fad had turned out to be more invasive than previously thought. Home were infested and many of the apartment buildings had been declared unlivable. The bipedals had been growing in number so rapidly, and adapting so quickly that it was hard for even Zooner to keep up.
Officer Kent was visting the house call from the week prior, but called in immediately to advise that the home should be condemned. It was filled to the top with strange circular satelite like objects. As if it were some sort of spikes, or defense mechanism. Any attempt to move towards the home triggered a sharp sound device that echoed in the surrounding areas. "Weirdest thing I've ever seen."
Zooner thought about the news. Whatever the bipedals were, they weren't dumb. They reminded him of the rex farm that he had when he was a boy, the small burrowers making complex mazes and searching for food. His mother near killed him when a handful got out and infested the house.
Looking up at another screen, Officer Kent's transmission came online. He had sweat coming off of his globular face. "Sir, I think you ought to see this for yourself."
"Damnit Kent, what is it?" The camera zoomed into the door. A small parade of the bipedals, looking no more than a finger's height, seemed to be holding small tiny banners. The letters were unrecognizable, but it was a clear formation moving onto the porch.
"Good lord. That's not possible." Zooner dropped his mug. "They're sentient." | "I... sorry, remind me again, what is a... walking taco?"
My new exotic pet scratched the back of its neck. It smelled faintly of ennui and emotional disconnect.
"Yeah, so it's like... ok so you take a bag of fritos and then you get your other ingredients, right? and you put the beef and lettuce and cheese and stuff in the bag with the fritos, and then you eat it out of the bag."
I was having trouble wrapping my mind around this development. I was stressed as it was from a series of astronomically important business meetings which I had visited this side of the galaxy to attend. My boss, the CEO of WarpCorp, obviously expected a lot from me. I didn't need this extra responsibility, but it looked as though my reckless drinking the other night had landed me in hot water.
"And you..." I paused. "You're a human, right? One of those, er, Earth, was it? You're from that planet that was removed to form the interstellar highway?"
The tired human nodded and looked up at me expectantly. "So...?"
I puzzled at their hopeful expression for a moment then started. "Oh, the walking taco, no, no, we don't have any aboard. I don't think there even are any outside of Earth, you'll be hard pressed to find one."
The human's eyes began to brim with tears, and their grief tasted unpleasantly salty and fatty.
"Oh, hey, no it's ok, we can... we can figure it out, you can find something similar..."
"Space fritos?" They mumbled forlornly, watching the wall blankly.
I was not looking forward to my trip home.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
By the time we returned to my residence, the human had ceased crying and was now looking around with bleary eyes and a vast sense of helplessness. I couldn't help but feel a grain of sympathy burgeoning in my chest. Mistakenly, I invited the thing inside.
Within moments I regretted my decision, as the creature flung open my bedroom door and began to poke around my sleeping container.
"Why is your fridge so strange?" They taunted me with their incomprehensible speech and their completely meaningless ramblings.
As the human continued to tour my home, it bumped into my lovely partner, who, upon seeing it, turned to me in haste, eyes alight with a frightful sort of madness.
"What have you done." Came the instant accusation (rightfully landed, I must admit)
"I- there was a complication, and this human is-"
"A human?? Are you insane? Humans haven't been recognized by Universal Universal Healthcare? Who knows what diseases that thing is carrying? It probably hasn't been vaccinated!"
The human seemed to bristle at this. "Excuse me, but I happen to have gotten my COVID booster, I'm not one of those anti-vaxxers who are endangering everyone's life!"
As if to prove their point, the human ripped off the lower half of their face, leaving a large hole above their chin. I stared in horror.
This did not seem to alleviate my cohabitator's concerns, as they turned back to me even further inflamed.
"These humans haven't even developed a cure for that Coronavirus thing yet! That disease is supposed to be completely eradicated from the larger galaxy, and you have just brought back this extremely dangerous individual. I swear, you've lost your head! You must have been drinking again."
I tugged nervously at my collar and struggled to find an excuse but every point made was valid and incriminating. I had endangered many lives by adopting this creature and I had brought it straight to my home.
"Alright, sorry human, but I can't really afford to keep you around here. My partner is awfully upset about you, so you have two choices. Live in the basement, or I'll send you to a rescue shelter."
