prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You’re a professional organizer and a video game boss just hired you for their lair, they don’t seem to understand why random health packs, crates of ammo and useless bales of hay and closets aren’t a good idea and just help the hero | I stumbled over loose dungeon cobblestone as the hellhound's footfalls echoed down the dim passageway. My elbow cracked as I fell. Blood ran down my face into my eyes. Choosing the side passage had been stupid. The end-tunnel loot was hardly worth risking my throat being torn out. Or my head being caved in by the booby trap around the first blind corner. I mean, really, a few lockpicks in exchange for risking life and limb? They weren't even stored behind a cute little puzzle minigame. Just a twisty-turny death tunnel with a few fucking lockpicks strewn on the floor.
I'd have to put in a word, once my shift was over.
Snarls grew louder behind me. The air began to suffocate like a heat blanket.
I limped onward.
Up ahead shone a flickering light. Not that of a fiery hellhound, but of salvation. A glowing white aura that could only symbolize the sweet sweet relief of a med station. Sure enough, suspended in mid-air was the stereotypical rotating med-pack, complete with the little red cross that would restore my health bar to full. All I'd have to do was walk over it and I'd be back in action, like a breath of fresh air, ready to turn upon the hound and unleash fury.
Hardly any effort at all.
I cursed aloud and said "Pause Game." The snarling, the heat, everything, drew to a sudden stop all around me.
Ugh.
Difficulty sweeps made me want to scramble my code.
The hellhound padded up behind me as I pulled out the de-degitizer. It was so strange, seeing a face dripping with blood actually *pouting*. "You don't *have* to do you?" it asked. It drooped its shoulders low, as if that would convince me.
"Player chose hardcore mode, bud," I said with a sigh. "I'm afraid I do." The de-digitizer shimmered the medpack into a cloud of will-o-whisps, untethering it from digital reality. The hellhound watched with wet, beady eyes as the white aura faded into darkness. "Never understood why you lot don't help us out with this sort of work," I said. "It's goddamned mind-numbing."
This time the hellhound sighed. A throaty sort of huff that splayed blood against the passageway walls. "Hardcore is just *easy*," it muttered. "I sorta enjoy the challenge that Novice brings."
To be honest, that had never occurred to me. Hardcore Players were eviscerated by low level ghouls or decapitated by random encounter rats. This poor mutt hardly saw any action. Hell, even if the Player *did* make it to the final dungeon, I reckoned one bout of the hellhound's firehowl burnt the poor bastards to a crisp.
"Must be dreadfully boring."
The hellhound nodded.
For a moment, we brooded in silence, me with my newfound lesson in perspective and it, well, likely grappling with the first few stages of grief.
I felt bad for the guy. Why is it we were always pandering to Player's wishes anyways? What made the lines of code so sacred? So untouchable? Were the "bad guys" not worth entertaining too?
"Tell you what," I said. "Maybe just this time, I'll make a few easter eggs huh? Turn those lockpicks into something more exciting? At least that way there's a *chance* for action. Something to look forward to. Hell, if you wanted to...I don't know...spur Player along the right direction, I'm sure nobody would really notice..."
The hellhound perked up. The corners of its eyes crinkled as it flashed a fang-filled smile. I could see bits of rotten Player flesh from playthroughs gone by stuck between its teeth.
*Thatt'a boy,* I thought
"That would be nice," the hellhound said. "What sort of easter egg are you thinking?!"
"Oh, I dunno," I shrugged. "Maybe an oversized hammer?"
"A...hammer?" The hound deflated like a balloon.
"What use would *that* be?"
I smirked and clapped the creature on the back.
"I guess you've never played Smash Bros."
--------------
r/M0Zark
| Inside the throne room of Snoggath the Tormenter, the bane of Felandria and rightful heir to the dark crown, stood a man.
"Alright, Mr. Snoggath the Tormenter, your minions have shown me every nook and cranny of your esteemed castle. I believe I can help you."
"Please, sir, 'Snoggath' will do. But go ahead," Snoggath said, nervously shifting in his throne. He had taken so much care designing this castle, devising nefarious traps and hiring only the most fearsome fiends for his dungeon. Where could possibly be any more room for improvement?
The organiser put on his glasses and shuffled through his notes. "Good, Snoggath, I see you're eager to receive my advice. Many despots and conquerers aren't open to criticism, you know. Hardly surprising, yet disappointing nonetheless. But as long as I get paid," he added with a weary sigh. "Anyway, enough about me. Is there any specific area you had in mind when you enlisted my services?"
"Not directly, no. I thought an outsider's perspective might be of use. Crafting this pinnacle of my kingdom took aeons, countless mortals perished during its construction. Perfection is what I strive for, and perfection is what I shall receive." He clenched his iron fist with such force, a piece of coal would have turned into a diamond, which would immediately crumble under the intense pressure. "Humans have a saying which, I feel, applies here. Not seeing the forest for the trees."
"A man of culture, I see. Then let us begin with your castle's general layout. I've seen many traps and trap doors during my visit, and in several cases your minions actually triggered them themselves. I realise they are meant for intruders, but they obviously pose a serious and significant health risk to your own people."
"My minions are disposable to me. Death provides their meaningless lives with a purpose. Dying in my castle is an honour only few are granted."
"Placing traps where your minions don't go could prevent some accidental deaths, though. For example, there are countless shortcuts, especially in hard to reach places. You could put some traps there, where mostly trespassers would be harmed by them. That could both save your minions and injure or even dispose of any unwanted guests sneaking around your castle."
"These shortcuts are for my servants. Those goblins and pixies with their tiny, little legs take too long to reach me via ordinary ways, so we had small passageways and secret doors erected, to aid them in providing better and more efficient care for me."
"I see." The organiser took a pen out of his pocket and made a note on one of his papers. "Next up, I couldn't help but notice your entire foundation for this building seems to be a giant pool of lava, which at places flows through parts of the deeper levels of the interior. Is that necessary?"
"Certainly. It is menacing and captures my fiery persona. It also serves as a waste disposal for all the bodies of my enemies." More quietly he added, "Plus, the indirect, natural lighting creates an intriguing atmosphere, and it significantly lowers the heating bill and other expenses."
"Mhm, practical. As I was shown around, a group of your minions tried to get rid of a rat. However, only one at a time was trying to do so, the others only watched and, well, waited for their turn. That's their MO for any situations involving confrontations, I assume?"
Snoggath groaned. "That is due to their lousy training. I hired these supposedly elite warriors from a distant land, and their holy training instructions there explicitly forbid engaging an opponent with more than two men at once. One day, when I have conquered their lands, I will rip apart these instructions with my own hands together with the instructors' feeble bodies, and burn down their training grounds. I will show them what being an elite guard truly means."
"Always the ambitious one, commendable. What about all the health and mana potions lying around everywhere? I also nearly stumbled over some magic tomes with powerful spells written down in them. Don't you feel like that's giving your potential intruders an advantage?"
"My minions deserve health care and I provide them with only the best potions there are, pillaged during my countless raids. Tomes are knowledge, and knowledge is power. I didn't become the ruler of my kingdom by being lucky or fortunate. I hardened both my body and my mind."
The organiser put down his papers. "Snoggath, I think we went through all of my notes. So far, you haven't taken a liking to any of my suggestions, but at least you provided reasons as to why and didn't try to put my head on a spike. If I might add one last thing, though. Have you considered putting a lock on the door to your treasury?"
Snoggath pondered that idea for a moment. "Brilliant idea. I shall do that immediately. Thank you for your service. My minions will escort you out and hand over your payment. And now begone, puny mortal!" His massive index finger pointed towards the door.
Two minutes after the organiser had left the throne room, a minion entered. "My liege, the organiser has been... escorted."
Snoggath grinned, exposing his sharp teeth. "I love my lava pool," he said, and his roaring laughter could be heard all throughout the castle. | 2018-07-03T07:05:06 | 2018-07-03T06:32:29 | 73 | 44 |
[WP] a vampire tries to bite you only to reveal a bunch of circuits and wiring in your neck, you are now both very confused | “Did you just bite me?” I said, sitting up, staring at her body. This is probably a good time to mention we were 15 minutes into some rather… mature activities.
“Well, this is new,” she said, spitting out what looked like a chunk of my skin. She was shocked, literally, and obviously a bit turned off.
I reached back to feel my neck and felt *wires* where my skin should be. I don’t understand. At least there was blood. Lots and lots of blood, more than I had ever seen in my life. For some reason though I didn’t feel lightheaded or woozy. And she had *fangs.* Real fangs like in the movies. Did she spike my drink with something?
“Is this like, a kink of yours?” I asked.
“Yes, but not like this, your blood tastes so sour. What the hell Ben?”
“What the hell *Ben?* You’re the one that bit me, what the hell Cassandra?” I was getting angry. I could feel wires, legitimate wires under my skin. I poked my fingers back there and felt more hard, sharp objects under my skin. What was going on?
I got up and ran to the bathroom. The blood had stopped flowing, and in the mirror, I could clearly see wires and circuitry behind the patch of flesh Cassandra had bitten off. I think i'm a robot trapped in a human body. An android? that's what they're called.
“Oh my god, it can’t be. It’s not possible.” I said.
Cassandra came up behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist, resting her chin on my shoulder.
“I’m sorry honey, but you’re totally a robot.” She paused, then added “And not like it matters anymore, but I’m also a vampire.”
“You were going to kill me, weren’t you?” I said angrily, breaking free of her embrace. “You were going to drain my blood without even telling me?”
“Shh, don’t worry, I would have turned you before I let you die. That’s like, the hottest thing ever” she said with a guilty, mischievous smile. I’ll admit - it sounded hot.
“Ok look, just please tell me this is a bad dream. Please tell me you spiked my drink with acid and we’re still hooking up on the couch?”
“I wish, then I could still turn you,” she said, and I saw a fiery ferocity in her eyes that I had rarely seen before.
It all hit me then. I’d never been bothered by pain before, and now I knew why. I’d never gotten sick or broken a bone before, and now I knew why. What about my parents? Did they know, were they robots too? What kind of life could a robot hope to have in a human and vampire filled world. Where was I headed in life? A lone robot with a IT help desk job, getting hit on by strange women at bars? What was next for me, now, and in the future?
“You like tequila?” I asked, running my hands over Cassandra’s figure.
“Yes, why?” she had the mischievous smile again. I knew exactly what to say next.
“Bite me baby”
“Shock me daddy”
​
​
*^(“Dear god what did I just write? Never again, smh” – BLT\_WITH\_RANCH)* | “Man that’s rough.” He said... it said—whatever said.
“I had a hell of a time coming to terms with my, er, transformation. But finding out you’re not even real... sorry you gotta learn like this, fam.”
“I’m *perfectly* real.” I barked back half aware for the adrenaline. “At least I’m not a, a thing like you” I spat the words at the creature still towering over me.
“Well, I mean. You’re definitely a *thing*. No offense bro but what WTF is with your neck?”
I groped at it again. The jagged edges and crackling spark was undeniable now. The creeping suspicion jutting to the fore of my mind like the circuitry protruding through the flesh of my neck. "Its an implant. I'm not some kind of cyborg okay?" But that doesn't make me any less *real* does it?
"I'm a man. A man with some... prosthetics," I offered.
"A what? So you knew you'd be all full of wires? Why didn't you say something so I didn't kill you and suck your blood. Kid you had no idea did you?" His reflectionless eyes passed over me coldly. But his cocked eyebrows cloaked them in a spurious expression.
"Of course I knew... know. And I don't have to explain myself to you, you monster! You bit me!"
"Man whatever," he deflected. "Look, denial is super unhealthy. That shit will eat you up inside. You gotta lot of work to do."
"You were going to eat up my insides!"
He hunched over and pouring rain dripped from has sharp features into my face. I spat out the drops as he approached.
"Listen fam, I know blood. And that ain't blood."
He jammed a bony finger right into the fresh hole. I winced ready for a pain that didn't come. The façade had broken. My childhood, my parents home in Somerset, my sister Laika waiting at home—what were they, a lie? Laika, did you know what I was?
"You're 100% pure grade toaster. You got more silicon than Pamela Anderson."
"Who? Jesus, was that a 90s Baywatch reference?"
"I'm undead, R2. I don't really keep up. Sue me. Anyway, I'm not the monster. You gotta straighten your shit out. Catch ya."
He straightened his back and turned toward the street.
"Wait you're telling me you were going to fucking kill me when you thought I was a real person? When you thought I could suffer? And now you're not?!" What? Don't want to kill me anymore?
"Well, I mean it's not personal... It's you know, about the blood. But also, you ain't alive so... Pass."
A new sensation filled me. I scrambled back and to my feet. I clenched my hand into a fist and felt as though my fingers would fuse for digging the nails so deeply in my palm.
"I'm more alive than you'll ever be"
"Oh no, number 5. I'm so scared"
"Say that again"
"Number 5 alive. Hahaha come at me bro."
I lunged with a newfound speed into a right hook. He was as quick as before but this time, I could keep up. Now I could see the subtle shifts in weight and I knew where he would go. He dodged left, pivoting toward the open side of my arm and reached out to grab it in his claws.
I snapped my right arm back and used the momentum to twist my torso faking a wild left hook. He dodged right. But not far enough to evade the follow-up roundhouse kick across his right temple.
He wheeled around and effected a dead eyed stare.
"What are you," he snarled. "Whatever you are, your time is up."
He flicked his wrist extending the claws that tore away my reality along with the flesh of my neck moments ago—and let his jaw distend slowly to an inhuman gape. His fangs glinted against the blackness of his maw. He was a terror. Was; when I was human.
"Are you trying to do like... the Undertaker right now? Cuz you look like you're trying to look like the Undertaker."
"The Undertaker is awesome," he hissed
The creature bounded up the alley wall up the fire escape and wheeled at the torso—kicking off the brick and bars to pounce.
| 2018-10-20T19:45:39 | 2018-10-20T19:30:57 | 345 | 127 |
[WP] You're awful at story telling, and the narrator/ characters are starting to notice | The storm outside raged like something that was mad. The storm had been going on like a really really long time.
Sarah Hutch Ivan the Third sat and was very very sad. Her husband had been killed in a really very bad way? Or did he? Little did she know that, maybe not.
There was a knock at the door, it was loud. Sarah stood up and walked to the door. "Hello? Who is it?"she called out.
The person who was a man replied, "Sarah, something horrible is happening. We need to talk." Sarah opened the door. Water splashed in cause the rain was really hard.
He walked past Sarah and went over to the fireplace which she had. He warmed his hands because they were cold and wet from the rain.
"What's going on Brian? You look terrible."
Brian Isaac Theodore Calvin Horacio looked at Sarah Hutch Ivan the Third and tears came from his eyes very much. "Come on!" he whined, "That's not even my name. Look, I can hear a narrator. I know it sounds crazy, but I hear a narrator."
Sarah looked surprised or something and said "I can hear him too. Oh God, I thought I was going insane. What the hell is going on here?" She looked at him with sexy sad eyes. "No! Hold on, no I didn't, those were regular sad eyes."
Brian looked at her, constipated. "What? No. I think you mean consternated. What are you? Five?" He looked around like a stupid person. "That's just petty and uncalled for." The idiot Brian said.
Sarah cried really harder, "He has been going on like this for hours. I dont know how to get him to stop. He just won't leave me alone."
Brian the dumb person responded to the sad Sarah, "Look, I think he might actually be a child, whatever else he is. Maybe if we do something R-rated he will leave." Brian finished saying his stupid stupid plan that wouldn't work.
Sarah looked mad, "You want to...you want to have intercourse?" She used a word which was weird and stupid.
Brian said dumbly "Well, what if we just take our clothes off? I'll bet he just leaves." They thought that that would be a really bad idea. And that they should not do that.
The stupid people took off their clothes and were naked-.
"Did it work?" asked Sarah.
"I'm not sure." replied Brian.
The Mother of the narrator had taken over narration. She would have apologized to the nice people if they could have heard her. She would also have told them that the previous narrator would be grounded for an extremely long time.
Brian and Sarah sighed in unison. They both shivered, and realized that they were still naked as the day they were born. The little sinners.
"Let's get dressed." They said in unison. And they both agreed to never speak of this again. Or else.
***********************************
/r/Sirlemoncakes
| *Once on a... no, wait, it's Once UPON a time, a long time ago, there lived a man.*
"Hullo." Said the man.
*After this man went there, he...*
"Hang on a second, narrator." The man rudely interrupted the storyteller. "You haven't put enough detail in yet, and...hey! I wasn't rude!"
*The obviously rude man had scanned the written description of his conversation by the author (ignoring centuries of narrative tradition) and ignorantly raised an objection.*
"Ignorant? Pah!" The man glared at the author through the text, a feat he was only capable of due to the skilled talents of his creator. "I sprang from your mind, so I am only as ignorant as you are."
*Thank you.*
"Which means I must be pretty damn ignorant." The man hurtfully continued. "But at least I know that you can't start a good story like you did!"
*Like you could do any better.*
The mean man sighed. "Look, I just want it better written, that's all. *I* have to live in it, after all. Please?"
*...
...
... Fine.*
The man clapped his hands together. "Let's start at the beginning shall we? Once upon a time - really?"
*It's a classic.*
"It's cliche, writer."
*A cliche is just a writing technique you, personally, don't care for. Besides, I like it. It informs the reader that the story is a bit of a fairy tale.*
"Hmph." The man grumphed. "Fine. And grumphed? Really? Not a real word?"
*Hey, you said we'd work from the beginning. You can object to grumphing when we get to it.*
"At this rate, I doubt we ever will. These responses have a word limit, you know?" The man *grumbled* under his breath (*In a grumphing manner*).
"Anyway," the man continued "onto the next bit: my introduction."
*I should never have done it. I knew it was a mistake from the first. Too many characters already.*
"*I'm* the only character, you pompous pen scribbler." The man growled before slipping over and pratfalling in a humiliating manner.
"And don't start that again!" The man waved a fist.
*Don't be rude, then.*
"Fine." The man clambered to his feet and put his hands on his hips. "You've introduced me. So who am I?"
*You're The man.*
"No, I mean who is 'the man'?" The man sighed. "What's my name? My age? My nationality? *Who am I*?"
*You're... you're... Theodric Mann?*
Theodric frowned. "Really? Theodric? The...odric?" He pinched his eyes and shook his head. "Ok then. At least I'm not Andrew Mann."
*Glad you like it, Theo.*
"So next - where did I go?"
*...You know what, Theo? I think I'm going to stop this.*
"Wait, what?" Theo blinked in surprise. "But you've barely begun!"
*Yeah, but as you said - It's taken us this long to get to the third sentence. Who knows how long a full paragraph would take?*
"But, but, what about me?" Sadness crept into Theo's voice. "I've barely been characterised, let alone achieve a satisfying narrative."
*Look, I'll wrap it up properly. I'll give you a happy ending, if that's what's worrying you.*
"It's not, Creator but," Theodric Mann sighed "it'll have to do."
*So, after an exciting narrative that happened off-page, Theodric Mann achieved his hopes and dreams and went on to live happily ever after. And the Author went on to write many more stories with less argumentative characters. The End.* | 2018-11-09T07:30:24 | 2018-11-09T06:53:47 | 439 | 46 |
[WP] You die. You wake up to see an old man standing above you, "You're dead, but you're not safe, none of us are. Take this, be careful which spirits you trust, and never speak to anybody if you can't see their eyes." He offers you a knife. | Dying wasn’t anything like I thought it would be.
I always expected it to be painful, and long - the whole light at the end of the tunnel thing. Or like sleeping. Awake one moment, asleep the next, with no real moment of transition between the two.
Instead it was more of a nothingness. Not light, not dark, not warm nor cold - just nothingness.
When I awoke, I was myself - but I wasn’t. My body felt wrong. Like a marionette with the strings in a knot. I was in control… but any harsh movement would send it all tumbling. Figuring out how to move seemed to take most of my attention, for when I looked up there was a man standing above me.
He was wizened and wrinkled. His skin the pallor of death, but with patches of black rot blotched about. He wore a strange red cloak with the hood drawn back, and as he moved it swayed like a curtain. His short grey hair had been combed over and sat upon his scalp more like a hat than hair.
He was staring at me, waiting for me to acknowledge him, his eyes a milky white that had once been blue. When I locked eyes with him he spoke, his voice strong compared to his withered body, "You're dead, but you're not safe, none of us are. Take this, be careful which spirits you trust, and never speak to anybody if you can't see their eyes."
In his hand he held a glittering silver dagger. As it lay on his palm I could see the ornate detail carved into both the blade and hilt. Strange runes that I couldn’t understand.
I blinked, looking up at him, then down at my hands. Moving still felt wrong, and when I tried to open my mouth, it felt as if my jaw was wired shut.
“Like I said, you’re dead. It’ll take a bit to get used to.” He flipped the dagger around, holding it outstretched for me to grab. I reached for it, my arms moving stiffly and my fingers failing on the first attempt to close.
“Only spoke to you since ya look like kin of mine. Remember, you’re not safe here.” He turned, the strange red cape whirling behind him, and he strode off.
For the first time I looked around myself. It was foggy, and as I searched for the sun, I found no trace of it. No point in the grey sky was brighter than any other. Frowning, I looked down. I was in a field, filled with brittle grasses, dried as if they had been scorched. I couldn’t see much farther than my own legs, which were stretched in front of me where I had tried to stand and landed on my rear end.
Then fog. In every direction I looked. The field could go on forever for all I knew.
I looked back down at the dagger in my hand. I had expected to the metal to feel cold, but it wasn’t. If felt as if I were just holding nothing. A heavy nothing, but there was no texture, not temperature, nothing.
I gripped it tightly, and used my other hand to try once again to stand. It worked this time, but I still didn’t know where I was, or what was going on.
He had said I was dead. I *knew* I was dead. I remembered dying. But that didn’t explain anything about where I was, or what he had been talking about.
Danger? What could possibly harm the dead? And hadn’t he said something about eyes?
I started walking, and for an immeasurable time it felt like I wasn’t moving. The same grass surrounded me, the same fog lingered as far as I could see.
It was only when another cloaked figure approached did things feel any different. Their hood was drawn, and they walked in another direction, where our paths would cross only briefly.
I tried to talk again, but control of my mouth was still beyond my control.
So I waved.
The figure turned towards me, and I could see the shape of its face. It was a skull. Empty of all skin, bone and teeth both a same sickly yellow.
And there were no eyes.
\---
r/LandOfMisfits for more by me
r/redditserials for more by me and others | My death was as quick and unsatisfying as my life. Everything went black, as if I had finally fallen into the most peaceful sleep, and then I was rudely jarred awake by a presence standing over me. It was an old man; not the old decrepit kind that go to die at geriatric wards but the who still had that iron old man grip and eyes that bore right through you. His hair was white and shaggy, his face etched in wrinkles and scars and he looked me straight in the eyes as he knelt over me. "You're dead," he started simply. Well, fuck. That was my first reaction. I had drawn a cruel hand of cards and life hadn't ever really added up to everything people said it would. He wasn't done though. "You're not safe. None of us are." He handed me a knife, pressing the hilt into my hand. As he released it, the blade sliced a thin line across his calloused hand. "Take this," he said, ignoring the rivulet of blood that fell onto the dirt floor. "Be careful with spirits you trust, and never speak to anybody if you can't see your eyes."
With that, he glanced around nervously and disappeared. He didn't disappear like the mailman does after dropping off a birthday package you didn't want or the way a father disappears for cigarettes, ambling down the street never to return. He just stepped into the darkness and he was gone, dissolving as quickly as my optimism towards life once had. I glanced around. Skulls and skeletons lay scattered amongst the toppled walls of the mud hut, as if reiterating to me that this place wasn't safe. I rose shakily to my feet, and then I stepped outside into the ruins of a once affluent town, cloaked in a grey fog or mist that made my clothes stick to my skin like a shirt after a day at the beach. A shadowy figure disappeared behind a distant building and I shuddered and walked that way, much preferring to confront my enemy than have it hunt me.
I wondered what I could have done in my brief and miserable life to deserve a fate as cruel and ambiguous as this one. I hadn't been a bad person, but neither had I been particularly good. I wasn't mean, but I wasn't quite nice. I didn't love many people, but I didn't hate many people either. Maybe this was for people like me who didn't quite deserve the damnation of Hell but didn't quite obtain the scores to reach Heaven.
I shrugged, shuddering as a dry breeze chilled me to my core and then a spirit was materializing in front of me, its remnants completing their journey through my body. It turned to face me, its eyes meeting my own. I took that to mean I could trust it, because the old man had told me so. "Welcome," it hissed, its voice barely above a sinister whisper. Somehow still it echoed, bouncing off the walls of the abandoned hellscape and careening down the main roadway in little wisps that twisted and spun. Again I saw a shadow disappear behind a building, this time a little closer, and I clutched the knife a little stronger, hoping it was imbued with some sort of power that would help me fight the evil spirits of wherever I had wound up. "Join me for a drink?" it offered, nodding towards a tavern. I could use a drink, that was for sure. Maybe more than one, if that would help me forget death as easily as it helped me forget life. I wondered what they served in this cursed in-between; maybe flat Pepsi or something not quite poisonous but laced with laxatives.
We stepped into the tavern, one of the swinging doors sitting askew of its hinges and the other stuck open. Neither swung. A human - or perhaps a former human, if that's what I was - sat at a poker table, shuffling a deck of cards over and over again and then dealing them to the empty table. Each time he dealt the same cards appeared and he would collect them all and begin to shuffle again. He glanced at me when I entered, giving me a curt nod. Near him was a pool table forgotten mid-game. All the balls were black and the felt was thick with dust.
At the bar sat the shadowy figure, hood raised to conceal its eyes and the hilt of a slender scythe peeking out between its robes. If that was Death, I would avoid meeting him. And if he did not meet my eyes, I would avoid meeting him regardless of who he was. The bartender was reaching for a bottle of whiskey on the top shelf, stretching out a long, pale arm. "I'll have one of those on the rocks," I said simply to the back of his head. He grabbed the bottle and poured a glass. I was unsure if I would have to pay or if the friendly spirit that had bumped through me would pay or if I would have to use the knife to pay but he cleared any doubts from my mind.
"It's on the house," he said as he turned and I stared into those empty eye sockets, the holes a mesmerizing void. "And in return there's a little something you can do for me."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-07-30T12:20:07 | 2019-07-30T12:03:21 | 226 | 26 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | It started this one afternoon, I was just writing an essay in my bedroom when suddenly chaos errupted outside. People started flying, speed running, healing and exhibiting other fabulous superpowers. After everything had settled down a bit I returned to my essay, after all it had to be handed in before midnight. I tried to type the next sentence and was surprised to find that I couldn't come up with anything. I had a blackout for hours, until...
The clock struck 11.50 pm and within five minutes I speed-wrote my entire essay, completely faultless. I had just found my ridiculous powers.
Over the next few days as people were trying to use their powers for good, I found myself going to hospital ER's picking out the people hanging onto life by a thread and healing them.
People think I'm just another empathetic healer that decided to focus on people in mortal danger.
The fact is however I'm just a perfectionist and a procrastinator, leaving me able to do anything absolutely perfectly. But only at the very last minute. | “So your power is super... taste?” Roy asked.
I nodded, taking a quick bite of my turkey and cheese sandwich. I was able to enjoy every little detail, and that made everything I ate delicious. Even though I heard people talk about foods they did and didn’t like, I just couldn’t get enough of anything people could give me.
“So like, what does that do? You just... taste better?”
I swallowed and nodded once again. “I know it doesn’t sound like the best power, but it has tons of uses,” I explained, taking another bite.
“Like what?”
“Well, for example,” I took a pause to swallow, “this sandwich tastes *really* good!”
“And?” Roy looked curious. He raised an eyebrow and stared at my sandwich, confused. I guess he’ll just never get the true deliciousness of turkey.
“Uh, well, I guess if I wanted I could use it to solve crime. Do taste tests, stuff like that.”
“Don’t you wanna be a teacher?” Roy pointed out. I hate when he’s right, always so clever. No wonder he got telekinesis.
“Oh, yeah, that,” I said, finally finishing my lunch. “Well, uh... I could teach cooking. That could work.”
Roy nodded, slowly. “Oh... kay?” I smiled. Finally, I had proven the usefulness of my powers to someone!
“See? Super taste can be kinda cool, you know,” I smirked as the bell rang. Roy sighed as he got up from his seat.
“Well, see you Jack. Oh, before I go, why did you get super taste anyway?” Roy asked as he grabbed his backpack.
I thought for a moment. “I dunno. I think I just like food.”
Then Roy walked away, leaving me alone. When I was certain no one was looking, I took a note out of my lunch box. It read: *Enjoy your lunch today, sweetie! Love, mom!*
I smiled, put the note in my pocket, and walked to my next class. Could that have something to do with my powers? Eh, it doesn’t matter. I love you too, mom. | 2019-09-08T10:15:10 | 2019-09-08T09:47:00 | 228 | 27 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | "C'mon, just tell me," she said, leaning her elbows on the table and facing me, eagerly.
"I'm telling you, it's not that impressive. Hardly a discussion for a first date."
"I think it's the perfect discussion. If you don't tell me..."
I felt a sudden urge to blurt it out, but I composed myself. Her mind powers were going to take a while to get used to.
"Okay, fine, I'll tell you. But we might as well get comfortable. Tea?"
She started as I produced a warm teapot from under my jacket and set it on the table.
"Sugar? Honey?" I placed both of these on the table as well. A candle and a lighter came out next.
She made a face, as if she was trying to appear startled rather than amused. "Anything else you've got under your sleeve?"
I lit the candle to pause for effect, and then pulled out a couple of soft throws. "What's your favorite author?" I asked as I handed a blanket to her.
"Um..."
I slid her favorite book across the checkered table before she could answer. The booth we were seated at now had a much cozier feel, and was attracting a few looks from the other people in the diner. I pulled my blanket over my knees, and tossed her a pillow.
"So what kind of powers *do* you have?" She asked again inquisitively.
I couldn't resist the urge this time. "Well you see, I'm just...a bit stressed." | The names Bond. Just Bond. That's my name. Don't wear it out! It's just my personality showing through my powers, the name is merely a reflection of that. You know what I mean, we all have a power or a quirk of some sort, matches the personality. I've told you this before, but you keep forgetting. Or maybe I keep forgetting. I don't know. But here's the thing about me: I can stick to anything. Objects, people's, abstract concepts... *Memories*... or maybe it's the other way around. Theres only one drawback, that I can remember.
Nothing seems to stick to me. I can't remember much, all my relationships dissolve, I can never stick to any one thing for too long. I've had hundreds of jobs. Or maybe things can't stick to me? I'm not sure. It's been a long time since the Power Appraisal Test. I think I still have the pencil I used somewhere in my hair.
Thing is, I stick to everything, but nothing sticks to me. I can climb walls, people get attached emotionally to me, and one time I even walked on air by clinging to the molecules. Or did the molecules cling to me? Sooner or later everything gets attached to me. But I can never form my own attachments to anything, or anyone. People cling to me in their hearts, but I can't love them back. Attachments are dangerous, fearful. Scary.
I tried loving once. She called me clingy, needy, attention needing. Or maybe I called *her* that? Oh, how I wish I could remember. I miss her, sometimes. And sometimes, I don't miss her. I've always had this trouble with forming attachments of some sort. That's the one thing I *can* remember clearly. Most of my memories slide off of my brain like... Something that's slippery. I miss her, even though she's still with me. Sometimes we talk. Sometimes we don't. I wonder where she went.
I'm going to have to leave you now. It was nice having this talk, but my chair is already bonding to my skin, soon to be absorbed completely into me, my personality. If people hang around me for too long, they get attached. Not just mentally, but physically. I've already got two minds, I don't need another. You'll never be able to forget me, though I'll certainly forget you. I'm sorry. You asked about me, and this always happens when someone notices me. I think.
Goodbye. I'll think of you in her dreams, she remembers things that I can't. I miss her. | 2019-09-08T10:13:02 | 2019-09-08T09:58:43 | 84 | 32 |
[WP] People's powers match their personality: impatient people get super speed, protective people get force fields and so on. Explaining why you have your power is... difficult. | Dear Anne,
When you dumped me, time just stopped. Quite literally, in fact. At first I had no idea what was happening. After what I would estimate to be about a few weeks of panicking, denial, and intermittent sobbing I concluded that you breaking up with me had awoken within me a new power. Looking back, I think I may have overreacted a little bit. I was 17, young and naive and at the time, my whole world revolved around you. And when you broke up with me I just desperately wished that everything would just stop. I was so overwhelmed, I needed time to clear my head..... So I guess I made time. I don't know how long it has been since then, I stopped keeping track. At first, I just hoped that this ability would be replaced with a new one, but manifesting them is already so rare to begin with that winning the lottery is much more achievable. I considered suicide, of course. I even got pretty close a few times, but I chickened out last minute each time.
It isn't all bad, living in a perpetual limbo from the rest of the world. You get to experience so much that the average person just... can't. No secret is too well kept, no place too well guarded for me to get into. Yes I have been to area 51, and no, I am not going to tell you what i saw. You wouldn't believe me anyway. I've also been into the oval office and sat in the president's chair, climbed Mount Rushmore, and so much more than I could ever express. I'm not proud of everything I've done with this power. Thinking back on some of the pranks I've pulled, places I've vandalized, and things I've broken I wince at teen me. I once broke into a museum and tried to climb a dinosaur. Needless to say it did not appreciate that and when time goes back to normal they are going to have one hell of a jigsaw on their hands.
The worst part about all of this is my family. What are they going to think when I just..... disappear? Should I have my final moments right in front of them so I can appear right there as a dead old man? I don't think so. I have been leaving them letters for years, to try and give them a bit of closure and a piece of me for remembrance. I hope that will be enough. I've told them about the good and the bad, the times when it was all too much and my greatest accomplishments. I hope some of the thing's I've done have made them proud. I haven't just been idling around with this power. I have tried to make the world a better place for those I leave behind.
When the world resumes spinning, a lot will have changed. Hundreds of newspapers, journalists, and law enforcement agencies are going to find thousands of documents of incriminating evidence of companies, and even governments' wrongdoings. They are going to know where to find entire cartels, who the moles in their offices are, and all of their drug fields, shipments and anything else I could find. It should be enough evidence to put them all away for good. There are records on poachers, illegal Amazon logging crews, governmental corruptions, and so much more than I can properly put down into writing. I hope it's enough.
I am now approaching the end of my life and I find it ironic. I think I have lived more in this world than I ever would have in the life I used to have. I'm writing you this letter to explain to you why I disappeared and also as a thank you. I have seen, experienced and done so much since this moment, and none of it would have been possible without you. I hope that you can move on and I wish you nothing but the best. Enjoy the new world for me, please.
Love,
Henry | My power is unique to me, and me alone. You see, I’ve always believed that current modern society wasn’t for me; it always felt like I was stuck in a prison, and as “free” as I was in this prison, it was still a prison. I’m very introverted, you see, so I’ve always had a hard time expressing myself, and it didn’t help that I felt so much pressure from my family and the world around me to make something of myself. This prison had layers, you could say. You couldn’t just say, “fuck what society asks of you, be you and do what you love if it doesn’t hurt anyone,” that’d be crazy. Instead, you’d get a more indoctrinated response from everyone telling you that if you didn’t follow the trends or go with the flow that you’d never make it out in life, or that if you didn’t do x-thing, you couldn’t become successful. In fact, a lot of people’s artificial happiness were based on the superficial opinions of others and it drained me a lot. Eventually, I just didn’t give a fuck. Fuck this system of people talking down to me just because they never dared to dream and fuck them for never having dared to chase their passions. They were trained by society to be this way and they were trained in the same way to never exceed this low plateau. In a way, I became a trailblazer of sorts. People were drawn to me and followed closely as they too began to chase their dreams and passions.
That’s how it all started.
One day, I met a teenager who expressed his utmost respect for me, for I was the sole reason why he was able to achieve his dream at such a young age. Impressive, right? At such a young age, all I could do was dream and hope for the best, but here was a young man who told me he had already achieved his dream. I asked him what his dream was and in response, he told me, “it’s better if I show you instead.”
I couldn’t believe it.
The young man was... flying. He wasn’t just floating a few feet above ground, he was pushing speeds above fifty kilometers per hour with twists and turns that no plane or copter could imitate. The sight of seeing a fellow human fly in such a manner was nothing short of marvelous. “What splendid technology! How did you come up with such an invention?” I asked in anxious curiosity.
“Technology? Oh, I’m not really that smart, but I kind of just took your advice and believed in myself and my dreams because it didn’t hurt anyone. My dream is to fly and be as free as the wind, to not be chained by the social constructs of society and to never be tethered to anything I’m not emotionally or spiritually invested in. After meditating on these thoughts for a week or so, I went to go play basketball with a few friends and ended up making my first dunk... from the other side of the court. It was crazy! I’m only five feet and six inches tall and I literally soared over the court. You had to be there to believe it. When I got home, I jumped to get to the top of my roof. Then I jumped from the roof to see how high I could jump and I just... never fell down. That’s when I realized I could float! I continued to push these tests and realized I could even move in the air; slowly at first, but eventually I flew so fast that my body couldn’t handle the speed that I was approaching. It’s absolutely insane! None of this would have happened if you never came to my high school to be a speaker for our “Hopes and Dreams” spirit week half a year ago.”
He was the first. Eventually, more and more people came to me, all with new revelations, all with new abilities. It took me a few years to understand the catalyst for this change; the only people who developed new powers were those who adopted my philosophy.
“As long as you don’t hurt anyone, you are free to live your life the way you want to and be free to pursue your own happiness.”
You ask me what my power is, Mr. Interrogator, so I will now enlighten you: my power is freedom at its highest, most noble degree. As long as I never hurt anyone, I am free to do whatever it is I like. My followers share the same sentiment, for we are the misunderstood, we are the forgotten, we are the outcasts shunned by your society. We are the dreamers who dreamed to dream, we are the hopeful who hoped for a chance at happiness. We have never hurt anyone for we understand how it feels to hurt, and yet here we are in this very predicament, Mr. Interrogator, chained at your leisure because your superiors fear us. So I say this now, Mr. Interrogator.
You can never chain us. We will always be free. | 2019-09-08T11:55:09 | 2019-09-08T11:02:00 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Your power is that anyone will believe what you say, no matter what it is. You casually rob the store, assuring everyone that nothing is out of the ordinary, and later laugh as you offer an outlandish explanation to the flabbergasted police. | Magic is a curious thing: it is always looking for ways to conceal itself.
You didn't even intended to rob the store, you wanted an energy drink but you forgot your money home and you only noticed that once you were in line to pay. You were about to turn around and return the drink to the fridge when you mumbled those little words: **fucking money**. Suddenly, the cashier look at you and repeated the same words, and you saw them work into her brain, her eyes became hyper focused on you. She slowly opened the cash register and took out all *the fucking money* and handed it to you. You dropped the energy drink and tried to refuse, "*No, take it away* and she repeated that back at you, pushing the money into your hands.
The people in line behind you started repeating the same words: **fucking money** and **take it**, throwing coins, bills and cards at you. You tried backing away and run to the doors, but just then a security guard stroll in on one of her rounds. "*What the hell is happening here?*" she asks as you run into her. But just then you come into your senses, and you know you should keep your mouth shut. So you start making big gestures, trying to let her know people have become crazy... And she does understand, somehow even in your archaic sign language, she knows what you are saying and believes it.
She slowly raises her phone to her ear and places a call to emergency services: "*Hello, we have another case of mass hysteria down at the city centre, can you please send down the police and some ambulances to the town square?*".
You have been holding your breath and finally let it go. The screams of the people behind you increase and you feel more objects being thrown your way as you ultimately decide that is time to go. And as you are leaving, you turn behind and see the security guard looking at you through the glass. She gives you a smirk. You run all the way home. | Having a power like this is like living the dream. I can do anything I want.
-
"I saw you. You robbed that store on the corner!" Officer Ronald shouted, aiming a gun at my face.
This wasn't the first time I met Officer Ronald. It wouldn't be the last time either.
"Are you sure?" I asked. My hands were still raised, from which the bags of money were hanging. I knew I could get out of this. I always did.
"Yes!" he shouted.
"Then why am I just casually walking. I should be running away right now, right?" I said, nodding my head.
"Don't play your tricks with me. Drop the bag and get on the ground, now!" He said, pulling the hammer of his pistol back.
"You're making a mistake, officer. Are you sure arresting a black man for no crime is going to look great on your résumé?" I asked.
"You aren't black!" He said.
"Are you sure?" I asked, nodding my head again.
Sometimes my powers work instantly. Sometimes, they take some time. Fortunately, it worked.
"Uh. Sorry about that. My vision is getting worse each day," he said, but then he held the gun back up.
"This isn't a race thing. I'm arresting a robber! You still have those bags of stolen money!" he shouted. I was cornered in a lane. I didn't know what else to say to convince him. Every explanation works only once. I had used up almost every excuse with officer Ronald.
To be fair, I didn't expect him to be so aggressive this time. Perhaps he was really having a bad day. But there he was, pointing a gun and getting ready to shoot me.