The human made no objections as I loaded them into a shuttle and plotted their course for the nearest endangered species shelter and preservation reservation. I watched with a twinge of sadness as their vessel sailed off into the distance.
The twinge of sadness became a twang of sadness as I witnessed their small pod thrown awry by a stray asteroid, but such is life.
"Well, good luck out there I guess." I offered as a last farewell, and went back inside. | 2022-03-01T20:35:06 | 2022-03-01T17:47:51 | 135 | 40 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | We went from 17-hour days to full 24-hour days. We laughed, we cried, we worked. Living life to the fullest - more than we ever knew.
We went from 17-our days to 24-hor days. We misremember things sometimes, maybe make a few mistakes once in a while, we were humans after all. They said it’s a side effect.
We went from 17-hur days to 24-our days. We chose 2 work, else we think - n tginking bad, shadows bad
We went from 17-hr days to 24-ur days. We must dieS. The shadows cOMe 4 me, dey comE f0r YoU too | Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it. | 2022-03-18T10:41:58 | 2022-03-18T07:24:03 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] You decide to try out your new time machine. After arriving in the past you ask a nearby peasant what the year is, to which they respond "It's 450 BC". Good, you're in the right yea-... wait a minute... You glance back and the peasant's made a beeline for your time machine. | "Its 450 BC" Said the peasently laborer with a distinguished accent too familiar to ignore.
A peek at the universal translator revealed the language as... Earth Standard?
"That cant be right...Excuse me sir-" the words cut off as the peasant ran past
"Where are you going?" I asked baffled at the outburst
"Im getting outta here, enjoy your studies!" the 'peasant' shouted as he ran right to the disguised time machine, throwing it open and jumping in.
A metallic thud rang out from inside the machine.
Seconds later as I approached the 'peasant' reappeared.
"Sorry, did you actually make this thing require keys?" | The lights swarmed me with their unnatural luster, overwhelming my dry eyes. Everywhere. Every direction. They dance with colors unknown to me, I’m out of rhythm, out of time.
And the noises flood me, drown me. They’re so loud to me, louder than me. Though I screamed in fear, and no one could hear me. I think they stared, or just have a casual glance. They didn’t care.
I believe this place was called “New York City.” My English is still “in the works.” Some sounds just still make no sense to me. They never will.
But this city was where I ended up, and thank the gods I ended up there. The museums, as they called them, had people who spoke my language. Weird men in blue attire took me there. They had weird tools at their sides that were a mix of smooth and sharp edges the craftsmen of my village would marvel at. Those tools were scary though I knew not what they did.
These color-clad men took me there, to the museum, and the strange people with glass in front of their eyes spoke to me and listened to me.
“Have I died?” I asked them, my voice meek and still adjusting to the strange world I couldn’t overcome.
“No, you’re alive,” they told me. “But how?”
I explained to them I investigated this weird cylinder container a stranger emerged from, and they seemed to understand almost too well.
“A time machine,” they said. I heard the words but didn’t understand. They adjusted their words.
“The container you entered sent you to the future.”
And then my mind made sense of it all. I truly was out of my element because my land, my leaders, my culture were gone to time. I was unalive. | 2022-04-24T18:32:12 | 2022-04-24T16:25:25 | 211 | 15 |
[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. | **\*Clink\***
The chip fell on the alien's desk with a loud noise, having been thrown by the human right from the door. The alien raised her head and gave the visitor an inquisitive look before taking the chip in her appendage and slotting it into her terminal.
"Boom!" the human yelled boisterously. The alien sighed.
"Reaver lieutenant Crankas - taken care of!" he announced proudly. The alien waited for the readout of the chip and... it was correct. Crankas the Mighty, bounty of 10,000 credits, outstanding warrant in 7 different systems. This badly burned and mangled chip was from his ship's mainframe, no doubt about it. She gave the bounty hunter a puzzled look.
"*You*?" she finally said.
"Hey, we humans may not look like much to you kraal, but we're tougher than you think," he brushed her off. "I'll take 1000 credits on a chit and the rest on my account please," he smiled. The bounty master only shrugged and started clicking away at her computer.
"So," she started. "Hard hunt huh?"
"Honestly, I was a little disappointed," the hunter said, inspecting his fingernails. The bounty master chuckled to herself seeing just how soft and weak such a carapace was. "I mean he was built to be this big-bad and, well..." he shrugged and nodded towards the chip.
"I suppose you caught him off guard then? I mean this bastard's killed..." she looked at the record, "17 bounty hunters."
"I asked him to surrender."
The bounty master stopped typing and looked at him.
"You *what*?"
"Ah, it's-" he laughed, "on Earth we have a lot of, uh, media about bounty hunters and the stereotype is that they say 'Dead or Alive', so I thought I'd give him a chance."
"So he knew you were there and you still killed him?" the asked incredulously.
"Yep."
The bounty master thought about his story. It sounded mad - Crankas was an expert pilot with a state-of-the-art brakhar ship known for its speed and power efficiency. But... the chip was standard proof. The human seemingly caught on to her inner pondering.
"It's my ship, honestly. I'm not as skilled a pilot as he was but, well... we have a saying 'Don't bring a knife to a gun fight'," he laughed.
"Your ship - might I see it?" she said curiously.
"Of course. Please," he smiled and gestured towards the door.
The brisk walk to the hangar was filled with anticipation from the alien and smugness from the human. They came to where it parked, opened the door and-
The alien lost her composure and gasped. Kraal hardpoints on a slak body, class III cannons of... indeterminate origin, apparently custom made, ma'al's thrusters... it was an amalgamation of parts from all over the galaxy. Individually they were known for their strengths but never before had they been stitched together in such a haphazard manner. She looked at him with a mixture of disgust and awe.
"It's an abomination," she uttered. He looked at her with a devilish grin.
"It's *efficient,"* he chuckled. | Start...
I’ve read about the human race in my school. They are known to be violent beyond comprehension. A savage race which attacks every other species as well as each other. I remember my teacher, “Higher thought is inaccessible for such species. It’s best to avoid them.”
We’ve been at war with them for the last hundred years. We are quite a peaceful race. We have no weapons on our planet. It never occurred to us to harm another as a solution to our problems. The humans came to our planet in search of knowledge, and stayed to extract what they call ‘Lithium.’
When we tried to explain that the material was needed for the balance of our ecosystem, the humans didn’t seem to understand. They wanted it. They bombed our cities and occupied our capitals. They killed most of our leaders and took over the governance of our land.
Most of our race were imprisoned and killed. But we did not fight back. There is no point in fighting. We tried to educate and enlighten. We aim to improve ourselves, not in accumulating resources.
We did have captives in our few survivor camps. Were they really captives? They were free to go if they pleased. The humans who stayed with us, seemed to believe in our way. They spent most of their time studying and practicing our arts. The human leaders called them our “Prisoners of War.” Is it a war if it is one sided? I’ve often wondered.
They marvelled at our knowledge. It was easy for us to move things around with our spirit. The humans could not. They couldn’t communicate with each other unless they transmitted a lot of energy. How strange. I’ve never understood what makes it difficult. I have still more to learn.
There was a human who stayed at my home. I called him Bo. I was his keeper. I kept him alive. He needed nutrients that I could extract from the nearby land. He stayed indoors most of the time, sitting closing his eyes, nearly inactive. “Meditation,” he called it.
He learnt how to use the spirit force. He also spent his time practicing movements with his body that seemed like jumping and forcing things around. “Why not learn how be peaceful?” I would ask. It laughed, but never answered.
——
Our leaders called everyone for a gathering, today. “The messages that in the air seem to indicate that we will be killed tomorrow morning,” announced the eldest. Humans used the air to talk to each other. They had little devices that translated their words in to the mist that went through the air. We learnt to see those messages when the humans first came to our planet.
It had been a tough life. To face a foolish foe which destroyed everything you loved. Leaving this from of existence would be quite a relief. To journey on to the next phase of being. We decided to feast on our last night.
The humans in our camp seemed restless. They started yelling at each other and at us. They wanted to fight. We tried to tell them that it was okay to accept the future and war was not our way.
They weren’t soothed. Bo wanted to fight to protect us. He wouldn’t listen to our reason. He refused to accept our way. Bo organised the other humans and they were all yelling together. It was curious, how they dealt with knowledge of the future.
——
I was the morning of our departure. Bo was crying for us. For me. I told him that he would be spared so there was nothing to worry about. I opened by chest and offered to him a blunt knife to remember us by. It was a memento of our tribe. We used it to mark our children as adults. “Competence, with compassion.” It symbolised that we knew how to wield the knife but we choose not to use it.