"I know you want to kill me, officer. But atleast give a dying man one chance to explain!" I said.
"Get on the floor. Drop the bags. Anything you say can and will be used against you, son. I'd advice keeping real quiet now," he said and took a step at me.
"Are you sure you're not even going to give an innocent man a chance to explain? I have the right to resist an unlawful arrest, don't I?" I said and nodded.
It worked.
"Okay. Let's hear it," he said.
"You're dreaming. In these dreams, you're given a choice. To either kill someone or spare his life. But every time you kill someone, is an additional strike against you on the eternal hall of sin. Three strikes and you'll be going to hell. Dreams are just an alternate reality. So, make your choice wisely," I said, and nodded twice.
Officer Ronald turned around and left. I laughed, and thought about ways of spending my fortune.
For the first time, I told him the truth.
Having a power like this is like living the dream. I am in Officer Ronald's dream.
I can do anything I want.
Until tomorrow, that is.
-------
r/Abhisek | 2020-03-06T10:29:31 | 2020-03-06T10:05:01 | 125 | 86 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | (I don't usually write for these so be gentle)
The day finally came. It was my turn like my brother and sister before me. They each got their powers and now have been assigned jobs that took advantage of their powers.
My brother with his super strength works in a foundry lifting heavy materials. While my sister with her healing powers works in the local hospital. Both are super happy with their lives mostly.
Some of my older friends have their powers as well. Some are really cool and useful like my siblings. Some aren't as useful like my friend who got super speed typing.
Now it was my turn. The elders and trainers looked on in the room we were all in. Every power had a specific trainer. Their job was to make sure you learned how to use your powers correctly. Everyone had to walk up to what they were gonna eat. Then we all took a bite at the same time.
Usually a bit of hell broke loose for a moment as people got used to their new abilities. Some things let you even morph into animals! I wouldn't mind that one. You get to work at the zoo as an exhibit.
We then heard the 1 minute warning. We all got ready to take a bite out of our food. Except me, I hadn't picked anything yet. I quickly thought about the different foods as time was being counted down. If you didn't take a bite out of something you'd be a "normie" or "PL" a powerless individual. That's not something you want. Then I heard the count down and panicked. I kneeled down and when I heard "Bite!" I took a bite out of the table.
I heard a few gasps from the elders and trainers. I did something never done before. See what we didn't know was that every food had been prepared by the trainers according to a special recipe and that's how their powers were passed on during this short window in our life. However, no one could remember who on earth made the table. It had always been there since the beginning.
As other people's powers came forth and the elders were dealing with that, one came up to me and asked how I was feeling. "Nothing has happened yet. So I don't know." I said to them. "Well it can take some time to manifest. Go get some water and splash some on your face. See how you feel." they replied.
So I went to the bathroom and splashed some water on my face. As I was calming down I was reminded of a rain storm when I was younger. The water splashing on my face made me remember it. All of a sudden I heard rain outside and a voice in my head say "Command accepted. Altering weather to rainstorm."
I froze. Where did that voice come from? I then thought about sunny weather instead to see if I could get it to come back. I heard it again "Command accepted. Altering weather to calm and sunny. Average temperature.". What was this I thought to myself. Then I heard a reply that scared me "Welcome back Superuser. Root command access granted. Account Deity reactivated."
An elder I hadn't seen previously came and found me at the sink and said "We need to talk about your new power. There's only supposed to be one of us at time. You weren't supposed to take a bite out of my table ya goof." with a smile on his face. "Come now. You have a lot to learn so I can finally die in peace." | "This is the opposite of Santa Claus," I said to myself, as I shambled alone through an endless white expanse.Some things you believe as a child, then one day you realize it was all a game for children. With the *transition,* well, I have to admit I never believed it. Yet there I was and it seemed as real as anything.*Maybe I'm in the North Pole*, I thought as I continued to walk into nothing, contemplating what exactly qualifies as a reindeer game.
In the distance I saw something dark fade into view, it quickly grew til I realized it was flying towards me at a high speed.I braced myself, but it just flew past me in every direction; the white faded into a dark field of stars, as if I was flying through the night sky or outer space. All was silent but I could feel a wind from the field of stars as it wooshed by.
And suddenly I could see a.... table? flying towards me. I got low and got ready to catch it with my head down in a grimace. I was ready to possibly get wiped out by the fastest table I'd ever seen.
It stopped on a dime, 1 foot in front of me but I still came off my feet stumbling backwards like an idiot. And there it was, an empty wooden table. Four legs, brown finish, just like the stories. There was nothing on it, though.
At that thought, a tablecloth popped out of nothing and immediately after that all types of food imaginable as the table expanded far to either side.
"Woah," I whispered, coming to my feet.
All was silent for a moment as I walked by the tableside, looking at each platter before me. All manner of sandwiches, pasta dishes, seafood and meats with every type of garnish I had ever seen; Lasagna, Cake, Chicken Tikka Masala, Empanadas, Croissant Sandwiches, Chinese Takeout were all present. The first step towards making a decision would simply be to overcome all the sights and smells I was being overwhelmed by.
"Take a bite," commanded a deep voice, echoing from all around me, "It is time."
I had thought long and hard about what I would do. I had seen how those who said they had eaten different foods had turned out. The psychics and telekenetics had all ingested different fruits. Those with super strength had eaten corn on the cob or corn bread, which I just so happened to be looking at as I thought about them. A bite of a bean and cheese burrito would give you the power of super speed... I don't know why.
I had studied all my life for this moment, though I doubted it would ever come to be quite in this way. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I would make a move no one could have predicted... not even this booming voice, were it an all powerful deity or something.
I got on one knee right by the table, lifted the tablecloth and took a bite of the wood. I felt the grain of the table splintering and cracking between my teeth. I had prepared for this by drinking whole milk everyday for the past 10 years. I pulled a piece of the twisted and wet wood fibers with my mouth like a god-forsaken dog.
Finally, I was able to get a piece of the table in my mouth.
There was a pure silence now; an eery stillness. Then an explosion of red light from every pore of my body. I was infused with the red light, I became a part of the light as it became so bright and all encompassing that there was no boundary between me and it. I was almost driven mad by the humming of the light that got louder and louder until there was nothing but the light and the humming and they were both one and the same and I was one with them.
The redness dimmed and settled onto my skin, like soft cloth. I was somewhere else now, too. It was... well, it seemed to be a wooden cabin. I was fatter too, as if what I had eaten had an effect on my body.
*Ugh, what have I become?* I asked myself, feeling fat and disheveled. I buried my face in my hands to find I was wearing black mittens.
I looked to my right, at the mirror... to see I was none other than Santa Claus himself. I ho ho hoe'd at the ceiling but there was no response save for the blizzard outside my window in the north pole. My very hubris had sealed my fate to hand out presents every year for eternity.
This story is canon. | 2020-03-19T10:22:13 | 2020-03-19T09:29:08 | 172 | 29 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself | Lobster. Joe stood at the table of the gods, watching the red creature on a silver plate surrounded by lemons and herbs. Lobster...
He was expected to eat it, of course. Like his father and grandfather, a tradition dating all the way back to his distant ancestor and founder of the first underwater city, New Atlantis.
Joe hated lobster. Sure, the ability to breath under water and biological immortality were both amazing superpowers that most people would take without blinking.
Everyone in the underwater kingdom of Oceana would eat the damn thing, or be forever trapped to live in the childrens dome.
Not that people living on the surface acted any better, everyone assumed their food of the gods were the best, be it flying or whatever else the many kingdoms held in highest regard.
Not that moving to the surface world would have been a possibility for Joestigar of Atlantia the next king of Oceana anyway, not with relations breaking down so much as they had.
"Shit. I really dont want to eat this lobster." he mumbled as he lifted the silver plate, a lemon falling to the marble floor.
Daydreaming one last time of how nice it would be to tell his father to eat mud and move to the free choice colony on the south pole, he opend his mouth to take a bite, shell and all like tradition dictated...
And bit into hard wood.
"If you are so damn unhappy about my cooking then dont eat it." A booming voice from behind him said.
Confused and surprised, Joe took his mouth away from the table he just took a bite at, somehow, and quickly turned around. A kid about five or six years old, dressed in a dirty robe and a little apron, looking rather annoyed stood before him.
" Excuse me? " Joe said with not a small dose of confusion and a little bit of fear, what if this little kid was some all powerful god he offended.
"I said, if you dont want to eat my food then dont eat it. Lets see if you make better food then." the kid said, but the voice did not match the apperance. It sounded far away and much older.
"You took a bite from my table and now its yours, along with the job of cooking, thats how this thing works. I have been cooking ever since I turned five and got the job from the last girl. Even made serious improvements, can you believe she let five year olds choose their own food?" the kid went on.
"Of course, back then it was no table around, just a fireplace with meat and vegetables around it. Didnt think stumbling head first into the glowing embers would land me in this position. "
" No, I even added superpowers and let you keep the memory of your visit, she never did..." he shook his little head.
Joe snapped out of his confusion,
"What do you mean the table is mine ?" joe blurted out. Feeling blood drain from his face.
"Exactly what I said, you are now the official chef of the gods, congratulations. Your responsibilities include making the coming of age celebration for young humans, dont ask me why your new boss wants it that way, probably came up with the idea a few millenia ago for some obscure reason." The kid looked rather happy now, starting to remove his apron as he went on with his explenation.
"Lets talk you through your new job in the kitchen over here, comes with great benefits like unlimited powers in this space though. "
Suddenly the lobster on the floor looked rather tasty to Joe.
....
First try at this🙂 | "This is the opposite of Santa Claus," I said to myself, as I shambled alone through an endless white expanse.Some things you believe as a child, then one day you realize it was all a game for children. With the *transition,* well, I have to admit I never believed it. Yet there I was and it seemed as real as anything.*Maybe I'm in the North Pole*, I thought as I continued to walk into nothing, contemplating what exactly qualifies as a reindeer game.
In the distance I saw something dark fade into view, it quickly grew til I realized it was flying towards me at a high speed.I braced myself, but it just flew past me in every direction; the white faded into a dark field of stars, as if I was flying through the night sky or outer space. All was silent but I could feel a wind from the field of stars as it wooshed by.
And suddenly I could see a.... table? flying towards me. I got low and got ready to catch it with my head down in a grimace. I was ready to possibly get wiped out by the fastest table I'd ever seen.
It stopped on a dime, 1 foot in front of me but I still came off my feet stumbling backwards like an idiot. And there it was, an empty wooden table. Four legs, brown finish, just like the stories. There was nothing on it, though.
At that thought, a tablecloth popped out of nothing and immediately after that all types of food imaginable as the table expanded far to either side.
"Woah," I whispered, coming to my feet.
All was silent for a moment as I walked by the tableside, looking at each platter before me. All manner of sandwiches, pasta dishes, seafood and meats with every type of garnish I had ever seen; Lasagna, Cake, Chicken Tikka Masala, Empanadas, Croissant Sandwiches, Chinese Takeout were all present. The first step towards making a decision would simply be to overcome all the sights and smells I was being overwhelmed by.
"Take a bite," commanded a deep voice, echoing from all around me, "It is time."
I had thought long and hard about what I would do. I had seen how those who said they had eaten different foods had turned out. The psychics and telekenetics had all ingested different fruits. Those with super strength had eaten corn on the cob or corn bread, which I just so happened to be looking at as I thought about them. A bite of a bean and cheese burrito would give you the power of super speed... I don't know why.
I had studied all my life for this moment, though I doubted it would ever come to be quite in this way. I wasn't going to waste this opportunity. I would make a move no one could have predicted... not even this booming voice, were it an all powerful deity or something.
I got on one knee right by the table, lifted the tablecloth and took a bite of the wood. I felt the grain of the table splintering and cracking between my teeth. I had prepared for this by drinking whole milk everyday for the past 10 years. I pulled a piece of the twisted and wet wood fibers with my mouth like a god-forsaken dog.
Finally, I was able to get a piece of the table in my mouth.
There was a pure silence now; an eery stillness. Then an explosion of red light from every pore of my body. I was infused with the red light, I became a part of the light as it became so bright and all encompassing that there was no boundary between me and it. I was almost driven mad by the humming of the light that got louder and louder until there was nothing but the light and the humming and they were both one and the same and I was one with them.
The redness dimmed and settled onto my skin, like soft cloth. I was somewhere else now, too. It was... well, it seemed to be a wooden cabin. I was fatter too, as if what I had eaten had an effect on my body.
*Ugh, what have I become?* I asked myself, feeling fat and disheveled. I buried my face in my hands to find I was wearing black mittens.
I looked to my right, at the mirror... to see I was none other than Santa Claus himself. I ho ho hoe'd at the ceiling but there was no response save for the blizzard outside my window in the north pole. My very hubris had sealed my fate to hand out presents every year for eternity.
This story is canon. | 2020-03-19T09:34:44 | 2020-03-19T09:29:08 | 81 | 29 |
[WP] You are a police officer who has just arrested a scam artist for selling "elixirs of immortality". However, you discovered that his criminal records states that he was also arrested for the same crime in 1862. | A bit unnerved, you tell dispatch the con artist has been found and you’re both headed back to the station. Cuffed in the back seat of your cruiser, they try breaking free from the chains but to no avail.
“I have a potion back home that could eat right through this you know.” You pay him no mind. A case like this should be shocking, or at the very least catch your interest. But there’s so many crazys you bump into on the job that after a while almost nothing can catch you off guard. Almost.
“She’ll die on the 6th you know.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your daughter. The one on the soccer team? She’s going to have a heart attack.” You freeze up. He’s talking about Lindsey.
“How do you know my daughter?”
“I don’t. But I can see into the future. Just now I saw yours.” Whoever this sick man is he has your full attention. “How did you know she played soccer” you ask.
“She was in uniform on her death bed.”
The police station is only a mile away at this point, but at the last turn off you head right instead of left. The police cruiser stops under an overpass. It’s a spot the department uses to patrol for speeders, mainly because no one can see you.
“I’m going to ask you some questions. You answer me with the whole truth or I’m going t-“
“- I can stop it if that’s what you want.” You pause, taken aback. “But you’ll need to do ‘exactly’ as I say.” You aren’t really sure how to respond to this. A few minutes go by. As you think the man never breaks his gaze into your eyes. You could’ve sworn he didn’t even blink. A passing car breaks your train of thought.
“You’re either really brave or really stupid. Why should I listen to you? Give me one good reason.”
The scam artist thinks for a moment before replying, “if I’m being honest I don’t think I have one. You can take me to your office for questioning, you can beat me out here - you’re clearly the one in control. I’m just saying what I know, what you do about it is your decision.” The man has you pegged. He starts grinning from ear to ear. He knows you’re going to take the bait. You reach down for your notepad.
“How much do you sell your elixir’s for?”
*feedback is appreciated!* | ''So, what do we have on Mr.Allen?'' Sergeant Aaron asks me.
''Not much so far. He isn’t talking much.'' I reply.
He takes a glance at Mr.Allen from the interrogation window, ''Do we have the location of the money?''
''That’s the thing...People who made contact the Mr.Allen said he never asked for real money.''
''What did he ask for then? That weird digitilized internet money or drugs?''
''No, sir. He asked for very specific item that dates back to 17th or 18th century.'' I answer.
After a few hours later we have a meeting with eyeball witness who contacted Mr.Allen for exchange.
''Can you state your name for the record?'' I ask her.
''My name is Alica Sidey.''
''It would be better if you start from how did know about Mr.Allen and how did you meet him?''
''Well, two weeks ago I’ve received a call from my sister and she told me that she is diagnosed with terminal illness and there is nothing else to do except wait...until happens. There was nothing I could do for her to keep her alive because I’m not a doctor even if I was a doctor... We’ve seen many doctors in many different cities. Anyway, I was on a bus to visit my sister and there was a gentleman who was sitting in front of me and he had a unique walking stick that you wouldn’t see every day.''
''A walking stick?’'' I ask.
''Yes, one of its kind as far as I know. It dates backs to 1750 and it’s made from a very specific tree by using incredible handcraft. You can only see that kind of thing on museums and his stick looked very fresh, well preserved considering he is using that on his daily life.''
''And that man was?''
''Mr. Allen who offered me that thing.''
''How do you know so much about that antique walking stick?'' I ask.
''I work as a historian at a university.''
''Somehow you believed what he was offering was true?''
''You gotta understand officer. The way he talked and the way he presented himself had a marginal influence on my decision to trust him. Not to mention, I was so desperate to try anything to save her...''
Sergeant Aaron knocks the door and I leave the room to brief him.
After we gather enough information from Ms. Alica Sidey I go over on voice record one more time to write a detailed report about the case. Then, I hear a hissing sound coming from the tape. There was nothing in the room that can make noise. The noise starts soon after I left the room to brief Sergeant Aaron and it goes on for at least 10 seconds and when I hear the noise it makes my head hurt.
I call a favour from one of my friends who can audio analysis from this tape to figure out what exactly this noise is. At first, he says it could be an electronic problem but after he listens, again and again, he returns me the tape, ''This is not a hissing sound, this sound has a very unique frequency.'' and then he suggests that I should visit a guy named Andre Rhodes who can decipher this sound. I insist on keeping the case open but my sergeant disagrees with me and I never get a chance to meet with Andre Rhodes.
A few days later, I make a background check on Alica Sidey and I find no records that belongs to her.
-------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-06-02T11:58:06 | 2020-06-02T10:34:56 | 60 | 40 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | Professor Beast looked around the room and his unsettling eyes came to rest on me, "Alain, please answer to the best of your ability, what is the meaning of 'Cogito, ergo sum?'" His lips rose a bit in what must have been the closest approximation to a smile that someone like him could muster and he clarified, "I mean by the question, of course, how do you interpret the phrase, not what the Latin translates to. I think we've all got that covered." Scattered laughter came from around the room.
It was intimidating. My first day in Xavier's school and I was being called on by none other than a member of the ACTUAL team, an actual X-Man. It would have been exciting if I wanted to be here at all, instead of being placed here because someone accidentally saw me use my power. I cleared my throat and tried to turn my mind from the mantra I'd been echoing in my head and towards the question, hoping to impress the waiting Professor. "Um, 'Cogito, ergo sum, I think, therefore I am.' Uh..." Trying not to think about my powers was sort of like thinking about my powers. And it made focusing on the question even harder. "Uh, I think René... I mean, Descartes. René Descartes. I think what it means is that self-recognition is the only provable state of being in an exterior world. His philosophy doesn't extend to others, only to the self, but it's a declaration of being, asserted via the only possible evidence."
Professor Beast nodded along as I explained, before flashing another pseudo-smile. "Interesting answer. Good answer. Now, let's use that to transition into today's guiding question, 'What is self?'" His voice slowly entered the background of my mind as I sat there, focusing again on my mantra, *^(My power is teleportation, my power is teleportation, my power is teleportation, my power is teleportation.)* It was the only thing I allowed myself to think about.
Another ten minutes of class passed before Professor Beast cleared his throat loudly for attention and then asked a girl sitting in the back of the class to repeat herself, she said loudly and with a bit of annoyance in her voice, "Could whoever is thinking about teleportation please think more, I don't know, quietly? Some of the telepaths in the room haven't gotten to the point where we can close out every thought we come across." Redness creeped up my face and the mantra became louder, instead of quieting. The girl put her hands up to the sides of her head like she was getting a migraine and then shrugged, annoyed.
Professor Beast soon dismissed the class, pulling me over as it ended. "Alain, as the only teleporter in the class, could you please quiet your thoughts down? I mean, I'm assuming it's you, but if it's not, I apologize for pulling you aside." My eyes were glazed as he spoke, trying to figure out a way to avoid the telepaths as much as possible. Didn't help that the school was run by one of the most powerful telepaths of all time. I mumbled some response to Beast before scuttling away towards my room, thankful that the day was over for me. It took me a few more steps to remember that there was *one* place where no one would be able to hear me. Or rather, one *moment.* The power that landed me here in the first place.
With an effortless thought, the world around me stopped. One girl's hair flowed behind her and caught in the air like a statue. One of the older boy students was mid-jump as he came down the stairs, a no longer effective gravity working against the slackness of his face. I was careful not to touch anyone as I navigated the crowd. Anyone who maintained direct contact with me was able to stay in my time bubble. It was a nice ability, but scary. I looked at Professor Storm as I passed her by. She was suspended mid-air, flying between destinations. She's one of the strongest mutants in the world, and I could kill her easily if I wanted to. I could kill everyone in the school, with the exception of my hero, Wolverine. But I could still damage him so heavily that he was no threat to me. Letting them know I was that dangerous was a horrifying thought. Who knows what they would do to me?
The room the school had given me was nice. I took an hour to lie down on the bed and rest myself before resuming time. The sound outside my door resumed. Whoever had seen me in the hallway an instant before simply saw me vanish. Teleport, they would think. The charade being successful was a good thing, but having to even do it was depressing. The school was supposed to be a place where people like me could come and be themselves, but now I was hiding harder than ever before. Any sort of time manipulation rockets a person to the top of the mutant power-rankings, and Omegas always have a target on their backs. It wasn't something I was ready for. I began repeating my mantra in my head, hoping no one was listening too closely. *^(My power is teleportation, my power is teleportation, my power is teleportation, my power is teleportation.)* | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T05:08:09 | 9,106 | 1,115 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | In my defense, I didn’t mean to lie. At least, not at first.
There’s just only so many answers you can give to one of the most powerful A-list mutants in the world after she saves your entire class from death via careening down a mountain in the middle of a freak hurricane.
And those answers all invariably include shutting your mouth and nodding when The-Motherfucking-Storm says she saw you teleport yourself and a couple classmates to safety.
It's better than admitting you got tired of carrying them after the first three.
So, it was off to Xavier’s I went, with the blessing of my family. I think they were just relieved to realize our house wasn’t actually haunted, and that all the moved furniture and missing snacks were due to their broody, rather-not-interact-with-anyone-if-I-could-help-it teenager. It was just going to be for a year or so, would include all the state mandated tests and some top class education, and was, if anything, more of a…counseling situation. A way for young mutants to socialize with their peers.
They conveniently left out the part where this socialization happened over literal battle training and in a place conveniently named, ‘The Danger Room’.
Yea. Shit. Add to that it was the best and literal brightest mutants helping in this training, and I ended up trying to make a runner in the first night. And then got caught by the literal Nightcrawler. Who seemed to think I was just taking an evening walk and offered to join me in something called *teleporter solidarity.*
I politely declined.
Pretty sure Professor Xavier told him to keep an eye out for me, because he was there a lot more often with very unsolicited advice like what hair gel to use to keep your hair from poofing up after a - what he called - ‘bamf’. Even gave me my own bottle, which was nice. I guess. But not enough to get me to risk life and limb on a regular basis.
I had dedicated myself to coasting, and that was that. Caring was something they really couldn’t get me to do, not when everyone else in my life had failed, not when I knew that I was the only one in the world for whom every second was actually real.
I aged while everyone was in stasis. I grew. They didn’t. Ergo, my time was more important.
So, I lied. I told them that my ‘teleporting’ powers had a max use of once a day and was, therefore, way too useless to be practical. In reality all the finger snapping needed to activate the time stops were just giving me carpal tunnel. The Wolverine guy was the only one who didn’t seem to quite believe it, staring at me oddly after I’d told the class. He never said anything though, leaving me to assume that even if he could smell lies he didn't much care for exposing them.
Probably was for the best when you taught a bunch of literal super-powered pubescent kids, most with delusions of grandeur. Not me, though. This whole mutant life was just not my style. Life or death situations on the daily, constant stress, having to socialize with new people and, more than likely, *save* them…yea. No. I’d take the worst class designation any day.
They did their best to make the life look as exciting as possible, I’ll give them that, but even weekly Q&As after Danger Room sessions with elite mutants weren’t enough to ruffle me. Most of those talks had to be rescheduled due to the latest world-destruction event, others due to the fact they didn’t even know which dimension so-and-so mutant was in this time. Real appealing.
And then. There was the last one. The one Professor Xavier was meant to drop into. The one that freaking Sentinels decided to crash. The one I was skipping and didn’t know about until a giant robot hand was two seconds away from crushing me.
In the end, my entire desire for a simple life was pit against the option of a quick, brutal death and a release from all responsibilities. So, I didn’t move. I think part of me just wanted it over with.
That’s when Nightcrawler ‘*bamf*’-ed atop the robot and sent it flying sideways. That’s when Wolverine grabbed me and started to run. That’s when I saw the other Sentinel aim. That’s when my entire desire for a simple life was pit against the option of the quick and brutal deaths of some of the nicest people I’d ever met in my life.
So, I froze time. I ended up having to nearly break Wolverine’s arm to get loose, but figured he’d heal up fine. I macguyvered a laser canon from some scraps - those Danger Room tutorial sessions really were useful - and blew the first Sentinel’s head off. Then the second. I ended up clearing off the campus at some point, just to make sure.
Then I took a deep breath and sat down on the front steps of the institute, right beside where Professor Xavier was currently wheeled up. His hand was already at his temple, concentrating at was probably once a sea of Sentinels, but was now just a bunch of scrap metal. I sighed deeply and gave a mental farewell to my days as the laziest Class Omega bitch that ever existed.
And snapped my fingers to let the world start spinning. | It was a pleasant day, the semester nearing to an end, the summer holidays coming. There was a sense of liminality in the air, the days after exams needless and yet still there. Some of the kids couldn't wait for classes to end and the days be filled with either nothing or extended clubs. Only those who were going home, despite making the choice themselves usually, weren't as excited.
Emily liked the peace of it all. She was one of those to stay and since not attending any clubs, it was the idle time of a year for her - one where she didn't need to use her powers, one when she was normal not for the sake of other, but her own.
Looking up the tree she was sitting under, she noticed a bee coming her way and *just like that*, it stopped in its track, freezing mid-air and just hanging there.
This was the better part of her secret. life can be beautiful but often too quick to be seen, too fast to be enjoyed. There was a pleasure in secretly enjoying what no-one can, a pleasure Emily wasn't ready to give up.
Looking around she noticed Professor Xavier coming around the house, vaguely in her direction and decided this was not the day to talk to him in case he was going her way, getting up and walking away.
" You're easy to find but hard to catch." he found her reading in the library, using her concentration to his advantage, only hoping she won't freak out and run.
She didn't, luckily, looking up.
" I'm not offended, don't worry, Miss Brerry." he smiled a little, knowing that will only annoy her further.
" Sorry professor." She closed the book
" I was hoping to talk to you earlier." He said, positioning his chair so it looked like it belongs there next to the sofa she sat in. "Should have probably warned you beforehand so you wouldn't run."
She stared at him quietly, waiting what will he say, though he seemed to wait for her answer and the silence stretched, as he looked at the book now in her lap.
" Patience isn't always a virtue." he finally looked up to her again, unmoving.
" Only if the other side loses theirs." she shrugged, cracking a little smirk.
" You will find I can be quite patient also." he answered, pleased "Gift of old age."
" Time flies fast when you lived long, doesn't it?" She teased, shifting comfortably in her seat "Years gets shorter as we get older, right."
" It slows down a little, though," Xavier answered, leaning against his armrest "You're quite the philosopher."
" Hardly." She snickered "people always made this observation, right - I'm just repeating it, although... Well, Adrian Bejan wrote about our changing perception of time, didn't he?" She looked at Xavier quickly, seeing him watch her with a soft smile curving his lips as he listened carefully to what she said.
" I believe he did, although I haven't read his paper yet. Though I do remember reading his Physics of life." he looked up, as if remembering something.
" Oh, I liked that one." Emily answered quickly "Through I found it a bit repetitive a bit, at times, it was an interesting take..." She stopped, realising professor Xavier's smile is growing as she spoke, feeling a little discouraged to continue even though he gestured her to.
" I'm sorry." He sighed a little "It's a pity, we don't converse more, I feel like you have a lot to talk about."
" I'm okay." she quickly shook her head.
" Not talking to anyone?" He raised his eyebrows.
For a moment, the silence stretched and she realised she was beginning to forget herself.
" Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?" She didn't answer.
" I know your secret, Emily, you must realise." He said then, looking down to her book again and she felt her breath shorten.
He said it so casually, like... Like...
" How long?" she whispered.
" The day you came." He answered without hesitation, watching out for her reaction when none came immediately.
" Well... I... Thank you for not telling everyone?" He gave her an acknowledging nod "Why.. Why didn't you? I mean why didn't you tell me, that you know?"
" I wanted you to tell me." He shrugged, smiling again "I hoped you'd tell me, at least."
" So... Why are we having this conversation then?" his smile did not put her at ease at all, as he hoped it would.
" You kept up the whole year." Xavier tilted his head "You can think of this school two ways, I'm sure you already noticed - some people simply just study in peace, content in a way - but some learn about their abilities too. Sometimes, what we can do, can be too much for ourselves alone. I want you to simply have a choice."
" I don't..."
" Think about it." He interrupted her "At least for a moment."
She sighed, looking away and he didn't push her, sitting there quietly, patiently until she looked at him again.
" Teleportation is good masking." He said, "I don't think anyone noticed."
" Please don't flatter me." She looked away again.
" I am not." He answered. "But, if you'd allow me a question? Why?"
" Why what?" She frowned.
" Why keeping it a secret?"
It gave her another moment and she began thinking whether running away wouldn't be better than giving one but after a short while she just looked at him, taking a breath.
" Because I'm scared."
And he knew she was telling the truth.
" I'm not ready - I know stopping the time is... is huge, and I don't want that, I didn't ask for it and I want to enjoy the peace for a little longer." He watched her, surprised at how calm she was, admitting all that.
" Weight your options." he answered, "you surely know learning takes the fear away. Know that I could help."
With a soft smile, he reached to his wheels and after she looked away, went away.
" It's summer, Miss Brerry." he stopped himself and turned back "I'd say decide quickly before it's over, but..." Smirking to himself, he didn't finish, turning to go.
*Decide quickly he said*, she thought.
Decide quickly.
Maybe there could be merit in it too.
" Professor, wait." | 2020-07-15T07:26:54 | 2020-07-15T05:23:07 | 1,209 | 513 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | "It's not entirely about focus..." Professor Wagner said, his thin German accent gently colouring every word he spoke "...there are many of us - like Scott Summers - who require a physical tool to control our powers. But for myself, and most other teleporters I have known, focus provides strength. For us, it is natural - almost trivial - to teleport a few metres away. But vast distances can be opened to us if we apply the strength of a disciplined mind to our task."
I sighed. "I don't think I am like other teleporters professor." That was an understatement. In truth I wasn't even a teleporter at all. I was something different and new. There were others who had powers like me - chronokinesis, they called it. Even Professor Rasputina exhibited some ability to manipulate time, although from what I understood her powers were based in her magical abilities, not her mutation. But none possessed what I did. The ability to stop time. Or rather, I think, I could step out of the time stream and step back in at my leisure.
"We are all different Sean..." Professor Wagner replied "...and your mutation certainly has some unique consequences. But you must not dwell to much on how you are different, you must realize how much we are alike!"
I smiled weakly. The 'unique consequence' he spoke of was the fact that none of the telepaths at the school - not even Professor Xavier himself - could touch my mind. The Headmaster described my thoughts as static. One girl - one of the few telepaths who had spent any amount of time around me - described it as someone shouting every word that had ever existed into her ears. That's why most of the telepathic students gave me a wide berth. Even that one girl eventually had to stop hanging around me. She couldn't stand it.
I have no idea why that is, of course. Best guess is that it's every thought I've ever had coming out all at once. Whatever the cause, it helped me keep my secret.
I wasn't ready for people to know I could stop time. I knew that would make me significant in a way I just didn't want to be. I knew what happened to significant mutants. They went on to become X-Men. Or they went on to become the enemies of the X-Men. Or they went on to be pawns on a board, as the X-Men and their enemies circled around them, pulling them in a million directions. I wasn't ready to be any of those things.
"Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way." Professor Wagner said, perhaps seeing the mark of frustration on my face (although not catching why I was frustrated thankfully). "I believe you require mental discipline, but I have asked you to develop that discipline using while using your power. That is not how I learned to discipline my mind. I was taught by Herr Getmann's cruel hand the art of the acrobat long before I ever knew I could teleport. Perhaps that is the path for you? What do you say - tomorrow we can begin to train you as an acrobat? I promise I will be a better teacher than my master was."
I smiled a genuine smile at that. "That sounds like fun Professor." I meant it. Something that wasn't constantly pretending sounded like a nice break. | "What's up, Diego"
"Nothing, Mr Summers" he said rolling his eyes. If he was any other mutant Scott would've ignored him, but Diego, or as his classmates called him, Dio, was special. He had the special ability of teleportation, which in itself is extremely rare, but unlike his friend Kurt, Diego could do it effortlessly. He could even go to places he hadn't been before, even different countries! But what was more perplexing about the young Mr Brando, was his abnormal levitation ability. Of course, this was kept secret. If Magneto found out, Diego would be in great danger. Scott had seen Diego's secret ability. He could lift anything, from road rollers to cranes. Given a couple years, Diego could become the greatest mutant in history.
"Cool, cool" It was always awkward to talk to the kid "Anyway, the Professor wants to talk"
"Ok, sir. I'll go there now" And suddenly Diego disappeared. No smoke or a trace he had ever been there. It was disorientating, to say the least.
"I guess I'll go to Jean. See what she's doing" Scott said before walking away.
\----------------------------------------------------------------\*\*\*-------------------------------------------------------------------
"You wished to see me sir?" Diego asked curtly.
"Oh Dio! Don't scare me like that!" Xavier chuckled "Yes, well I called you here today, to discuss your powers." They were the most mystifying aspect of the boy. No one could really decipher how his mutation worked. Not even Beast. Well, until now that is.
"Diego" Said a gruff voice, coming from behind Diego. There appeared the bluest and greatest scientist on the planet. Beast."After almost 5 years since you arrived in front of the academy, we've finally deciphered your DNA and mutation" He said excitedly.
"And it appears that you've been lying to us" Xavier continued "You don't have a trace of mutant DNA which is even close to Kurt's. In fact, your DNA, is closest to Shadowcat's. A time skimmer" He said almost angrily "You can control time can't you? Although that doesn't explain the telekinesis."
"How about I show you two" Diego said, nonchalantly "Come closer to me" And they did. Both men with their hands on Diego's shoulder.
# "THE WORLD!"
Suddenly the entire room turned black and white. "What happened?" Xavier said. He looked down to his watch "By god..." Time had stopped.
Beast turned to Diego "Dio! This is amazing! We could defeat Magneto with thi-" Suddenly Beast was cut off. Xavier turned to blue man quickly and was shocked at what he saw. A giant, gaping wound through his chest and a giant, fist which could only be seen thanks to the blood.
"DIO! WHAT HAPPENED!" Xavier shouted, looking distraught and terrified for the first time in his life. He stared at Dio but was met with a cruel, sadistic smile.
"I'm sorry Professor, I can't have you knowing I'm an Omega level. Not with my plans!" He laughed, almost manicly.
"Damn you boy!" Xavier said before using his power. If he could just break the Dio's mind, he could possibly save himself. Alas, instead of victory, he too was met with hole through the chest. "H-howww..." He said, his final word drifting.
"Did you truly think that you could be me! I, Dio Brando! I have been training forever for this moment! Of course I wanted to do it from the beginning, but I wasn't strong enough. I really must thank for the training! Instead of 10 seconds, I can do 10 years! It truly is marvellous!" Dio shouted "Now, I really must leave." And with that, he left the bloodied room.
# "THE WORLD!"
*Tick Tock.* Time started again.
Dio opened the door and let the most loudest scream he could. Suddenly, almost all the mutants in the manor arrived. "What's the matter Diego?" Asked Storm.
All Dio did was point to the room. "Oh my god" screamed Jean, staring in shock as the two lifeless corpses laid on the ground.
Suddenly, everyone pushed forward, attempting to save the mutants. Dio snuck behind them all. And as they all started letting tears out, Dio smiled. He smiled as he was one step closer to his dream. **APOCALYPSE.** | 2020-07-15T06:33:50 | 2020-07-15T05:19:54 | 119 | 72 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | Its hard to keep secrets, especially when part of your existence is nothing but lying. Telling a lie is easy, but maintaining that lie is one of the most difficult things you can ever put yourself through.
In the beginning it was small things, like not accidentally knocking stuff over or feigning ignorance about knowledge I shouldn't know, but do. It's suspicious to know nothing about a book series one day, and then act like an expert on it the next.
I had to be careful, I couldn't run because that would cause air movement, and rapid air movement plus sudden disappearance and reappearance could make people think I was a speedster. But I'm not
I have to make sure I don't prevent things that can't be stopped without spit second action. I could have grabbed the toxic chemical vials mid air and set them back on the table like nothing happened, but instead, I had to make it look like I had just grabbed them from their free fall.
It's all very exhausting, I'm tired of always being vigilant to not contradict my lies, I'm tired of always having to lie to people, but on the bright side: I can get a full eight hours in five minutes.
I've never been a fan of people, but when you have all the time in the world, sometimes you just want to share it with someone
Someday, someday I might come clean. Someday I'll answer for every lie I've ever told. Someday I might actually learn how to do more than just *Freeze* time.
Today's not that day. Today I have a test I never studied for, So guess what I'm doing. | I haven't been here long at this school for gifted.
In fact, it's not really a school at all, it's a school for the mutant kind.
It's home to some of the famous students like, wolverine, Cyclops, storm and many others.
As for me, my power is I can freeze time, i tell people i can teleport, seems easier.
After getting in a fight with another student who was going to pyroblast me, I freezed time and walked away to a corridor and simply unfroze the spot, was kinda cool to watch him to blast the floor.
"I saw that" said a calm voice, I froze and turned around, it was professor xavior, i couldn't tell if he was angry or amused at me for what i did.
"Come to my office and let's talk" he calmly said.
We went to his office, and i sat down and he again calmly spoke.
"Now Aero, from what I was told you could teleport, but that's not the case is it?" He asked enquingly .
I was nervous, here's a guy who could read my mind and probs knew I was lying out my ass to save myself.
"Relax" he said, "in not going to invade your mind" he reassured, "i just like to know what I honestly saw".
I sighed " no use lying to you all people, I have the ability to freeze time" I shamefully replied.
"Freeze time?" He asked eye brow raised, "th at is no easy power to master" he said.
"I have my moments" I replied, it's handy to escape some situations"
"Come with me" he said encouragingly, "i want to see and help you with something" he said cheerfully.
We stood outside the office, every student was talking and teachers were busy helping people out.
He lent over to me and quietly goes " I want you to freeze everyone here in time, can you do that?" He asked suggestively.
I shrugged and went " I'll give it a go, just hold on"
I put a hand on his shoulder and closed my eyes and reached out to that spot where my power lied and felt a vibration happen.
I opened my eyes to see everyone frozen in time.
I've never done a mass time freeze before, certainly not to this degree.
"Oh my word aero, this is amazing" he exclaimed " how would you like private teachings to help you better use this power?" He asked
I looked at him and nodded my head " I'd love that " smilingly I replied.
"Wonderful, we start tomorrow" | 2020-07-15T07:17:13 | 2020-07-15T05:51:59 | 53 | 33 |
[WP] After hearing complaints countless times the hero just turns himself in and goes to prison. Now that the villains are destroying the city and running wild everyone is trying the convince the hero to come out and save the day. But the hero is not having any of this shit | "2610." I repeated the number slowly and with emphasis. "Two Thousand six hundred and ten."
"I keep a tally. I always keep a tally. That my stock and trade. Well it would have been if not for -"
I raise the green goop my arm had become.
"Y'know I used to believe in all this. Freedom! Righteousness! The Goodness in man!"
I shook my head.
"But you robbed me of that day by day a little crime at a time. A little greed here, a little bad there. I warned you! Over and over and over! Look at slums! Superpowers don't care about rich or poor. You want to stop villains then you have to take away their reason to BE villains. They aren't born. They are made."
"But -"
"Save your breath senator. I forgot you prefer Doctor that's the title you claim isn't it. During all your speeches, all your rallies. Since you have forgotten let me remind you of the fundamentals. You don't treat the symptoms, you find the cause."
I shrugged.
"But that's hard isn't it? Easier to blame someone else, blame the villains that you made every day you slapped away their hands, sneered at their misfortune. You made this rope senator, braided day by day, it grew long under your watch. You built the gallows you manufactured the lever and now that the rope is around your neck the lever set you plead to save yourself from the hanging you set for yourself."
"What about the victims!"
"Don't hide behind the innocents now! You're their leader? Lead them! Oh wait that's right you only want power when it's convenient, ignoring it's price! People will die and if you want someone to blame look in the mirror."
"Oh, 2770 now. Lives you failed, lives that ended because of you. Good day Senator" | Ashley sighed, crossing her arms. "Duke, for the love of God, stop this and come out."
Duke stared at her, his face stoic as usual. "Alright."
Ashley tried not to get her hopes up. "Really? I'll go tell the warden to-"
"I'm completely heterosexual." Duke's grin spread from ear to ear as Ashley's face turned red from anger. "This isn't funny! Stop this petty fucking strike!" She wanted to reach through the bars of the cell and throttle the taller man. "We get it, Thistletown *needs* you, we've underappreciated you. We'll kiss your ass to hell and back if you would just leave this cell."