This was my last mistake.
——
The inhabitants of our camp are still alive. But there is no peace. There is true war. A two sided war. Humans who want to keep us alive against humans who do not.
Bo combined the blunt knife with spirit energy into a violent weapon. Energy that our kind use to learn about the world.
They’ve been fighting for years. We are alive to witness it. We accept the war and wait our time to pass. We do not interact with the humans any more.
We’ve learnt from my last mistake.
...End | 2022-06-14T02:17:59 | 2022-06-13T23:34:05 | 980 | 171 |
[WP] You are a "con-man superhero". You draw the attention of villains, pretend to have powers and keep them occupied until a real hero with real powers arrives on the scene. You are so good at your job, that no-one is entirely sure whether you are truly powerless or not. | Some call me the Invisible Vigilante. Some call me the Hidden Hero. I call myself...the Audio Engineer.
Everytime there's the latest crazy attack on the city, a ton of paperwork has to be filled out before anything can be done. Lawsuits against accidental damages are a very real problem for our heroes here at Watchcorp and all over the world. Not to mention that it takes a while for those heroes to be contacted, figure out the best line of attack, and then actually get to the location. Sometimes it's all done in 10 minutes, the longer cases can take 45 minutes until a hero is on the scene...
That's where I come in, and that's why Watchcorp trust me with access to all speaker systems in the city. Whenever there's an attack, I can distract the culprit without breaking any hero laws, without risking citizen casualties, and without even needing to be there.
Bank being destroyed? Play lazer sound effects outside. Mayor being threatened? Talk to them in a heroic sounding voice. Giant bomb about to be dropped on the whole city?? Well that'd be a little more difficult but thankfully it's never happened.
The point is, villains always want a hero, so that they can try and kick some ass. If they think one is outside, they can't resist going to fight. Yet every time they follow the sounds, I just play it at a different place. It's like a wild goose chase. (Hey, could Wild Goose be a good hero name for me?)
Rumours go around a lot about me - the hero without a face, without an identity. Many people think my power is invisibility, some think I can shrink myself so tiny that nobody can spot me. One popular theory is just that I'm good at staying hidden. My true power, though, is my degree in sound engineering.
Who ever said degrees don't help you get jobs? | Bob went to take another bite of his sandwhich, his gorgeous, gorgeous sandwhich.
It was delicious. If there was one moment in all of time that Bob would have chosen to experience forever, it would have been this moment, he thought as he savored each distinct flavor while slowly grinding his teeth. Then he took a small sip of water so he could start all over again with the next bite, but before he got to that a train landed on him.
Denting the train in, a man in a deadly serious cricket ninja costume landed. Metal groaned.
Everyone who had been sitting around Bob panicked as a group and fled in all directions screaming in terror.
A almost inperceptible 'chirp chirp'.
"The Shadow Cricket now claims your souls!" He screamed and started exploding people with his mind into butterflies. A fluttering polychromatic swarm developed, making it difficult for Shadow Cricket to see people to explode them; he waved them away, irritated.
"Seriously, is all this really necessary Mister Cricket Ninja?"
'chirp...'
"It's Shadow Cricket mortal!" Crickets eyes locked onto a man covered in dust, his clothes torn and bleeding from a few scratches. He was getting up after apparently, following his path with his eyes...just crawling out of the train that had landed on him.
Bob dusted off his jeans. He held a wrapper in his hand still, forever hopeful even as he was being crushed, but the sandwhich was gone. He sighed and melodramatically let the wrapper slip away threw barely loosened fingers, replying, "My apologies Mister Cricket Shadow, it's just that I was really really enjoying that."
"Enough of this!" Bob exploded into butterflies as Shadow Cricket strained with one eye half-closed. "Impetuous mortal!"
"Look, all I want is an apology." Bob said calmly from the street on the other side of the train.
The sky darkened and crickets swarmed the debris, coming up from every crack and crevice.
Chirp chirp chirp chirp.
"No one survives Shadow Cricket...lets see if you can you suffer the power of The Eternal Chirp!" Shadow Cricket went to throw his hands out but stopped half-way through.
"Ya but before you do you might want to consider the plane."
"The plane?"
A plane landed on the train, exploded, and Captain Needy Prince landed beside the wreckage a moment later, cape fluttering without a breeze. "Omg thanks so much Bob, you're a life-saver, I was caught up with Confident Hypno Rick longer than expected."
"Sure just doin' my job." Bob sighed and walked away through a rainbow swarm of butterflies and daydreamed of what could have been. Bob put the sandwhich down as a work expense, but it did little to ease the pain. | 2022-08-11T08:27:39 | 2022-08-11T05:27:26 | 340 | 212 |
[WP] You're a supervillain whose latest evil scheme threatens to throw the city into chaos unless your nemesis goes on a date with you. To your surprise, they agree with enthusiasm before you can even explain what the consequences of refusing are. | And just like that, Giantess fell into my trap. She tried to enlarge to the size of a skyscraper, but before getting taller than 6 feet, metal bars locked into place around her. She tried using her above average strength to break them, but at this point I knew which titanium alloy would keep her at bay. Finally, she “gave up,” which we both knew was just an act.
“Let me guess—you’re about to suspend this prison above a pit of poisonous vipers?”
Was it just me, or did she sound almost…bored? “Not just ANY vipers!!” I cackled, and then I hit the button to reveal GIANT vipers. Which, in comparison to Giantess, still looked pretty tiny. But no matter! I’d been planning this ever since I got the wedding invitation and there was no way she was going to derail my plans now. “Now capitulate to my demands or there will be conssssssequences!”
She groaned at my pun. “Cobra, what do you want this time? The key to the city? The mayor’s head on a silver platter?”
“Actually I need a date to my cousin’s wedding.”
“Oh. Really? Absolutely!” Her sarcastic expression turned into one of genuine excitement.
I blinked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah! As a hero I never get invited anywhere unless it’s for political reasons, this will be fun!!”
Well. I didn’t even get to the part about what would happen if she refused. Although perhaps that was implied? “That’s what I thought!” I said with a dramatic flourish. “Be ready by 7pm on Saturday four weeks from now and we will meet at the Evergrove!” I paused, then added. “Please?”
“Definitely! What’s the dress code?”
“Sunday best, nothing too fancy.”
“Wedding gift?”
“Already taken care of, I just need a plus one.”
“Okay last question: why me?”
Of course she would ask. “Honestly? You’re the only person of my acquaintance who would never use my family’s identity against me. I enjoy being a villain, but I could never let my job put my family at risk.”
She nodded. “Yeah, I imagine inviting another villain would just be asking for a bomb to be set off during the vows.”
“Exactly. So I’ll see you in a month? I promise not to attack the city until after the event.”
“Deal. See you then!”
She broke out of the bars easily and walked out of my lair, leaving me with a dumbfounded expression on my face. Time to fine-tune the titanium alloy again. | Getting tipsy at the club with my friends. We're shaking butts in time with the hottest song of the summer. Sometimes we villains are cannibals - I took down this jerk who was trying to dim my sunshine so to speak - muscling into my action with dark money politics. I ruined his reputation by making some photos of him in the middle of extramarital situations which the mainstreamers didn't like. Me and my crew figured out he was really into funding start up companies that hire young college females. Turns out people are not OK with non-consensual polyamory. Go figure!
Now everybody's hating on him. Kicking him off of charity boards, returning his millions. It's super sad for him. Politicians crying about how they never saw it coming, how he seemed like such a nice guy with civic values. I'm all for oppressing the people because OMG democracy is so annoying. I'm not into humans ruling themselves - they simply cannot handle the responsibility. But he was getting bigger than me, and I wasn't having it. Who is the biggest villain? For damn sure it's not him. Yeah, was that vain? So what? I don't care. Did Godzilla have to work this hard? I don't know. Maybe my life would be easier as a nuclear radiation kaiju. Cloak of invisibility plus flight powers works pretty well for me. But still. There's more to life, am I right?
So here's the thing about villains. The villainy doesn't just stop with civilian deaths and general misery. It also sucks to date other villains. NGL, how many phone calls going to voicemail or messages left on read do I have to tolerate? I am the Empress of this town and it doesn't seem to matter much. Definitely got high fives and plenty of offers for hot dates after I blew up the sewage system. But this thing about destroying this billionaire takes the cake. Lots of smiles and offers of hugs - which I do not accept, thank you very much.