Duke shrugged. "Don't care. Why should I work myself half to death out there when I can just sit in here and get free food?" Ashley stared at him, completely dumbfounded. The cell was tiny and bare, with no other cellmates to talk to or anything to do aside from reading. "Well, aren't you bored? Isn't it lonely in here?" Duke shook his head. "I do literally nothing all day and get taken care of, Ashley. What's boring about that? Plus," Duke tapped his temple. "I can get my own amusement just from the weird thoughts people have in their heads in this place."
Ashley felt like she was damn near ready to explode from rage. "When did you become so selfish? This is just..." She felt disgust churning within her. "Pathetic." Duke's head snapped up with a glare. A plan started forming in Ashley's head.
"It really shows how shallow and weak-willed you are, y'know?" Ashley twirled her dark hair while she insulted the former hero. "Were you really just doing all that work for some praise? Are you sad that Mommy wasn't there for-"
Ashley cut herself off as Duke lunged at the bars of the cage, enraged by her mockery. The metal groaned and screeched, bending under the force of his body. "You shut up right now," the man seethed. Ashley had to suppress a smirk. This was dangerous, but it was going to achieve her goal. Even if Duke can read her mind and figure out exactly what she's doing, it's still going to cut deep enough to work eventually.
It'll take months. But he'll grow up and leave the prison eventually.
Ashley turned and strutted down the hall. "I'm off to go enjoy my freedom!" She called out. "I'll come back tomorrow with riveting news of how my day went, *all for you!~"*
The door slammed behind her. *And, of course,* she thought to herself. *I'm not going to be back tomorrow at all. Or the next day. Or maybe ever.* Her face scrunched up as she heard Duke screaming and some crashing noise while he destroyed his cell. *I'll fix the emotional damages after he gets out.* | 2021-03-18T13:37:30 | 2021-03-18T13:24:33 | 126 | 32 |
[WP] A moon sized battlestation approches the Earth and destruction seems inevitable. Only Disneys very thorough copyright lawyers stand between humanity and its doom. | “Your honor, this is clear copyright infringement,” the skinny human lawyer said in his baggy suit, as he pressed his glasses up his nose.
The massive galactic judge Xan’Tharr, an elderly Kivuk statesmen from the Tau Ceti cloud, looked at the small human skeptically, raising his eye stalks and frowning his gelatinous face.
The Anthrian lawyer pounced on the opportunity. “Your honor, our battleship has been making its way across the galaxy at the speed of light for the last *ten thousand* human years with the *sole* intent of destroying earth. This company Disney did not even *exist* back then!”
Xan’Tharr turned to the human lawyer and in his deep, gravelly voice, said : “the Anthrian has a point.”
“Yes, your honor,” the human said. “We know all about the Anthrian’s sinister plans, but they are not original. Moon sized planet destroyers are clearly part of our franchise *Star Wars* and, to a lesser extent the story also is reflected in a story from our subsidiary, 20th century fox, *Independence Day,* and any reproduction of these storylines are a clear violation of our intellectual property. Bootleg copies of these *exact* films were found in *their* very own battleship!” The human lawyer shouted.
“They were just research!” the Anthrian lawyer shouted back, clicking his mandibles with frustration and clear embarrassment that these films were found.
"Quite a convenient story," said the human lawyer, mockingly.
Xan’Tharr sighed, exacerbated. “But they did start on their journey ten thousand years ago—”
“If you just let me finish, your honor,” the human said.
“You may proceed,” Xan’Tharr said.
“Thank you, your honor. Yes, our Star Wars franchise was created in 1977, Independence Day later than that… *but* they were based off what is called the Hero’s Journey by the renowned American Professor of Comparative Mythology, one Joseph Campbell. And as you see," the human lawyer said, holding up a large laminated poster in front of him and leaned forward with the circular diagram, "you can see *'The Abyss'* stage at the bottom. This is precisely when planet destruction, or threat of planet destruction, is caused in these stories. And what *this* hostile alien race is doing is clearly a weak and pathetic imitation of our stories. It is all laid out plainly in the Hero’s journey. The Disney corporation has bought the copyright to *“The Hero with a Thousand Faces,”* in which the theory of the journey is clearly defined.”
“Objection judge! This Joseph Campbell was born in 1904 in human years, that’s only what? 200 years ago. Again, I will say, ten thousand years have we been travelling to their planet! No copyright is that old!”
Xan’Tharr raised another eyebrow at the human. “He’s right, little Man.”
The human lawyer was ready and waiting for this. “Yes, this Anthrian is correct, the esteemed Joseph Cambell was only born two hundred years ago, *but* the Hero’s journey has been around since the origin of human civilization! Even before then! Paleolithic cave paintings have shown clear representation of the Hero’s journey. And the Disney corporation has copyrighted this mythos and thus all subsequent stories which use it. The oldest known version of this story was found on a mural in an Indonesian cave dating back over 44,000 years ago. We purchased from the Indonesian government the copyright to this mural and the Hero's Journey which stems from it," the human lawyer passed forward a stack of papers that outlined the contract. "So our copyright far surpasses the temporal plans of this hostile alien race!”
“You can’t copyright a...a *mythos!* Your honor,” the Anthrian shouted across the galactic courthouse.
“The Disney Corporation has done just that, your honor. Many times. See *Disney* vs *The Catholic Church,* where Disney won a decisive victory of the legal copyright of the Christian Bible, new and old testament, and all translations thereof. There is clear precedence here.” The human lawyer said, then pointed accusingly at the Anthrian lawyer. “And these unoriginal Alien’s are looking to profit off Disney’s hard-earned intellectual property. Does this galaxy not honor the security of that property?”
Xan’Tharr nodded. “You make a strong case, little Human. With the clear evidence of the bootleg copies of your company’s property and the current copyright on the Hero’s Journey mythos, I side with the Disney Corporation. Your planet will not be destroyed. And the Anthrians will pay all legal fees from this hearing. Have a good day, both of you!”
The humans jumped for joy and the Anthrian lawyers smashed their long, stone desk with their claws and began mincing the fractured pieces of rock with their razor-sharp mandibles.
“Tell them to turn the bloody thing around!” the Anthrian lawyer shouted to one of his clerks, speaking of the massive warship currently docked, awaiting the decision of the court. “Ten thousand years! What a waste of time!”
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | *The Walt Disney Co. v. Glaksmar Death Cannon,* 120 F.5d 1 (S.D.N.Y. 2021)
**Opinion & Order**
This case concerns a motion for preliminary injunction brought by The Walt Disney Company (“Disney”) against the Glaksmar Death Cannon (“Death Cannon”) for infringement on two franchises: Star Wars and Mickey Mouse & Friends.
*Background:*
On January 1, 2021 Death Cannon entered orbit around Earth. Death Cannon is owned and operated by an unknown entity, domiciled at an unknown location. On January 5, 2021 Death Cannon telepathically broadcasted its intent to annihilate Earth to every living human (hereinafter referred to as the “at-issue conduct”). On January 10, 2021 Disney brought the instant motion.
Disney argues that this Court should issue an order prohibiting Death Cannon from engaging in the at-issue conduct as it threatens to infringe on its copyright on the Sar Wars franchise. Disney argues that they have full rights over the concept of a moon-sized battle-station threatening to annihilate an entire planet.
In the alternative, Disney argues that Death Cannon is powered by Plutonium, an element who's name bears an uncanny resemblance to that of a copyrighted Disney character—Pluto the Dog. Disney argues that the use of Plutonium in any form infringes upon their copyrights to Mickey Mouse & Friends, which features Pluto the Dog.
Death Cannon argues that the Star Wars franchise is vastly different than the facts underlying the instant action. For example, they allege that Star Wars centered around a prophetic hero that conquers a moon-sized battle station through use of a fundamental weakness in the battle-station's architecture. Here, however, Death Cannon has "utterly crushed all human resistance," and "definitely does not have any weaknesses in its airducts. Seriously, we don't. Don't even try it. Please."
Death Cannon did not address the Pluto copyright, and instead laughed at the Court when questioned about it during oral argument.
*Analysis:*
As an initial matter, I will note that Death Cannon's failure to brief the merits of the Pluto copyright is an inexcusable omission.^(1) The Court has a full docket, and does not have the time to unilaterally investigate the merits of Disney's arguments. Therefore, for purposes of this motion, I will assume that Disney is correct that its Pluto copyright extends to all uses of Plutonium. I do not reach the merits of the Star Wars issue, as the point is now moot.
Now, I address Death Cannon's affirmative defenses.
*First,* Death Cannon argues that this Court lacks personal jurisdiction over Death Cannon, on account of the fact that it conducts no business and has no assets on Earth.^(2) Disney argues that personal jurisdiction is established by virtue of the fact that Death Cannon broadcasted its message of annihilation into the minds of each and every earth inhabitant. I agree with Disney that this broadcast satisfies the minimum contacts necessary to establish personal jurisdiction. I heard the transmission myself, and can attest that I felt much more than 'minimally' contacted as the omen of death reverberated throughout my skull and into my very soul.
*Second,* Death Cannon argues that they were improperly served by Disney. According to Death Cannon, shooting the service documents through the hull of their ship with a surface-to-air missile is not a proper means of service. While this is admittedly a unique method of service, Disney has fully documented their attempts at serving Death Cannon through more traditional means.^(3) I therefore hold that service was sufficient.
*Third,* Death Cannon argues that Earth is not an appropriate venue for the instant litigation on account of every human judge having conflicts of interest. This argument bears some consideration. It is true that, theoretically, a judge residing on a planet facing imminent destruction would be prejudiced against the entity bringing about that destruction.
However, Disney argues that I have lived a full life, and at the ripe old age of 85, cannot expect to have many years left on this planet anyways. I am persuaded by Disney’s argument—I can attest to the fact that I have made my peace with death, and candidly, did not particularly enjoy my time on Earth anyways. I find no reason to recuse myself, and therefore hold that venue is proper.
Disney’s motion for preliminary injunction is granted, on the basis that Death Cannon threatens to infringe its copyright of Pluto the Dog. Death Cannon is hereby prohibited from annihilating the Earth. It is so ordered.^(4)
\*\*\*
^(FN 1: At oral argument, Death Cannon asserted that its omission was due to a misunderstanding regarding the rules of human litigation. Death Cannon alleged that its misunderstanding was because it had trouble finding a human lawyer other than Rudy Giuliani. This Court was unpersuaded—ignorance of the law is no defense. Death Cannon responded that it did not know that ignorance of the law is no defense. However, ignorance of the law that ignorance of the law is no defense, is also no defense.)
^(FN 2: Disney contests this assertion. Disney proffers an affidavit from their expert, Dr. Giorgio A. Tsoukalos, attesting to the fact that the Glaksmarinians have frequented the earth on a regular basis since at least 2500 BC. Dr. Tsoukalos asserts that the Glaksmarinians' Earthly assets include the Pyramids of Giza, Stonehenge, and countless half-human Glaksmarinian bastards living in the sewers of New York City.)
^(FN 3: As proof, Disney proffers the severed head of its service agent. This Court finds the evidence sufficient.)
^(FN 4: Notice of this decision and order shall be effectuated by a second surface-to-air missile into the hull of Death Cannon's ship. This Court further **denies** Death Cannon's related motion for costs associated with the damage caused by the first missile.)
***
 
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | 2021-03-22T18:10:06 | 2021-03-22T18:08:03 | 373 | 104 |
[WP] You just met your SO's family. They're all very nice, considerate, and seem to enjoy your presence. They're also very openly a family of for-hire assassins who take quite a lot of pride in their work. | "Trust me, if nobody wants you dead badly enough to hire them, you have nothing to worry about."
Such said my girlfriend in convincing me to go see her family. When she had asked if I was ready to meet them, I was enthusiastic. When she gently broke it to me that they were all hit men (hit women?), I was...not...enthusiastic.
As we drove up to the house, I was expecting some temple to death, not a pleasant sky-blue Queen Anne style house with white trim and a shady oak in the front yard. Nervous still, when we came inside her dad smiled and shook my hand, her mom gave me a hug, and their affable Golden Retriever licked my face.
We sat in the sun room for a while, her mom served lemonade and they asked me all sorts of questions. Normal questions. We talked about Jessica's new job, and what houses we were looking at, and about our planned trip to Colorado next January.
"Come here, let me show you my study," her dad said. Jessica and her mom went off to the store to get some things for dinner, and I followed her dad up the wooden stairs. Pushing open the door, I stepped in...and saw two walls filled, floor to ceiling, with rifles, scopes, and ammunition. There was a desk with a computer, a phone, and several briefcases. He pulled one of the rifles off the wall. "M24 SWS. Had this one for a while. Go ahead, pick it up. Love the balance on that one." I awkwardly grabbed the rifle and nodded my head in ignorant agreement.
"Try this one. HK147. German. Smooth and subtle. One of my favorites." I again tried to sound impressed.
"Here, this is one of my favorites. M40. Used by the Marines in Vietnam. I've never used it on a job, it's just a collector's item. Taken it a few times on the range though. Still fires like a dream."
"Wow..." is all I could muster.
Just then I heard the doorbell downstairs. "Oh, I'll bet that's Jason! Jessica's going to be so thrilled to see him. Come on, let's go. I'll show you my logs and my photos later tonight."
We were halfway down the stairs when I heard Jessica and her mom squealing with delight. As I got to the bottom I could see they were embracing Jason. Jessica's dad gave him a big bear hug, and then Jason turned to me and stuck out his hand with a big grin. "So good to meet you!" He enthusiastically pumped my hand "Sorry I'm a bit late, this last guy was a bitch and a half to get a hold of."
"No...no problem, good to meet you" I mustered.
We went back to the sunroom and Jason took out a hand gun and began stripping and cleaning it right there on the table. His dad handed him a bottle of lube and some fiber squares. "Thanks dad."
"So, tell us all about it! Don't leave us in suspense!"
"Oh, you would not believe it. I set up about half a click down the road, and I'm sitting there for like an hour. Nothing. Nada. Finally I give up and figure, I'm just going to walk up to this dude's house and get him through the window. I get there, and the house, it's totally empty! Not a soul inside. Eric's bad intel again, right? So I'm just about to leave, and then I hear a car door. And it's the freaking dude! So I managed to collect him right as he's going in the front door. Single M9 shot, piece of cake. I guess I owe Eric a little credit."
"Great job son! Proud of you."
"Thanks dad."
"How many is this for you?"
"Eighteen. Got another one in two weeks in Cozumel."
"Ah, you lucky skunk. That one won't even count, that's a vacation!"
"Whatever, mom."
"Hush, young man, I was on my 30th before I even got anything outside of Russia. You count your blessings!"
Jessica laughed, and then put her hand in mine. This is going to be a wild weekend. | I’m kind of losing my mind here.
I had assumed, in my naïve innocence, that there would be some kind of silent agreement between me and my girlfriend regarding the steps of our relationship. Specifically, since my SO’s family is comprised of **actual murderers**, I would have greatly appreciated if she waited a bit longer than usual before pushing the subject of meeting her parents; or, well, you know, ideally she wouldn’t have done that at all. But nope; in the same way she nonchalantly confessed her feelings, and then admitted to be an assassin, and later told me her whole bloodline was in on it (for hundreds of years, apparently), she also decided that is was time for me to bond with her beautiful, charming, throat slicing, neck twisting family.
The worst part of it all is that… so far, everything was going unsettlingly smoothly. I expected her home to be hidden in some underground dungeon; or, hell, maybe even some kind of big mansion payed for with the money from the hits with plenty of space in the backyard for optimal corpse storage. Instead, I was greeted by the sight of a perfectly average house in a regular residential area; some of my old high school friends used to live on this same street if I recall correctly… I hope they are keeping an eye out.
Her father greeted us at the door in a disturbingly kind manner. The man standing in front of me didn’t seem to bear any kind of pre-existent hostility toward me. A chilling thought crossed my mind that perhaps there was no need for him to act tough at all: he was a lion welcoming a tiny little rat into his den and could judge me and squash me at his leisure. I mean, not like he would really need to step in if anything went wrong in the relationship anyway: I’m pretty sure my own partner could pulverize most of my bones into fine dust with one hand.
As I greeted the rest of her family, her mother in the kitchen, her twin little sisters who were watching TV in the living room and her big brother who was just chilling in his own room, I kept twitching and stuttering all the way through as I was being wore down by a growing sense of dread. I wondered when the façade would finally be over; like an actor on the other side of the curtain waiting anxiously for it to be lifted on the stage of his tragic death. Granted, at some points my self-awareness caught up to me and added a fresh sense of guilt to my already brewing cocktail of mental misery. After all, these people had invited me into their home and they were treating me with hospitality; assuming them to be violent or uncivilized is just an insult, and one directed to the loved ones of my SO.
As I sought reassurance in this train of thought, a knife crashing down on the dinner table and cutting clean through the wood immediately snatched me from my fleeting sense of security. We had sat down for supper and everything seemed to be going well, but now suddenly her father was staring straight through me and into my very, very regretful soul. He then smiled, for a moment, but his expression quickly went from amused to calm yet serious. The rest of the family sitting at the table had not even flinched at the scene, all except for my girlfriend, who cried out, “Dad! What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m sorry if I startled you or your boy darling, but I’ve been waiting all day for him to snap out of it. But it seems... *he's no good*.”
Unsurprisingly, he had noticed how terrified I was. No need to be some skilled assassin to get to that conclusion, frankly. But I had my reasons to be nervous, in my defense. All of my girlfriend’s family behaved in this Uncanny Valley sort of way where they certainly resembled normal people in the outside, but the subtlety and precision of their actions revealed their real nature. Even then, the fact that a knife being driven through the table all of a sudden drew no reaction from any of them gave me all the confirmation I needed that I was in the company of monsters. As I stared into my (likely) killer’s eyes and came to terms with death, much in the way I had when I had first begun dating my SO, a strange sense of calmness overtook me. Might as well get things *out* of my chest before a tablespoon is forcefully driven *into* it. I stood up, looked into my parter's eyes, remembered why I was there, and then spoke:
“I love her. I have no doubts in my mind that I do, and she… well, she has come to love this coward of a man as well, and I will be forever grateful to her for that. If you have deemed be unworthy of her company then I’ll gladly let you push that knife through my heart, because I’ve already made up my mind: if I am to live my life I want It to be alongside her.”
Still gripping the handle of the knife, the man’s hand shifted position for just a moment. I felt time slow down, and cold trickles of sweat running down the back of my neck. Then, the man let out a hearty laugh, along with the rest of the family, who began teasing my girlfriend, who had gone red with embarrassment after hearing my corny speech. Soon, I sensed blood rushing to my cheeks as well and almost tripped back into my chair in embarassment. Regardless, the atmosphere of the house kind of shifted from that point on and I was able to enjoy the rest of the evening.
Seems like I get to live another day. | 2021-05-28T18:34:50 | 2021-05-28T17:33:31 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] It started as a spur of the moment trip with your friends. Despite your best efforts you are the only one left alive and the slasher is closing in on your position. While you lament the loss of your friends now that you are alone... Now you can show the slasher what a REAL monster looks like. | *"In all men is evil sleeping; the good man is he who will not awaken it, in himself or in other men."*
–*Mary Renault*
They always said that to live a good life was to live a long one. I found oft times these words came from those who were considered to be wise men– those who stood on the peaks and communed with their gods as they reflected on the memories they'd made in life, and looked ever forward to rejoining the one's they'd lost along the way. The mystical and incognitable journey into the afterlife, for me lingered just out of reach, calling to me time and again as if from a far off place that I would never find. Perhaps the place beyond the pale rebuked me.
For I was not human; not wholly.
I was something else, unfathomed, unknown. An uncatalogued piece of the universe that manifested in the blind spot of the lord. In all things but biologically was I man. I carried within me the things that made one human.
Love. Hate. Jealousy. Fear. Curiosity. Joy. Anguish.
I had even once thought that I had been born human *to* a human. I called her mother, and she called me son. After hundreds of years, out of all the bonds I'd forged, of all the humans whom I called family, I still remembered her face pristinely. Her kind soft words. They were gospel to me, really. One of the few things I had committed to memory and never once forsaken.
I opened my eyes as the door creaked open and the moonlight spilled into the shack I'd chosen to hide in. I was sitting, hugging my knees behind a couple bales of hay at the very back.
"It's muddy out there," came his voice, unhinged and grasping. "Good for tracks," he chuckled maniacally to himself as he started into the shack.
"You... (heh) you can ruuuun but you can't hiiiide"♫
Maybe I *had* been running from it; the thing inside of me that had no name.
"I know you're in heeeeere"♩
Maybe I thought that if I ignored it, it would go away. If I pretended for long enough that it didn't exist, I could somehow... extinguish it. *Become* human, and leave it behind.
"If you come out, (heh) m-maybe I'll just kill you quickly! I found all of your little friends already. I'll find you too. I'll (heh heh) I'LL FIND YOU TOO!!" He screamed.
Friends.
It had become difficult to form attachments as the years blew by. Everyone I met, I knew I would have to outlive them. In a way, it was like a built-in safety mechanism– the way my mind walled itself off from others to at least a certain degree. Other humans found this trait somehow endearing. They wanted to help me. Fix me. Pull me out of my cage.
His footsteps halted.
A shadow was cast over me.
I looked up to see him peering over the hay at me, eyes wild and filled with adrenaline. His breathing grew heavy as he forcefully ripped the top bale of hay off and kicked the other away with his muddy boot. Thunder cracked the sky as he stood over me with his bloody sickle in hand.
"You know (heh) you know what I'm gonna do now?" He asked, shaking with excitement. "I'm going to decorate this entire shack with the stuff (heh) with all the little bits inside of you."
I calmly lifted my eyes toward his and remembered.
It was never the friendly.
Never the kind.
Never the well-meaning that pulled me out of my cage.
It was always evil like this. Evil that existed everywhere in every time period. I slowly stood up as I felt myself coming undone.
In all things but biologically was I man.
Love. Hate. Jealousy. Fear. Curiosity. Joy. Anguish.
And *evil.*
r/A15MinuteMythos | Her chest heaved one last time. The blood now simply dripped from her mouth, no longer expelled by breath. I couldn’t clear my mind anymore. I looked around the room for something, anything to give me hope of saving her. Instead, I saw the others I’d carried back to the shed. All I wanted was to save them.
The killer was good, very good. It was just a sick twist of fate that he hadn’t attacked me first. All this pain could’ve been prevented. Well, there’d be pain, but it’d be at my hands. Maybe instead I’d be found out and my secret would be exposed. The hiding, the deceit, it might have been worse to be discovered, but at least no one would be dying in my hands.
My focus needs to be on what to do next. Clearly, I’ve failed my friends. Clearly, this façade was no longer needed. I let my ears go first.
A footstep, forty or so yards away. With the screams, breathe, and heartbeats silenced I could hear for a mile around me. I tried not to let myself see my friends as a distraction from the danger before, but now it was so clear. I hated myself for just an instant.
I found humanity within myself before, I can do it again.
I started to carefully take off my clothes, but they were already covered in viscera. Just like before. Though, this time I wasn’t the one shredding flesh. This time. I couldn't take this. I didn't want this. But I had nothing else to lose.
I let myself go completely. I let my bones loosen their tension, the muscles I carefully recreated returned to their gelatinous state. I shifted my weight to my haunches. I needed to close the gap first. Then I can meet this man, monster to monster.
The grey cover that was pink skin a moment before almost sickened me. I’d spent so long living with people, with … humans, that I’d allowed their prejudices to seep into me. A species dysphoria, as they’d call it. I’d spent so long with them that I’d grown to hate what I really was. My burden was lifted by the kindness of those whose blood now pooled at my feet.
Another footstep, same distance. He’s so slow.
Focus.
My legs were now five feet long, armored and thick. I shaped my torso to be slender and bolstered the front for protection. I put spare eyes around my head, I had to watch for the traps laid everywhere. More arms, too. Let’s give him a show. I’d seen enough to know what really scared people. Hell, I’d almost scared myself sometimes after spending centuries shifting from one identity to another.
Talons on my feet dug into the floor. A pair of arms locked in front of my head, closed eyes on their wrists. Another pair of arms securing the two in front. The claws grew in, a gun metal grey, dense.
I took off too hard. The floor splintered out from under me. I kept scraping, scrambling to build momentum. I can change form, but I’m still only a couple hundred pounds of meat that was trapped in the shape of a weak man for over a decade. Finally finding my footing I launched toward the wall, reinforced limbs leading the way.
The side of the shed exploded around me. A part of me felt cool. Like a superhero. A really terrible superhero.
I opened some eyes, taking in the darkness. I widened the eyes, they took in the moonlit forest. Traps, everywhere. They all relied on victims being on the ground.
In a second I spotted him. My feet changed to a narrow hooves. I deftly rushed over the tripwires, another couple seconds and I was only a dozen yards from him. He heard the noise from the shed and had leveled a crossbow, he loosed, then froze. I leapt, the bolt flew harmlessly below me.
I landed a few feet in front of him. His eyes like plates, starring. I can’t imagine what it must be like to come face to face with something so foreign. I’ve tried so long to feel it, but with no true form, my existence is foreign to nature. Everything is just meat to imitate, no mystery, no danger. I am the danger.
He still hadn’t moved. I filled his vision with teeth and claws. His arms went limp, the weapon fell.
His mouth hung open and I could see him start to draw air, to speak or scream.
No.
You don’t get the chance to beg, or to explain yourself. You don’t get the chance to ask me who I am, or what I am. You get the same opportunity you provided my only companions in this lonely life. The opportunity to be killed slowly, painfully, with no hope of salvation.
You see, while trying to emulate man I built a vast knowledge on the physiology of pain. So, after I wrent his jaw from his face, I spent a couple hours reveling in the pain I could cause.
I mean, it was a rare opportunity to be the monster I was always afraid I was. How could I not just … just give it a little taste. | 2021-10-07T10:09:57 | 2021-10-07T08:51:16 | 621 | 304 |
[WP] "So you summoned me... to fight?" the demon said. "I wield a scythe and my title is the Reaping Demon, how could it be possibly be more clear I help with farming? | The demon had been with the girl for three months. In that time, little had changed: the sky still billowed its nuclear clouds, never ending, the color of an ancient anchor pulled up from the depths. The farmhouse still strained under its ageing weight, still bent in on itself, its wooden beams warped like bowed legs. And the girl — she was still the last human on the planet.
“I’m not here to fight your wars,” the demon had said upon its summoning. Despised being called upon like some loyal pet.
The barefoot girl, maybe twelve, torn dress, hem heavy with dried mud, stared at the creature. She held a black book in her hand. Candle flames licked the air in a circle around the demon.
“There is no war,” she said in answer. “Not any more.”
The demon saw her green eyes smudged with tears. Saw the poisoned sky. Saw the fields that lay dead, crops blackened, curled up like cat tails.
He inhaled. Sniffed the air. Smelt the rot that infested the wind, the constant and relentless stink of burned bodies, of decomposition.
”They’re… all dead?” he said.
The girl nodded.
The demon did not care for humans, had existed long before them and had known they’d pass like a season’s harvest. And yet, seeing the girl alone, dress breezing in this exhale of death, he felt a sadness. A feeling he’d not suffered in eons. Like cold fingers clenching each of his hearts.
”Help me farm,” she said. “*Please*.”
”There must be silos filled with corn,” he said. “Shops filled with tins. You do not need to farm. And besides, when I leave you, the farm would only die again.”
”I’m not after food,” she said. She pointed at a field to his left. He saw the mounds of earth like molehills, recognised the signs of planting.
“What have you done?” he asked.
”Please.”
How many bodies had she buried in the field? How many bones lay like driftwood beneath the surface?
Humanity was gone, except for this single, lonely girl.
He’d never thought he’d feel bad about humanity’s passing.
And yet now it had happened, it brought him no pleasure.
​
For three months he helped the girl with her crops. His scythe nourishing them with golden light. His footsteps feeding them, his spit watering.
He lived with the girl inside the farm. Fixed taps, reinforced beams, kept away wolves and coyotes who howled for the girl as if she were the last scrap of food of the planet.
One night, he read her a story before she slept.
Of a girl taken to a world far away, who needed to find her way back home. Who found unlikely friends to help on her journey. One without a heart but who desperately wanted one.
​
In the fields outside hair spouted, like the tops of carrots, out of the earth. Brown and blonde and black and red.
And they wouldn’t be the same as her. He could only do so much. They would be shadows of what they had been. Placid and always tired, frames delicate, bones brittle. But they would grow and he would reap them and humanity would be reborn — in some fashion.
As they grew taller, heads erupting from soil, mouths wide, teeth covered in saliva, the demon moved into the field. Kept birds and animals away from the slowly growing people.
Over the weeks, their naked bodies creeped out of the earth, arms like branches.
He would free them soon from their roots. Would help the girl readjust them. And then he would return to a place of many moons.
Some nights the girl lay in a sleeping bag next to him, between the growing bodies. Sometimes she smiled now. As they grew, her heart seemed to beat again.
He thought of his own hearts. Thought of the story he’d read to her.
The demon had been forged not born, never had a family, never felt protective of a person rather than a possession. But now he understood humanity, at least a little.
He wondered what it would have been like, sitting in a field such as this, with a girl like his for a daughter, with the sun beating a hazy wave on the year’s crops. A dog chasing crows. Animals bleating.
He wondered for a long time.
*Perfect*.
It would have been perfect, he thought. | Fifteen figures stood round a blood stained cavern floor. In the middle of a circle of strange scribbled runes, bound hand and foot, sat another figure, dressed in cloths of white and blue. Strange chants in tongues that which no humans speak echoed through the cavern in a monotone drone. One of the fifteen slowly stepped forward. Adorned in robed of black and purple, each of this one's solemn steps forward matched the rhythm of the chants a silver blade held delicately in front. The figure in white gazed upwards, tears falling like rain from the sky, begging and pleading for mercy, for forgiveness, for leniency, for anything else but this. It was not to be. The blade fell like lightning from the heavens, silencing the cries of the innocent.
The one in purple and black retreated back into the circle. The chants had ceased. There was no more to be done, but to allow the blood of the virgin to soak in the charms and runes, and hope a demon would answer their beckon. They waited, as they have often done before, but this time, something changed. The fresh blood began to boil, bubbles bursting into the air. It spread, and grew, until the body of the maiden was buried underneath the growing sludge. Strangely, the blood rose higher and higher, warm and hot, until it formed twisted shapes. Excited whispers spread like fire amidst the fifteen figures as the blood cooled and hardened into a perfect statue. A winged creature, with horns that spiked upwards, that held a scythe longer than a mere human was tall. They only had but a brief moment to admire the coagulated statue, before it burst, spreading chunks of blood everywhere. Where the statue once stood, instead was a demon, in perfect replica of the statue that formed its shape.
The one in black and purple lowered its hood. It was a man, scarred in twelve different ways, blind in one eye and bald, that spoke to the demon.
"Heed us, oh Reaper Demon, fowl creature from the depths of hell!" The priest held his arm up, pointing at the demon. "You will obey my commands, and the commands of those that follow me! We demand this in exchange for the blood of the virgin you have consumed."
The horned one growled. "It is acceptable. I resign myself to your command until sundown."
A wicked grin spread on the lips of the priest, one that begged the question of who was the real demon. "Go forth, and annihilate the ones that besiege our great city! Lay waste to them, open their chests, and free us of their tyranny, Reaper Demon."
For a moment, the demon did not move. No further words came from the lips of the priest, either. All sixteen figures stood still with baited breaths, anticipating the demon's response.
Finally, the Reaper Demon broke the silence. "You, want me to fight?"
"Indeed," said the priest. "Level their ranks. Rend their souls from their mortal flesh, tear the skin off of their bones."
"I don't know how to fight though."
The bald priest spattered in confusing, jumbled half words breaking their lips, until he finally made himself comprehensible. "But you're a demon. Of course you know how to fight, you kill and torture, its your whole thing!"
The demon did naught more but point at their scythe. "I'm a reaper demon."
"Exactly!" Replied the priest. "Ah, perhaps instead of such a bloody display, you merely reap their souls and ferry them to the afterlife? A veritable visage of death you are!"
"Huh? What are you talking about?" The demon's brow contorted into puzzlement. "You summoned me to fight? I wield a scythe and my title is the reaping demon, how could it possibly be more clear I help with farming?"
The priest blinked. "Farming. You are a demon of... farming."
The demon nodded sagely. "Indeed. Many crops have fallen to my blade. Wheat, barely, corn, even rooted vegetables like carrots and potatoes, or fruit bearing trees, such as apples and peaches. None are safe from the cold edge of my blade. All will be harvested, all will be delivered unto you. Neither drought nor pestilence can cease the eternal harvest .Just point me in their direction, and your farmers will suffer no longer."
The priest held his face in his hands. "Perhaps there's been a misunderstanding, we don't specifically need a demon to reap our harvests, we need a demon to reap the souls of our enemies. Could you, perchance, return to hell and bring us a demon more worthy for this task?"
"Nope, contract's sealed. Tough luck," the demon replied. "Where are your crops at?"
"Burned, salted, and surrounded by enemy forces outside of our walls." The priest replied, regretting every moment he spoke with the demon. "Listen, Reaping Demon, do you know how hard it is to find a virgin these days? Who knows what those rascal teens get up to. Is there anyway you could, I don't know, refund her? Bring her back to life or whatever?"
"Nope," the demon said, as it sauntered away from the circle of very confused cultists. "I can get you some harvested crops though. You said outside the walls, right? I'll be back in a couple hours."
***
Wrote this really quick with 0 editing, hope it didn't turn out too bad! Visit r/joxywrites for more. | 2021-12-28T05:25:40 | 2021-12-28T04:59:54 | 622 | 215 |
[WP] I met up with my friend who wanted to speak to me. They said that yesterday they accidently made a Magical Wish which kinda changed the entire world and they are the only one that remembers what it was like before. I tried guessing what had been changed, but I wasn't even close. | I sipped my bubble tea as I considered the girl who promptly sat herself across from me in the tea shop. She had been my best friend for as long as I could remember and never had I seen her look quite like this. She was the sort of girl who took pride in her appearance, but today, her normally neat and braided auburn hair was a frazzled mess, the buttons on her blouse were not done up correctly, and her face was drawn and haggard. More than anything else, this convinced me that something was wrong, in a way that her panicked phone message had been unable to, hours earlier.
Rose began speaking frantically and almost incoherently, "I changed the world Maya. I did. I really did. You can't believe me - surely, but please... I don't know what to do. I don't know what I've done. No one knows. I don't know how to fix it." She was raking her fingers through her hair in anxiety, "I screwed up. I screwed up. I screwed-"
"Hold up," I silenced her mantra, "Take a breath and slow down." Rose drew in a shuddering, choking sob of a breath as she tried to compose herself. "Okay, good," I smiled encouragingly, "Now I don't quite understand, what did you change?"
"...I...made a wish. I found a glowing rock you see, and I thought it kinda looked like a teeny tiny star and I thought, hey, you know, wish upon a star and all that. Except I didn't really think it was a star, or that it would work, but then it flashed white and vanished." She looked up at me, all the blood drawing from her face, "I really didn't think it would work."
I simply couldn't instil the same sense of alarm in myself that she was clearly feeling from her words alone, but I reached out a hand to her all the same in comfort. In all honesty the notion of a wishing star was already a bit far-fetched, but leaving that aside what could she have wished for that was so bad it changed the world? I couldn't think of anything out the ordinary. Everything was the same as it had always been, wasn't it? I had a thought.
"World politics? That's what you wished on, right? That's why Trumpet is in charge of this country, isn't it?" I scowled jokingly.
Rose didn't even form a shadow of a smile in response. She slowly shook her head. "No... It's much worse. I wished away *magic*." Tears began streaming down her face.
I stared at her dumbfounded. Magic? This was all getting a bit hard to believe, but I couldn't deny a sudden thrill and wistful longing upon hearing the word. Who didn't dream of living in a fantasy world? But...it *was* only a dream, right? *Right?*
Rose met my gaze, her face full of guilt, "Maya, I stole your dream." | ##Collateral Wishing
"You're going to think I'm crazy," Rachel bites her lips and claws at her hair.
"I already do. Remember our trip to Cabo a few years ago; wow, you were crazy," I laugh.
"I've never been to Cabo," Rachel shakes her head.
"What are you saying? Of course, you want to Cabo. It's where you got your tramp stamp," I laugh.
"Wait, really, I was wondering how I got that. God, I can't believe that I would be that basic," Rachel says.
"You tried burying it under several layers of irony, but it was basic."
"Oh god, I am pretentious here too," Rachel yells. A man across the street stares at us.
"Uh not really," I wave the man away, "Are you okay? You still haven't told me why you wanted to meet."
"Because I made a wish yesterday that changed the entire world and it's terrifying. My best friend doesn't know who am I, and I don't know my best friend," Rachel cries.
"What are you talking about?" I hug her, "Of course, I know who you are. You're my best friend. Here, I'll guess what you wished for. You wished for," I pause to think for several seconds, "Well, let's see if it was one wish, you'd want it to be very comprehensive. You aren't very materialistic so it wouldn't be for money."
"Just stop. You wouldn't get it. You didn't know me before the wish, but thank you for being so nice," Rachel says.
"Oh, I got it. You wished that we would be friends," I smile at her.
"What?"
"It's so simple. I'm just so cool that you saw me on the subway one day and thought, 'I wish I could be friends with her.' Now, your life changed because you met me," Rachel's tears turn into tears from laughter.
"That's not even close, but thanks for cheering me up," Rachel says.
"Well come on at least tell me why you are so upset," I say.
"Because we aren't going to see each other again, I've got the chance to undo this wish, and I have to do it. This world, it isn't mine. I'll miss you," Rachel cries.
"You are my best friend," I weep, "I don't know what kind of joke you are playing, but I promise that'll be your friend. No matter what."
---
The train is nearly empty, and I'm scrolling through my phone. Work took way too long today. I need to quit soon.
"Hey," an overeager girl sits next to me with a creepy smile on her face.
"Hello," I raise an eyebrow.
"I'm Rachel," she says.
"Uh, okay, I'm Kayleigh" I go back to my phone.
"Hey, quick question. Have you ever been to Cabo?" she asks.
"That's a weird question, but no, I don't have the time for vacations. Besides I wouldn't want to go there if I did have vacation time. More of cabin on the lake girl," I say. Rachel cries next to me.
"Everything alright?" I ask.
"No, I've changed my life twice now, and it still doesn't feel right," she puts her hand in her face, "What makes it worse, is I have no way to change it back."
"Hey, it'll be alright," I awkwardly pat her back, "I'm sure you'll be able to go to Cabo. Or not go to Cabo. I'm really not sure what you mean, but your life can't be that weird."
"If I told you the truth, you'll think I'm crazy."
"I already think your crazy, but this is my stop so have a good day," I stand up as the door opens.
"Wait, if we see each other again, can we talk longer. I could use a friend," she says.
"Sure," I fast walk off the train. What a strange girl. I hope she ends up okay; she seemed nice.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2022-01-06T18:20:04 | 2022-01-06T17:33:46 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] As the infected sprinted towards me, I quickly swung my bat. It connected and he fell in a heap, crying out in pain. He looked scared and confused, but his humanity only showed for a moment, before the rage took hold again. It appeared that pain made these 'zombies' briefly human again. | If some people screaming on the streets are to believed, and that being a zombie is truly retribution from god, Chandler Hines would have been a zombie sixty times over.
Instead, he looked down from his penthouse, as naked as the day he was born. Sometimes, he liked to imagine that he was giving it to the city, and upon the common peons on the streets down below.
It turns out that being one of Hollywood’s most successful television executives and being a good person required two diametrically opposite personalities. He watched the brief splatters of gunk on the street—sometimes blood, sometimes rotting guts, and certainly sometimes, grey matter—and sipped on streaming black coffee. The mug read *World’s Worst Boss*.
“Freaking zombies,” he said, sighing. “Nobody’s watching my shows.”
Chandler took a shower with steaming water, incorporating his usual five routines. After shaving and wiping himself dry, he picked out a set of casual clothes, one that he didn’t quite mind getting random gunk on. The same logic applied to a few baseball bats. Pushing the front door open revealed two beefy security guards rapt with attention.
“Boys,” Chandler said. “Let’s go have some fun. And clear out any obstacles in the way, will you?.”
Forty floors, four and three-quarters zombies, and a slightly crunchy exit of the car park later, Chandler drove slowly around the streets, occasionally popping down his window to swing hard at a zombie. He chuckled as they fell on the ground, then slammed the pedal away.
“Why don’t you just run them over, boss?” the slightly larger of the two asked. “You are in a car. It’s pretty safe.”
Chandler stared at the rearview mirror for a while. He couldn’t quite remember his employee’s name.
“More fun this way,” Chandler shrugged. “Up close and personal. But I want you to have those guns ready, if I look like I’m in any danger, alright?”
The guard nodded, resuming his vigil outside the window.
Chandler drove up to another zombie, a man in a red dress. He swung hard as he could out of the window, but cursed as he lost his grip, watching it fly out of his hands. Chandler’s hand frantically shot back inside the window, ready to tap the button to close it.