Who is coming up to me, looking like sex on wheels but Apple Tree Johnson? "Good job Empress. Didn't know you had it in you." Immediately I brace myself for something patronizing or condescending to follow. But it never arrives. "I kinda hated that billionaire dude also. And you know everybody on my side tried everything too. But you are the one who made the slam-dunk. Can I shake your hand?" Apple Tree Johnson - gorgeous and pretty smart too for a superhero - went to high school with me. Oh yeah it gets worse.
Why is it 100% cringe anytime we run into each other? So what's the harm with a handshake? "Mmm-kay, sure." I stick out my hand. His hand is warm. It's like butter mixed with caramel is flowing now from my hand to my brain. All of sudden his face lights up like glitter is raining down on just him. He nods, keeping his hand on mine. "Slam-dunk Empress. Your town thanks you." Who talks like this? Why am I like the snake caught in the gaze of a mongoose now?
I clear my throat, "Cool, let's hang out sometime and chat more. I'd rather do this civilly but if you do not accept - " He cuts me off before I finish. "Of course, anything for a champion. Time and place?" He didn't even wait to hear my threat. I was going to do something really awesome with the saltwater intrusion into our freshwater supply but I guess he didn't have the patience to hear what evil I had up my sleeve. I wasn't 100% on the saltwater thing but it could be epic. I'll table it for the time being. What the hell are we going to talk about?!?! | 2022-08-16T14:56:08 | 2022-08-16T09:25:08 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] You are the sole normal, unpowered student at a School for the Supernaturally Gifted. You were bullied once. Once. | Graduation day. I finally made it. I was hard being the only powerless “freak” in the school, but at least the bullying stopped pretty quickly. I think there was only a single time I was actually attacked by someone else which is an absurd stroke of luck. I guess he got expelled as I never saw Charles again. The fact that I was avoided by everyone, even the teachers, did nothing to help how miserable this school was, but I suppose I made it through.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Excerpt from the principle’s journal:
Daniel Smith finally graduated today. Thank God. Honestly, despite being tested and showing clear signs of having powers, I had no idea why he was sent here without being able to use them. Figured he’d gotten in through connections or something. He was bullied a bit, but there wasn’t any violence and it seemed to only be some name calling and not much else so I let it slide. I should have intervened. Charles… that poor kid. Came from a decent family, had powers that let him enhance his strength. Standard stuff. As I am told, one day, he got a bit too rowdy and threw a punch. Daniel, having no way to defend himself, took it hard. He’d been thrown into the wall, fractured his neck, and was instantly killed. Of course I instantly detected the commotion and flew over, however I was much too late. Something stood up from that rubble. Some THING. That wasn’t Daniel. Whatever it was seemed incredibly dangerous. My honed sixth sense screamed at me to run and hide. Something I hadn’t felt since my very early hero days. A human shaped mass of pitch black darkness stood up and shambled in the direction of Charles. “Hey you survived that? Might have some powers after all Fuckwad” he jeered. Stupid kid. As soon as it reached him, he punched again. Except this time his fist got stuck. I saw everything as he was consumed, heard the cracking of his bones. His screams. So often have I relied on my enhanced senses. This was a time I wished I didn’t have them. The next day everything was repaired (we have a guy, accidents happen frequently) and Daniel came in, like nothing happened. I immediately called him to my office and asked him to explain what happened. He’d said that he was bullied, and knocked out. Thats it. “Can I go? He said with a confused look on his face”. Can I go. AFTER WHAT HE DID?!?!? Of course I let him go. But what he said before leaving will always stay with me. “By the way, will Charles be punished?” | St. Agatha's School for the Monstrous was, despite its outward appearance, more an elite institution of learning than the dumping ground for the abnormal it pretended to be. The reason was simple. Vampires have obscene amounts of money, long memories, and children who require very particular accommodations. My mother was a Were, so, to keep \*her\* mother/Alpha happy, I went to be evaluated when I was old enough, despite never having grown a feather or a fang in my life.
As life-changing experiences went, it was relatively mundane. We filed slowly down a hallway to stand before a grotesquely humanoid totem made from old straw and older steel, reinforced each year by a custom set of enchantments. the totem would then open one of two doors, one for the monstrous, one for the 'normal', the letter being used mainly by children of alumni who didn't carry their progenitor's bloodline/curse/mutation/whatever. I'd fully expected to join them and chalk up the wasted afternoon to stupid lycanthrope politics, but the monstrous door opened for me and so poof, I was accepted.
The first day of school was less harrowing than I'd expected. I was initially confused by this, but I later found out that most of the more obviously monstrous students just assumed I was a fledgling wizard or a vampire who used bronzer for vanity's sake. The exception, of course, was Lisa. She didn't like me at all, and to this day I don't know why. My plan had been to stay out of the spotlight, study, and hopefully make it to graduation without being eaten, but she put the kibosh on that immediately, talking loudly to her friends about "who could have let an obvious normie in" to the school, her offended harumph sending her Brobdignagian chest bouncing in ways that cloud the teenage mind.
Of course, I noticed, and of course, she noticed and came stomping over. I tried to ignore her harangue, after all, if she had a chest like that, she had to want to be noticed. I turned the page of my Monstrous History text, only to have her slap me for ignoring her, as if she weren't in front of me because I hadn't been ignoring her.
I balled up my fist and drove it into her stomach with all the force I could muster. She smirked, completely unhurt by my attack. So I pushed, reaching up under her midriff-baring top. She squeaked and called me a pervert, reaching back to slap me again before I found it, right in the middle of all that softness. A hard little nub no bigger than a gumdrop. My fingers closed around it and an expression of pure shock showed on her face. I smiled and looked her straight in the eye as I tightened my grip and \*pulled\*. The sound that came out of her mouth was one I'll never forget as she tried to keep control of herself, only to collapse into a quivering blob on the floor, her juices leaking everywhere as she began to lose coherence.
I saw that I had the rest of the class's undivided attention as I carefully placed the vaguely pyramidal core on my desk and smashed it to pieces with my textbook. I sneered down at the rapidly disintegrating slimegirl and said, loud enough for the class to hear, "Don't ever touch me without my permission."
As it turns out, not every monster is magical.
A/N: As always, feedback is appreciated. | 2022-11-02T09:59:50 | 2022-11-02T07:37:40 | 502 | 162 |
[WP] In Hell, everyone is assigned a partner. Satan picks them specifically to be the one person you could never, ever get along with. If the partners can become friends, both ascend to heaven. | “Look,” I say, for what feels like the millionth time. “It is really quite simple. All we have to do go over to that demon over there, and tell them we are friends. And then we go to heaven.”
The demon in question looked over at us through the hellfire and nodded his agreement.
“Hmmmm….” Says my companion. “Yes. You have been saying that. But I still wonder.”
“What do you mean, ‘you wonder?’ What is there to wonder about? Satan *Himself* laid out the rules for us.”
“Well for starters, how do I know that is true?”
“Did you see the demon nod? He nodded. You must have seen him nod.”
My companion furled his brow. “I agree his head tilted, but would you really call it a nod? And was it a nod of agreement?”
I wave at the demon. He walks over to us. Somehow he doesn’t wince as he passes through the flames, which is amazing as they are pretty fucking hot.
“How may I be of service to you gentleman?” The demon inquired in a proper british accent. Didn’t expect that one. The last demon sounded like he was from Pittsburgh. Even called us “yinz.”.
“Well.” I said. “I was wondering. Is it true that if my partner and I agree that we are friends, then we can go to heaven?”
“Quite right, you are, old sport.”
“See!” I practically scream.
“Well...yes.” My partner allows. “I will concede that the demon is making this claim. However, how do I know that he is telling the truth? I mean, we *are* in hell, after all. I am not sure that demons are to be trusted.”
“And what if he is lying? What do we lose? We don’t go to heaven? I got news for you buddy. We are already not in heaven. It can’t be worse.”
“Can’t it, though?” My partner looks around. “Right now, we are in a place with very little variation in weather. Sure. It is a bit hot. But at least it is not cold. And if heaven really is in the clouds, you can bet your ass it is cold.”
“Are you really arguing that heaven could be worse than hell?”
“I am not arguing *anything*. I am merely pointing out that, as neither of us have been to heaven, neither of us have any means by which to make such a positive assertion. That which is asserted without evidence, can be dismissed without--”
“Seriously? You seriously think that ‘eternal bliss’ could be worse than hell.”
“Depends on what we are defining as eternal bliss. For instance, perhaps your idea of bliss is playing the bagpipes in front of me for all eternity--”
“It’s not.”
“--and suppose my idea of bliss is absolute silence.” He continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “And now we have a quandry. Either you don’t get your version of bliss, or I don’t.”