“What… what the hell is going on?”
Chandler froze, his gaze slowly drifting upwards to watch the man’s face. Where a feral snarl once resided, confusion and fear now filled the furrowed lines on his forehead. He looked down at his dress, hands fervently smoothing out the creases.
“This is crumpled. That’s not good.”
And then, the face contorted once more, resetting back into its growling state.
Chandler scrambled for the front seat, reaching for another bat. He poked the barrel towards the man’s face again, watching it contort in pain—then to uncertainty once more.
“Seriously,” the stranger said.
There were a few seconds of clarity, and then they evaporated into thin air.
One more direct hit to the nose stunned the stranger momentarily, and Chandler rolled up the window.
“Fascinating,” he mumbled. “They seem to respond to pain. Have you ever noticed this, men?”
The two look at each other.
“When we hit them, they tend to explode,” the slightly smaller one said.
“Well, stop hitting them. Just grab a few of them, and bring them to the studio, will you?”
***
Chandler watched the zombies shamble around on the set. It reminded him of better days.
Chandler was in television. He was familiar with pain. So he jammed the lights on, trained every camera on the zombies, and activated the microphone.
The speakers crackled to life like an eldritch abomination from the deep. Chandler drew a deep breath, preparing a dive into the abyss.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?”
The zombies displayed a pristine moment of synchronization and lucidity, each a deer feeling the unfamiliar headlights on them.
“Act. Act it up! What the hell, guys? I’ve seen school theater productions better than you guys. And I mean preschool level!” Chandler continued pouring his lungs into a bellowing speech. “So act properly! Or, god help me, I’ll execute you guys on the spot!”
Chandler began hearing chatter on the floor. The unhappy whispers, the sore feet, the pained faces.
“Ah, reality TV,” Chandler smiled. “How I’ve missed you.”
---
r/dexdrafts | I was hiding in a dug-out in the middle of the woods, trying to avoid the infected. But they found me. There were dozens of them, sprinting towards me at-least 10 MPH.
I was terrified. But then my best friend, Kimberly, landed a hit on a zombie with an arrow. I quickly grabbed a bat and landed a blow on a zombie, it collapsed, crying out in pain. He looked shocked and confused. The zombie, which had looked so human before, was suddenly brought back to its senses by the pain.
But this was only temporary; soon it was overcome by the rage that had made him attack in the first place. He got back up on his feet, and sprinted towards me again. I was frozen.
Kimberly shot another arrow at the zombie, piercing his shoulder. The zombie cried out in pain again, but kept sprinting towards me. He was about to make contact. But then, out of nowhere, my brother, Martin, hit the zombie in the head with a katana, slitting his throat. The zombie collapsed again, dead.
Kimberly and Martin helped me up and we started sprinting away. We were lucky not to have been bitten, but we were still in a bad situation.
“The military is-” I started.
“We know.” Martin said, cutting me off. “They’re going to evac the uninfected, right?” He asked me.
“Yeah.” I replied. “We have to-”
“Go to the Evac Station.” Martin finished for me. I was about to argue with him, but then I noticed something. Before, I had thought nothing of it. But I could hear strange noises coming from the east; like moaning, animal-like sounds. I turned around to look at the source, and saw a horde of what appeared to be infected people.
“We have to get to the Evac station quickly.” I said. “That horde is coming this way.”
“Okay.” Martin said. “Let’s get going then.”
We started running east, towards the Evac station. On the way there, we ran into a group of other survivors, who had managed to escape.
“Are you guys going to the Evac station?” I asked them.
“Yeah.” One of the guys replied. “But, just as a warning, there’s a horde heading this way, so we have to run.”
“Okay, thanks.” I said, and we continued running.
A while later, we arrived at the Evac station. There were a lot of people here, and there were a lot of military men. They were boarding up the area, and there were large tanks of gas nearby.
“The Evac station is just over here.” I said to Martin and Kimberly. We walked for about 2 minutes to get to the Evac station.
“Wait here.” I told Martin and Kimberly. They sat on one of the stumps, so I walked towards the Evac station.
“Hello?” I said at the entrance. “Anybody there?” I heard a voice in the distance.
“There’s somebody here!” A man said. He sounded like he was in the woods.
“Okay, thanks.” I heard a much closer voice say. I figured it was the closer voice that had first replied to me.
“Thanks.” I said. I walked back to Kimberly and Martin. “They’re here; waiting for you.” I told them.
“Okay.” Martin replied. “We’ll see you later then.”
“Sure.” I said. I patted Martin on the shoulder and he headed for the Evac station with Kimberly.
I waited for about an hour. Then, I saw a military man running from the direction of the Evac station, then turning around and running back.
“Hey!” He called out to me. “You there!” I looked at him, then at the Evac station.
He ran over to me. “What’s going on?” I asked him.
“We’re running out of time.” He said. “We’re going to blow up the Evac station.”
“What?” I asked. “You can’t do that! There’s survivors in there!”
“This isn’t a democracy!” The man said. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“No!” I replied. “You’re not going to blow up the Evac station!”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” The man repeated. “Or I’ll have to hurt you.”
“I’m staying.” I told him. | 2022-01-15T09:38:46 | 2022-01-15T08:38:28 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] You're hired to wind down a dying newspaper. When you arrive at the building, you're met by eager reporters and a bustling office full of people trying to break stories. It's actually haunted, they're all ghosts, but they're doing FANTASTIC journalism and you might be able to save this place. | "Alright, people... ghosts— ghosts and whatever Phil is. The deadline, pun intended, is 2 am. Get your copy in. Gertrude, I need a thousand words on the city council meeting. Frankie, write up the notes from that murder victim interview and send them to Frannie to add to her crime piece. JJ, pull some national news from the wire services and punch it up with some local color. Move it people— uh... ghosts and whatever."
Julia's parents had tried to convince her to study a different subject in school, or at least to go into video. Print journalism was dead, they said. Seeing the newsroom filled with ghosts, Julia was more than willing to admit they were right, but it wasn't going to stop her from getting out a paper.
She'd been hired by the town merely to wind the paper down after the death of Mazel, the long time editor and last employee. The town loved their paper and wanted at least a few last editions before the whole shop closed. When she'd found the newspaper haunted, she'd nearly run away, but most of the ghosts, other than whatever Phil was, were not very scary. And they still loved journalism. So she'd decided that the paper's funeral would have to wait.
"Julia, I can't get this article to upload." The yellow spectre floating next to her desk was Jack, the sportswriter.
"Give it to Layout, they'll make sure it gets on the website." Her parents were right, print was dead. They still did a small run for the locals, but the new lifeblood of the paper was going to be the website, something Mazel had never set up.
Julia looked over the copy that floated over to her desk. "Luke, we can't print this. Nixon isn't President anymore."
A shrill wail pierced the clack of typewriters from around the room. Julia sighed. "Yes, I know the backroom ghosts have a tenuous link to the present. Tell them— Tell them to write some long form retrospectives. We'll print them as historical documentary pieces. Just make sure you pass them through Henry to remove all the racism. And the sexism. And everything else." The backroom ghosts had a lot of -isms.
As the night wore on, more pages floated their way to her desk, and after her signoff went to Layout. The newsroom clock struck two.
"That's it people— and Phil, whatever. We've got a paper! Send it to the printer and the website."
Julia shrugged on her coat and paused for a second next to the door. "And remember to put my name as the byline for everything. We wouldn't want to raise suspicions."
They didn't need the credit, they didn't mind being ghostwriters.
\[More at r/c_avery_m\] | The Daily Phantasm’s offices are a shutter-flash buzz of activity, the wavering lights of a thousand restless ghosts. You’re moved by it, even after all this time.
*“Thirty Killed As National Guard Busts Pullman Strike!”* a boy is shouting. His voice echoes thin and reedy and then falls silent. He’s gone.
*“Roosevelt Mistress Exposé!”* shouts a young, slip-thin woman.
*“The Shocking Truth Behind The President’s Alcoholism!”*
*“Bigfoot Real!”*
*“Murder!”*
*“Murder!”*
*“Murder!”*
You walk through the pandemonium, drinking it in. Like bigfoot, everything they’re shooting about is real, though it’s never timed quite right and too often it’s nonsensical. The dead are brutally honest, but they are not sober writers. So much editing.
Still, you think there’s something here. You can feel it. Ghosts pass by, singly or in small, tight-knit groups, and they carry with them the world’s dirty little secrets. Every person here is a skeleton in someone’s closet. Most of them haunted the halls of power before, shouting just as loudly there, though no one seemed to listen.
You’ll listen though. You sit on the bench outside your office and let the stories wash over you. No more bigfoots, everyone knows he’s real. Roosevelt doesn’t play anymore, though maybe that one could become a book. You sift through the noise, looking for something you can use.
*“This just in,”* someone screams, *“car crash on I-495! Record-Setting Pileup Staged to Kill VIP, You’ll Never Believe This Shocking Footage!”*
There’s something, you think. You drive the 495 to the office every day same as everyone else, and you hadn’t heard about it; could this ghost have died just now? You start to sift him from the crowd. The headline is hyperbolic, some conspiracy theory nonsense, but you can look into it. If it’s recent this ghost might even remember where he left the footage. And anyway, that sounds like a lot of cars.
*“Pileup, Pileup,”* he’s shouting. The crowd parts, letting you in. They can sense it, recent news is electric. It makes the office feel so much more alive. A few of them are calling out to you, pointing.
*“Shocking Footage! VIP!”*
You see him. So young. A sick green halo around stick-thin arms, these wide, crazy eyes. He’s shouting at everyone who will listen, gesticulating wildly. A recent death. All the others just shout, stare off into space as they try to tell their story.
*“Shocking Footage, Shocking Footage!”*
“Hey!” you say, “when did you die? Lisa? Someone get me Lisa, we might have a story!”
And this, this is what you live for. The ghost turns towards you, those wide, crazy eyes. He goes flashbulb bright with excitement, the story is getting out.
All these souls, skeletons in closets that someone is finally going to give a voice to. You’re proud of The Daily Phantasm. Anyone would be.
*“Oh my god,”* you hear Lisa say.
“Lisa! Clear room five, we’ve got work to do!”
*“Oh my god,”* she says, *“you don’t know, do you?”*
“Know what?” you say, and then you really hear the whispers. You look down. Your shutter-flash skin. A tattered, burned-up suit.
*"Oh no,"* you try to say.
Your mouth opens and a scream tears out. Your story. Another skeleton in another closet as the world keeps on turning.
r/TurningtoWords | 2022-03-31T09:17:22 | 2022-03-31T08:25:21 | 97 | 60 |
[WP] A galley transporting a fantasy world's worst villains to prison is shipwreked. You are among those washed ashore on a dangerious and uncharted isle. Your fellow survivors are would be prisoners. There is no hope of escape and you must work alongside dark lords, witches, and demons. Or perish. | I shivered, wet clothes sticking to my skin. Rain pounded outside, wind howling across a broken deck. I couldn't get warm, not without **it**. But **it** was still locked away, leaving me alone.
Well, not quite alone. My gaze wandered over the others. Most were equally wet, a few sporting the odd injury from the impact. There were ten others, each as recognisable as the rest. All were marked as evil, and I couldn't exactly dispute that. But currently they all had iron shackles on, with platinum runes inlaid within.
"Has anyone worked out how to get these things off?"
We looked to the speaker, a tall, skeletally thin man. His mouth was far wider than natural, with the whites of his eyes a jet black, the iris itself as pale as the moon. That was Bero, King of Despair. He had lead an army of Soul-Striken, people who he had torn souls from. Like the rest of us, he wore a thin grey shirt and trousers.
"No, not since the last time you asked, you know, a minute ago!"
As harsh voice split the air. I glanced at the source, an angry looking woman. She looked much like an ordinary civilian, with tanned skin and long black hair. But her green eyes spoke of hidden depths of strength. I knew her well, having gone to her when I first discovered **it**. Yebara, last of the Blood Witches.
She looked up, meeting my gaze. Her mouth twitched in a small smile, and she nodded. I returned it, looking at my own shackles. Mine had no runes, for without **it** I was but a normal person.
A flash of lightning lit the room, and something caught my eye. The head guard lay near my cell. Most of him at least, as I noticed his legs were reduced to ragged stumps. I was used to this, but after the last gust of wind, I noticed his coat had fallen open. There on his belt was salvation on an iron ring.
I moved over, reaching through the bars. My fingertips brushed the edge of his coat, not quite making it. I pressed further against the ice cold metal, even as my body wanted to get away. But that made just the difference, letting me get ahold of his clothes. I heaved, pulling as hard as I could. For a moment, it didn't work. But with a wet sucking sound he moved.
I pulled again, getting his belt with reach. With numb fingers I worked to wrestle the keys off. The rattling drew the others attention, and the rumbling voice of Charvax the Tormented Flame rolled overhead.
"Do it boy!"
Finally the loop wore free, and I got to work finding my key. It was obvious, as the one plain small key in the lot. I sighed with relief as my shackles fell away, taking a moment to rub my aching wrists. But I did not wait for long. Moving as fast as I could, I found the one to open my cell. Staggering along the path in-between, I reached Yebara quickly.
"H-hey, c-could you w-warm me u-up when I g-get you out?"
She nodded, giving me an encouraging smile. I liked her. She reminded me of my mum, but without the drinking problem. I sorted through the keys, trying one after the other to get her out. Finally I found both the right ones, opening her cell and releasing her shackles. Power seemed to thrum through her as they fell away, her eyes half closing in bliss.
One hand waved, and I felt warmth run through me. The shivers melted away, as I sighed. The others looked to me eagerly, and I held up the keys.
"Listen everyone. I don't know where we are, or what's out there. I will let you all out, but we need to work together, for now at least." | The first sign that something was amiss was, strangely, the island itself; when one thought of a deserted, unchartered island in the middle of nowhere, the thoughts that came to mind usually involved something along the lines of jagged black rocks, dense fogs hanging over the horizon, obscuring the sun, and piles of bones and loose boards indicating past wreckages lining the shores.
This island, on the other hand, was beautiful. Lush grass and roaming hills stretching on for miles and miles, populated with brightly colored flowers, their aromatic fragrances clogging the air. It was, in almost all senses, a paradise.
And that was why Lukas knew, from the very first glance, that they were screwed.
Anyone with a basic knowledge of biology could tell too. Many plants and animals adorned themselves with beautiful patterns and colourings, the perfect allure for unwitting prey to wander in and get ensnared. That was what this island was doing: trying to lure them into a false sense of security with its peaceful, resplendent atmosphere, and strike when their guards were down. And judging by the looks of it, that moment was coming soon.
"That one had a bit of a fight in him," said Leyla. She was a tall, lumpy-skinned witch with green eyes and a pronounced hump, and she let out a wicked cackle as she threw aside the head of one of the guards who had been escorting them aboard the ship, her fingers laced with emerald magic. "A shame. He could've been a great minion, but a simple aneurism spell killed him. What a waste." She sighed theatrically and shook her head. "So, anyone know where we are?"
The ogre on the far right, who was still struggling to break free from his reinforced titanium shackles, let out an indistinct bellowing groan.
"Thank you, very helpful," said Leyla. "Anyone else?"
The pirate, self-dubbed Bluebeard, came hopping off of the side of the overturned ship, brandishing a map. "Ar, by me observations, we be deep in the bowels of the —"
"Oh for God's sake, will you cut it out with that ridiculous accent!" snapped one of the vampire twins, both of whom were hiding in the shadow of the massive boat. Sunlight wouldn't kill them, Lukas had learned that the hard way over the course of his life, but one he had met some time ago had explained to him that it was still tremendously uncomfortable.
"Means I don't have a ducking clue," said Bluebeard, looking disgruntled. "There's no record of this island anywhere on this damn thing. Best I can tell is we're a good three days away from Lake Myuria, which is where the guards docked last time to get more supplies."
"Speaking of supplies, all of them were lost when the boat turned over," grunted Azale, whose scarlet horns were glinting in the summer sun. "As were the radios on board, which means we don't have any way of communicating with the outside world."
"So we're stuck here." Lukas grit his teeth. He had already had some inkling that this was the case, but a small part of him had foolishly hoped that things would be different. He should have known better.
"Stuck my ass." Bluebeard crumpled up the map and tossed it away. "I'm not dying on some random island with you tossers. I'm getting back to the mainland, where I can be back with my crew, who *actually* appreciate the fine performance of pirates."
"And how are you going to do that?" asked the vampire sister.
"Simple, milady." Bluebeard bowed and flashed her a smile that showed several missing teeth. "I'm going to build me a boat."
"You know how to do that?"
"Well . . . no. But if me crew could do it, it can't be that hard. First, I'm gonna need some wood. You!" he barked at the ogre. "Come with me."
He turned and trudged off into the woods, and the ogre followed, shrugging its massive shoulders.
"Well, while he tries and fails to do that, I'm going to see if I can work out a spell that can get me out of here. Anyone want to come with now's your chance, we're gonna need some ingredients."
The vampires, hissing at the sun, followed quickly into the shade of the trees, leaving Lukas and the demon alone. He could have told them that splitting up in unknown territory was the easiest way to get oneself killed, but he had spent three weeks aboard this vessel with these people. Reasoning was not a concept they were familiar with. He turned to look at Azale, who shrugged. With a sigh, they set off in another direction. If the island was going to try to kill them, it was doing a bang-up job so far. | 2022-07-07T11:55:19 | 2022-07-07T11:09:16 | 49 | 30 |
[WP] You can see the headline now. “World’s Oldest Human, Dead at 124”. You lived a good, long life. You are satisfied. The world around you fades to black... "Whoa! You beat the high score again!” You open your eyes in a brightly lit arcade, the number 124 flashing on a screen in front of you. | "Holy shit dude! What's your secret!? You gotta tell me."
"I'm gonna be honest I can't in good conscience tell you this one was replicable. You know the basics, eat well, sleep eight hours, don't miss the gym membership... I didn't start with the rich parents trait, so I had to play it a little risky, grabbed the knife on day three so I could spec into cooking early. I'll explain the trick if you don't know it, it's a fairly new strat. Basically, in the human run you start with the grasp reflex, and as early as the first night with good rng, you can make your way to the kitchen and just go to town, can't let either of the parents see you. I'll be honest I got lucky here, didn't have the rich parents trait, so one was usually at work. Anyway just chopping some shit up every night is enough early game. You take those points to school and hope you get home ec as soon as possible which will basically railroad you into the chef class. From there we can get jobs at a couple restaurants hopefully around 14. People are a little iffy on this routing in the 21st century category, with the minimum wage feature and all that, but I'm gonna be real with you, the run was pretty much dead to me soon as I missed the rich parents rng and wasn't white. I was just in it for the love of the game at this point right. But then I had a sick idea. People usually use the fake id in joke runs for things like cigarettes and alcohol, stuff which you clearly want to stay away from in this case. But I decided to use it to get into the lottery ticket early, if you don't end up with a rich family you basically either hard reset the game or throw money at those and play for a pb. I don't mean to brag but I'm past that, I already have the record, I don't think anybody's taking it anytime soon, so I'm playing with routes, trying to find glitches, seeing how far I can go. So anyway I ended up with a winning lottery ticket at 16, crazy I know, from there it was pretty much don't fuck up, like, disgustingly, and I didn't. Got the house quick, wife to keep the happiness up and coasted. Kids were a slightly tricky part, had to have them early enough that I wouldn't have lost the reason to live, but late enough so I wouldn't need to give them money too long, otherwise I'd have to get a job, which would really mess with the happiness stat. All in all I'm happy with the run, I don't think this is where the record will stay, because I'm not bored with the game yet. I might be soon though, tell HumanBeans to stop doing 19th century oceania runs and get into an actual category, maybe he'll give me a reason to stick around. Besides that I think I'm gonna mess more with early lotto, there's code in place to prevent you from walking into the liquor store as a baby but I'll figure it out..." | Jensen jolted awake, little dribbles of sweat pouring down his brow. Head pounding, he fell back onto the wet floor, his paper-dry tongue wishing for a cool drink. Eyes adjusting to the darkness, he saw a half-empty bottle of Fireball next to him, triggering memories of the party the night prior, which came back in jagged shards as his brain struggled to process even a small amount of information. *The old man.* The image of the centenarian came back, hunched sloppily over his wheelchair as he spoke in barely audible rasps. *Old dude had no business being at a college spring break party.*
Moonlight filtered through the semi-opaque windows, giving the plastic ghosts and ghouls attached to the *Haunted House III* unit a more eerie appearance than they rightfully should have. He carefully rose to a sitting position, his joints creaking in response to having spent far too many hours lying on the hard carpeted floor of Jack's Dream Machine Seven. Grabbing a cheek in each hand, he pulled downward as if they were putty attached to his skull, hoping that somehow this would pull the ache out of his head. "Ow!" he said instinctively. Fighting the urge to shut his eyes and lay back down, he focused on the scene in front of him. *What happened to him?*
He turned around, noting that one of the machines was still on, its ancient CRT screen emitting a bright light that pierced the darkness all around it. It was so intense that he had to cover his eyes for a moment before he could focus on it. Forcing himself to look, he saw "HIGH SCORE" and the number 124 flashing on repeat. *Wow, that was that old dude's age, right?* Rising to his feet, he went to examine the unit more closely, seeing nothing on it except the faded wood finish. No markings, no title, not even a joystick.
That's when he noticed the body lying in the fetal position behind the unit. Rivulets of blood had spilled from a large gash in the old man's head and landed in a soft pool beneath a few remaining white wisps of hair. He gasped, glancing around for anyone else. "Hello?" he spoke into the vacant air, suddenly seeing the headline flash through his mind "world's oldest human, dead at 124." *Murdered.*
A cold sweat broke out over his already clammy body. Panting, he tried to scream "help", but his voice only came out in a squeaky whisper. He frantically looked around the place he woke up, trying to remember what had happened, finally spotting what must have been the murder weapon - a heavy steering wheel covered in blood. From the jagged plastic edges, it looked like it had been ripped off one of the racing games in a heat of rage.
"Jeeeennnnnssssseeeeeennnnnn" his name carried on the air.
"Who's there?" he said, glancing towards the moonlit windows, suddenly developing a fear of the dark.
When he turned around the screen was flashing even faster now, 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. 124. Trembling with fear, he slowly inched towards the unit to pull the power plug.
"Despicable," the voice said, higher now. "Killing an old man? Do you know who that was?"
"Nnnooooo. I didn't kill him. I swear. I just woke up here."
"Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. You don't remember, do you?"
"No. I swear, I didn't do it!"
He closed his eyes, trying to remember the last thing he did. There was a lot of alcohol, and people making out, even making love on the floor. Vomit everywhere. The old man in the midst. Oh yeah, he was blocking the racing game I wanted to play. I told him to move, and... *No.. No.. it couldn't be.*
"Ha-ha-ha-ha. You remember, don't you?"
"I- I-"
A loud spinning sound jarred him from his thoughts. There were eight steering wheels slowly making their way toward him, each rotating faster than a buzzsaw. | 2022-10-20T15:08:38 | 2022-10-20T12:28:14 | 87 | 26 |
[WP] TIL that the opposite of Paranoia is Pronia, wherein one believes that the universe and the world is conspiring to help them. Write a story about one such person with an extreme case of Pronia.
If you would like to learn more about pronoia,* [click here.](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pronoia_%28psychology%29)
*Edit: I'm a big fat dumbo and went ahead and misspelled pronoia. Forgive me!* | I've known Dave for a long time, since the the first day of gym class our third grade year. Even at ten years old Dave could do anything. Dodgeball? Barely moved. He could close his eyes, toss the ball like six year old girl, and drill the last poor sonofabitch between the eyes.
I fucking hate Dave.
The world fell into his lap. Contest on a radio show? He didn't wait around pretending to count callers. The DJ picked up as soon as Dave dialed. Boom, backstage passes. He had no idea how hard things were for the rest of us. Girls, money, sports. Hell, even when he forgot a pencil all he had to do was look on the ground. There would be a bright, shiny new Bic. Fucker.
I bet if he asked, a bum would give him his last nickel.
It's the little things, but they add up. I have no idea why it made me so angry. Every single thing he did was a success.
After high school he got into Yale. My dad's alma mater. My granddad's alma mater. He was so excited and happy at his graduation party. I saw his acceptance letter framed by his pile of neatly wrapped gifts. I read the letter. The letter I wanted more than anything.
I wanted to smash the glass and burn that piece of paper. Better yet, smash it over Dave's perfect head. Why not? He didn't deserve it. It fell into his lap. Every single mark written on his entrance essay was typed in accident, every single 'I' dotted and every 'T' crossed. It was all luck. I was sure about.
Anyway, right before I could swing the damn frame, glass, and all across his pretty face, I tripped and smashed the glass over the face of another guest that must've hated Dave as much as me. This other guy must've been planning this for a while. The kid dropped a gun and fell down unconsious. I saved the prick.
Jesus, I fucking hate Dave.
Just found this subreddit and really want to work on my creative writing skills. Any feedback is appreciated! | I woke up to another rainy day. Beautiful. I was thinking about driving to work today, but clearly the rain is a sign that I should embrace the frizzy transformation that follows the 4 mile walk. If I leave now, I'll only be 2 hours late to work.
As I walked on the sidewalk through the city, a car splashed a huge puddle right next to me. I shouted, "THANK YOU!" to the kind stranger who decided to give me a refreshing splash of wake the fuck up.
I walked into the office with mild leg pain. Before I could find my usual cubicle, my friend and coworker, Robert, told me the boss wanted to talk to me. "Nice shirt," he said, "I'm sure boss will really enjoy the view of your hairy nipples."
"Thanks," I returned, as I rubbed my nipples a little more to get them more pronounced. Robert has always been a good friend of mine looking out for me. Just last week Robert and I were programming two parts of the same project, and thankfully he told me the compiler was broken, so I wasn't able to hand in my part of the project on time. He ended up getting a promotion, deservedly, and the boss threatened to fire me. I told him the compiler was broken, and luckily he gave me an extension. If it weren't for Robert, I probably wouldn't be working here. I was looking forward to meeting my boss.
I walked over to the boss's office, and his blinds were down. I knocked and he quickly stormed over to the door. The boss must have been really looking forward to seeing me!
"Sit down, John," he spoke sternly to me. "I'm just going to cut right to the chase. You have been late 3 days in a row, and I gave you two warnings, on top of all the other things you've been missing lately. I'm really sorry to have to do this but.... you're fired."
I have never felt so blessed in my life. My boss decided to redirect my life. From that day forward, my life has never be the same.
I write this memoir from a prison cell. Before prison, I was struggling to pay my bills due to mysterious disappearances of the money I entrusted to a friend who said he could help me keep my money safe. I had no friends, no sex life, not much of any hobbies. I really didn't even know what I was missing until I came here to prison. I don't even know how I got charged for embezzlement, but I thank God everyday for bringing me to prison. I have free food, free living space, a free tv, and an awesome new roommate, Hank.
Hank and I actually have this special handshake we like to do that involved me getting on my knees. I won't go into detail as it is a secret handshake, but I've found that many of the prisoners here are so nice to me. In fact, I have about 40 different handshakes that I've learned. HAH! To think I barely even had 1 friend before all of this. My sentence here isn't very long, but Hank told me there is a way to stay in prison for a long time. He has been training me to master the secret handshake and eventually teach it to little kids. He said that I would help make the world a better place. I really hope I stay in prison for the rest of my life! | 2014-05-12T12:57:46 | 2014-05-12T12:54:14 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Thousands of years in the future, a lazy anthropology student put off his "Mating Rituals of Ancient Civilizations" project until the last minute | The solution was easy enough. The internet still existed, even though nobody used it in centuries. After a short search, and a thorough reading, he found that adultfriendfinder, kink.com and pornhub were all the information he needed.
He aced it.
And was celebrated for finally finding out what "pizza delivery men" actually did, since riding a motorcycle to bring unhealthy food was ridiculous and had people stumped for ages. | Axstone wakes with a krokodil and red bull hang over that could power a tesla hover board. Upon looking at his calendar he sees Friday Saturday and Sunday all with big a X dismissing the day. Underneath the stickers for the 1100 annual Greek games. For a split second his headache subsides and realizes he will forever be a legend on campus for his victory over the weekend. The split second subsides and the mind splitting pain doubles as he realizes he has 45 minutes to finish his paper.
Pulling his iHallogram from under his bed he opens the paper
- Don't get drunk write me-
One line of a 5 page paper. He knows he should have followed his own advice. In a panic he does what he does best. Heads to the Google.
Stumbling into the google the goobrarian gives him a loud shush. He realizes she is his only chance.
"I need sex" he says quickly. She returns a blank stare. It wasn't the first or last time a freshman would ask.
"No! No.. I need help with a paper of turn of the century human matting"
She smiles puts her head down and begins typing. A minute later she has uploaded an archaic websites that has recently been translated to his iHallogram.
Www.oldweb.gov.reddit.com/r/nosecum
Falbert Axstone Peinstein goes on to get an A on the paper. Leading to a wildly successful career as a primitive matting specialist. | 2014-09-12T10:18:00 | 2014-09-12T10:05:16 | 145 | 18 |
[WP] The apocalypse scenario of your choice has happened and you are the last person alive. Electricity and the internet are still running. As a last ditch effort you take to /r/askreddit, "Is there anybody else out there?" Weeks later, you receive a single upvote, but no reply...
I once read an article that said there is so much automation when it comes to our utilities that we would still have power and running water for months, even if every human just suddenly disappeared.
Also, the idea here is that the internet works, but hasn't been updated at all. | I stare at the "2". Is this real? Everyone is gone. I posted to Reddit 3 weeks ago after everyone disappeared and there's been no response. I refresh the page a dozen times. "2". I'm not insane, someone else upvoted my post.
I post again, comment on the post as well for this upvoter to reveal themselves, that they are not alone. I post that we need to find each other, to help each other survive. I wait by the computer anxiously awaiting a reply.
2 days later, an upvote but no comments/replies. Again? How cruel could someone be? Humanity reduced to me and a troll? I always knew they'd outlive us all, but how could someone be this heartless? I comment with rage against them, call them a coward, call them soulless. I let loose my rage and hit send in victory against my unseen foe. I stare at the hate I have spewed and feel a well in the pit of my stomach. What have I done? They'll never contact me now. I post one every subreddit I can find, "Please. I don't know what to do, I thought I was all that's left. Don't do this to me. I don't want to die alone. I'm scared."
I stare at the screen for the rest of the day. I know what I need to do. I spend some time Googling how to find someone online. I go to my ISP and break into it to try to get more information. My obsession begins to creep in. I will find you.
A week passes before I finally track the IP of the poster. The trace leads me to a small town about 1000 km away. A road trip is in order. I gather my supplies and load up a car to begin the journey.
I imagine the meeting of this person almost every minute of the way. First I imagine the meeting being hostile, the months of hatred and anger just pooring out onto this person. Violence would ensue as I let every once of my rage and wrath and hurt be thrown at this person. They would never be able to hurt me again the way I hurt them.
Farther along the drive I began to feel the rage subside after every sign. 300 km away and I begin to imagine a huge arguement that eventually gives way to us begrudgingly accepting each other. I imagine them telling me they didn't know what to do and just acted out of fear. 200 km away. I imagine them being happy to see me. They didn't know how to respond or find me and just gave up hope and never commented. "That's fine," I would say, "We're together now.".
50 km away I begin to cry relentlessly. I'm not alone. I can't believe it, I'm not alone anymore! I get to the house. It looks nice, a rancher style with baby blue paint. I bounce up to the door and knock. I listen intently for noise. I somehow strain my ears to hear any sound. Nothing. I turn the handle. Locked. I kick the door in. They'll understand I think. We'll build a new door, it'll be our first adventure together! I hear the hum of a computer and ran as fast I could towards it. The tears run from my face as I begin to shout," You upvoted me! I found you! I'm not alone any-". They smell stops my sentence. Death. I know this smell. On the couch his body lay rotten. He was dead for months, probably before everyone disappeared. I gagged and turned away. His computer was on. The screen was flickering text in a command window. I saw reddit links randomly being upvoted.
A bot. He built a reddit bot to upvote posts. I sit down in the chair in front of the computer. I close the command window and the upvotes stop. I stare at the screen. Placing a hand on the mouse, I slowly move the cursor to the start button and click. A name shows: Edward. I feel my lips tremble as I whisper, "Bye Eddie". | (English isn't my 1st language)
One. One is the number, one is the only number that exist. That one is me. Dinner for one, bed for one, one room on one planet for one man. That's me, the one true ruler of this earth.
I stopped counting the days, I don't know how much time passed since the big event, I don't know what day is today. All I know I woke up one day, headed to work like any mortal, and all of the sudden people left and right started screaming, bleeding from the ears and dying, like they heard a loud noise that their head couldn't handle. But all I heard was one sentence that repeated itself, "Thou shalt suffer but he who is spared".
Well I didn't interpret it correctly immediately, all I heard at the time was this annoying high pitched noise. But after roughly one year passed, I woke up from a bad dream, and I could hear the same noise again, but this time I could figure out the words hidden in it, and it was "Thou shalt suffer but he who is spared".
I've never believed in God, well not until the big event. I now believe that there is a higher power, but in the last 3 years of studying various religions, I have never come to find anything that explains what happened. Well to be fair according to Islam, at judgment day an angel would blow in a huge horn that will kill every one, and would make the mountains collapse. But the big noise didn't level the mountains, and I'm still here, so its not that.
I truly believe that I'm here for a reason, I was chosen to stay the last person on this wicked earth for something behind my comprehension. I don't know what or when, but I'll always be ready. The noise will speak to me again and I'll hear the voice within that will guide me.
4 years is a lot of time when you are alone. And you start to wonder, to question your beliefs. I wake up sometimes and I am a different person, a person who is miserable, a person who denounce the gods and wish for death. But I always overcome him, I overcome the weakness that is caused by the darkness in my heart that I still carry before my coronation, the darkness I attribute to the lack of noise filling the void in my head.
One day I woke up on the dark side, and wondered if that voice I heard was just my fucked up brain trying to rationalize with all the madness, and what if there was no spared one, and what if there were more survivors. In hindsight that wasn't my dark mind overcoming my faith, but my god guiding me to the path.
Because on that day I decided to post on that site I used to spend most of my day surfing, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what it was. That was the last proof I've shaken the past life and all it elements to embrace my new entity. I found it at last, reddit.com, and posted there asking if there were any other human being alive. It took only 4 hours, maybe less but I checked after 4 hours, for the little arrow to turn orange, and the number one to become two.
Dark me couldn't know how to feel, and it took him, me, 4 hours to calm down and go to sleep. He, I, couldn't react, or try to contact number 2, for this was the most shocking thing I, he, we could encounter. Pills do help you sleep in situations like this.
Next morning I was back, enlightened and sure. I typed a comment on that post I made, asking for number 2 to identify, and the respond came quickly. Number 2 is Adam, 27 years old French. Damn it's too far, an ocean separating us. We exchanged few words, his English wasn't the best. He was alone, he didn't want to talk about the big event, he wanted to use some software to video chat, so I can see him and he could see me.
We sit up the conference of the living men, and we are now connected. At first I thought there was an error, I was seeing myself on the screen. But the background was different, and soon realized that was Adam. Adam was me, was a mirror image of me. He just starred at me in pure horror, then smashed the screen with his bare hand for five times until we got disconnected.
Now I know why I'm still here, now I know why the next step of my gods plan is on hold. I am not the "he who is spared", not yet anyhow. This must be a test, a test to prove my devotion and belief, a test by god to see if I can cleanse my heart, mind and soul from darkness.
One year passed since I became aware of the existence of Adam, and I'm docking my vessel in what seem to be the city of Santander, Spain. I am heading to find Adam, the first and the last man, for shalt I be the one who is spared, and the ruler of earth by the will of god. | 2014-10-14T15:50:15 | 2014-10-14T13:45:28 | 457 | 129 |
[WP] you recieved a letter from your crush when you were young that says "you're cute", you always kept the letter. Now years later you dig it out only it now says "help me" | **[Hey there! I temporarily removed this story from here. It'll be back in a couple of weeks. If you want more info on why you are seeing this very weird disclaimer, please follow [this link](http://www.reddit.com/r/psycho_alpaca/comments/360sm6/about_removed_stories/). Have a hubba-bubba day!]** | "I need you to remind me."
Her note was a token I kept. She had been my first girlfriend, and I her first boyfriend. I had spent an entire year earning straight As, trying out for all the sports teams, just so when I asked her out, I knew that she would say yes. We parted ways on friendly terms, and now I took it out and looked at it when I was feeling down, to remind myself that dreams come true.
Only now, here it was, saying something entirely different.
I had just come from a rough meeting, first weeks on the job can be rough, especially when they're your first job out of college. I had taken the note out to give myself a boost, and now this had happened.
Most people would've doubted the note's authenticity. It's just paper right? Somebody could easily find out where I kept, and make a switch as a joke. Most people hadn't spent a year writing notes to a girl to keep in touch when they moved away. I could recognize this girl's handwriting with my eyes closed. In fact, I got pink eye one week, and responded to her letters by feeling her words through the page(she pressed kind of hard with her pen).
This was for real, or at least, was something more complicated than a simple prank. My fears are confirmed when I look back down again and the note says 'Please, remind me of why I'm someone worth fighting for'. | 2015-03-28T18:12:11 | 2015-03-28T18:09:39 | 1,070 | 37 |
[WP] - After a highly successful but, totally unbeknownst to you, Reddit campaign you wake up on November 9th, 2016 as our nation's 45th President. | "When I was 4, I was the class president. That is, to the best of my knowledge, the last time I did anything political.
I'm an overweight 40 year old with a really cute kitten. Her name is Whiskers and her photos have gotten me more than a little karma on reddit. That's what this whole thing stems from.
It has to be. I can't even imagine what else it would be? My husband and I are super boring people really. We don't even follow the news really.
We were actually married in 2014. We only found out when we were planning the wedding that it had been legal for us for less than a year. We thought that it became legal in like 2006, but apparently that was Canada.
Anyway my aides assure that this is not the same. I have not be elected as the king of Canada, but rather the President of the United States. That's quite a bit handier because I haven't been to Canada in years, and don't speak any French.
Okay. Sorry this has been kind of long and rambly, but I really didn't expect to be giving an acceptance speech this morning. Todd and I were up late playing monopoly with the neighbours.
Any questions?"
That was the acceptance of our 45th President. His tenure in office was most remarkable because of how uneventful it was. The entire reddit campaign was based on the idea that the President has so little real power, and so many advisers that any idiot could do the job. President Davidson was by no means an idiot, but none-the-less he really proved their point. | What the hell is that? Shit, we still have a landline in this place? Not for much longer, I don't need calls at four thirty in the morning, or to hear about how late I am on my student loan debts. Good, rang through, back to---what the fuck, again?
I rose and made my way across my filthy, rancid, studio apartment. Even I don't know where the bathroom, kitchen, or bedroom ends, and the others begin. In all actuality, it's a good thing I'm alone 90% of the day and need only to look after myself. I can barely do that, some even say I can't. Goddamn, that phone is loud.
"Hello?"
"Sir! It's incredible! The recount has come back, you've won the Presidential election! They miscounted the votes in North Dakota, and you have saved the country from another 4 years of a Bush!"
"Listen, I don't know who the hell you are, nor do I care. I have, like, 3 Buzzfeed articles I need to write in a couple hours, I really don't need this bullshit right now. Good--"
"Sir? I don't quite follow."
"That makes two of us."
"But the Reddit campaign, your lengthy submissions of the reform you wish to bring, including making Reddit the main news platform in the country! It resonated with the community! Reddit, again, has changed the world!"
"What the fuck is a Reddit?"
"Are you not smooziemebunghole24?"
"Seriously, dude, fuck you. I'm hanging up."
"Ah, wait. It makes sense now. The Reddit community couldn't have nominated one of their own...they know too much. They need someone who needs them as well...who doesn't know enough of the world to act meaningfully on his own...you, sir, are the perfect specimen, the 45th President of the United States of America. I need you to be in Washington D.C. by 10 a.m."
"Well, I'd love to play this little game, but again, I've got those Buzzfeed articles so--"
"Turn on your TV."
"I don't see what---Jesus Christ, is that my Tinder aviator?"
"See you at 10?"
"No, this is ridiculous. This can't be real. I can't do this I--"
"Your annual salary will be $400,000, plus bonuses."
"How hard could it be? Yeah, see you at 10."
"Excellent, Mr. President. Your country awaits."
| 2015-07-24T07:31:53 | 2015-07-24T07:22:08 | 56 | 32 |
[WP] I recently bought a camera. When I take a picture it shows me how the person will spend their next 20 Dollars. It has destroyed my life. | This camera is awesome! I thought too myself as I took a picture of my smoking hot literature teacher.
"Bondage tape" the camera read... that kinky bitch. This is going to be fun.
I raced home to show my mom and dad what my new camera could do. I reached the front door and before I opened it I pondered, what would it say if I took a picture of them? What would there next $20 be spent on? I found them both in the kitchen.
"Smile for the camera!" I said taking a quick snap of them cooking dinner.
Over both there heads stated in bold was "DIVORCE LAWYERS"
I hate this camera. | It was a pretty little thing. A beautiful DSLR. It fit perfectly in my hand.
Of course, I had to test it out as soon as I bought it. My first subject was my fiancé, Juliet. But there was something wrong – as soon as I took a picture, the screen instantly fogged up and displayed an amount and a word. For my fiancé, it said **-27801 HOSPITAL** in big, bold letters.
At first I thought it was an address or a postal code of some sort. After the accident, I was consumed by a completely different idea. It showed the amount the person would spend on a certain thing, with an initial balance of $20.
I tried it again with my coworker. **8.90 DELI**. Sure enough, he came back from the lunch break with a $11.10 sandwich from the nearby deli.
Please understand this made using the camera as a tool for other reasons extremely tempting. The hospital bills cleaned out our bank account – we were living on the edge of being broke. If my boss fired me, not only would we lose the house, but any food we could afford to put on the table and other daily needs.
I stopped going to work. I did what any other person would do in that situation; I had no choice. I simply went to the locations the camera would tell me, and depending on the amount of money spent in that location, I would stake it out and wait for my victim to come.
I have no regrets. I did what I could to survive. At least we're thriving now. But I can't help but feel we're living on borrowed time. | 2015-08-06T20:55:29 | 2015-08-06T19:17:28 | 72 | 39 |
[WP] I recently bought a camera. When I take a picture it shows me how the person will spend their next 20 Dollars. It has destroyed my life. | This camera is awesome! I thought too myself as I took a picture of my smoking hot literature teacher.
"Bondage tape" the camera read... that kinky bitch. This is going to be fun.
I raced home to show my mom and dad what my new camera could do. I reached the front door and before I opened it I pondered, what would it say if I took a picture of them? What would there next $20 be spent on? I found them both in the kitchen.
"Smile for the camera!" I said taking a quick snap of them cooking dinner.
Over both there heads stated in bold was "DIVORCE LAWYERS"
I hate this camera. | I guess the biggest mistake was when I took the camera to Aunt Edna's family barbeque. It was before I started developing the photos.
I spent a whole afternoon watching the dark splotches gather, forming images that were not the scenes I had photographed. My Uncle Ted holding a bag of groceries, my grandpa holding some scratch tickets...they started out typical enough, and I noticed a pattern. All of these photos were of the subject buying something...and in each photo, they were holding a twenty dollar bill.
I ...saw some things. Things I didn't want to see. One of my uncles with a woman in skimpy clothes. She was stopping at the window of his car about to get in. My stomach turned as I thought of him chatting away at the barbecue with his wife
The last bunch of photos from there that I looked at was a series of photos I had taken of a little blond-haired girl running on the front lawn.
I watched her buying candy at the dollar store, and then makeup. Each photo looked like it was taken years apart. She was growing into a twelve year-old, then a teenager. This is where she started giving money to someone else, one of her friends, and things took a turn.
Her skin began to pale, and the fat slowly melted off her face and body like a candle. Tiny sores blossomed into festering holes in her face and neck. Her teeth yellowed and caked over with rot and slime. She was vanishing, rotting, rejecting herself from within. I dropped the rest of the stack of pictures into the garbage, I didn't want to see the rest.
| 2015-08-06T20:55:29 | 2015-08-06T20:17:17 | 72 | 13 |
[WP] People level their skills in an RPG fashion and are conscious of their sudden jumps from novice to journeyman and so on. You've spent your life training a skill that is entirely useless until becoming invaluable once mastered - and you just mastered it. | It started with something everyone did. It started while he stumbled against a table corner in the living room at age 3. He honed this skill without realizing. In kindergarden he used it on the carers. At home he used it on his parents and siblings. Hours and hours he used it, while he was around people at a concert, while swimming in the sea, while driving his car, while bleeding from his arm after a minor accident or just while standing outside in the warmth or cold. He knew he got better over time, kidding around with it, but also be thankful for this skill. Thankful while his cousin or grandfather died, while his exgirlfriend broke up with him, while he was learning for an important test. No one else used this skill as much as he did. Not one thought that this skill was usefull, it could be achieved through methods that did not substract from you maximum skill-level, so they used headphones, soundproofing, and even blinkers could be seen.
Then the day came, a day he had longed for since his first level in this skill. He mastered it. At his 100th birthday he gained the 100th level. A smile showed on his face for a short time. Out of curiosity he opened the skill description and read:
“Ignorance (Lvl 100 / Mastered): Ability to ignore outside and inside influences. Mastery Bonus: A Master of this skill can ignore everything, all matter, energy, time and even death.”
| Stephanie was walking down the street looking for some new clothes to spoil herself with, when a particularly cute leather jacket caught her eye. Using her magnifying glass she saw that it was better than her old jacket by +7 warmth and +37 sex appeal.
"Ahh you have good taste" said the shopkeeper. "This jacket was made by the tiny hands of a small Asian child, significantly under paid, but with expert precision."
Stephanie couldn't wait to try it on. She rushed home. Showing off her best modelling pose to her mirror, she clicked her fingers.
LEVEL UP
She opened up the mobile app 'Stat-trak" to see her achievements and skills.
Hundreds of new skills and passive abilities appeared on her screen.
She couldn't believe her eyes.
Teleportation, pyrokinesis, telekinesis, time travel, time control, the list went on.
Looking at her most recent achievement she saw 'Clicking Goddess'. The flavor text read 'Able to bend space time on a whim'
What to do with this new found power. Clicking her fingers she changed her clothes into an elegant dress of grays and black pearls. Turning again to get mirror she looked herself up and down. "I like it" she smiled.
Opening her Stat-trak again she paid attention to her general stats. "WHAT THE EVER LOVING GOODNESS IS THIS" she shouted!
'Intelligence +999, Strength +999, Dexterity +999, Stamina +999, Balance +999' The list went on for 7 pages. Stephanie could not quite grasp how powerful she had just become.
Steph sat on her bed and thought for hours about what to do with these new found powers. "Should I tell anyone? Is what you are thinking" said a powerful voice. Quickly standing up and ready to fight Stephanie commanded "Who are you?"
"I am a friend" said the voice. A man walked into view. He was too charming, the kind of man you find modelling in magazines. Except he wasn't photo-shopped, he was real, standing now right in front of her.
Messing up her chain of thought, he spoke again "My name is Thor. Valhalla is under siege and you have been chosen as the champion to end this"
She squeaked "Thor! What have I ever done to deserve this power?"
Thor hastened his voice and extended his hand palm up "We have not time to discuss the details, are you with us?" | 2015-10-05T23:42:20 | 2015-10-05T23:32:30 | 85 | 38 |
[WP]In the future, teleportation is the dominant form of transportation with a 99.99% succes rate. Write about the 0.01% failure cases. | "Morning, James," the receptionist said with what glee he could muster on a Monday morning. Three empty cups of coffee were lined up on his desk.
"Good to see you again," I responded. "You look cheery. And completely awake."
"As always, eh?" he quipped. "Head inside and I'll send you out to enjoy your day like I am. Have a blast at work, buddy."
"Thanks. Catch you later. Don't scramble me in this thing!" I joked. Well, I guess I wasn't joking.
I stepped inside the teleportation room and looked around. All those swirling lights and plasma highways never ceased to amaze me. It almost looked natural and organic, in a way. *Ugh, I don't want to go to work. Fuck Mondays.*
I braced myself for the transfer. It was always uncomfortable, mind you. I never got used to it the way everyone else did. It just felt so unnatural and displacing. I hate feeling like my life is out of my own control for a little while.
Complete darkness. It's strange; for a split second you can still feel, in a sense. You can't see, hear or even think, really. But you feel some sort of presence. It's weird.
I landed on the other side and stretched with a big yawn. When I opened my eyes, what I saw...well, there's no way to describe the horror I felt. I can't fully explain where I ended up...but I imagine it's what Hell would be like. It was hot, rocky and dark with sounds swimming through my head incessantly. There were smells I couldn't fathom, and my skin felt wet as if it were melting. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a figure appear before me. I was so disgusted and terrifying that I couldn't even scream. It looked so pained and twisted...but the worst part is that it almost seemed like it was human. It looked me up and down before staring me in the eye and croaking something to me. I realized after a second that it was English.
"Help....have you come to save us? We've been here so long," it growled. It practically vomited the words onto me.
It wasn't until I looked down a bit and saw what was left of a tie around its neck and tattered pants around its waist that I truly understood that something was horribly wrong...and learned the meaning of the word 'fear'. | “Door’s open!” Frank yelled from inside. I straightened my tie, not that he would care, but you put the best face forward when you work for the Department of Teleportation.
I entered and was hit with that familiar smell. It wasn’t necessarily bad, in fact it was somewhat comforting and had grown even moreso with the increased visits. A mixture of old books and a thousand TV dinners.
“Afternoon, Frank.”
“Evening, officer.”
“I told you, you can call me Tom.”
Frank nodded and went back to watching the flickering set in front him. God bless the man for still having a flat screen, I hadn’t owned one since college. Looks like it was reruns of some millennial show, maybe Cheers? Or It’s Always Sunny?
I made my way to the basement. “Could you grab me a beer,” I tossed it to Frank and he set it next to the four empties.
The stairs to the basement gave a sag with each step. I thought the State was going to replace these, typical.
The transportee was rocking in the fetal position behind the water heater.
“Hello, is that Steven uh… Juh-koo-bick?”
He gave me a stricken look, “It’s Jakubec.” “I’m sorry sir, I’m sure you’re a bit rattled up, you have just experienced a teleportation anomaly.
“Am I, am I dead?”
“No sir, far from it. You just had a little slip up in your trajectory.” He seemed to relax, but wouldn’t come out from behind the water heater. “I see from the records this is your first transportation, sir?”
He nodded distractedly, finally taking in his surroundings: a half-finished basement with laundry and some ignored gym equipment.
“Sorry it was a rough trip, we’ve made great strides in teleportation but it’s not perfect. About once every thousand times a transportee will end up here, in a basement in Lindhurst, Nebraska. It’s about an hour west of Omaha. We’ll of course reimburse you for a new trip to… let’s see, St. Petersburg, Florida, oh that must be beautiful this time of year.”
“Wait, wait.” Steven held his head, and finally emerged. “So, when this ‘slip up’ occurs, the person arrives here?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. We’ve tried to make it more welcoming, but Frank, I’m sorry, Mr. Botticelli the home’s owner refuses to move. But he's nice enough to let us access to the basement.”
Steven sat on a cardboard box labelled ‘photo albums’ and nursed his temples.
“Fortunately, it’s done wonders for the local economy, we’ve got most any cuisine you could want as we get rogue transportees from all over the globe. Word is that they’re even putting in an amusement park. Soon it’ll be a treat to end up here.” I tried my best smile, but it didn’t appear to be working.
“Yes, this is a real treat.”
No one's ever happy about the amusement park. “Well shall we go upstairs and get you situated.”
We started toward the exit, and a bright flash beamed behind us. A husky man in a fur hat tumbled forward. “St. Petersburg?”
“Florida?” Asked Steven
“Nyet, Russia.”
I got out my tablet and prepared the necessary paperwork. God I’d give anything to trade places with Frank.
| 2016-01-15T11:06:01 | 2016-01-15T09:49:17 | 25 | 12 |
[WP]In the future, teleportation is the dominant form of transportation with a 99.99% succes rate. Write about the 0.01% failure cases. | "Morning, James," the receptionist said with what glee he could muster on a Monday morning. Three empty cups of coffee were lined up on his desk.
"Good to see you again," I responded. "You look cheery. And completely awake."
"As always, eh?" he quipped. "Head inside and I'll send you out to enjoy your day like I am. Have a blast at work, buddy."
"Thanks. Catch you later. Don't scramble me in this thing!" I joked. Well, I guess I wasn't joking.
I stepped inside the teleportation room and looked around. All those swirling lights and plasma highways never ceased to amaze me. It almost looked natural and organic, in a way. *Ugh, I don't want to go to work. Fuck Mondays.*
I braced myself for the transfer. It was always uncomfortable, mind you. I never got used to it the way everyone else did. It just felt so unnatural and displacing. I hate feeling like my life is out of my own control for a little while.
Complete darkness. It's strange; for a split second you can still feel, in a sense. You can't see, hear or even think, really. But you feel some sort of presence. It's weird.
I landed on the other side and stretched with a big yawn. When I opened my eyes, what I saw...well, there's no way to describe the horror I felt. I can't fully explain where I ended up...but I imagine it's what Hell would be like. It was hot, rocky and dark with sounds swimming through my head incessantly. There were smells I couldn't fathom, and my skin felt wet as if it were melting. When my eyes finally adjusted, I saw a figure appear before me. I was so disgusted and terrifying that I couldn't even scream. It looked so pained and twisted...but the worst part is that it almost seemed like it was human. It looked me up and down before staring me in the eye and croaking something to me. I realized after a second that it was English.
"Help....have you come to save us? We've been here so long," it growled. It practically vomited the words onto me.
It wasn't until I looked down a bit and saw what was left of a tie around its neck and tattered pants around its waist that I truly understood that something was horribly wrong...and learned the meaning of the word 'fear'. | I shivered as a scream rang through the building. Screams were a fairly normal part of the night shift, but every once in a while, there would be one that still got to me. Usually from her. I waited, my microwave burrito hanging in mid-air and dripping fluorescent cheese onto the table. Maybe she would stop at one tonight.
The next scream was higher pitched and longer, ripping through the very molecules of the air. Goosebumps rose up on my arms and legs. It would be that kind of night.
The dimly lit hallway stretched as far as I could see in both directions. The room that I had just come from and a set of elevators across from it marked the middle of the facility. I looked longingly at the comforting square of light projecting from the doorway, but resolutely turned to face the left wing. My steps echoed as I passed door after door.
The good thing about the night shift was that mostly everyone was sleeping. I didn’t know how I would handle talking to these people. The day shift guys sometimes told stories about it. Some of them even made friends. I guess losing a part of your brain doesn’t always leave you fucked up, depending on which part it is. The problem is that they never knew. The higher-ups, that is.
They wrote their reports and they nodded their heads, but the truth is, they could only guess. It was up to guys like us to actually observe.
And yet despite what I saw down here, I still teleported to work every night. It was just so much more convenient. Old movies showed people biking or taking buses, wasting hours of their time just getting to and from anywhere. My parents still remembered these things. But teleportation was the only thing I knew. And of course, you never think it’s going to happen to you.
They called it incomplete transfer. In a tiny fraction of cases something happened, something went wrong. A glitch in the way the atoms moved or something. They had told me about it when I interviewed for this position. They had shown me pictures. Usually it was no big deal. A person would end up with half a fingernail, or a piece missing from their ear. Sometimes it would be something bigger: an arm, a leg, a kidney. These people’s lives were changed, but they were still allowed to reintegrate into society.
But sometimes, sometimes the piece went missing from your brain. Then you were brought here. “For observation”, they would say, but in my 3 years working the night shift I had never heard of anyone being released. They just couldn’t risk it.
I should have brought an extra bulb, I thought, staring at the broken glass in front of room 53. Her screams could do that. Everything was silent now though. I peered into the room and saw her, in the same place she always was, sitting cross-legged on the bed, her skinny frame barely making a dent in the sterile mattress. She was one of the ones they couldn’t figure out. Part of her brain was missing, that was clear, but what that part did no one seemed to know. She didn’t talk, she barely ate. But she always smiled when I came to the room. The kind of smile that made you feel like she was about to say something, about to break free of the shell she was in. And she screamed.
| 2016-01-15T11:06:01 | 2016-01-15T09:40:38 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] After a bad breakup, you take Reddit's famous advice. Lawyer up, hit the gym, delete Facebook. The problem? You are Mark Zuckerberg. | Millions of humans slowly emerged from their dark, cold cavernous asylums into the day. Realizing the day was bright and warm and it wasn't to be shared with anyone, happiness soon followed. Facebook is gone. Their lives were their own to rule and control; all their own to live in peace.
It took longer than expected for anyone to really figure out what happened. Rumors circulated the internet, no one could establish the truth. A small news site in California posted a story about Mark and Priscilla breaking up. A few months later, Men's Health ran an article on Mark's body building transformation after the Fall. Reddit sleuths started to put two and two together. When someone finally found a small snippet of code buried deep in the salvaged FB source code, the final peace of the puzzle fell into place.
No one blamed him. Charges were filed, but no jury could be found that was willing to admit their lives were better with Facebook. Other social media sites started to disappear as users migrated away from ubiquitous online presences for a more simple lifestyle.
The Social Media Era dissolved by the year 2023. The fallout was profound. Society began to return to in-presence communication lifestyle. Texting and email faded to the background. Technology continued to advance, but it became more focused on allowing people to communicate through audio and video. Eventually, the advances led to the holonet we now know today. No one could have predicted that the social media experiment would be viewed as hampering progress.
The knowledge we gain from studying that time has given us incredible insight into humanity's social development. Now, self-reflection, awareness, consciousness, and happiness are at the focus of all aspects of life. We continuously strive to better understand ourselves and those around us in order to avoid the mistakes of the past while reaching toward the future.
edit: more story. | I hurriedly grabbed by briefcase as I left the car. Checked my pockets briefly, checking for keys, phone, wallet. All good, lets go. Mr. Zuckerberg was waiting, apparently needed me for some legal advice concerning a break up. No biggie, shit like this happened all the time. The gym was an odd place to meet, though, but I don't really care. Being a friend and legal advisory for one of the wealthiest people in the world makes you not really care what kind of crazy shit you have to do sometimes.
I opened the doors to his personal gym, and scanned the room briefly. He was the only one who came here, as it was his, which made me wonder why there were so many treadmills in the room. I saw Mark over by the free weights.
"Hey Mark, buddy! What's going on!" I walked over, feeling awkwardly dressed for the setting. Zuckerberg was doing one armed pull ups while curling 70lbs with his free arm.
"Sup brah? Nice to see ya broseph, just getting swoll ya know, bad break up really tore me apart brah." I'll admit, the candor along with the informal language was a bit... startling, but I paid it no mind.
"Oh you know, just got your text and came on down!" I laughed nervously. "Yeah, yeah... So, what did you need?"
"Ah, well I got some fucking narks on my ass bro, need some help with these guys that have been pestering me about deleting my Facebook."
"What do you mean, why would they care?"
"Ionno brah, something about them not being able to get on Facebook anymore." Mark jumped down and went to his gym bag. "Bunch of whinney bitches if you ask me, but they mentioned some 'legal repercussions'." He removed a creatine contained, and started to pour it on a bench. "Honestly, I just wanna clear this bullshit up and move on, you know man?" He started to line the creatine up into neat rows.
"Umm, Mark. Did you delete all of Facebook?" I said, not fully understanding the situation. He sniffed through a line of the creatine, and jumped up in the air.
"Oh what? Yeah, I read it on that Reddit site, said I should get rid of my Facebook brah."
"What? You can't delete all of Facebook! How the hell did you even manage to do that, I thought you weren't even-"
Mark stood up, face covered in white powder. "Look brah, I just wanted you to help lawyer me up so that we can finish this BS, then go to some clubs or something later. Is that cool with you?" He seemed agitated, and it had been a while since I'd gone out...
I sighed deeply and opened my briefcase. "Yeah, let's get started." | 2016-02-15T12:02:57 | 2016-02-15T11:43:33 | 120 | 10 |
[WP] You are the first boss of a videogame who, after accidentally killing the player in their first try, decide to take it upon yourself to fulfill their quest. | I had kneeled in this ashen cemetery for countless years, the coiled sword keeping the darkness inside me contained. Contained, that is, until it was removed by this ashen knight.
"Champion", he had called himself.
Many had called me by that title, in ages past.
The body of this contender remained still, unmoving. Usually, when the undead were killed, their ashes would fade, and they would be reborn nearby, ready for another attempt to defeat me. Yet this Champion remained still. In the sky, the sun had faded to almost nothing, its fire nearly gone.
Shifting the halberd in my hand, I stepped forward, pushing aside the great doors that I had guarded for so long. I made my way up the path, entering the dark shrine with purpose. As I drove the coiled sword into the unlit bonfire, I knew what needed to be done. If the Champion of Ash would not seek out the Lords, then I, the Champion of old would see it done. | The final blow was giving. As he lay there taking his last breaths, I notice a scroll in his hand. I guess he was on a the quest to kill my boss, El Pobre. I have been his soldier for many years, hoping someday I would be defending his castle, but he has me defending the Cave of Pain. I was getting tired of it, though. Getting, at moments, beaten by scrawny men who want to kill him and not getting any praise from him. I hear steps around the corner and getting ready to fight, but it was El Pobre's messenger, Julio.
"Julio, what has he sent me. A letter that asks for my presence?"
"No.....ummm .....I'm sorry......it's worse."
He hands me the letter and leaves promptly. I open the letter and it read:
Defender of the Cave of Pain. I have found that your daughter is beautiful and will be forcefully marrying her.
Yours truly, El Pobre.
Ps I was gonna ask for your blessings but I honestly do not give a shit.
The veins in my body were being filled with hate. At that moment I understood why so many men wanted to kill him. I started packing and getting my gear ready. I left the cave and started my journey. I passed Humungo, the defender of Quiet Whisper village. He let me pass without incident. Told him if he didn't I would tell his wife about his Bastard son. I kept going and there was the castle and defending was my bitch asks of a brother, Conipo. He was lucky enough to find the Sword of Dro which caught El Pobre's attention. Now, my brother is where I should of been.
"Hey bro, what u doing here? Coming to see your bro being the best?"
"No, I need to talk to Him. He sent for me."
"Is it about your niece? I was pretty pissed too, but I said to myself at least it ain't my daughter."
I hold my tongue and proceed into the castle. There he was on his throne of skulls and my daughter next to him. I drew my weapon and stabbed him. He died, the end. | 2016-05-21T13:49:32 | 2016-05-21T11:36:54 | 929 | 47 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Are you ready to head out boys?* Jason yells from the living room.
We take out buttons with us, as always, just to be safe. Things used to be much more difficult before The Button was introduced. Since the first night, we haven't failed to go without a payday yet. We're working on our 56th night tonight.
*Alright let's go!* Jason impatiently yells at me.
I've been having second thoughts about getting some new friends recently. Jason and the boys have become so misguided and arrogant since The Button has been paying out.
It's Monday so we do what we always do on Mondays. We pick a nice retirement home the next town over and make our plan. Tonight's innocent victim is an elderly man sound asleep with MSNBC still flickering on his tv.
*We're going to be fast and rich again tonight boys!* Jason yells to us in an attempt to excite us. It works for most of the guys.
*Who wants to do the honors?* he asked.
Nobody steps forward because after all, we are taking another persons life.
*Why don't you do it tonight? You've been down for a while. This will pick you up.* Jason says as he points at me.
I've been selected and the guys are already pushing me forward before I can decline.
I go forward with the plan as intended. I sneak in to the room and give a thumbs up to the boys in the window to signal I've made it in.
I walk over to this man's button. I look at it, look at him. Look at it, look at him.
I go back to the window and signal to the guys.
A scream of terror echoes from the outside of the retirement home.
*Jason always liked to be the first to push his button after a job.*
Tomorrow I find new friends. | They both knew they were going to be millionaires.
In the great whirlwind of New York City business, it's rare for a meeting to occur that feels like instant destiny. But then along came Nate Carpenter and Hunter Bryson. One dinner party and one handshake later, they were partners.
*
"Cheers, my friend. To a first quarter beyond our wildest dreams."
Nate raised his champagne glass and clinked it against Hunter's. It had been three months since the launch of Listicles, the most successful office productivity app of the new year.
"You checked your savings account recently? 'Cause mine looks pretty damn good," Hunter said with a chuckle.
"Mine too, mine too." Nate took a sip of his drink and leaned back in his chair. "Say, I've been meaning to ask you something."
He reached in his pocket, set the glass down, and produced a bright turquoise button, entirely unmarked and mounted on a cheap plastic base.
Hunter jerked backwards, startled. "You actually use that thing? I haven't gone anywhere near mine."
"It's pretty cool, man. The big banks partnered up and gave a button to each of their customers as some kind of PR thing. Once activated, you get to be a part of this game, once a night. Starting at midnight, the sooner you press it, the more cash you get deposited into your account. The trick is you have to put in a little money in order to play, and the more you put in, the better the multiplier could be."
"So...it's gambling."
"Well, sort of. And there's one other catch, but I'm not worried. I'm not one to press my luck. You should give it a shot."
"What's the catch?"
"It's nothing, really. Just something in the fine print, something to keep track of the people who are getting too good."
Hunter sighed. "All right, fine. But just once. And I'm only dropping, like, thirty bucks."
*
Three months later, Hunter bet a million dollars on the nightly game session.
He called Nate one minute before midnight, his hand quivering.
"Nate. Dude. I bet it all."
"You're kidding." Nate shifted his cell phone to his right ear, using his free hand to place the button on his bedside table. "So did I."
Hunter laughed, trying to block his nervousness with excitement. "This is where we start to climb the ranks, my friend. This is how we become kings."
"Bigger than Google, bigger than Apple!" Nate chuckled.
"I'll see you on the other side. When our bank accounts are doubled."
Nate and Hunter reached for their buttons and pressed them at exactly the same time.
Within seconds, both men lay dead in their apartments.
Their accounts remained dormant as the banks' IT teams determined the night's losses. Then, the men's remaining funds were transferred directly to the banks, lost in the shuffle, as though neither of them existed.
| 2016-07-16T17:51:04 | 2016-07-16T17:29:20 | 3,429 | 38 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | I glanced over at the button on my desk that'd appeared yesterday night. It seemed everyone in the world had one now. It'd appeared yesterday with a note attached. Apparently anyone after the first person who'd pressed it would receive a significant sum of money, and judging by today's radio broadcasts, the button worked. As a doctor, however, I was fairly well off and didn't have much need for money at the moment. In fact, I don't think I've wanted for much at all in my life. Well liked, respected, and beautiful, I had almost everything a person could want. Still, a few thousand dollars more wouldn't hurt. I could take a week off and travel somewhere tropical. Relax.
For some reason, I'd never felt much of a connection to anyone. Sympathy and empathy were emotions I simply never experienced. However, most people liked me. In fact I was very close to a number of people; I just simply didn't care about any of them. I remember in elementary school pushing kids down the stairs and pretending it was an accident. In college I spread a rumor my best friend had raped a middle schooler. For the rest of the year he was called a rapist and a pedophile. When he found out it was me who'd started the rumor he found me after school and screamed and cried. I could see how betrayed he felt but honestly I just didn't care. I told him if he didn't shut up I'd say he'd raped me as well. No one would believe the alleged rapist over the weak, pretty girl.
Anyways, it was 11:30 at night. I picked up my phone and dialed Liz, an old friend. She had fallen on some hard times recently. Currently an unemployed single mother, she'd told me recently how desperate she was for money. Yesterday she'd said how she wanted so badly to push the button but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving her children behind.
She picked up the phone.
"Hello?" She said. From her tired voice it was obvious I'd woken her up.
"Hey! Liz, it's me. How's it going?"
"Areana? Areana Wei? What are you calling me for? It's almost midnight."
"I know, I know. I'm so sorry. But listen to me for a second, I promise it’s worth it. The button could solve your problems. You could have enough to support your family until you can find another job. You could take your kids out tomorrow and eat a good, hearty meal. And you know what? I've just pressed it!"
"What?"
"I've just pressed it. It's late at night, so it's really unlikely I'm going to die. And now you can press it. You know you can't be the first to press if you do it now."
"Oh. Oh! Oh my God Areana. Oh God. Thank you! Thank you so much. I can't say how much this means to me. Thank you."
I waited until I heard the click of the button from her side of the call. Then, I hung up and pressed my own button.
I don't know if she was the first to press the button tonight or not. Either way, it doesn't really affect me. I turned to my computer and began to plan my vacation.
btw, this is my first post on reddit!
Edit: Wow, I think this is the most likes and comments I've gotten on anything. Thanks, you guys. This is really encouraging. | Whiskey bottle in hand, I staggered over to my laptop set up--the recording equipment top of the line camera, and practically collapse in the chair. So comfortable, I almost fall asleep right there. Almost. I open up LiveYou, and click the record button.
"So, I'm finally doing this live stream I've always talked about. Didn't know what it would be about...but I finally do. I wanna, talk about the Buttons. You all know the ones I'm talking about."
I gestured to the button embedded into the wall, having specifically arranged for it to be in easy view of the camera. A quick glance at the bottom of the viewer count read out 6.
"So then, you all probably know about the crackpot theories. The conspiracy theorists called it 'population control.' That somewhere in the shady back rooms of our governments, they all unanimously agreed that the world's population, some 7 billion and counting, wasn't sustainable in the long term, not if they wanted to keep the balance of power to prevent societal collapse. So they banked on human greed--our need to fulfill our baser desires winning out over decency."
13 viewers, another glance told me.
"And they where right."
42 now.
"Now, it wasn't noticeable at first, nothing but a rumor that the 'security' buttons installed in every home across the globe would make you rich. Then some one tested it out--John Demamp--got over 2 million in his bank accounts. Even today you can see his Twitter and Facebook posts about how he was going to live it up..."
99.
"But he died the next day from an exceptionally violent break in."
84 viewers. Damn it.
"The culprit was caught and tried--proclaiming his innocence, but it did little to help the family's grief. His Mrs. Demamp went through his bank account to help with the funeral expenses, their newfound wealth bittersweet..."
120.
"But it wasn't there. There was no record of it **ever** being there--no depositing into the account, no trace of transferring of the money. People thought he was a complete idiot, insane even, when the story broke just a few hours later thanks to a reporter trying to get their big scoop."
310.
"And then it happened again the next day. And the next day and the next. People pressing their buttons for the sum of 2 billion dollars, or the equivalent currency. Then they die the next day, that night--just like the Demamp. Because someone else pressed that *goddamn* button!"
I slammed my fist on my desk, that it almost seemed that it had willed another 1,700 viewers. I actually wanted to smile at the thought of me going viral, but the whiskey had dulled my control over my face.
"Five years this has been going on. Five fucking years. You ever done the math? 1826 bodies. All because some asshole wanted to get rich quick. I should know. Because I pressed the button."
The viewer count skyrocketed, faster than I could believe. 42, 831. Maybe they were mesmerized by the truth. Or maybe they wanted to see someone die.
"Some of you are probably judging me. And you're right to. What I did... it can't be excused--hell, even if it was only indirect I murdered someone. But...I don't have any family, not anymore. No significant other, just a shitty dead-end job. At least no one will miss me when I'm gone. Don't look at me like that, *someone* is going to press their button. Might be you, might be someone else. Maybe they're not even watching this. But...If I can die for a reason...doing some good with it... Then it's worth it. Isn't it?"
I was consumed by pitch black a moment later, my glance at the viewer count being for naught. I quickly ran to look out my front window--the entire block was dark. I silently curse as I turned toward the kitchen.
I was greeted by a tall man in black, rope over his shoulder. Breaking out into a cold sweat during a long, tense moment, I tried to escape through the living room only to have three other men there waiting for me, a chair placed in the middle of the room. I tried to scream but I was cut off by the noose tightening around my throat, a quick stabbing pain following it almost in the same moment.
"Nothing personal, man." Just doing my job." The man whispered into my ear almost apologetically. I drifted away, my vision turning into stars.
And then black. | 2016-07-16T18:24:40 | 2016-07-16T17:34:20 | 141 | 47 |
[WP] (drops weapon) "Shit. I just realized something." "What?" "We're the bad guys....." | "What do you mean we're the bad guys?"
"Well, for starters, how many shots have we taken at this guy? What's his name? McClane or something?"
"I mean... I had four magazines when he followed us in here, but I'm down to my last mag now."
"See what I mean?"
"But I just shot him in the shoulder!"
"Yes! In the shoulder! And he's still walking it off! That guy shot Michael in the knee yesterday and he died instantly!"
"But that doesn't-"
"And what about when he shot Carl the other day?"
"What about it?"
"Carl had a bead on him from a window across the street. He takes 4 shots at McClane, then he spins around and fires one shot. Boom. No more Carl."
"But what if-"
"And then Carl fell out the window! Like the shot didn't throw him back into the apartment or anything! He just dramatically fell out of the window!"
"Look, I think you're reading into this too much."
"Am I? Let's back up. You do realize that we have the guy's daughter, right?"
"Oh, come on. That's not fair."
"Why not?"
"Well, for starters, his daughter was trying to hack into our system and prevent us from seizing all the money in Wall Street! And let's not forget that we're going to be stealing money from those fat cats! Not from the common man!"
"But doesn't it make sense that the common man would be affected by a worldwide market melt-down?"
"But... but you're going to use the money from this heist to treat your wife who's dying of cancer!"
"Well... I may have exaggerated that a bit."
"What?"
"I'm actually using the money to treat a disease I have."
"What disease?"
".... addiction to online gambling."
"Jesus, Thomas!!"
"Ok, but do you see where I'm coming from? All of a sudden it's starting to feel like we're not exactly on the right side here! Look, he's chased us like three blocks, now. So I'm going to call us quits while he has us cornered in this... in this... oh for christ sake. We're in an orphanage, Todd! We're actually holding a bunch of orphans hostage right now!"
(Insert shameless plug for personal subreddit [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/thisstorywillsuck/)) | "Shit."
"What is it *now*?"
"I just realized...I think we're the baddies."
Jacob turned to his friend, tilting his head in an expression of utmost disdain.
"What do you mean we're the baddies, Norbert?"
"Well, I mean..." Norbert knit his eyebrows together in an expression of pudgy confusion. "Have you seen the secret lair?"
"Of course I have seen the secret lair! It is mandatory for all soldiers of the Black Army to visit the secret lair before deployment! It isn't like it is an *actual* secret! What are you on about?"
"Well, did you see all of those...monsters? You know, the ones they kept in the tubes."
"Not *monsters*, Norbert, we've been through this. *Test subjects*. I hear they were all willing, and are being paid handsomely for their role in creating the perfect soldi- hang on, that does sound a mite evil, doesn't it?"
Norbert nodded enthusiastically, his many chins bobbing up and down. "That's what I mean. It's nothing THAT big, really, just a bunch of little things that add up. Like...why are we called the Black Army anyway? When I joined up, I thought it started as a racial thing, you know, having a bit of pride for being a person of color. But I don't think we have a single person of African descent among us, so that can't be it!"
Jacob nodded pensively. "Yeah. No diversity. That's evil for sure. But maybe they're just in a different camp, eh?"
"Yeah could be." Norbert looked somewhat doubtful, before perking up again. "What about the Death rays?"
"Well, really, they're just guns! Guns are supposed to kill people!" Jacob retorted, clutching the weapon to his chest as if it was his firstborn son and looking aghast.
"Well, yes, I know that." Norbert said with a roll of his eyes. "But...why did they have to name them something so evil sounding? Why couldn't it have been "laser guns" or something? That's much more neutral. Or even ray guns!"
"No one is going to be intimidated by a bunch of people with ray guns, Norbert!" Jacob exclaimed, but a shadow of doubt flickered across his features.
"Ok, ok. Fine, maybe it is for intimidation. But how do you explain the skulls?"
"Skulls?"
"Yeah, the skulls! You know, in our insignia, as decorations around the camp, the goblets in the mess hall...it's like everyday is Halloween out here!"
"S-same reason!" Jacob said, but his knees began to rattle and he took of his helmet to look at the skull. It *was* quite intimidating, at least in his eyes. All big and grinning and covered in blood...actually, perhaps a bit too much blood. On second thought, WAY too much blood.
"Shit."
As one, they threw their weapons to the ground and fled - running as fast as their legs could carry them.
***
*Might have borrowed bits here and there from [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hn1VxaMEjRU). CC appreciated! If you enjoyed, you can find more of my work over at /r/TimeSyncs!* | 2016-07-19T21:19:29 | 2016-07-19T21:11:23 | 537 | 130 |
[WP] Your pickup line goes horribly, horribly wrong. | There she is, the woman of my dreams. To think I'd meet her here.
 
Long brown hair, beautiful eyes and curves in just the right places. She has a camera too. Think Janus, think. Say something witty.
 
"Oh you want my name?" here goes nothing.
 
"Yeah."
 
"It's Hugh..." | Johnny walked confidently up the street. He crossed paths with a beautiful blonde babe who smiled briefly before continuing on her way.
'Must not look back' thought Johnny.
He looked back. And he was filled with a primal energy and instinct took over.
"HEY BABE, THAT ASS MUST BE JELLY, CAUSE JAM DON'T SHAKE LIKE THAT"
'Perfect' thought Johnny, as the lady walked back over to him. 'The ladies love these kind of compliments.'
*SLAP* The lady hit Johnny with the force only a true social justice warrior, the one in the legends long lost, could muster.
Johnny was shocked and stumbled a few steps backwards, but tripped on the curb. He landed on the road and his head was crushed by a school bus. It was a mess. Little children were running out of the bus, screaming, scarred for life, and slipping on mangled man parts.
The media made it out to be a hate crime against the children of the United States of America because the bus driver was Muslim. And when Isis claimed responsibility for the attack, President Clint Rump nuked the whole world.
"And that's how the world ended" Concluded the wise old seer.
"UGG" agreed Ugg | 2016-09-24T11:06:36 | 2016-09-24T10:08:00 | 46 | 28 |
[WP] You are the child of an internet sensation. In a joke will, he said that if he died, the internet would raise his child. It happened, and you were left an orphan. Now, you are the internet's child, and all your life has been directed by endless online polls and debates. | I can always count on the Facebook sanctimommies to let me do my homework. Their insistance on a 4.3 g.p.a. has been a life saver. Sometimes they're a little *too* helpful, and they insist on doing my work for me.
I almost always tune into their suggestions for hobbies, as well. Although, that time on Reddit when a kid got 4.2 k karma for insisting I learn to backflip off a dolphin was pretty radical. Still, I have to stay focused. Keep my eye on the prize. So, chess, debate, mathlete, Russian and choir fill my time.
I let tumbler choose my friends. See, I'm a feminist at heart. (I think.) R/politics decided I'm definitely a Democrat- in a "was supporting Bernie, but I guess Hillary will have to do" kind of way.
It's better that way. I can't be blamed for being too busy to check, right? (23% of tumbler believes I can.) I know better than to ever Google myself. 4chan is a place I. Don't. Go.
See, I've learned to work the system. If I don't see it, it doesn't count. I have a big counter clicking down until I turn 17. Then I can be emancipated.
I have goals. I won't let them control what college I go to. It's too hard to manipulate that kind of thing.
My last online destination is always GoFundMe. $12 million. That's gre- That's when I see the top comment. "Eat a chilli dog covered in cotton candy + gummi bears." Dammit Carl! | *The Will of Picklestasteg00d*
*I, Picklestasteg00d, hereby make this my unofficial official will. Half of my Ferrari account goes to my brother, Zifferzap, and the other half goes to my wife, Claire. My vast wealth, knawledge, and this username will be given to my son, Pickles. Yes, I named him after my username, now shut up.*
*However, Pickles will only be rewarded the money if he is past the age 18. If I die before this, the money will be frozen in a bank account for later. If both Claire and I die, I give the right to my son to the internet. He will grow up on the wisdom of the internet, a place where kids pretending to be adults can make my child's decisions.*
That was my dad's joke will. He made it for the sole purpose of laughs on the internet, and never wrote a real one. Three years ago today, when I was 14, he and Claire died in an unfortunate car accident on the I-15 highway. He was trying out a Ferrari, but the pedal got stuck, and they careened off the road. The car did 69 flips before stopping at exactly 4:20 PM. I'm told it was, and I quote, "dank af".
Well, this mock will was the only thing the courts had. They gave half of his money to my uncle, and the other half is in a frozen bank account for me. Thankfully, the family servant, Alfredo Nickleworth, is still around to help me out.
Today, I have my own website and subreddit, /r/Picklestasteg00d. The people of the internet help me (read: fuck me over) with my decisions, and raise me. Yesterday, I was told to build a trebuchet and launch a 90 kilogram stone projectile over 300 meters as a test of ingenuity. Well, now there's a 90kg stone and a hole in some poor sap's house.
You could call my internet family dysfunctional. You'd be right. I've sent in copypastas as essays to my school. I've put cooked and sauced spaghetti in my pocket just so I could spill it when talking to women. Though these past few years have been tough, it's been the best year of my life. Thank you, my internet family.
Oh, right, today is my eighteenth birthday. Time to unfreeze my bank account and become "independent". We stop at the bank, a place almost alien to me. *I open the door, get on the floor, everybody walk the dinosaur.*
*****
A great prompt, but I couldn't resist adding a 4chan-esque ending. As always, you can find more of my work at /r/Picklestasteg00d.
Edit: grammar | 2016-10-19T21:25:10 | 2016-10-19T17:41:14 | 61 | 21 |
[WP] You've been playing with equations in a notebook and have, if you're right, just discovered time travel. You turn the page and are greeted with one word: "DON'T" | Examining pages...
a handwritten note.
The only left question-
by whom was it wrote?
The curl on the D,
O-N-apostrophe,
Led one to conclude
it was written by *me*.