“I don’t play the bagpipes.” I repeat.
“Doesn’t sound like an ideal situation to me. Hmmmm?” He scratches his chin for a moment, as if he were thinking. “No. I think the prudent course of action is to stay with the known.”
I just stare at him. I look over at the demon to see if he is hearing the same things I am. The demon smiles at me.
I take a deep breath. Actually, I take several. And then begin again.
“Look, let me I try a different tack. Can I ask you a question.”
“Sure.”
“Are you happy here?”
“Define ‘happy.’” | ''*So, hi K.*'' I say to him. ''*Fuck me, is my punishment you?*''. I nod at K. ''*This is going to be really annoying, AO.*''. He sighs and looks upon the demon in charge and raises his hand. The demon beckons to him, curious to know what the little human wants. ''*So the only way to get rid of him it to become his friend?*'' K asks the demon, who simply rolls his eyes and points at the sign stating the rules of this portion of hell. True enough, it says that the only way to get out of here is to befriend your worst enemy.
''*So, AO, why did you hate me when we were alive?*'' K tries to come closer to befriending me. Build a bridge between us. ''*Simple. It is because you were an insufferable, self-righteous embarrassingly liberal git in life. Always asking dumb questions. Always sitting on your high horse, pretending that your so-called unyielding ethics was better suited to deal with the world rather than my ruthless pragmatism. Also, you never shave and you REALLY don't have a head, a face or a body for a beard. It makes you look like half a crazed pedophile, half a horny teenager.*'' K is taken back by my honest answer. Naturally I've been lying to K for the most of the time we've known each other, so that reaction might be rational. ''*Really? That is it? You hated me from high-school until the plane accident, because of a PHILOSOPHICAL DIFFERENCE? That is the weakest reason I've ever heard for hating someone, especially in the degree that we've been fighting! You constantly competed against me, seduced my girlfriend and impregnated her, sabotaged my promotion party and got my daughter drunk and had your face tattooed on her butt? For a philosophical difference?!!*'' he is fuming, I think it will take some time for us to get out of hell. ''*Well that and the beard, it makes you look like an idiot.*'' It is actually kind of funny to tease him like this again. Should have died sooner.
''*AO*'', ''*Yes, K?*'' It has been awhile down here, bickering and fighting against each other while the demons laugh relentlessly as they either humiliate us or torture us. ''*Why can't we just ignore our respective philosophies and get along?*'' He looks pleadingly at me, hoping to get some form of redeeming friendship growing in us. ''*I am unsure of what you are talking about K. I think we are getting along quite well and that we will soon get out of here.*'' He looks at me like I've just admitted to being his father. ''*What. We are fighting and bickering constantly? You smashed my skull the other day with a rock because you were annoyed. How are we friends?*'' his voice is cracking, is he about to cry? I never was good at reading those emotional signs. ''*Because you are one of the few people I can honestly say that I have respected. You never backed down from a challenge. In life you were endless positivity, always looking on the bright side of things, never giving in or up. It was the perfect foil to my pragmatic cynicism. I relish the challenge to meet you in argumentation, I find that every fight is a delight. And without you, I'd have given up. If I had nobody to counter or fight, I'd be bored out of my mind.*'' His jaw is practically touching the floor, I can't help but giggle slightly. ''*That is what constitutes friendship for you? A nemesis? Someone you can fight? AO, you are insane, that is not what friendship is about!*'' he yells his usual idealistic rant about the power of friendship and how magical it is. I swear he stole it from some kid-show, it's hilarious. I wait until he is done ranting and raving to speak: ''*And where would you be without me? In high school, you were known as a clever, but extraordinarily unmotivated student. Barely passing the grades, you had no direction nor any will. It wasn't until we started fighting that you truly begun to live. Had I not courted M, your wife, you'd stayed together with that worthless dropout girl, afraid of taking a chance. But once I tried to court the girl of your dreams, there you were, like a knight in fucking shining armor to save her from the evil dragon. It was exhilarating to see you succeed and see you fail. I needed you, and you needed me. Frankly K, I think you were the best friend I've ever had.*'' K can barely utter a word, I simply smile at my best nemesis and asks him which one of us will get to speak with the big guy upstairs first. | 2015-01-09T18:34:02 | 2015-01-09T15:30:59 | 37 | 19 |
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