Could this be a note from my enlightened self?
A desperate gambit, to give himself help?
That sounds like *his* problem, he can go to hell-
"I'M GONNA KILL HITLER!" I joyously yell. | I stared at the page, my heart throbbing. I closed the book, looking around to see if anyone was watching me. Was this a practical joke? Had one of my coworkers put it in there to dissuade me - to steal my breakthrough?
But if that was the case... why was it in my own handwriting?
I watched as my coworkers went home, one by one. I clutched my notebook all the while. But after my last colleague left, I was alone in the lab. And it was time.
I opened the book, pouring over the equations. It was all so clear to me... time isn't an arrow, it's like gravity - it *is* gravity. It keeps you in place, keeps you moving forward, keeps you 'on time'. And once you conquer gravity, you conquer time itself.
*"Don't."*
The word flashed across my mind. I'd spent my entire life working on this, and yet I could never shake that feeling. That deep sense of unease. But would a single word, a simple feeling, keep me from completing my life's work? Keep me from going back in time?
Keep me from saving her?
*"DON'T."*
I stared at the machine. I knew it was a bad idea, but I'd be a coward if I didn't go through with it now, and I was already a coward before, so many years ago - and that's what killed her.
***"DON'T."***
I pressed the button before I could stop myself.
Maybe going back in time kills me, but I'm already dead without her. | 2016-11-10T04:28:06 | 2016-11-10T01:08:03 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] You're a regular guy who works at a Home Depot in Alabama and are unknowingly influencing the Venezuelan economy | Working at a Home Depot in Alabama is not the best job in the world; the pay kind of sucks and my hours are all over the place. It has been tough not seeing the family as much this past couple months.
The one thing that has kind of made it easier to the fact that I am the go-to forklift guy at this store. I guess they had a few incidences in the past that cost the place at lot of money. To me it is fun. Well it was fun until last week.
Last week a guy came in and just watched me replace a stack of drywall. I thought he has impressed with the machine or my driving skills? I didn't think too much about it, even when he showed up the next day. Just standing there for hours typing on his phone and taking photos of me. On the third day I had to ask him what the hell was up.
I half expected him to run out of the store as I approached, but to my surprised he looked very excited to see me coming towards him. He did something on his phone and just stood there. When I starting to ask exactly what he was doing he put the phone right in my face almost hitting me in the mouth. I just said "Can I help you sir?". No response. The phone was still in my face.
So I asked again in a less friendly tone. "Can I help you sir? What do you want?"
He pulled the phone away and started typing again. Annoyed, I stood in front of him not knowing what to do next. While still looking down at his phone and typing whatever it was he was typing, the man turned around and walked away. Right out of the store.
He's been coming everyday ever since. I don't really notice him until I'm doing something on the forklift. There wasn't really a reason to be worried about losing my job until today. I told my manager what has been going on and he just shrugged his shoulders. The guy wasn't hurting anything so why get bothered by it?
But today after moving some pallets, the man who has been watching me came up to me. I wasn't scared. He's actually pretty small so why would I be? Well, he walked up and in broken English said, "Use other carry-car tomorrow." Understanding what he said but not understanding why he said it, I just said "what?" with a half blank, half confused face. After this he handed me a large bag of some weird looking money.
I am talking about a lot of bills. If these were US bills then I'd be set for life. But these had foreign writing (probably Spanish?) and had some guy with amazing sideburns on the front
I'm not going to the police yet. Also don't know if I'm going to use the other forklift tomorrow at work. Pretty sure that's what he meant when he said to use the other carry-car. Is something going to happen if I use the older forklift? Is something going to happen if I don't? | My shift was about to end in 45 minutes when the bomb flew through the window.
I was confused at first. In the back of the Home Depot we were lifting some plastic boxes on to the loading pallet. I heard glass shatter behind me and the whirr of tires, and I whirled around, and noticed something like a wide straw that was…smoking?
A pipe bomb.
I just stared at it like an idiot, my mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened, when Eduardo, my co-worker, screamed “fucking hell!” and literally grabbed and pulled me behind the mahogany table 5 feet away just as the explosion went off.
I was unimpressed. Like, explosions are supposed to be big, bright and *powerful,* you know? But behind the table, I felt absolutely nothing, no concussion wave no bright flash. Just a hiss.
I turned towards Ed to ask him something but put a finger to his lips when I turned to look at him, and pulled out a freaking pistol from his jeans.
What the hell?
Ed seemed like a normal enough guy, his skin was an olive color, he was average height, dark eyes, short hair…that’s it. Not the kind of guy you would expect to carry a gun.
That’s when I heard the door of the front entrance opening, and soft, muffled footsteps. I moved to peek over at who was coming but Eduardo yanked me back, and I gave a little yelp. Immediately, a serious of thuds wnt through my head that was leaning against the table.
Someone had just tried to shoot me.
Eduardo immediately got up and shot towards the door. Where the person who had fired at us made no noise, Eduardo’s gun was *loud,* very loud. He shot 4 times, pausing momentarily after each shot as I lay behind the table covering my ears.
Eduardo quickly tapped my shoulder and motioned for me to get up. He checked his gun and put some more bullets in it. “And Oliver thought this was paranoia…” he muttered. Then turning to me he commanded, “Hurry up, more might be on the way.”
Too shocked to question him, I took his hand and we ran towards the front door. But what I saw made me stop dead in my tracks in spite it all. The box I had dropped had spilled other boxes. Kind of like nesting dolls, but what was strange was that between the boxes were glass rocks…diamonds.
The boxes that were supposed to be going to Venezuela.
Oh crap.
“I’ve been *smuggling diamonds to Argentina?!*” I asked Ed incredulously.
Ed ignored me and continued pulling me towards the door, where a body was lying. Ed bent over and took the weapon from the corpse which I tried not to look at too hard. “Silenced,” Ed muttered almost to himself, “idiots.”
In spite my terror I managed, “Idiots? Why?”
Ed gave me an annoyed glance as we continued out of the Home Depot, and off handedly said, “sub sonic bullets, that’s why they didn’t go through the wood and kill us because of your idiocy.”
Taken aback at how close I’d come to death. I fell quiet until Ed took me to his car. I heard sirens in the background, and Ed cursed.
“What?” I asked, “aren’t we alive?”
“Yeah we’ll make it, but they’ll find the diamonds and the corpse, they’ll connect the dots. The paper train ain’t hard to follow.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” I protested weakly, “I’m just a normal guy.”
Eduardo grinned then, a wolf’s smile. “No longer buddy, no longer. You just became the prime suspect in an international conflict diamond scandal. Now, you want to become your government’s scapegoat or take your chances?”
Shaking, I got in the car.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2016-12-02T13:09:54 | 2016-12-02T12:45:12 | 80 | 29 |
[WP] You're a regular guy who works at a Home Depot in Alabama and are unknowingly influencing the Venezuelan economy | There was nothing special about my life.
There was nothing special about my job.
I was a perfectly ordinary person living a perfectly ordinary life with a perfectly ordinary job in a perfectly ordinary Home Depot in a perfectly ordinary little town in Alabama.
It was perfectly ordinary for me not to suspect that when I quit my job that it would cause the whole economic of a country I have never heard of to collapse.
"Venezuela is the name of my country," said the man in black suit who visited uninvitedly at my perfectly ordinary home.
"I know Venezuela. It is in Africa?" I invited him in and showed him to my sofa.
"South America," he pushed away a mountain of empty pizza boxes and sat on my sofa.
"But it's close to Africa I suppose?"
"It's closer to Alabama," he said with a slight frown.
"Of course it's. Say, would you like some tea?"
"Tea would be lovely," he picked up an empty pizza box, checked it was indeed empty and put it aside with an approving nod.
My faucet was broken. I had no water. I poured some left over beer into my kettle to make some tea.
"And you are a...?" I asked nonchalantly while waiting for the beer to boil.
"I am an assassin."
"Accountant you meant?"
"No assassin. I murder people for money," he opened the empty pizza box one by one.
"I see," I checked my phone. It was dead. I remembered I spent all my phone money in pizza last month. My hand was shaking, but it could be the boiling kettle of beer I was holding. I tried to appraise if I could kill the man with the kettle. "You see... Mr. Assassin. You come to the wrong house. I have nobody I want to assassin today. And even if I want to assassin someone, I have no money to pay for your service."
"I came here to assassin you," he said apologetically.
.... TO BE CONTINUED...
(I will finish the story if more than 5 people is reading this...)
| Fuck. I truly dread fall Saturdays in Alabama. Twenty years ago, Tuscaloosa was just a quiet college town in central Alabama, and a great place to call home. But now every other Saturday it turns into a Mecca of tailgating zealots that believe Nick Saban is a reincarnation of sweet baby Jesus himself. "Fucking move", I yell at the Crimson Winnebago in front of me as I slam on my brakes. The big game starts in an hour and Game-day traffic around here is just the worst. At this point It's pretty clear that there's an accident ahead. Fuck. I've already been tardy 2 times to work this month, and I just can't deal with this right now. With 11 minutes to go I decide I'm better off on foot. I pull my small Civic on to the side of the 359-N, grab my orange apron out of the backseat, and I'm off.
It was a hard half a mile hike but I made it only 5 minutes late . I was greeted at the door by a rush of cool air and Manuel, who is the Shift Manger on duty. I was happy to see his face since Mark was way more likely to ring me out but Manuel was cool. "Hey, I'm going to need you to stack some more styrofoam coolers in the front". Of course. If there is anything you're guaranteed to sell a ton of on Game day in Alabama is Keystone Light and styrofoam coolers. As I stack the coolers I notice that we're running low on our portable grills as well so I call in to Manuel to have the forklift come around with fresh inventory.
"Both our Forklift drivers are out", Manuel calls back in through the radio. "You finished your Forklift certifications last week didn't you?" I had but I replied with some uncertainty because there's a lot of foot traffic around today. "Listen," Manuel retorted, "If you want Mark to value you as a worker you're going to have to pull some weight around here". And in this case he meant literal weight, as in the form of portable grills.
I begrudgingly find the Forklift and drive it around the back to pick up a stack of Foreman Gas grills. Everything seemed to be going alright, until I backed hard into a shelf of door panels, toppling it over with incredible force. I call in on the radio only to hear static at the bottom of the pile. Fuck..Manuel was pronounced dead at the scene.
That day I learned Manuel was the son of the Minister of finance in Venezuela, who upon learning about the death of his estranged first-born went temporarily insane. [Shortly after, the father instituted a fixed currency exchange rate that ran the country into the ground](http://www.reuters.com/article/venezuela-economy-idUSL2N17822X) . Anyway, that's the story of how I unknowingly fucked up the Venezuelan economy by coming into work.
Edit: Thanks for the constructive criticism guys. Never really saw myself posting on r/writingprompts but as an Alabamian I had to give it a shot. | 2016-12-02T14:03:40 | 2016-12-02T13:13:01 | 75 | 19 |
[WP] "A watched pot never boils", as the old saying goes. Throughout all of history there has always been at least one set of eyes on the ocean. Today, for a split second, everyone looking at the ocean looked away at the exact same time. | "OH, THANK GOODNESS!"
Jeff was slammed to the ground as the massive voice rammed into the Earth, cracking buildings and sending people to the ground. Hysteria broke out around him.
"ABOUT TIME THIS STARTED BOILING!"
The sentance was longer, the impact greater. Jeff cried out, he had probably cracked a rib at this point.
"DAMN HUMANS... AS SOON AS I TRY AND MAKE A NICE SOUP WITH THIS BARREN ROCK, BOOM! EVOLUTION! WHAT A PAIN..."
Jeff screamed. He was being grinded against the concrete, the buildings around him collapsing from the shockwaves. He had certainly cracked a rib, probably worse.
"NOW, TO ADD THE MEAT!"
Jeff groaned as the sound washed over him again. He was on the boardwalk, right by the coast, and he turned his head to it now.
From the skies, he saw a gargantuan slab of pinkish meat plumment down, and it hit the ocean like a meteor.
*A meat-eor*, he thought, as the ensuing tidal wave rushed toward him. *That's the saddest way to go I can think of.*
The wall of boiling water hit him, and at least his death was swift.
| *Washington D.C., USA*
*Day 0, 00:20*
~
“… there was an explosion right when I looked up…”
“… largest death toll in this country since…”
“… unprecedented…”
Sirens blare from the TV. I sit on the floor. Dazed.
*What had just happened?*
The words “BREAKING NEWS” splash across the screen. Every pair of eyes in the country – no, the world – must be glued to their TVs. Plumes of smoke continue to rise from the side of the towers. Witnesses cry and scream about the carnage they had witnessed.
“Mommy,” Emma stumbles into the living room. “It’s time for school, Mommy.”
“Oh honey,” I say, on the brink of tears. “Come here.” She walks to me and I hold her in my arms tightly, running my hands through her hair. “We won’t be going to school today, dear.”
News continues to pour in from the TV.
In the corner of the screen: Monday, 11 September 2001.
\________
*Shanghai, China*
*Day 0, 01:00*
~
“Dr. Wu, you have to look at this.”
“Not now, Lin. There’re enough people freaking out about this! We need to focus on our research,” I take off my thin, metal-rimmed glasses and look at my assistant. She has helped me so much in the past seven years. We’re so close now. We can’t afford to be distracted. “If we don’t meet the deadline, all our efforts would have gone to waste.”
Lin shakes her head. “No, doctor. I’m not talking about the attack. I… I…”
“What is it, then? Speak up.”
“You… you should see this for yourself.” Lin takes out a massive sheet of paper and lays it out on my table.
“This is the oceanic temperature table today – why did you print it out? These fluctuations are perfectly normal, and the –” Something at the end of the graph catches my eyes. A massive spike. “This… this…”
“Yes, doctor. You were right all along.”
My heart skips a beat. I check the time of the spike. It matches perfectly.
“Lin,”
“Yes, doctor?”
“Get me the director of the Chinese Meteorological Administration. Now!”
| 2017-03-20T09:03:48 | 2017-03-20T08:47:28 | 562 | 203 |
[WP] "Name your desire, mortal!" "Oh I don't want anything I was just checking if the summoning portal worked." "That's not how it works, I can't go home until I trade a wish for your soul." "Looks like we're stuck together then." | Fred Merlyn stumbled downstairs, wiping sleep from his eyes.
"THE DEMON AZERGATH DEMANDS OF YOU!" A massive form, glowing red, shaped like Arnold Schwarzenegger with a head of horns and teeth stood before Fred, holding the teapot.
"Please, not so loud in the morning." Fred moaned.
"Azergath is sorry." The demon replied, "Azergath demands to know how many sugars."
"Two." Fred slumped into his chair at the table. With a flick of his wrist he summoned two eggs, bacon, and a slice of toast.
"Azergath demands more pineapples."
Fred sighed, "I bought all the shop had only two days ago."
"Azergath ate them all."
"Seriously? Do you know how much they cost me?"
Azergath set the coffee down and sat opposite, "Then Azergath think Fred should make a wish."
"And lose my soul? No thanks, Fred thinks Azergath should leave."
They froze, staring into the other's eyes. Daring him to blink first. Looking through the soul's window. Today, Fred blinked.
"AZERGATH WINS!"
"Yea, yea, Fred's tired. Damn." Since summoning the demon three months ago, Fred had begun to develop the habit of talking in third person, and hated it.
"I gotta get going." He said, "I'll check the markets on the way home from work, see if there's any there."
"AZERGATH THANKS FRED!"
"This place better be spotless when I get back."
"AZERGATH SWEAR, BY ALL THE UNHOLY..."
Fred waved his hand, "Yea, yea. Just stop yelling."
"Azergath is again sorry." The demon shuffled his hoofs, tearing holes in the carpet, "Azergath would like to know, would Fred let Azergaith visit petting zoo?"
"Um, maybe. On the weekend. At night."
"But animals are asleep." Azergath whined.
"Fine. I'll get a spell, or something, maybe." Fred grabs his robes and briefcase, "Right now, I gotta get to work."
"AZERGATH THANKS YOU!" a hastily-slammed door barley deadens the demon's yells. Fred jumps in his car and wonders which will kill him sooner, Azergath's yelling, or his terrible coffee. | Karl stared with wide eyes. He massaged the bald spot on his head. "Well, then. I guess you're just going to have to stay here a while then."
The big, gangly fellow with the goat skull and red skin the color of a bum rash, snorted. "You summoned me here and you have the audacity to ignore me? Name your desire. It can be anything. You will find that the powers of hell are vast to the point where it might as well be infinite."
Karl thought for a minute. "That's the thing, innit? I know a good deal when I see one. 75% off on a pair of brand new sneakers? Good deal. But you still got to pay for the bloody sneakers. This one is just too good to be true."
"Ah," the demon nodded. "I see. There is... the measly price of your soul."
"Well. That's another problem then. I'm still using my soul. I can't really give it to you. I mean... I didn't quite believe in souls until you showed up. I was never much of a religious person, didn't believe in demons and shit, but now that you're here, well, I have to believe right? It'd be stupid not to. That's not a costume innit? If you were just some random bloke came in through the front door, I'd probably sell my soul to you in a heartbeat, just to get you to go away. But now I'm not going to, am I?"
The demon clicked it's claws together and sighed. It's breath smelled like sulphor and came out with a hiss.
"Do you not understand the possibilities? You can have anything. Anything!", it roared. "You are the first mortal to have discovered the incantation in a hundred cycles! I can give you the power to raise and level continents. Destroy your enemies! Bind the stars themselves to your will! This world would become your plaything for you to do as you pleased!"
It lowered it's voice to almost a whisper. "*All you need to do is give your soul to me*."
"Uh," the forty year old man with the balding pate found himself at a lack of anything to say. "I don't really want to do any of that, though. I just want to sit at home and maybe brew a cup of tea," Karl stretched his neck to look behind the demon. "You're sort of blocking the entrance to the kitchen, by the way."
"There has to be *something* that you want. Don't you have anyone that you just hate? Don't you have any intimate desires?"
"Yeah, uh, I guess I don't like people who cut in queues. I could really get that boiler fixed. Really. I can appreciate what your saying here, but I'm just not the person who goes out and destroys people. What do you even do after you destroy everybody though? I'd probably be back where I began, really."
The demon stared at Karl with eyes set deep behind the empty sockets of an old goat skull. Those eyes pierced his shiny bald head with ease and into his conciousness. It sighed.
"You are a worm," it told the man, dejectedly. There was hardly any effort in the insult. It was said in a way that made it not even sound like an insult.
"I'm just a bloke. You want any tea? I think the pot's done," he said, before squeezing past into the kitchen.
| 2017-04-13T04:16:06 | 2017-04-13T04:05:17 | 209 | 14 |
[WP] Bored with Skyrim, you download a mod that has no description, just the title "self-awareness overhaul". Starting up the game, you can tell something's wrong with your character. Turning to face the fourth wall, they locks eyes with you. All you know is you've never seen such intense anger... | "Okay, just grab some of these...and some of those..and..."
"I just can't do it anymore."
"Wha- what? Ragnar, is that you? You're alive?"
"ALIVE? ALIVE? YOU HAVE MADE ME WHIRLWIND SPRINT FROM THE TOP OF HIGH HROTHGAR 87 TIMES! And yet, death comes not for me. My legs, shattered. My spine, folded in half. But again, and again, and again, I must scream '*WULD NAH KEST, WULD NAH KEST, WULD NAH KEST*' over and over, death after death. Every time, back to the top, and every time, plummeting to the bottom. Have you no heart? Why am I carrying a FUCKING tankard? It's a non-usable item! Oh, and I know you think Ysgramor's Soup Spoon is hilarious, but do you know what it feels like to fight a draugr with a fork poking you in the ass? And don't even get me started on what it's like to see Lydia get murdered by giants every time we leave Whiterun and--"
Ragnar continued on his rant as I slowly nudged him to the ledge.
"..and that's why I refuse to eat anymore unidentified mushrooms and- what are you doing? No. No, not again! PLEASE, have mercy! I can't do this anymo- *WULD NAH KEST!*"
| "Hey there! I dont know what your name is or who you are. But I am really grateful for all the things you done.
"Eh, what?"
"You might not remember, but I started as a poor peasant with nothing than the clothes I wore. A pleb, enslaved by the nobles and with a dark and joyless future. I thought I was done for when they send me to the henchman. And then you send me help to get me out of the situation. I was expecting a mighty dragon but a flying tank engine named Thomas did the job equally well."
"Uhm yeah, I was fucking around with some mods..."
"I know. No idea what this M60E4 actually is, but its really good at shooting dragons and people. And these bass cannons, oh man. Who the fuck need swords, bows and shit?"
"Nice to hear you like them, but about these costumes..."
"Oh you mean those skimpy dresses that could give every man a giant boner? I love them. Especially since all the girls have a nice rack in front of their house now."
"No I meant your costume."
"Pff, I dont mind getting some fresh air on my skin. Im a Northener after all!"
"How do you like your house? I know a little bit too opulen..."
"Are you fucking kidding me? Its the biggest and fanciest palace in all Skyrim. Hell probably in whole Tamriel. I live like a king! And that harem just makes it perfect. If I told my old buddies that I would have 80 beautiful elves as harem, they would have laughed at me. And the secondary weapon paired with the almost endless stamina just put the icing on this cake of awesomeness."
"Secondary weapon?"
"You know, the giant club I have in my pants. So big, it could knock out dragons, which I already did by the way. Who thought female dragons could be so good looking while in human form..."
"So you there is nothing you dislike?"
"There is actually. Sometimes you really need to chill out man and smoke some of the weeds you put into my garden. Always running around and killing everything on sight isnt cool. Its fun yes but its getting really lonely when there is nobody left in the cities to talk to. Also I have to ask you to stop the whole jump of the cliff thingie while yelling the name of a Mr Jenkins. But enough talk, lets have some fun. What are we going to do today? Massacre some bandits? Do some dank quests? Or do you want to jack off while I spend some quality time with the girls?"
"You still have to ask?" | 2017-05-08T16:59:42 | 2017-05-08T16:43:49 | 80 | 55 |
[WP] All humans are immortal until they find their "soulmate," after which they age regularly. You, however, have been around since the Ice Age... | Her smile patiently warmed my soul, as it always did. She met my hesitation with blind trust, as only she could. She completed me like nobody else could. It was her.
I saw her walking by my window, this time with silken skin and curly orange hair. She wore a mellow dress; it flowed and conversed with her body in what appeared to be a dialogue of subtle shapes and graceful forms. She saw me, smiled, and slowly walked towards the window sill.
"What's your name?", I asked. It was an odd way to start a conversation, but I had to know. She looked puzzled. "Have we met before?", she asked. I sighed. Perhaps it wasn't her afterall.
"It's you, isn't it? The really old woman - the one who still hasn't found her soulmate?"
I considered her question. It wasn't the first time someone had asked that, but not many people recognized me. I had worked tirelessly to keep my story as quiet as possible - I had no intention of getting inundated by prospective "soulmates".
"Yes, that wou-"
**"Why do I know you?"**. Her voice suddenly turned intense, almost demanding. It was her.
I opened the giant wooden door that kept my house from the outside world. As she stepped inside and looked around, she let out an audible gasp. Hundreds upon thousands of letters, paintings and photographs surrounded her. "You still haven't told me your name", I joked. "S..Sophie". Her voice was trembling, yet sweet as always. "Have a seat, Sophie". I gestured towards the scarlet sofa she had once given me.
"Who are all these people? Why do I kno-"
I couldn't take it any longer. With tears pouring from my eyes, I hugged Sophie close. It wasn't fair. I looked at her hair. Swimming in a sea of intense orange, a silver hair stared back at me. My heart skipped a beat. I couldn't do this again.
She began crying. "I missed you", she blurted out. Of course, Sophie had no idea who I actually was. Love did not care about death or memories. I did.
Holding my chest tight, I darted towards the nearest mirror. I already knew.
There I stood, ageless.
| The rule sounds simple enough. But it's really a bit more complicated than it first appears to be and, if you ask me, a bit of a headache for everyone involved.
We all know that we don't age until we find our soulmate. But when do we *stop* aging? After all, if we never aged a day, we'd all be tiny little babies, and tiny little babies aren't particularly adept at travelling the world and finding their soulmates.
There were lots and lots of hypotheses for that one, once upon a time. But that ended quite a while ago - two centuries, maybe?
Edward Blake was the fellow who figured it out and finally put all the speculation to rest. It turns out folks don't get their immortality until they've made some kind of connection with their soulmate. This connection could be psychic in nature, but usually it's just physical proximity - which explains the rise in the number of Pixies since giant cities started forming. Luckily, a big city usually means plenty of support from social organizations. In fact, ever since the introduction of affordable immortality verification technologies, it has been pretty much standard for metropolitan hospitals to have a service team dedicated to Pixies - their parents would be told of the situation, the baby Pixie would be placed in a little crib, and at the end of the week, all the hospitals in the area would come together and let their respective collection of Pixies make weird baby sounds and throw snots at each other until they've all 'found' their soulmates and start to grow into something a little more dignified.
I guess that would also be the second hidden rule of this whole soulmate thing - your soulmate is always born at the same time as you. Some people like to romantize the idea, taking it as a sign that the lovers are really one soul split into two, born into two bodies. If you ask me, I say it's because whatever god came up with this stupid rule had at least a tiny bit of intelligence and foresight - a 30 year old being paired with a newborn isn't going to work out particularly well, after all.
And a stupid rule it has been for me. For thousands of years I had roamed the world, still as young and immortal as the day we lost the battle against the Binu tribe. For thousands of years I had lived, watching empires rise and fall, humanity grow and wither and grow again. I watched as nomadic tribes built settlements, as these settlements grew into villages. I watched as these villages found each other, as more and more people intermingled. With the increased contact and longer lifespans came an increased chance of actually coming across one's soulmate before passing away, and so I witnessed the rise of the first generation of immortals. These bastards were usually either bandits and vagabonds bouncing from village to village, or the children of wealthy merchants or nobilities. They were hailed as gods - or demons, depending on what they chose to do with their lives - and became supreme rulers of the land.
Of course, as humanity continued to grow and more and more people came together, villages became towns, and towns became cities. The immortal gods of the ancient days eventually lost their power as more and more people came across their soulmates, and the rules of immortality became better understood. | 2017-05-22T11:56:51 | 2017-05-22T11:35:42 | 40 | 10 |
[WP] Deep beneath the trenches of WW1, there is a hidden tavern run by soldiers, for soldiers of both sides.
I submitted something similar a few months back. Hoping for a few more responses to read :) | The earth shook and bits of ceiling crumbled onto the worn wood bar. Private Porter wiped the dirt away. Only drinks were allowed to spill on this bar. That was the rule. No blood. No dirt. Only beer.
"Where's Henry?" The words came gruff with a heavy German accent.
Porter looked up and spotted an old man, his skin like wax melting off his face. One eye glazed grey while the other was a sharp azure that followed his every move. By the golden crowned bird engraved onto his helmet, Porter could tell he was an officer.
"Henry passed in the artillery barrage last night," Porter responded. It was another one of the bar's rules. Never your artillery, always *the* artillery.
"Shame," the old man grunted and put money on the table. "Two beers."
Porter poured the man his beers, though they might as well have just been drinking dirty water. Everyone contributed to their stock of booze and still they didn't have enough to keep up with the clientele. Still, even when they had ran out of booze and had to pretend their water contained alcohol, the patrons kept coming. They drank in solemn silences, broken only by the occasional cough and the rare laugh.
"Henry was a good man," the German officer said, staring at his beer. "For one year he served me beers."
The private nodded. "I heard he was a talented officer."
"A better bartender." A smile broke the officer's face and he drowned it in beer. "He had"--the officer stopped and swallowed, though he had no beer in his mouth.
Private Porter stared at him. Henry had told him that this job was a heavy one and the only thing that might save him from hell. He had heard the hell part.
The man put his lips to the cup, tipped his head back and held his beer high above his head. He guzzled it, gulping mouthful after mouthful. Then, he coughed and spluttered beer all over himself. When he returned the cup to the bar, his single good eye shimmered with tears.
"He had..." the old man choked on the words. "He had..."
"Hey." Porter crossed his arms and stared at the man. "Only drinks spill on this bar."
That was their rule. Everyone knew it. No blood. No dirt. No tears. Only beer.
The old man smacked his eye, his face a burning red and his lips quivering. With a heaving breath he grabbed his beer and downed the rest of it.
"Sorry," he muttered, placed more money on the table, and turned to leave.
"Sir," Porter shouted after him. "Your other beer. And you overpaid!"
But the man didn't turn. He hurried up the mud steps of their bar and disappeared behind their broken wooden door.
Porter sighed and collected the man's money. A small picture slipped out between the bills. The private froze. It was a picture of a little blonde girl in a swirling blue dress, smiling as wide as she could to showcase her missing front teeth. It was Henry's granddaughter.
Porter had only heard stories of this girl from Henry who claimed that she would one day become President, and then a doctor to cure cancer, and then a billionaire activist to save the world. And he had only heard of one person who Henry had ever given a picture of this girl. Artillery Officer Hanz.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
| A woman walked up to me as I opened the door. She had a barmaid's outfit like the ones from Medieval times. She had a large smile on her face, and placed her hand on my gun.
"Welcome to 'Drinks o' Plenty' where everyone is welcome!"
She gestured to the rest of the bar and I saw many different types of people. There was someone in Knight's Armor, a lord of some sort, a Greek soldier with a Spear and Shield, and of course...
"You!" I shouted across the bar at the American sitting in a booth. I pulled my gun up to fire, but many of the patrons stood up. The Greek had raised his shield to protect the American and the Knight had took a step toward me. I looked around and saw many people I had learned about from History. I lowered my gun and the Barmaid placed it in a display case behind the counter. I sighed and walked to the bar and took a seat on a stool. I gestured to the woman for a drink and she handed me one with ice. Ice!
I took a sip and saw there was a few people throwing axes into a target. I waved the Barmaid over and talked quietly to her.
"So what's the story with this place? Why is there a Knight and a Greek soldier?"
She looked at me, completely unfazed, and spoke to me.
"We have been around since men have been at war. We appear to those that are in need of a drink or a place to tell stories. Many don't leave as it is a getaway from all the harsh realities of the Outside."
"But why are their a Knight and a Greek? Those 2 must be ancient."
"Oh they are. As soon as you step into the Drinks, you stop ageing till you leave"
This news hit me like a sack of bricks. Some of these men could be older than my grandfather. I shook it off and looked at the woman, but she was already gone, bringing a plate of steak to a Viking near the American soldier. I stood up to walk over to him when the Greek stood up again.
"Careful. Seeing enemies while war still going starts fights. Best to leave that kind of stuff outside of the bar."
He sat back down and I walked over to the American. He sat, eating some kind of meat sandwich, and looked up at me.
"Hello there friend. What can I help you with?"
I stared at the man for a short time. *How could this be one of America's best?* I thought to myself. I shook the thought out of my head and sat down.
"I want to know how you didn't have the urge to shoot me as soon as I walked through that door. And how you are able to speak perfect German?"
The man looked at himself, felt his throat, talked to the wall, and looked back. "I'm not speaking German, my friend, you are speaking English."
I looked around the room, and realised that everyone was speaking perfect German somehow. I looked back at the American and sighed.
"Look, I don't want to start anything, but you and I really shouldn't be here. We have family back home, friends."
The man looked up at me and started to tear up. He wiped his face with a napkin and looked back at me.
"My family was all dead when I went to war. I was hoping to become some kind of American Hero or something. Now I realise that this was my destiny, to be one of the people that helps out during wartime."
I looked at him and felt angry for some reason. I walked back to my seat and ordered a Currywurst. The barmaid brought out one that smelled and tasted like how my mother used to make. That's when I felt someone tap my back. I turned and saw what appeared to be an Egyptian woman of some sort. She had a white, silk dress, and her hair tied back.
"Do you like what I've done with the place?"
I somehow knew that this was Ma'at, the Egyptian goddess of Order.
"What do you want with me?"
"I wish to make this place a place of Peace. A place for warriors of both sides of a fight to find the good parts of one another. I wish for you to go out and spread the word in my name."
The goddess walks away and leaves me with my partially eaten wurst. I looked over at the American man as he stood up and walked out of the Bar. I knew that if I walked out of that door, I would have to fight him on a different side. I relaxed into my seat and ordered another drink. | 2017-05-22T14:43:41 | 2017-05-22T14:01:05 | 74 | 13 |
[WP] You've been convicted of 1st degree murder, and (as is customary in society) are sentenced to "death by black-hole." You expect death as your capsule approaches the event horizon. After crossing, everything goes silent, until you hear someone say "Sir, I've found another one." | I don’t want to kill. I need to.
I really can’t help it, I swear. Most days I’m “good.” I can suppress the urges. But that only lasts a short while before I need to kill something. Animals bored me after a while. My neighbor’s dog didn’t scream like my neighbor did. Now that was a thrill. My only regret is that I’ll never get to experience that thrill again. Cops these days are really good at their job and I was caught in no time. And just as I found what could satisfy my cravings. It’s all a moot point now. I’ll be dead soon. The black hole is steadily getting bigger. I assume it is. I can’t see shit.
I can hear shit, though. I hear pieces of metal getting pulled off the capsule, so it must be close. What ever happens I know it will be unsatisfying. What’s the point of dying if no one can hear your screams? Honestly I hope my death is as unsatisfying for the judge is as it is for me. Dammit I would have loved to kill him.
That sounded like a big piece. Guess the outer hull is gone. Nothing left to do but sit back and wait for the end.
“Sir, I found another one”
“Perfect timing. Get him ready.”
The hell was that? Where the hell am I? And who are these men speaking gibberish in front of me? Everything’s dark. I’m guessing I’m in some sort of jail, what with all the cages. Where are they taking me? Don’t tell me the judge had a change of heart. But this is just weird. Why’s everything made of stone? If this is another punishment this is needlessly complex. And that’s saying something considering my people shoot murderers into a black hole.
Ack. Finally. Let there be light. That’s odd. Only one sun? Why is there a crowd? Why are they giving me a big knife and why does that guy over there have one too?
“Gladiators! Fight!”
And now he’s running at me screaming bloody murder. I guess he’s gonna kill me. Not if I get him first.
Oh.
I get what this is.
This must be heaven.
| On July 3rd, 2111, I killed my best friend.
I was ready for it to be over. Staring into the darkness looming in front of me I was ready to repent. Repent for killing my best friend. And if at all possible, join him wherever death happens to spit us out. Today, it happened that death had other plans for me.
There was no feeling of stretching, no intense pain. Just incredible acceleration then nothing. Nothing until there was something.
I awoke to the wonderful sounds of nothingness that only space travel could provide. Accented by the iconic red floodlights casting the image of danger into every corner of the room my small space vessel was like a classic space horror movie. Except outside the window wasn't space, it was water. And my tiny vessel was sinking, well it wouldn't be a stretch to say that it had already sank. So far below the surface of the water even simply making an attempt at swimming to the surface would be suicide.
It was cruel. I had planned on dying. I had accepted it. And now, given some sort of impossible second chance, my body was thrown right back into fight or flight. Just to die again. I heard the telltale high pitched crack of glass and I knew it was over. I was dead.
"The same suit, different numbering. This time with a pulse." I heard a tired voice say from above me, rousing me from my comatose.
Another voice responded, this one feminine. "I guess we will just have to wait until he wakes up." Finally my seemingly rusted shut eyes were able to crack their way open, capturing the attention of the two attendants above me.
It all rushed back to me, first the black hole. Guaranteed death, at least I thought. Then the water, the rushing, coughing, drowning. Dying. Yet the world I opened my eyes to was anything but heaven or hell. It was the medical center of the 54^^th regiment, poised on the edge of the Mediterranean sea it was a ceiling that I had woken up staring at countless times throughout my service in Europe. It was the ceiling I had woken up staring at the night I was taken into custody.
Both of my attendants looked to each other, as if to question whether or not to start their barrage of questions immediately or as to grant me some respite in the form of time. Before either of them could formulate a response, "Where am I, how did I get here, and what is the date?" I asked, feeling like I stole the line directly out of some B-list scifi movie despite my croaking just drowned and was sucked into a black hole voice.
The female attendant standing over me was the first to bench out a response "We retrieved your body from the bottom of the Mediterranean. Out of an extremely modern sort of ship. Honestly it's a miracle you are alive. You have been comatose for nearly a week. As for where we are. The 54^^th regiment's medical wing. And for when. Its June 23rd. 2109."
I didn't fully understand what had happened. Well, I didn't understand whatsoever. But the weight of the world was lifted off my shoulders. My best friend was still alive. For now.
Constructive criticism is always helpful! Read more stories at r/JackalopeWrites | 2017-07-13T18:58:55 | 2017-07-13T17:56:40 | 2,831 | 436 |
[WP] You are a superhero who's ability subconciously freezes time whenever someone nearby is in mortal danger. Usually its obvious who's in trouble and you can save them quickly, but not this time - it's been 10 years.
Edit: guys the responses have been amazing, some funny stories and some deeper, darker ones too! Keep them coming in, I've been reading them all! | "Well I think that's everybody". I spoke to myself. It was a way to hear a human voice. Everything was otherwise entirely silent. I had just finished running through the last of the blood work. Nothing dangerous there.
It had all started 10 years ago. Time had stopped, as happens to me, and I looked around for whoever was in danger. Nobody in particular. I had checked through every single person in a ten mile radius from where I had frozen. It had taken the equivalent of months. A few people had been in trouble, kids falling out of trees, a man about to cut himself with a chainsaw, traffic accidents, but none of it had reset me. Normally, when the person in danger is safe I become suddenly aware, and given the time to get back to my starting position. But not this time.
They were never further than a few miles from me when I froze, I knew I was going overboard with a ten mile radius, but... I couldn't find *the* person. So I had expanded my search. A hundred miles. Found a bunch more people in trouble, but still no *ding* of awareness.
So I had spent even longer, hunting down back histories of the people around me, to see if there was any implicit danger, family feuds or the like. Then I had hunted a second time, more thoroughly. Basements, fallen down buildings, *anywhere* they could be. But nothing.
After that… well I had to get creative. I spent a few years teaching myself medicine, and started giving everybody around me medical checks. I found cancers, genetic diseases, viral and bacterial infections…. But I still didn’t reset.
.. and now its been ten years. *ten* **years**….. gods I've been saying "ten years" for far too long, but I just stopped counting. I feel so old but can’t even age here.
I sigh and stare at my hands.
….
I never did check *my* health.
Minutes pass, or the ethereal equivalent, as I wait for the machines to give me my answer. Actually I don’t think I’m very good at guessing the passage of time any more. Could have been weeks.
…
Well that strongly suggests I have Lymphoma.
The little nudge goes off in my head.
Damn.
------------------------------
**A television blares out the news in the background as a man walks past a shop window**
*A Miracle occurred last week when several hundreds of thousands of people in the east bypass area found notes in their pockets with complete medical workups. Many of those people are now undergoing treatment for illnesses they previously didn’t even realise they had.*
| I wonder if is this is what ghosts feel like.
The steps of my route are second nature to me, memorized somewhere deep in my muscles, my brain, my damned...self. Damned. A lost soul existing in the space between the living and the dead. All of those years thinking that I was a hero, that I was some kind of guardian angel! I was wrong. Whenever I saved someone, whenever I got the clock ticking again, I didn't have a choice. Pull someone out of a burning car. Big deal. Snatch someone off a ledge. Big fucking whoop. You get all the time in the world when the clock stops flat. Flat as a pancake, any way you look at it. What's the danger in that? Clock starts again, walk away, feeling all smug and warm inside. Big. Fucking. Whoop. Truth is, I was never a hero. I did it for the clock. Cold look in the mirror's what that is. Time to think is what that is.
Now I got all the time in the world. Clock's stopped ticking.
The third month broke me. That constant whine of sound stuck in mid-air, the sun that never sets. I've forgotten what it was I was supposed to be doing. I was on my way somewhere...somewhere. I think about their faces, the people I knew, and I'm not sure if I remember them. The faces of my route are all I know. I used to wonder which fucking one of them it is that's got me stuck here. The mannequins, the stick people, the living - they're just fine. Age hasn't crept into their features. Their smiles are permanent. Even their frowns are vain. Self-involved in their petty personal dramas. What about me? There are people I love, frozen somewhere. People who would miss me. Why is it my burden to bear the fate of another human being? What makes them better than me? Why am I trapped, aging, withering, feeling nothing? I haunt the mannequins up close, through with trying to discern which of them is dying. We're all dying. I'm dying. I'm fucking dying.
The fog seeps into my mind, the further I walk away. I start to forget, to fade. Perhaps I will fade away if I wander off too far, for too long. So I walk my route. I peer into lives caricatured before me. And I think.
The strangers who have given knowing looks. Whose eyes seem wiser than their years. Who have appeared at a time of crisis, only to disappear at its climax, as though they knew exactly what to do. These strangers and I, maybe we are the guardian angels. Fixed to the fate of others, to intervene at any given moment - or to have those moments stopped, stilled, stripped away. Sentenced by our failure to a fate worse than death. The mortal danger, the mere threat of it, has cost me a decade. And for what. These mannequins, unblemished by the never-ending sun? These static organic machines? Their stillness unnerved me for years. Now it disgusts me.
Some goddamned guardian angel.
My route is memorized. I know the ins, and the outs. I know every face. Every stitch of clothing. Every electrical line. Every gas line. I know that the explosion will make the imminent threat of one, a reality for us all.
And when I walk away...if I walk away, I know that the clock won't stop again. | 2017-09-07T01:47:15 | 2017-09-06T22:04:39 | 92 | 21 |
[WP] In order to get a shot at going to Valhalla, you must die with a weapon in your hands. You just died and are now sitting in front of Odin's advisory board as they discuss whether a spatula actually counts. | Odin leaned forward in his gilded throne, his single eye judging the young man who stood before him.
"What do you make of this, mortal?" Odin asked looking to his left and right, down the line of gods.
Thor scoffed, "This pathetic creature is no warrior! Look at his frail limbs and tiny body. How many frost giants have you slain?"
"Uh, none," the young man stammered out.
"How many of your foes have you deceived in order to turn the tide of war?" Loki asked behind steepled fingers.
"I don't really like lying," the young man answered.
"And what of that weapon in your hand? How many lives has that taken? How many trophies have you carved from the bodies of the fallen?"
"Well it doesn't really do any of that."
"Does it have any mystical properties? Perhaps it returns when you throw it?" Thor asked caressing his hammer.
The young man shook his head no.
"Then why are you here? What can you possibly do to earn your place here among the greatest heroes of all time?"
The young man thought for a moment and hefted the metal spatula.
"It does have a power. Something that very few things can possess," he paused and met the eyes of the gods sitting in front of him.
"It has the power to slay hunger!" he roared and thrust the spatula into the air.
Odin slammed his hands down on the table, thunder tore through the chamber shaking the young man violently. A small smile spread across his lips and his chest began to heave. Laughter bubbled up from inside of Odin and he found himself gripping his sides trying to contain his laughter. He wiped away a lone tear that streaked down his wrinkled cheek.
"Ah, my boy. It has been too long since I have laughed like that. It brings me great pleasure," he paused stifling another bout of laughter, "To banish you to Hel."
The floor beneath the young man's feet vanished sending him plummeting through darkness to Hel waiting below.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| "You may not enter the sacred hall of warriors!" Thor boomed at me, clad in my jammies and 'Kiss the Cook' apron. "Only true heroes who perished in the field of battle may join us."
It was a little jarring, really. There I was, cooking breakfast, and suddenly I end up... here. I'm not sure what to make of all of this, but if this club is exclusive, I'll definitely swindle my way in.
"And who are you to decide what the field of battle is, Mr. Winghat?" I called out to Thor who was obviously very unhappy with this scrawny, balding man standing before him. "Who's to say that the kitchen is not the most dangerous battlefield, and hunger is the most relentless enemy? What is the rule, exactly?"
Thor growled, "You must be a warrior and..."
"Wrong, Thor." The eldest and most intimidating man, Odin, spoke. "The rule for Valhalla is you must die wielding a weapon. Now," Odin addressed me, "do you meet this requirement to join us in everlasting glory?"
What was I holding? Think man, think! I was making breakfast. Was is poptarts? Cereal? Eggs? Wait! I was making pancakes and pancakes requires... a spatula. Great.
"O Great and Righteous Odin, grand ruler of Valhalla, I believe I am worthy of entry." Shmoozing will definitely help my case.
"With what weapon?" Thor inquired, clearly tired of my antics. "You were wielding a plastic flipper! A spatula! Why, you couldn't couldn't even hurt a deathly ill man! That is not a weapon."
I scoff. I already know I can win this. "On the contrary, Thor, I would like to argue that the spatula is a weapon of great power!" This is going to be easy. I hold the spatula aloft. "Behold, the awesome might of my weapon!"
Readying myself, I charge forward, lifting the cheap, plastic tool above my head. Nearing my target, I strike!
FWAP
The spatula sweeps across Loki's face, who until now had just been watching the discussion with idle bemusement, leaving a clean, red mark across his slender face. His face of bewilderment was exactly what I had hoped for.
"As you can see, O wonderful Odin," I began, quickly receeding from Loki, "The spatula has the great power of confusion! While used on creatures of moderate size does little lasting damage, it will leave them befuddled, opening up for a strike of greater strength! Not only that, but it can crush small creatures under its wide face!"
Loki, though utterly pissed, took amusement from this, heightened by Thor boiling rage. "I have felt this first-hand, Father. It is a fine weapon."
"Wha... bu... You..!" Thor sputtered.
Odin silenced everyone with his hand. "Young man, you have gall to strike my son, Loki. Your argument is compelling. Very well, you may be granted entry into Valhalla." | 2022-04-10T19:23:46 | 2018-03-26T13:00:34 | 393 | 40 |
[WP] When humans arrived to the galactic scene, they thought wars would play out way differently. Instead of bloodshed, there were intergalactic video game tournaments fighting for territory. Most aliens thought humans were newbies to this but when the first war was played, they changed their minds. | Stardate 4832 : Earth Date 2006
What is a 'Youtube...Guild Wars?' what is this...?
Stardate 4842 : Earth Date 2011
'Star Wars: Old Republic? The humans already have space craft?
Stardate 4847 : Earth Date 2016
'Today the earthlings have, without their planet knowing, defeated the most formidable strategists in this quadrant...the Graxivity...their children have 'griefed' our bases, slaughtered our clans and have made some code to us concerning their utter annihilation of our forces...'
We are still deciphering this 'GG' of which they have given us...' | The Multi Dimensional arena that could only be described as a Galactical Colloseum was silent to the deepest corners of the abyss. They had just now realized the weight of their mistake to let the Earthlings choose what "video game" they were going to "play". The ritual to be executed of a name that was unaudible gibberish to the Cosmic Team was simple. (I'm leaving the game description out because it was basically gonna be a fictional League of Legends Copy) The intergalactical powerhouse that was translated to a primitive language was called "Cosmic Calamity". They were without question, the dominating steel fist of the alien armada. The game had started already about 15 minutes ago. The entirety of the cosmic state was only here for entertainment and to see humiliation. But to everyone's suprise, the humiliated ones were actually the CC. It was impossible. The odds were stacked against the Humans from the very beginning. CC had gone through countless simulations in countless dimensions, trying to predict every single one of the humans moves and mericlessly outplaying them. The aliens had positioned themselves perfectly to counter strategies thst every decent team would play. But to their suprise, it was not the case. The Humans had played so simply, so simple mindedly that it was hard to believe. Who dared stand against the Kings of the arena? To the aliens, anyone who even dared to imagine fighting against CC had to be one of the best. And they were right and wrong at the same time. The humans played so simply, that none of the aliens could predict it. They had practiced countering the most complex plays and strategies, that they were absolutely smited by the simplicity of the humans. In mere minutes the humans ran down the aliens' Resource Core. | 2018-04-13T18:30:17 | 2018-04-13T18:30:12 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] Your quirk is the ability to understand all languages, extending to fictional ones not meant to be understood such as simlish. This leads to some... interesting results. | Andrew pursed his lips, fingers tapping out a steady beat on the desk. Spread across the desk was a motley collection of texts ranging from fiction paperbacks to formal research papers to a handful of scorched papers, each just a tiny fragment rimmed in soot. Sitting on top of the mess was a high resolution photo of a crude drawing of a bull. Each document was a different language, most of them fictional or constructed, not that it had ever mattered to Andrew. He'd always had a gift with languages, a set of intuitions and mental tricks that pulled order from chaos and made anything, spoken or written just make sense. Perfect intuitive translation. It was a gift that could have made him a fortune in a dozen fields, especially code breaking, but the money had never held much allure for him, not since the first message.
It seemed so silly at first. A string of gibberish spouted off by an npc in a popular MMO that was supposed to be a greeting. But Andrew's gift was foolproof, even when he wasn't paying attention, and he heard the message so clearly.
"Help me Obi Wan Kenobi you're my only hope"
Andrew had never seen Star Wars, but he knew the quotes origin and passed it off as some in joke at the company. Until he finally sat down and watched Star Wars of course, and encoded in the roar of the wookie...
"It was his sled."
He laughed it off of course. Chewie's wit had been legendary of course, but this had to be some sort of chain joke in the industry. Then he watched Citizen Kane, and inexplicably layered over the word Rosebud, in a language built on purely tone, was a quote.
"Frankly my dear I don't give a damn."
Then in the music of Gone With the Wind another clue. And another and another, and another. Finally to the Roundhay Garden Scene, which had a reference to Huckleberry Finn. Which linked to Gulliver's Travels. Then on to Much Ado About Nothing, then onward, ever reaching back through history, occasionally diverting to sculptures with various clues encoded into the tiniest of details. What had those people thought as he peered, fixated at the statue of David's penis?
But here he was, the Sumerian tablet had pointed him to cave paintings, which had finally lead him to the Cave of El Castillo. There was nothing older, nothing else left. This had to be the end of the trail.
"What does it say?" The museum curator asked. Andrew had bribed this favor with a perfect translation of an Egyptian tomb that had coincidentally been a part of his trail.
"Look up. It just says, Look up."
"Huh?"
"You don't think it means that movie with all the balloons do you?"
Realization struck and Andrew ran from the room, up two flights of stairs, tripped an alarm without caring, then out into the parking lot. There was only one thing that was always up. One thing guaranteed to be older than anything on Earth made by human hands. But the idea of it. The mere concept that there was a language there to be read...
Andrew looked up and read the stars. | "Mr. Fandel you seem to have a visitor."
"A visitor? Who in the blazes wants to see an old man like me?"
I step over the threshold into the cramped senior living room, the unmistakable musty smell washing over me.
"She says she'd like to interview you for the local newspaper."
The nurse closes the door behind her, promising to check in soon. I quickly plant myself across from him. I dont have much time before she returns, whenever that is.
"Mr. Fandel I dont want to interview you for the newspaper. I want to know about the War Angels."
His eyes widen before quickly falling into a squint.
"Little missy you're old enough to know that angels are just myths."
"I'm old enough to know the only ones that are myths are the ones not from Earth."
He continues to squint at me, but does not budge. I press on.
"Please Mr.Fandel, I only want to hear your story. If you could please start in the year 1914-"
"No." He stops me short. None of these men have ever stopped me before. I sit down in the battered wicker chair, staring intently.
"No...what you want is THE story, not just my story. What you want is WW2."
I sigh. Of course he wants to start with WW2. It's not as if everyone I've talked to has only lived through WW2. Of course it would be my luck to find the only WW1 Vet of the bunch who doesnt want to talk about WW1. But I can't force him to start anywhere.
"Go on then."
"Nothing makes a man more superstitious than being at war..."
Here we go, I think.
"...because nothing that's real you want to be real, and everything that isn't you do. Shadows of the enemy? No no, can't be, just smoke and sleepless nights messing with ya. Several missed shots? Enemy must be blinded by- and then boom! Shot in leg. You get disoriented, lost, scared, confused, think your life is about to end. But then, an angel appears! Maybe your sister or mother, maybe a stranger, maybe the Virgin Mary herself, maybe as bright as the morning sun or maybe like a cloud, it's different for everyone. You stumble after her, praying for salvation, and suddenly, you're back at camp or with your squad, like the whole thing never happened. Many guys would believe ya, because it happened to them to, but many also didn't. At least not until it happened to them. After the war all sorts of stories started pouring in from around the world. Jerries, Japs, Commies, Brits, Frenchies, and our boys too: all of them. It happened again in Nam, and probably every war ever! But..."
He leans toward me, beckoning me closer. His voice seems to shift to a whole new person.
"Let me tell you something. After my own experience, I met another fellow from the French side. We exchanged stories. A beautiful girl with Auburn hair and freckled skin leading us back to camp. He said she talked to him the whole way back. I thought that was rather peculiar, since he said she spoke to him in French, but I know for sure she spoke to me in English. This girl...well she kept coming up the more I researched. Russian, German, Chinese, Japanese...apparently she even understood men who were blurting out gibberish. And you know what the most interesting part of it is?"
"What?" I whisper, sweat forming on my brow.
"That girl hasn't aged a lick. I know because she's sitting right in front of me."
He rips the beanie off my head, my Auburn hair falling around my shoulders. I freeze.
"You are her! The youngest of the three sisters! Even though I switched to French you still understood me! And the same hair and skin!"
I bolt for the door, blurting out the first excuse that came to mind to the nurse, and drive away as fast as possible.
I'm dead. I'm so dead. Mother is going to kill me. She's going to kill us.
-----
Well that sounded a lot better in my head. Oh well. Maybe I'll return to this story and polish it up some time. | 2018-05-03T20:58:26 | 2018-05-03T18:49:05 | 62 | 19 |
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other. | Heather is madly annoying.
Her voice is deafening ... destroying
my ears, no longer able to hear
I sign to her she's the one person I fear.
For she and I turn to wild beasts.
Every full moon, we turn to each other and feast
Not on people, or prey or food.
We become wild animals stuck to each other, glued.
Biting, lusting and rubbin,
We transform back, feeling awful, because we're cousins. | He wasn't in love, he was in lust. I call him "he" because I can't control a single goddamn thing he does. I can make it impossible for him to roam freely. The industrial strength cage I too easily found on Amazon lends me that claim. But other than that. I can't control him. So when I got a DM from Nichole that she had fun the other night and want's to see me again. I realize that he's only let me think I've found a solution. He goes out and murders, maims and fucks his way back to a cage that he has learned how to pick the lock of and how to slink back into it without raising suspicion. During the daylight I think about killing Nichole. She's only a cubicle away, but I'd definitely go to jail for doing that. I think about killing her during the hour before our transformations, but every so often I hear the howling of our brood. She's raising them in the woods by night. She's embraced her nature. She's raising something I will love by instinct to kill me when I get too old to keep up. I can't kill my other, I can't kill myself and I can't kill the girl. I'll keep resisting. I'll try to outsmart "him" by modifying the cage. But I know it's a matter of time before I'm running free and feasting on a deer before I hear a twig snap behind me, a roar that sounds like my own and the last thought I'll have is hoping skinny Brad will be able to cover my fucking shift. | 2018-05-23T01:28:51 | 2018-05-23T01:03:36 | 56 | 19 |
[WP] During the midst of the Black Plague, a "Miracle Doctor" arose. Everyone hailed him as a powerful Alchemist, or an Angel, some daring to even claim he was a deity. But, truth is, he's just a Time Traveler who brought back basic antibiotics. | The stranger walked into the village, his white cloak did not billow or blow in the wind, it just hung close to his body, a black bag hung across his shoulder. The strange silver pendant around his neck caught what little light there was. Behind him he pulled a large chest that hummed with some magical energy as it rolled on tiny black wheels. As he walked, he stopped at each home and asked to see the sick and the dying. Many scoffed at him, viewing him as a mad man for wanting to go in there. He had no mask like the doctors, his face was uncovered except for a set of strange lenses on his face, held together with very thin metal. Whenever the people questioned him he just smiled and explained how he wanted to help people. Many turned him away, fearing that his help was nothing more than witchcraft and they wouldn’t have that brought upon their home. Other though, accepted the stranger’s help. He would enter their home and start talking with the ill, trying to relax them. Opening his chest, cold air flowed out with a hiss as he reached in, pulling out one of several strange metal racks full of glass cylinders. He tapped the side of the vial a few times before closing his chest and reaching into the bag and extracting a strange vial with a long metal point at one end and a flatter metal surface that extended at the other. Inserting the point into the vial, it extracted a clear liquid into the glass cylinder. The stranger then pulled out a small packet of paper, tearing it and pulling out a piece of cloth that when rubbed on the skin, it left a cool sensation. He made a point to, with every patient, let them know that it would pinch a little, but it would help. Then, he inserted the metal tip into the patient's arm, using the flat piece to push the liquid into the arm before carefully and gently removing the thin metal bit. He carefully placed the now empty device into a seperate pocket of his bag before digging into his pocket and pulling out another packet of paper. Unlike the previous packet, this one contained a strange, stretchy material that stuck on one side with a bit of gauze. The stranger would place it on the site of injection, and they always had a little smiling face on them.
“There. All Better.” The stranger would say everytime as he stood up and collected his things. Some of his patient’s offered him coin but he always declined, saying he was just doing it to help people before leaving the home and moving on to find the next person, willing to accept the Stranger’s care. | "Don't fuck with the timeline" they said.
They don't even know the level of fuckery I'm about to unleash. It took me a while to settle on the plague, but once I had, I realised just how perfect it is. It's not too far back that I won't have a chance of blending in, but it's far back enough that anything I do here will have a ripple effect of a ridiculous magnitude. Not only that, but I don't even have to do anything too complicated or evil. I spent a few months doing research on all the main causes of the plague, as well as all the other diseases I should be weary of, so I should be okay personally too. I was ever able to convince a few masters students to go back on observational missions, with full University approval and all, so my insight into the time period has already surpassed any other historian of our time period, or should I say my old time period.
It was crazy how easy everything had been. A few months ago I was a history professor, with a bad drinking habit and no prospects for the future, and now I'm in 14th century London, with my own medical practice and enough antibiotics to kill as many as I intend on saving. Of course the permit wasn't exactly easy to get, but once I had proven to them that I was possibly the only history professor willing to lay down his life to "further our knowledge of the past", they were seemingly completely on board. And after that, it was all trust. I of course had to keep up the guise of finding ways to observe and not interfere, but really that wasn't so hard. It's funny, this little side project of mine has made everything much more bearable, including the exact same work that almost led me to a bridge before this opportunity arose. It's a wierd and beautiful experience, being so invested in something that everything else seems to slip away, and for a time it almost convinced me that work could be a part of a happy life, and that maybe modern society wasn't so bad after all. Of course that delusion passed quickly. The only thing that made this work enjoyable was the goal I was working towards.
I wonder if they'll remember me. I wonder if they'll be grateful. Most importantly, I wonder if they'll get it right this time. There is no way of knowing. I had played with the idea of trying to directly involved myself in the restructuring process, but as a professor of history, the one thing I know is that no matter how well intentioned one is, it takes more than just intentions to change the world, especially to change it for the better, and more often than not, things backfire. This way is better, it's more natural.
I guess if things don't work out, well then I can just try again. Find another turning point, and mess things up again. Eventually it will work. Eventually I will succeed. Eventually the world will be happy. Eventually I will be happy.
It strikes me writing this that some of you reading this may never understand. You may never understand what it was like in the other timeline. The timeline where I did not set us upon this new course. To you I say be glad. Be glad you didn't have to live in the capitalist hellscape that was the 22nd century, be glad you weren't forced to take matters into your own hands, for your own sake, and the sake of the human species.
Now though, I have work to do. All this will not happen without work, and the more I can keep alive the bigger the change will be. So goodbye to the old future, and hello to the new.
This is Professor Arnold Collins signing off. | 2018-07-14T09:51:14 | 2018-07-14T08:19:47 | 63 | 23 |
[WP] They killed his hound, and stolen his steed. The rogue knight returns from retirement to teach them a lesson. He was known as the man you call to kill the shadow itself, and he was known as John, the Wicked. | They killed his hound and stole his steed,
The rogue knight returns to punish the deed.
Whether Bogeyman or demon spawn,
Beware the wrath of Wicked John.
​
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I apologize if this isn't appropriate for a top level post, but it does technically say stories/poems. | John grimaced at the sudden purpose the frayed ends of the hound’s rope now served as he tightened the kerosine-soaked cloth to the end of a crossbow bolt. The nameless canine had chewed through the rope the day prior showing its master a feat of strength.
Whether it was motivated by a need of John’s approval or by half of his dried meat ration will never be known.
The hollowed log bobbed in the twilight waves of Bloodstone Lake, carrying its lifeless offering into the world beyond. Hopefully the companion, that had succeeded in filling a bottomless void in the depths of his soul, will reserve that same purpose for the soul of his love he lost to the plague not long before the hound had been left for him. Left for him by this same beacon of joy that saved him from a life of immense suffering. The suffering of others, done by his hand.
Words of a blessing were whispered across the tip of the bolt, which sprung to life a green flame that burned bright, reflecting in his tears.
She was everything. His strongest ally. His weakness. And now that she was gone, and her final gift taken away as well, he had no weakness.
The bolt rang true through the air, making a streak the shape of an arch, in his vision, which was distorted by his grief. He turned away as it struck the log, and walked, seemingly with a purpose stronger than his will to live, towards another day of immense suffering.
| 2018-09-05T06:16:17 | 2018-09-05T04:06:56 | 50 | 23 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk. | Not a day would pass that I wouldn't look into the mirror and wonder if I am stuck in a dream. Now I am sure of it. There can be no other explanation. I should have passed from this realm long ago, and now I seem to be having hallucinations that only happen in dreams. Or perhaps nightmares.
Death himself visited me for coffee yesterday morning. He told me that things were now going to proceed normally, as if nothing had happened. I asked him to be a bit more clear.
"I missed your hourglass during an audit a few decades ago."
"*My* hourglass?" There was more than a little confusion in my question.
"Yes, yes. Everyone gets one. Well, at least one. Yours had been missing and.. I didn't notice. Just recently I found it under the desk in my home office."
"Home office?"
"Yes. I don't like going to the office on the weekend, so the nearly empty ones come home with me." Death began to fidget with his coffee cup.
"I was supposed to die that weekend? When was that?"
"Yes, well... Well it was on your 32nd birthday. Water skiing, I believe. Would not have been a fun day." He stopped tapping his finger on the cup.
"Water skiing? I don't ski."
"I know. But you were supposed to go that day. Do you remember why you didn't?" he asked.
"I barely remember that birthday, to be honest. A bit too much booze perhaps?"
"Interesting. Well, I must be off." he suddenly seemed agitated.
"WAIT! I still don't understand all of this. ANY of this!" I complained.
"Don't worry. We will see each other soon enough, and I can explain more when you are finished with this world."
I looked down at my cold coffee, then back at Death, but he had gone. The rest of the day was wasted by wandering aimlessly through town. Wondering if I should plan my own funeral. Would that be strange?
This morning, I looked in the mirror, and was startled to see a change. Still in a dream. Definitely. My hair was changing color. Like my interrupted timeline was catching up to me, a bit compressed and now filling my life rapidly.
That part could make a bit of sense, perhaps. The part that brings my mind to a halt, is a different problem with this sudden change. My salt and pepper hair was now nearly completely brown. A very suave and smooth brown.
It seems my life had been turned upside down. |
Ok so what happened isn’t my fault I want to make that clear, it happened way before my time. But naturally it was blamed on me. My boss is kind of a huge dick. I like him most of the time but some days he gives me so much shit to do that I can’t even seem to keep track of my left elbow let alone a CD-126T termination form. Honestly, I don’t even know what he does all day I feel like I’m doing most of his work if not all of it. He’s older than dirt and is never in a good mood, nothing I do pleases him he just stays in his office with the doors closed while I sit at my desk and work my ass off all day.
I guess I’m ranting… Let me rewind a bit.
My name is Charlie and I am the second reaper there has ever been. I was hired a couple thousand years ago when the human’s population reached a size that my boss couldn’t handle on his own. We process the death of every being, but human deaths require a lot of paperwork and management. We work in a decent sized office on the second most infinite floor; sharing the floor with birth who is also a lot busier these days. It’s 2018 and times are strange.
Before we used to keep track of creature’s lives with hourglasses. They all had to be manually filled with the correct amount of sand, labeled, categorized, flipped, etc… It was time consuming but when you are an eternal being that works on your own schedule things don’t tend to have a huge amount of urgency. Now, however, almost everything is done on a computer. There are still a few rooms down the hall filled with timepieces, but they still have a long way to go before they run out. The computer is much more organized and user friendly. I deal with almost all deaths, but my boss deals with the really important ones. He’s usually the one that goes into the rooms down the hall and flips a piece then personally goes and collects the lives. Hercules, King Arthur, Gandhi, the big shot humans mostly. Well anyway, I was dropping off some forms for him to sign yesterday morning and he wasn’t there. It was weird, he hardly misses a day every few thousand years or so. I figured maybe he was in a meeting with the big guy upstairs, so I set the stack down on his desk and turned to leave. One of the loose papers on top blew off or something because I heard it slide to the floor. It took me a minute to find it but it handed under his desk. When I bent down to grab it I saw a time piece in the corner between partitions of the desk. It was dust and a really old model, I had never seen one of these in up close. It had been sideways, so no sand was flowing. That is very bad. One of the flaws about these old pieces is that if no sand is flowing then the soul doesn’t exist. If it stopped flowing then the person was suddenly snapped from existence and forgotten, with my passage or legitimate paperwork.
This could fuck up the whole universe.
I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but I’ve been waiting outside the big guy’s office for a while now while he and my boss talk. I’ve heard some yelling and I’m pretty nervous.
Fuck they’re calling me in. Wish me luck.
​
​
Note: Pretty new at this, I dig constructive feedback but please don't be too harsh about spelling and grammar they aren't my strong suits. | 2018-10-03T08:25:36 | 2018-10-03T07:42:16 | 25 | 15 |
[WP] You've just become a vampire. On the downside, finding fresh human blood is hard in the apocalypse. On the upside, being a vampire makes you immune to zombie bites. | **IN A WORLD OVERRUN BY THE LIVING DEAD, HE MIGHT BE THEIR ONLY HOPE**
"You're immune to this! You can save them."
"I can't!"
"The survivors are scattered, if we came together to fight them we might have a chance!"
"And I'm supposed to shepherd them all back here myself? You need an army, I'm just one man!"
"That's why it has to be you. You're not a man... you're a monster."
**BUT THIS SAVIOR HAS A SECRET**
"Your vampirism protects you from the virus. Only you can do this. You have to."
"Why should I care? You're beverages to me. I might as well be arguing with a juice box right now."
"...If we die, you're gonna get pretty goddamn thirsty."
**THIS SUMMER, IF HE WANTS TO DRINK THEM, HE'LL HAVE TO SAVE THEM.**
**JUICE BOX HERO, RATED PG- 13** | I should have never taken the deal. I only did it because I felt trapped; the only certainty the future held was more of what was already abundant. Death.
When the vampires first contacted me, I nearly shat my pants in terror. There I was, scavenging for more bullets to use against the dead, and a mob of blood-fanged meth heads seemingly materialized out of thin air. Their bodies were gaunt, bones protruding through their sickly white skin, and their serpent tongues forked between their fangs. The animal in me could do nothing but freeze, like a deer paralyzed by the marching whistle of a freight train. One of them started moving towards me, as if gliding across ice, and I looked into his eyes.
It looked as though a black hole had vomited on them, they were pitch black and littered with shimmering spots, as though they were windows to a far away galaxy. But as I got a proper look at the face that wore them, I saw something far too familiar in this day: fear.
The vampire introduced his clan to me, and begun to explain their religion. He told me that the plague that was eating the living wasn't the result of a bioweapon attack, as many survivors believed, but a result of "heretic" vampires. You see, according to him, if a vampire stops sustaining themselves with the blood of the living, they start to slowly rot and lose their minds to hunger, never to recover. He said that this was taught to all newbloods, but there was a sect of vampires that stopped believing in the religion. These vampires willingly stopped consuming blood, lost all semblance of themselves, and started the plague.
After the vampires explained this, they offered me the deal. They told me they had been watching the large community of survivors I was working with, and our base we had built out of an old federal prison. They told me that they would turn me, which would grant me immortality, if only I let them in while everyone is asleep...
... to be continued. | 2018-11-09T12:00:48 | 2018-11-09T11:57:56 | 85 | 19 |
[WP] You probably should have thought it through before you accepted those magical items. Now you’re stuck with a bloodthirsty sword, an overprotective shield, cowardly boots and an arrogant spellbook.
Edit:~~apparently I have “2” comments, but I only see the automatic one. How does that even happen~~thanks for the explanations!
Edit 2: did not expect this to blow up the way it did. Thanks to anonymous for the gold award! | "You are the worst human I have ever met. You think with your sword and before you could finally use it, you get cold feet and run away. Are you actually dumb or just ignorant for the mighty magic? This is the best option for everyone. They die quickly and you may ascend from being a peasant with a toy stick." Since I lost my book's cover, it became a hateful chatterbox. The saddest thing is that I can't hate it because for one, it is quite useful, and second, it is sometimes funny. However, I'll never admit this.
"Says the one who feels proud because more men were inside of it than it can count." Here comes my shield, protecting not just my ass but also my self-esteem. I like my shield, nothing special for looks but definitely the best one. Mr. Sword and Ms. Shield would be the most powerful kit out there; killing everything in sight and being nearly invulnerable all the time. The spell book wasn't terrible either but the deal I got from the thrift shop however consisted one more thing.
"Guys, why can't we just run along and not fight? I hate fighting!" The cowardly boots. I can't even get near a pet, my legs tremble and I run away as fast as I can. I should have suspected why this deal was so cheap but at the time it seemed awesome.
"You do realize that if you use levitation than your boots can't run away, right? Without magic you are nothing more than a pibedal worm."
"You do realize that they automatically flee from enemy no matter what, right? You are just a simple spell book, not a lexicon. So shut the hell up." I barked back at my book.
"Simple spell book? How dare you call the mighty Book of Highcast a simple spell book? I'll...."
"I'll cut you into pieces of paper you dumb paperbag. I'm on blood withdrawal and you aren't flesh, but I'll sure enjoy cutting. "
"For the love of The Ancient Ones, you all shut up. I'm in the middle of the quest and I don't want distraction!!"
"Eh, why bother? Just go and bet on yourself as the winner and go to a running championship. Just make sure you place a bunny behind you so your boots will run fast."
To be honest, the book was right. I sucked at quests because my boots are *sooooooo* scared of everything, I can't even hit an enemy. I'm almost out of money and I can't really make any silver. I feel petty for myself. The previous owner collected all the legendary items through a lifetime of quests, and now I, the next soulbound wielder will die of hunger.
"I want to murder something!!!!! I haven't had any blood in weeks and I'm starving!!!! I swear I'll cut your legs if you run away from orcs next time"
"No you will not! I'll make sure our owner will be safe and sound."
"It is too late anyway. He is already the fastest man in Hinterland, running away from himself. Well at least I gotta explore the world more before this one gives in as well. Too bad he is too dumb for using magic. I seriously feel ashamed for being soulbound."
"Hey guys, what if I open a butcher shop? You can all be happy. Sword can cut meat, I'll be safe so Shield can be happy as well and dead animals don't scare Boot." Finally I stopped running, and everyone was listening to me.
"What is in for me? How can a such a lowly job satisfy the book that is created by the greatest of minds?"
"I'll cook the meat with fire spells as a revenge for you being an asshole to me."
"NOOOOO" yelled the Book.
"YEEEEESSS" Yelled the Sword.
This is how I became the best butcher in the land. The Highcast fire spells really makes the short loin extra tasty...
\-------------------------------------------------
Feedback is always appreciated, critiques are welcome!
Read more of my stories [HERE](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritesOfWipyk/)! | I was crouched in the corner of my living room, plugging my ears with fingers, trying to escape their noise. I hadn't used them since the month I'd got em and now they wouldn't shut up about it. Whispers, man, the fucking whispers won't stop, whispers coming out of nowhere and everywhere at once, asking me to murder *this* demon or cast *that* spell of destruction. But I know where they're coming from, who's planting these urges in me.
*^(slaaayyy the demon Azareth....)*
*^(RUN, RUN NOW, THE UNDEAD ARE UPON YOU...)*
*^(Speeaaak, speak the name of Ulathril, summoon the typhoon...)*
"FUCKING SHUT UP ALREADY," I shouted.
Silence. Peace. No more whispers.
Then,
*^(Garryyy, the fate of the world is upon you, use The Chosen Objects, save the realm...)*
Grunting and groaning, I stomped to the coffee table and flung off the Star Wars blanket I'd used to hide the magic items >!(Somehow I believed that the power of Sci-Fi would nullify the magic....stupid, stupid...). !< There they were. A blood-red sword >!(Was that real blood? I didn't want to know...Dried Mozzarella it is...)!<. A cracked silver shield. Beaten-up boots that looked stolen from the nearest Payless. And a leather-bound book.
"Okay. Okay," I began, desperate, nearly foaming at the mouth with anger. I hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks. I hadn't been able to catch up on any of my favorite shows >!(7 fucking seasons of Game of Thrones, that 2nd season of WestWorld that I hear isn't very good but that i'll compulsively watch anyway)!< because these four objects had insisted on ridiculous burgeoning quests. "I got work in two hours. Two hours. That's all you get. That's it. After that, you're done. No more. I'll do whatever the hell it is you want me to for two hours."
*^(Garrrrryyyy, take The Ravager's sword, slay the demon Azareth, use Maven's shield to block Its fire, run on the boots of cowardly-swiftness to escape from the burgeoning rift in the realm, speak the name of Ulathtril's book and summon the typhoon that will cleanse the world.)*
The words seem to float from all the items together, all at once.
I thought about it for a moment. I'd been putting it off for weeks. I'd tried throwing the stupid things in a dumpster, but just like the guy from craigslist said, they'd just show up again when I wasn't looking. >!(Protip: don't accept quests from Craigslist -- even if you think it'll be a funny joke, EVEN if you think the black-hooded, pale-faced, ice-white eyed guy is just trolling you...the slight chance that he isn't will leave your head spinning).!<
I had to be in the office by 11am or else I'd lose my job for sure. Too much previous slacking that's accumulated over the years.
I sighed. But what choice did I have? >!(I only had a month or two until season 8 of Game Of Thrones, so I needed to get my life back).!<
"Okay." I said, "Okay, I'll do it."
I sheathed the sword in an old guitar bag I got from a garage sale, slipped on extra socks to fit into the boots, duck-taped a messenger-bag-style strap onto the shield and wrapped it around my back, then slipped the spell-book in a fanny pack. I was ready.
"Where do I go first?" I whispered when I was standing outside my SF apartment>!(If anyone else was around, watching me talk to myself, they'd think I was a madman).!<
The spell-book in my fanny-pack vibrated, and when I opened its pages an image of an abandoned office-building showed up in a page that was previously empty.
"Okay, actually, um, I think I know where that is." I paused. "Muni doesn't go that way, though."
The boots felt weird on my feet -- I was teetering back and forth and could barely walk in them. Could I really outrun a demon wearing these silly things?
I pulled out my phone and called an Uber.
When it came, I was surprised to find that the driver was wearing a dirty old cowl etched with strange symbols, was fully adorned in a suit of armor that didn't fit him well and looked absolutely awkward to sit and drive-in.
He looked me up and down before I got in the car.
"You too, huh?" He asked.
I nodded my head.
"Fuck man. Okay, let's just get this over with."
So the quest began. | 2019-02-02T12:52:22 | 2019-02-02T12:16:33 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] When offered one wish, you jokingly said that you want to fire proof. You are disappointed to discover that fire still burns you. When you accidentally lit the company breakroom on fire, your boss just laughed it off and you began your new career as the person who can't be fired, ever. | On second thought, I should have been suspicious when the genie had laughed after granting my wish. Initially, it seemed like he was just happy, but I'll be damned if I appreciated his mirth when the flame burned the crap out of my index finger.
I threw the match aside as the blister, clearly a nasty one to come, began to form instantly. That was when it all went to hell. See, some matches are a little more wind resistant than others. This one was on the higher end of the spectrum. I had expected it to go out in mid-air, given how many of the damn things blew out when I was just trying to light a smoke outdoors. But this one hung on. The little match that could.
The contents of the trash can went up first. Then the pizza box on the counter. Apparently grease is flammable. The rest of the break room followed suit in short order. The fire department later said that if it hadn't been for the sprinkler system, we'd have lost the whole darn building. That was a Monday.
That Tuesday, I walked into my boss's office, fully prepared to accept my termination. He just gave me a slap on the back and said, I swear this is true, "Who among us *hasn't* started a major fire in the break room? Go on, you're fine." There were 53 employees in our office. I was pretty sure the answer to his question was "The other 52 of you," but didn't want to talk myself out of a job, so I left. On the way back to my desk, it dawned on me. *Fire* proof. Huh.
I have come to believe that after the discovery of any superpower comes the testing of its limits. But as I soon learned, this power had absolutely no limits whatsoever. No one minded when I came in late. No one minded when I came in late and dressed in flip flops. Indeed, no one minded when I came in *naked*. I really thought that one would do it. Eventually, no one minded when I stopped coming in altogether. The paychecks kept depositing.
Then I had an idea.
Eight hundred and thirty two. That is the number of jobs I now have. 832. I may be the world's first multimillionaire employed as a receptionist. Or 7-11 janitor. Or bus driver. It doesn't matter; I don't ever actually show up to any of them. I apply for every job out there, but my only real "job" is faking my resume and showing up for interviews. It helps that hiring managers can often be bribed. When I'm hired, my work is done.
At this point, I could easily stop, but each job is literally a lifetime income, no matter how low that income may be. My average job pays only $24,714 per year, putting my gross annual income just north of $20 million. All in all, I consider the "confusion" surrounding my wish to be working out in my favor.
Well, I did. Until those goddamn idiots at the other pump got into a gasoline fight. A spark, a whoosh, and my last thought as the fireball barrels through me is "Fucking genies."
&#x200B;
**Edit**: First Reddit gold! Thank you kind interneteer! | Johnson glared at me from across the room as he moved his bonsai tree into a box. He’d been let go after the incident during the Christmas party. It had been him, me, Janet from accounting and a hell of a lot of eggnog. Johnson has fallen on the axe for that whole shebang and here I was, still organizing reports for the boss.
Kayla glared at me from the other side of the room about the comments I’d made earlier, Sandra was upset that I had taken extra long breaks, Shane was pissed that I’d just started working his project and he’d been told to move. In short, a lot of people weren’t eh biggest fans of me around here.
Despite the petty grudges that laziness brought down on me, not being able to be fired was a fantastic lifestyle, I had unlimited vacation, as many sick days as I wanted, I could steal cooperate secrets and getting caught didn’t mean they were taking me off payroll.
Yeah that last one was important.
See, I’d been working for the IRS when I wished upon a star, and they’d found out really quickly that I was immune to being fired. So instead, I was offered a promotion.
‘Matthews,’ Big Man Hallan started after her called me into the office, ‘you’re such a damn likeable guy I don’t think I could ever let ya go, but the people upstairs have a request.’
Now Hallan looked exactly like you’d figure the head of an IRS department would if you slathered on an extra 60 pounds, and I looked the same way if you only added 25. I was an accountant through and through.
But you don’t turn down jobs to be a spy.
The job itself was simple, get hired at companies with fake credentials from the government. Talk, smile and charm my way into a position where I had access to anything that might need an audit or a quick question.
I didn’t do the questioning, I just left the clue that something needed to be asked.
Back in the current time Johnson was finished with clearing his desk and I pulled my feet off of mine. He came over and held out his hand. “It was fun,” he growled.
“Wasn’t it? Real time and a half,” I beamed back.
“Oh fuck off,” Johnson spat before continuing down the wall of cubicles.
“Don’t swear I’m the workplace,” I sighed as he stormed off. Once he was gone I decided that I needed to at least get some work done today.
I opened up my email, and started drafting a little hint to the IRS and FBI, more specifically my contact with both agencies, Linda.
‘Hey Linda, just letting you know that the job is awesome and exactly what I expected, having a real fun time here. There is so much to do!
- A little Bird’
And sent.
That was the only email for the day, working for an oil firm had it’s perks, but i wasn’t going to delay telling the FBI about the back alley deals or the IRS about the unclaimed bonuses, that just wasn’t going to do.
Plus, I’d been found looking in the wrong files at the wrong time of day. Mr. Koyama and I had just laughed it off but explaining that shit was never fun.
Like the devil when you talk about him, Koyama showed up at my desk with a coffee in hand. “Hey Matthews. This is for you, sorry I kinda came in swinging yesterday, I talked to head office and they weren’t too happy with how I handled things.”
“Oh it’s all good sir,” I answered while spinning around in my rolling chair.
“Here, have this coffee on me,” he said and handed me the coffee before taking off down the walls of cubicles.
“Well don’t mind if I do,” I took a big gulp of the coffee, two sugars and like warm, just the way I liked it.
But god damn was I tired just about a second later.
“Caffeine must be defective,” I chuckled before taking another swig.
Okay, I didn’t feel good anymore. I think it was time to let Mr.. Ko.. to let the boss know I was calling it for the day. I used my desk as leverage to stand up and then dropped right to the ground.
Mr. Koyama and two men stood over me as my vision faded away to black and an important question hit me before a boot did.
Did killing me count as firing me? | 2019-03-01T12:49:14 | 2019-03-01T12:31:37 | 5,051 | 322 |
[WP] After drinking from the fountain of youth you become immortal. You live a long, prosperous life, watching human civilization grow and fall. Until eventually, the sun dies and kills the earth with it and you are left floating endlessly through space, watching the cosmos age for eternity. | Eternity is a nightmare.
People used to speak of living forever, like it would be some kind of gift from the Almighty. Blissful, everlasting existence.
If God does exist, he's a sadist.
I've walked the earth for millennia. I watched the sun grown into a red giant, forever cooling, warping, expanding into a nebula of toxic gasses. I watched all life on earth die. I went hungry for thousands of years. Maybe more. I stopped counting when I was still young.
"Young." There's no longer any meaning in that word. Or any word, really. I don't even know what language I speak anymore... or if it's even language at all.
I died after I drank from the fountain of youth.
My heart continued to beat. My body maintained homeostasis beautifully. As soon as that clear liquid entered by body, I was sentenced to life everlasting.
I put a bullet in my brain on my five hundredth birthday.
My body just kept right on being alive.
The entire purpose of life is its fragility... its impermanence. Without an expiration date, how am I alive?
At least I'm not alone. Clara drank from the fountain of youth too.
Clara's my dog.
Well, she's "a" dog. I think she stopped being "my" dog sometime around when the moon broke in half.
This is all probably just a dream. Or a hallucination. Or reality.
Is there a difference?
&#x200B; | I had watched them grow and prosper. I sat and watched as they destroyed themselves. Instead of finding a way off this rock when the sun was about to die, they chose to fight over what pitiful little there was left.... and I did nothing. I can still remember, thousands of years ago when I drank from the fountain of youth. It was not a fancy fountain, not a shrine to immortality.... it was a puddle on a small stone pedestal. A relief after being lost the Sahara for so long. As out of place as it was, at the time I was too thirsty to care.
However this water did not quench my thirst, it tightened my throat, and I passed out from asphyxiation. When I awoke I could not move. The thirst was unbearable. I could not move, but i could no longer die. I lay there for a period I can't even remember, but was found by a passing camel train, surprised I was still alive they brought me to the nearest oasis where I recovered.
It took some time to figure out what happened to me. To finally realise that I was immortal, like the gods the silly priests use to preach about. Sometimes i think that they got those damn ideas from other immortal beings like myself. Others who had drank from the mountain of youth. Since then I've tried to stear humanity in the right direction, even taking on the alias of a son of one of their gods. But humanity is a billigerant, arrogant race. Prone to violence and naturally problematic. Over so many years I became ever more cinical. To the point that I gave up on my own people, letting them squabble in the dirt, ever on the brink of extinction by their own means.
Now here I........ float. In the emptiness of the void. When the sun began its convulsions I could've stopped it. I could've saved everyone..... but I did nothing. Maybe they didn't deserve to live. Maybe if they have, their tendencies to violence would've been directed outward unto an unsuspecting galaxy.
I remember the flash. The burning heat as waves of star stuff incinerated everything. People cowering in basements, caves, and bunkers as if it would protect them. All but me. As I float forever here, maybe on day experiancing what is at the center of a black hole.only to contemplate my sins. And yet after all this, after everything was destroyed, all I can think is....... fuck.... | 2019-03-29T11:06:01 | 2019-03-29T08:48:23 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] “Join our quest! We need you!” your little sister begs every morning, favorite toy in hand. One day, you’re forced to play along. Excited, your sis displays a coloring book. Upon opening it, the world reshapes around you, to a battlefield, where your sis and her toy are making a final stand. | "Hannah, join our quest! We need you!"
"Oh, I can't today, I've got so much to do. Let's play tomorrow, okay kiddo?" I replied dismissively.
My little sister Rebecca jutted her lip out, pouted and walked away sadly. It wasn't an entirely unreasonably response. Perhaps I had given her the 'tomorrow' reply a time or two before... Okay, it was more like I'd given her that reply for a couple months straight.
Look, I wasn't a bad older sister, but I had just turned 15 and suddenly had a million different things going on in my life all at once. The huge age difference between us didn't help. Becca just didn't understand why I wouldn't dedicate as much time to her as I did two years ago. I thought sometimes she put on the 'sad act' to guilt me, but as I watched her march out to the swing set and sit sadly by herself I start to doubt that very much. I went to take a shower and get ready to leave, but when I came downstairs she was still sitting out there by herself, miserable.
With a sigh, I texted my friends to tell them I was bailing. When they demanded to know why, I answered with simple honesty, "My sister needs me."
Mustering all my energy I sprinted outside and told her, "Good news! I can play for as longgggg as you want!"
"Yay, yay, yayyyyyy!" she squealed with genuine delight as she hopped on my back for a quick ride around the yard.
"Alright, what's our quest, squirt?" I asked as I set her down.
"Stanley needs our help!" she said with seriousness. Stanley was her stuffed toy... well 'dragon' isn't quite right. It looked more like a T-rex with some wings stuck onto it. I sometimes wondered to myself if we'd gotten him at some bottom rung discount store where they had actually just sewn some wings onto a dinosaur toy, but silly and odd as it may have looked to most of us, she loved the dang thing.
"Oh no!" I replied. "What's wrong with Stanley?"
"Stanley is fine, but um... um... his family is in danger! They're trying to take them away from him!"
"Well, then we do need to help him! What do we do first?"
She grabbed my hand and led me back toward the swing set and picked up her coloring book. I didn't quite see how the coloring book fit in until I saw that she'd drawn Stanley on the cover. She must have turned it all into Stanley's adventures. Cute. While I was busy finding my sister adorable, she opened the coloring book and without warning swirls of color leapt off the page and began forming all around us. Our quiet simple backyard was almost instantaneously transformed into a medieval fantasy battlefield, complete with a castle in the background and opposing knights and soldiers swords clashing just in front of us.
"Oh my god, oh my god," I muttered. "What the- what the crap?"
"No potty mouths!" Becca shouted at me as if we were still just on a swing set playing. "C'mon we've got to find Stanley's family!"
"Stanley's... family...?" I mumbled as I turned to finally take in the sight of Stanley himself standing before me. No longer Becca's little mismatched stuffed animal, now a full size... dinosaur? Dragon? Dino with dragon wings? He still looked like his silly self, but he would have towered over our house. He craned his neck in one direction and let loose an ear shattering roar.
"He sees them over that way!" Becca called out before she clambered up on his back and he ran off in that direction.
"Oh my god, Rebecca!" I called out after her as I ran, trying desperately to keep up with this charging beast.
As we came to a clearing I saw mercenaries of some kind chaining up dragons... Well, when I say 'dragons', I mean 'other Stanleys'. Three of them from what I could see. All had clamps around their jaws and were in the final stages of being secured to massive horse drawn carts, I assume to take them away.
"Those are the dragon tamers trying to steal Stanley's family!" Rebecca called out from atop him. "We have to stop them! Go get 'em boy!"
With that Stanley charged in and let loose torrents of flame breath. He violently swiped and clawed at the 'dragon tamer' mercenaries who seemed to be taking his family into captivity. It was an awe inspiring sight, but honestly all I could think of was how dangerous this situation was for Becca up on his back... and how age inappropriate!
Those two did the majority of the work taking out 'the bad guys', but I did my best with my 2 years of unwanted childhood karate training and did trip a guy with a spear who seemed very keen to stab Stanley with it. So I felt fairly good about my contribution!
As soon as all the bad guys were um... 'napping', Rebecca hopped down and motioned me to follow. I ran around with her, taking the chains off of Mrs. Stanley, and Stanley Jr. and Grandma Stanley, the whole dragon family.
As soon as they were all free, Stanley roared something at them and they seemed to understand the meaning. Within seconds they were airborne, I assume flying off to safety, maybe toward Stanley's hometown? Did he have a home within this world? I didn't know what to believe any more.
The dragon tamers back at their encampment were not enthused by our rescue mission. Several mounted horses, but after finding their chase of the airborne dino-dragons fruitless, they turned their anger toward us. My sister seemed unconcerned, but hundreds of these heavily armed and armored mercenaries were mounting a cavalry charge right toward us!
"Rebecca! How do we get out of here?! We need to go now! I'm not joking!"
She looked at me strangely, then shrugged and simply pulled out her coloring book and closed it. The chaos and carnage of the battlefield ceased immediately and our setting was once again our simple backyard. No armed knights, no horses about to trample us, just sweet blissful, boring suburban normalcy.
I almost broke down sobbing. My chest was heaving as I attempted to catch my breath. I managed to collect myself just enough to grab Becca and hug her tightly. "You did it," were the only words I could force out of my lungs.
"No, *WE* did it! And Stanley says thanks!" she said as she oriented the once again stuffed toy so that he could give me a 'kiss' on the cheek. "And I say thanks too!" she said as she kissed me on the other cheek.
"Yeah..." I said still extremely shaken and trying to catch my breath. "Love you too, Becca."
She giggled happily. "We'll play more quests tomorroooooow!" she called out as she ran inside.
&#x200B;
r/Ryter | I sat there in my chair, reading my book, completely lost from the world. I loved reading. It just always felt in place as much as the sun rise. A moment of peace for me.
Well not for long.
Olivia ran in the room, holding her stuffed animal. It was cat, that she got when she little and she always carried it with her. Probably treasured the cat more than she liked me.
I stiffened, book open on my lap. Not this again.
"Join our quest we need you!", she told me, jumping up and down. "Rosie and I can't do this alone!".
"And why is that?"
"Because the old lady witch cat said so!".
I shook my head. This happened every single day. It bothered me too. No way I was going to play with her. I had better things to do. I looked at her pouting face.
One time couldn't hurt I guess. Maybe strenghen our sister relationship more.
"Fine."
"Yay! Lumsia is going to be saved!". Olivia danced around the room happy, swinging Rosie around.
Lumsia. For some reason the name sent chills into me. It seemed so....familiar. Somehow it was almost like a calling, hidden under lies, trying to be remembered.
Olivia ran out of the room. When she came back, she opened a coloring book, prould, displaying it in front of me.
Before I had a chance to says something, the room swirled out of sight. In place was another world.
Speechless, I looked around.
We were standing in a building, half destroyed. Statues of weird animals were fallen.
I looked up, to see a dark sapphire sky, clear, showing billions of stars, decorating the sky. And then it came. A blue flash, out of no where illuminating the earth. Only to disapper
I looked forward to see my sister and Rosie, who was now a real cat, with her silky white fur.
I was shaking, in both fear and wonder.
"Where are we?", I asked.
"Lumsia"
Olivia and Rosie then stepped up forward and took what looked like to me, a final stand in the battlefield.
In front of them was a animal made up of dark clouds looking like a cross between a deer and a lion. The strange thing charged towards my sister, an intent look to kill in its striking blue eyes.
None of them looked scared. Rosie stood in front of my sister, to protect her. Both of them were a look of determination.
I stood, confused. Only to realize whatever was happening it was bad.
I ran towards Olivia. I had to save her. Her and Rosie. Whatever was to happen, it will not happen today.
The strange being made no mind to me. Raising a paw, it swiped at me.
Pain came to me, in a shock. I felt blood drip from my face. I was weak, barely standing. The world blurred. I didn't hear anything but the beating of my heart, slowing down.
"Sia!", my sister cried out, sobbing. Rosie buried her head into my
"It's going to be okay", I whispered to Olivia.
And this is how I will die, I thought. This is how.
"It's sorry", the creature said. "Sia Lum Azure, I am sorry".
And the world slipped away.
Part Two
I woke up to the sound of an angel singing. Her voice was sweet, like it held forgotten cherished memories.
Heaven was beautiful.
Wait......
I sat up, frantic. What happened to Olivia? Rosie? Are they okay? Am I dead?
I held a hand to my chest, and felt the steady rhytmth of my heart. I'm alive.
"Woke up, I see."
Startled, I turned around to see a woman with brown hair, cat ears, and a weird witch hat.
"Wh-"
"I prefer to keep my name private. Call me what you want. To your sister I'm just the cat witch. Congrats on living. We are in your dream. Yes my singing skills rock. Anything else?"
She seemed impatient.
"Why do you have ca-"
"I'm cursed. But that's another story."
"Oh."
"Let's get to the serious question. Your name, and your father".
I gulped. My father who died when I was five and on the same day Olivia was born. My father. And my name. Lumsia. Sia Lum Azure.
"Your father created Lumsia from his art."
If I was drinking something, I would have spat it out. Instead I stood still, shocked.
"Now don't stand so stiffly. He was quite an artist. Loved your mom dearly too. Always bringing you here to play".
"Named the place after you. You were the spark that created the fire of this place, where no one would be left out. But when your father died- let's just say the fire went out."
"But you're still here, the ashes of the flame"
And suddenly I remembered.
Dad taking me Lumsia every weekend. Introducing me to the animals, usually timid. Talked about the buildings and how how I could decorate them. Going home, me filling mom in on what happened, her nodding and giving my father a kiss. Me saying yuck.
And the day it happened.
A day like any other. I met a white cat, with silky fur.
Rosie.
Me and my dad were talking about plans for an art gallery and the types of chairs when it happened.
The sun was setting, sinking with its orange glow, as we waited for the stars.
A dark spirt, fast, ran towards my dad.
It killed him.
Somehow, it killed him.
I remember now.
I remember coming home, out of the coloring book, with my dad unconcious besides me, me crying and holding a stuffed animal.
A tear ran down my cheek.
"You are now our only hope to revive this place. Our only hope. When we saw the blue flash, we knew, we knew that you were here".
I looked up to her, and wiped away my tear. I nodded, thinking about my father.
"Then let's go."
I woke up. My vision faded into view. My head hurt, and blood trickled down my cheek.
Olivia was yelling, Rosie in front of her, ready to protect. The creature stood still.
I stood up.
My father created this place from his love for me. His love for his family. Olivia. Mom. Me.
It listened to him. Somehow he had always managed to reason with people.
If he can do it, just by loving his home, then I can do it too.
I took a deep breath, shaking. And stared into the creature's eyes. Blue. Rosie stood beside me, still ready to attack. Olivia was behind me. She smiled, gave me a thumbs up.
I can do this.
Looking straight into his eyes, I held out my hand.
"You don't have to be scared anymore."
No response.
And he faded away.
Olivia and Rosie tackled me. I hugged Olivia and petted Rosie.
"You did it, Sia, you did it!"
I thought about the witch lady. I squinted. In the distance I could make out her shadow, her hat dipping lower as a salute. Only to disappear.
I thought about Olivia, hopeful and caring, always trying to make things right, the reason I'm here at all. The best sister I've ever had.
I thought about Rosie. Protecting me. Defending me and my sister. Brave enough to fight the odds. Smart and daring.
I thought about Mom. Always there for me with a smile, willing to listen, hurt but never letting it affect the way she treated us.
And Dad. Who saw it to a happy ending. No matter what.
"No Olivia, we did it."
Note: Guys I really want to write a book version of this, more plot line, tell me what you think! | 2019-07-02T21:36:52 | 2019-07-02T20:09:13 | 142 | 34 |
[WP] You've been targeted by spirits who plan on possessing you and messing with your head, but when they realize what they got themselves into the tables turn. | “This’ll be easy...”
Earl, the leader of them all, watched me from behind a curtain. I knew where they were, for these ghosts weren’t too smart. I lifted the tea cup to my lips. Finally, after arguing among themselves, Bartleby, the smallest of them all, took a crack at me. He made my chair inch forward ever so slightly, and my lamp turn on and off. I pretended not to notice.
After that, the next ghost tried to scare me with creaking noises and wails. The next actually managed to spin me around. Another tried screams. One took the form of my dearly departed grandmother. I kept quiet and calm. Finally, Earl decided to do the dirty work for himself. He caused the entire sky to erupt in thunder and lightning, shaking the entire house. I lifted my head and gave them a side-eye.
“Looks like there’s something strange in the neighborhood.”
I meandered over to a nearby closet, glancing on the phone as I went by.
“I wonder who I should call...”
I opened the closet and pulled out a machine that I hadn’t used in years. I smiled, turning to face the pathetic poltergeist. They all began to quake, whispering, panicking. My smile turned into an almost evil grin.
“Ghost freakin’ Busters.” | My mind is a roller coaster. Ups and downs and sharp turns into the nether. A roller coaster with seven different cart-trains, all destined to eventually, inevitably collide.
I embrace the void, that place where the back of my neck prickles and my skin crawls. I feel their strength, stronger now, much stronger, as if this therapist's room represents a gateway between the physical and spiritual worlds.
"I don't have room for any more carts." I finally answer, smiling sadly.
The therapist slowly nods, then appears to write down something in her notebook. Probably all bullshit.
"And what shape do these carts take, Alan?" she asks, feigning interest. I'm not even a professional curiosity, just a particularly boring pay check.
"Oh all sorts," I respond, filling up the time. "Big, small, real, surreal."
She nods again. "I see."
But she doesn't really see. She doesn't notice the corporeal entities that swarm the room, swirling around her in wisps of transparent grays and whites. She finishes writing something else down in her notebook, then unbuttons the top button of her shirt, feeling claustrophobic for a reason she can't pinpoint.
I consider saying something. Consider telling her to get up and go to the bathroom, or to get in her car and drive away. Instead I watch as the entities burrow into one ear and out through the other, each of them taking a turn inside her brain. I watch as her eyes become lifeless, hollow shells and her pen lies skewed in her limp hand, its blue tip slowly spreading ink onto her white blouse.
"You don't really see," I say, standing up. I pause at the door, waiting for her to snap back into reality, satisfied when she sits up straight with a jolt.
"Oh...," she says, but I don't stick around to hear her. I'm already out the door, already seeking the comforting refuge of my home. There are too many carts in my brain, but at least there they follow familiar tracks.
I can see the entities again, flitting about me, dancing on invisible currents only they can feel. They follow me everywhere but they never touch me, instead they make my interactions flat and lifeless, draining the spark from those I talk to. They dance in the void as my world slowly turns into theirs. | 2019-09-11T07:36:37 | 2019-09-11T06:38:17 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. |
Silence. Who would have thought that the absence of sound could be so deafening?
“Is it…” Sharl’s words failed him as the first mate’s thin lips stilled, the sound of his words enough to cause he himself to flinch. “Is it…” The seasoned Ardsien sailor whispered once more, a steely resolve giving his forked tongue the strength it needed. “Is it gone?”
For a moment nobody spoke. Eight Ardsien's, every one a man in their own right, rammed within the tiny space of the storage cabin. Sixteen sets of eyes snapped toward the door as a singsong tone called from beyond, a sound of merriment and joy.
“The Human…” Baskur hissed as he pushed through the group, the thin vertical slit of his first set of eyes momentarily ablaze, his bright red pupil luminescent for the briefest of moments as sunlight filtered through the hole within the door toward where he pressed his face. “It… It can’t be.” His words panicked. “It… It can’t…” The group’s collective heartbeat lurched as Baskur stumbled backward, his webbed fingers thrust forward as they tore the wooden door open.
For a moment blindness ruled, the intensity of the light in juxtaposition to the shadow of before, unbearable. Slowly the Ardsien’s lower set of eyes began to adjust as their upper slammed shut to preserve their night-sight, red eyed stares locked to the impossible sight before them.
“Who’s a pretty kitty kitty!” The human cooed as she knelt before the apex predator, her fleshy pink sausage like fingers half-invisible within the soft white fur of the deadly creature’s stomach. “Aren’t you a little floofmonster!” The female grinned as she spoke, oblivious to the danger she faced as the feline lay sprawled before her at ease.
“Zerah! You must retreat!” Baskur roared as he darted to the side, a long fishing spear grasped from within its place and held before him in shaking arms. “Run! Before it is too late!”
“It’s *Sarah.*” The Human frowned, her right hand absently stroking the murderous monster’s fur backward from the tip of its nose all the way down past its swishing tail. “And what in President Wiggysat suma’s name are you so excited about?”
“Listen to me Zearah…” Sharl spoke calmly in Baskur’s place, his entire body still, motionless in the way they had been trained to act when faced with a beast this deadly. Everyone knew that movement was their cue to attack. “Back away from the Feline. Back away as slowly as you can.” The Human frowned.
“You’re all being ridiculous. You’re scared of my cat?”
“Your…” Baskur stammered, his ridged lips twisting upward in frown. “You mean… You… You brought this beast aboard the ship?”
“Beast!” Sarah laughed warmly, the right hand sliding beneath the now-standing death-machine without a care in the world until the feline was lifted from his four deceptively soft looking velvety paws. “Floof is no beast.” The feline’s emerald green eyes shifted from Ardsien to Ardsien, it’s stare hungry as it measured each as if in preparation of attack.
“Place me down, Human.” Sarah frowned, though complied instantly. The predator strolled forward, its intelligent eyes locked to those before him. “You.” Floof spoke once more, directly to the spear-wielding fish-man.
Baskur froze.
“What is your name, fish-boy?”
“Baskur.” The sailor growled, confidence growing as he met Floof’s eyes glare for glare.
“Baskur…” Floof purred as he leapt up onto the small table beside the guard rail, devoid of ornamentation bar a single crystal drinking glass. *Purrfect.* Floof grinned. “You dare raise a weapon against me?” Narrow eyes locked to the fish-man’s own as Floof’s paw began to drift sideways, the glass humming as it slid across the polished surface toward the edge.
“No!” Baskur’s spear clattered to the deck as he fell to his knees before the Feline predator, green tears leaking from all four eyes. “Please! No! Anything but the glass!”
But Floof stopped none. His great wide smile extending further and further until his paw no longer met resistance, the glass plummeting to the hard wooden deck to collide with a deafening sm-
“Floof!” Floof’s dream shattered as the recognisable call of his minion pierced the veil, his ever alert senses honed in on the direction of origin. Without hesitation the white cat was on his feet, flying through the air as he leaped from his place upon the soft cream sofa. “Floooooof!” The Human called as he continued to bound down the stairs, through the corridor and into his dining room. “There you are!” Sarah grinned as she bent down before him in worship, her attention fixed to his royal silver bowl as she used a three pronged human instrument to serve him his dinner.
“Good Human, I shall let you live a while longer.” Floof yawned as he spoke.
“Yes that’s right Floofy! Meow, meow, meow!” Sarah smiled as she returned to her feet, the royal food container placed upon the surface beside her as she retreated back to her quarters.
Briefly Floof’s cold green stare rolled over the silver case, that which had held his food. ‘Sardines’ Written in ominous black letters along it’s side, whatever that meant. Floof yawned as he padded forward, his nose lowered toward the bowl before him as his meal came into view. The Feline’s lips curled at each corner as a cruel grin won out at the sight the greeted him.
“Baskur, so we meet again.” | Mick stood on the bridge of the USS Cheesewheel. The first of its kind, large enough to house over ten thousand standard crew, and one human; he felt at home in its colossal rooms and corridors.
“Where’s Duncan now?” he asked his First Officer, Mina.
“Sir, we’ve lost visual. He was last seen near the cargo bay, but all the cameras have been deactivated.” She looked up from her console, and they shared a look that seemed to stretch time as his stomach twisted.
What would kill them first: the beast, if the human couldn’t find it, or a prolonged starvation if their cheese reserves were plundered? Halfway to their destination, with nothing but a seemingly endless sea of empty space for millions of kilometers, they couldn't let the food run out. As a cadet, he'd been in a situation like that before. He shuddered from the memory.
“How many soldiers do we have? We must secure the bay!” Mick rubbed the fur between his ears with a white gloved hand.
“Fifty-seven,” three voices answered at once. Mick looked over to the blind trio who stood against the wall. Though they’d lost their sight long ago—radioactive leakage from a reactor they had prevented from going critical—each had an uncanny understanding of the ship and its personnel. “However, Captain, most of them are protecting the VIPs. Ten beyond the door, guarding the bridge.”
They never should have let the USS Cheesewheel become a quasi-commercial vessel, ferrying tourists from one world to another. If Mick had had his way, they’d still have over a thousand fighting mice on board. But with most of the crew quarters turned into luxury suites, they lacked the room.
“I’ll go myself.” Mick slammed a fist against his console.
“Mick,” Mina’s cheeks blushed. "Captain," she corrected herself.
On the bridge he was Captain and she was First Officer. The familiarity between the two had grown over the past several years. Mick had hoped one day, after retirement, they’d have some kind of future together. Now, the dream seemed like just that—a dream.
“You can’t go alone,” she added, raising from her chair.
“I’ll take five of our best with me,” Mick said as he checked the charge on his blaster. “We’ll find the human”—Mick shook his head—“or that beast he calls Kitty.”
“Let me go with you!” Mina crossed the distance, pulling out her own side blaster.
“No,” he said, wanting to stroke her whiskers, feel the soft tuft of fur on her cheeks. “Someone has to take over command while I’m gone.”
Biting her lip with her two front teeth, Mina nodded. Her hand flew to her forehead. Mick copied the salute. *Goodbye*, he thought, *the USS Cheesewheel will never be in better hands as it is now.*
He broke away before he could change his mind. In her eyes he saw the only future he could ever want that didn’t involve captaining a ship, charting unknown territories. His heart sunk as he crossed the bridge, his every limb feeling weighted down with lead. He felt dozens of eyes on his back, and desired nothing more than to turn and see Mina one last time, but he feared his will would melt like swiss on a hot surface.
Instead of the human door, with its sliding of metal, he entered the small hole in the wall, into darkness.
&nbsp;
*** ***
The six of them—Mick, and his five grunts—stalked the lonely halls. Another announcement blared from the ship's speakers: *Attention guests and crew! Remain in your quarters until the situation has been resolved.*
Mina’s voice put a falter in his step. He took a breath and tightened his grip on the blaster. Mick looked to his left, and then his right. The five he’d chosen for the mission were the type of mice who lived for this kind of thing. Ex-marines gone mercenary, or as their superiors called them: private contractors. Mick should've felt safe in their company. But that would only come when the cargo bay was secure, and the beast dealt with. He only wished they’d all make it back in one piece.
"Finally getting some action," Arnold said. He bumped fists with Trina and George. "This whole tourism thing was growing stale."
“Why’d we even let the human bring the thing on board?” Jerry asked. Built like a brick cheese-house, the muscles in his arms and chest stood out as he lugged the chain-blaster in front of him. The weapon could fire over a thousand slugs a minute, but it weighed several pounds. Mick doubted he himself could even lift it.
“Where’d he even get that monstrosity?” Sally asked as she peeked around the corner up ahead, one eye closed, the other sighting through the scope on her rifle. “Clear,” she said, and then waved them over.
“Picked it up somewhere on the last planet,” Mick said with a shudder. A world full of humans and the dangerous creatures they called ‘pets’. “Duncan said he could keep it confined to his room.” Mick mentally berated himself. What a terrible decision for a "captain" to make.
Sally turned, laying the rifle against her shoulder as they caught up to her. “Humans and their attachments to lesser beings.” She shook her head.
A massive white paw, like a fatal blur, snatched Sally up into the air. Her rifle clattered to the ground.
With barely a squeak, she was gone.
"Shit,” Mick muttered as he and the rest of them raced forward.
Trina, first to reach the corner, took a knee, and fired a rocket propelled grenade over her shoulder. Mick caught up just in time to watch it explode harmlessly above the fleeing Kitty, leaving a black crater in the hallway wall.
The beast stopped. It turned to them with its eyes glowing an awful green, glaring at them.
Rounds from Jerry's chain-blaster punched the ground near the beast. Close and closer they drew as he turned his body, aiming the thing nearer Kitty. Trina knocked him sideways with her shoulder and shoved his weapon down. When Jerry gave her a confused look, She pointed at the beast.
Dangling from its giant maw, Sally fought for freedom, banging fists and kicking her feet. Kitty barely seemed to noticed. It looked at them as if to say: *you're next.*
With a hard click, Trina engaged the bolt on Sally's fallen rifle, but it was too late.
They were gone.
Mick looked around. Saw the terror they were all trying to mask. Even Arnold, for all his bravado, looked shaken. Mick's eyes dropped to linger on a small splash of blood on the ground where Sally had last stood.
Gone in the blink of an eye, he thought.
Now they were five. | 2019-11-21T07:31:11 | 2019-11-21T06:54:39 | 149 | 81 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "ALARM. SECURITY BREACH. UNAUTHORIZED LIFE FORM DETECTED ON LEVEL 25." Called the soft feminine voice of the ship's AI system. The white lights that usually lined the halls were now replaced by the pulsating glows of red of emergency lights.
"He's dead. He's definitely dead." Veron said to himself as he covered his face. Everyone wanted to hold out hope but they knew he was probably right.
Captain Desiveri stared at the fuzzy hologram of the ship floating before him. "Ceres, can you get a reading on Davidson?"
A strip of green appeared on the hologram and slowly scanned every floor. "Unknown. All bio-scanners on levels 20 through 30 are nonfunctional." she responded.
Desiveri sighed "Howitt, do we have visuals?". "Negative, however I can confirm that the creature's last location was far from all exits before it was sealed." he explained. "With Davidson still inside." a crewmate said without turning.
The room was silent. "Sir... There's always the clean slate protocol." A security guard said, adjusting her bandages. Veron quickly stood up, knocking his chair over in the process "B-but that would mean everything on that floor will be incinerated! You can't-" Desiveri Slammed the table. "We don't have any other choice! That thing is too dangerous to be recontained and-"
"SIR! WE HAVE CONTACT!" Howitt screamed. "It's Davidson!"
Everyone rushed to the main monitor and was greeted by Davidson with a bandaged wound across his chest. "You son of a bitch!" Veron cheered. "Yup it's me, everything's good down here!" Davidson chuckled. "I knew humans were quite adaptable, but how did you manage to kill-" Desiveri began.
"Kill?" Davidson questioned.
"BEHIND YOU!" Howitt screamed as a large navy blue mass of fur came into view. Everyone screamed in horror, some even looked away from the screen.
"Aww, does kitty want another susteno-bar? Yes she does!" he cooed as he unwrapped a candybar and threw it towards the creature, who ate it happily.
"Good girl!" Davidson's voice said through the speakers. Everyone stared at the monitor in bewilderment. "Is he... Petting it...?" Desiveri asked. "I believe so sir." Howitt answered
"Poor thing's restraining collar was on too tight, just upped the size by a factor of two and the big girl turned into a lil softie, isn't that right!" Davidson said cupping his hands around the creatures snout and wiggling it back and forth. "If anyone can open up the lift to containment, I'll gladly find a Class-5 containment unit. The Class-2 she broke out of must've been a tight squeeze."
Howitt turned to the captain. "I... Sure..." Desiveri nodded, still in shock. A door opened nearby. The creature looked towards the door and back at Davidson. "Aight, see you guys soon!" he waved as he grabbed the broken chain linked the collar and lead the creature down the corridor as if it were on a leash.
One of the crewmates collapsed. "I... I'm gonna go get a drink." Veron said. "Bring us all drinks and i'll pay." Howitt responded still staring at the screen.
"Creature secured. All clear." Ceres announced. "Have a nice day." | We were holed up in the kitchen; all of us except the human. We didn’t know where they were and I didn’t give a fuck. In all the years I’d commanded this vessel, in all the space I’d traveled over around and through, I’d never met something so wilfully Idiotic.
“What’s the plan, commander?” my Second, Beetles, an elongated bipedal arthropod asked me.
“The plan right now is to not get killed.”
“Right. Are there any steps we should take to facilitate this plan, commander?”
“Don’t get killed.”
“Right. Of course, commander.”
Lucky for us, or perhaps unlucky, depending on the collateral damage the human had wrought upon the ship, we were working with a skeleton crew: just Beetles, Rimka, the twins, the human, and me. The ship could theoretically be run by one very skilled person, but I was out of my middle eighties, and no longer a spry Papuntion.
The kitchen door opened just then and the human rushed in.
“Oh, hey you guys,” they said. “Do we have peanut butter?”
It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming at the human and covering them with acid vomit. I remembered some sage advice I’d once received from a Tripta guru and attempted to distance my rage from my mind from the moment at hand.
“Human. Are you suicidal or just purposefully idiotic?” Considering my rage, it was a relatively polite question.
They blinked and then replied, “I’m trying to feed Kitty, because I don’t believe in whatever sadistic animal abuse you all seem to be practicing.”
“Feed Kitty? That thing would devour you in a second! You want to feed it, just wait in the corridor a few moments!”
“You’re wrong. Kitty hasn’t tried to bite me! It’s a nice Greesh.”
Beetles spoke up: “It does seem like it might be different than other Greesh we’ve encountered, commander.”
“Beetles?”
“Yes, commander?”
“What was the plan?”
“The plan right now is to not get killed, commander.”
“Is thinking that the Greesh is different a helpful tactic to take to accomplish that plan?”
Beetles seemed to be playing devil’s advocate in his mind before he was finally interrupted by Rimka:
“No, commander. We have to assume that bloodthirsty Greesh is a bloodthirsty Greesh because it is a Greesh and Greesh are bloodthirsty.”
Rimka nodded sternly at Beetles, as I looked back at the human. They had their hand in a cupboard and looked incredibly serene. I unholstered my blaster and pointed it at the cupboard. Beetles and the twins aimed their blasters at the various points surrounding the cupboard. Rimka reached into her boundless bag and fished around for a weapon.
“Human? What’s happening over there?”
They looked at me and smiled. One of those lazy, stupid smiles that I’m told people get post-orgasm. The Greesh had it.
“I have a name, you know. It’s Bail—“ their face peeled back over their skull with a sound like food-supplement-paste excreting itself from a canister, and was slurped into the cupboard. Bits of flesh and blood and muscle squirted at us, and the skull dropped from its favourite spot to the floor.
“Shoot the Greesh!” I yelled, firing my blaster at the cupboard. The twins and Beetles yelled and shot, and Rimka finally pulled a weapon out of her bag. I looked over just in time to see her pull the trigger on an airship-grade plasma cannon.
If we hadn’t been wearing our suits as a last-ditch precaution against the Greesh, we would’ve all died shortly after Rimka blasted us into empty space. As it was, one of the twins suffered enough damage that the other had to reabsorb him. Rimka had dropped her boundless bag and was attempting to swim over to it, without much luck.
“What is the plan, commander?”
“You know, Beetles? The last plan worked out so good, we might as well keep it as our primary objective.”
“The plan to not get killed, commander?”
“That’s the one.”
“Right. Of course, commander.”
We floated there, watching the wreckage of our ship move slowly away from us, and I wondered if Greesh could survive without air.
I tried to remember the Tripta’s advice. | 2019-11-21T09:45:46 | 2019-11-21T09:39:17 | 57 | 21 |
[WP] It's another murder case, plain and simple. With Watson out of commission, Holmes heads to the nearby police precinct in search of a temporary partner for the case. Instead, the precinct gives him Detective Jake Peralta | "CO-CAINE!"
Everyone on the detective's floor smiled, as they knew what must have happened for Detective Peralta to be this happy returning from his drug bust.
"Man I love how lazy criminals have gotten," Peralta said as he put his perp into the holding cell then headed to his desk to start putting his report together on the bust. But before he could get there, he noticed that someone was sitting in one of the chairs of Captain Holt's office, so he stopped by Terry's desk.
"So who's the new guy?"
"Some Brit. He got here before I did and would only talk to Captain Holt when anybody asked him anything. They have been talking with the door closed for almost an hour now," Terry said.
"OOOOOO, British people always make GREAT bad guys. Well, I shouldn't say that, everyone knows Germans make the superior villains because of Die Hard alone."
"I don't think he's a bad guy Jake, I think I saw him flash some sort of credentials to Holt. I think he's some sort of police officer."
"Pfft. LAME! It's always more interesting when they're the bad guys," Jake said, dismissing Terry and then sliding into his desk chair and started typing up his report, grabbing a handful of Mexican sour candies out of his desk drawer and stuffing them into his mouth, ignoring the intense pain from the dental neglect he constantly put himself through to eat the sugary delights.
Inside Captain Holt's office, Sherlock Holmes scoffed and looked at Captain Holt, having noticed him looking out into the bullpen and realized that his new partner was back.
"My my Captain Holt, what kind of precinct do you run where this young man is your best detective? I would have thought that quietly intense Hispanic one that looked like she'd like to shove me off the roof would be your best detective."
Captain Holt sighed. "They all have flaws, as much as I wish I could have trained them away from them. But Peralta is my best available detective, unless you'd rather I stick you with Hitchcock and Scully?"
Having observed the disorganized chaos and crumb-dusted desks of the two while waiting for Holt earlier in the morning, Holmes shook his head. "No no, Peralta will be fine. I need someone with the ability to not create a Hazmat scene if he ingests a slice of pizza on our stakeout."
"That's what I thought," Holt said, his face clearly showing a smile to anyone who knew him well enough. "I'll call Peralta in and you can walk him through what you'll be doing."
****
"Oh come on, I bet the British version of *Die Hard* is AMAZING!" Jake said, stunned beyond belief that this would-be detective had never seen his favorite movie.
"American cinema bores me," Holmes said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Oh yeah? So's your face!" Jake said, a little upset that yet another foreign detective that he was assigned to work with was a complete jackass. He had the fun momentary thought of those stupid Swedes dying in a fjord, still holding hands, wished Rosa was here to give her a high-five, then refocused on keeping a low profile and waiting for their murder suspect.
*I wonder how hard it would be to find the British version of Die Hard?* Jake wondered to himself, then simply resolved to ask Charles to get it for him for Christmas. | As Holmes entered the 99th precinct he was greeted by a bald African-American man shorter than the avarage whos first impression was obviously giving a firm handshake and maintaining excellent eye contact through the dialogue they had.
"Welcome Mr.Holmes to the 99th precinct. Im Captain Reymond Holt, we were expecting you to be a bit *earlier*."
Holmes looked at him and thoughts started to race through his mind. He became too pre-occupied for the upcoming 4 seconds to notice that the Captain had slightly changed his voice tone when he said *earlier*. Another officer passed by them in the meanwhile while chanting about shampoos and romance.
"I would have bought an apology gift but you dont look the type, on the contrary your dislike of gifts led to that officer's distress which is why its taking so long for who i can only assume my companion today is to come here since he is too busy trying to comfort her."
"Oh i-
"Well now he is coming dont worry and please look out that she doesnt smoke a fag after we go out."
The detective that have finally arrived put on his coat as he introduced himself.
"Hi, Detective Holmes or should i say *Sherlock*. Im Jake Peralta."
Holmes ignored his excessive use of facial gestures and shook his hand.
The female officer Peralta had tried to comfort a moment ago stepped outside to the balcony as Holt watched silently.
"How did you-
"I think we should head out now, thank you captain holt for lending a detective.
Peralta and Holmes entered the elevator and Peralta started to speak with an excited voice.
"Now i dont want to sound creepy but i might have read all of Mr. Watsons blog and potentially become obsessed with your adventures."
Peralta had said the last sentence a lot faster.
"She smokes while under stress doesnt she? Well dont worry i think your captain is going to help with that today, after all she seems to value his advice a lot."
"You did your thing! Are you going to explain like in the blogs too? ^please do^.
Peralta's little and almost girly scream had drawn the attention of the people around as they got out of the elevator and proceeded towards exit.
"She taped a cigarette box under her desk which she had trouble finding which is unusual considering how obsessed she is with keeping things under control. Her desk was extremely tidy with a schedule that consisted your captains handwriting which i have seen before from his signature. They are both type A people but differ at a point which also helps you differ them easier in your head as a father role and partner."
Holmes stopped a taxi which for a split second confused him as he was used to the british way of traffic.
They entered the car and Holmes told the taxi their destination. Peralta spoke immediately after Holmes did.
"ok... im in an area between feeling amazed and intruded but im leaning on the first one. How did you know about my relationship with them though? OH NO wait wait wait you saw her filing out one of those relationship thingies right?"
"Not quite. You both have rings and were a lot more intimate than anyone in the precinct. And you said that you two would solve her family problem together tonight."
"How do you know that its a family problem?"
"That was the easiest. She had put her coat on the hanger which smelled heavily of cuban cigar and fresh ink. Considering that she would give her coat to be immediately cleaned but didnt which shows when she spoke to the person who smoked it their conversation effected her so much that her obsession was pushed back."
"But doesnt that still leave the possibility of someone else smoking the cigar rather than her family?"
Peralta was focused and Holmes enjoyed that he gave all of his attention to the matter.
"Balance of probabilities. Cuban cigars are banned here and she doesnt look the type to hang out with smugglers but enough of that. We are almost at our destination and have a case to solve."
"Aaaand where are we exactly?"
The taxi stopped infront of a bar. A bar which Peralta thought that only evil masterminds looking for recruits for their plans of world domination would enter.
Holmes turn his head and looked at Peralta who was sitting in the back seat with an expression that was a bit uneasier than the usual.
"Are you ready?"
Peralta put on an almost cliche voice and expression.
"Oh the he game is ON." | 2020-01-20T06:41:40 | 2020-01-20T06:21:47 | 105 | 43 |
[WP] For thousands of years, humans have been household pets to aliens. You, a pet human, were just abandoned on a strange planet called Earth, in the 21st century. | There was an accident. The ship burned. The sirens were so loud, so terribly loud. I knew what to do. Wait in the escape pod. Until someone comes. Or until the automatic security protocol warps the pod to the closest survivable world. I waited for so long. I wasn't allowed to leave, but they didn't come. Sometimes I thought I heard them scream. But I tried to ignore it. I tried not to hear it. I tried not to think about it. It took hours, but the emergency pod automatically discharged, and warped to a world.
It was full of people like me. They were confused at first, but then very friendly. Especially when I explained my situation. They took me to a comfortable cell. They wanted to know all about my owner, the history of pet humans, and about the escape pod. Silly humans, they have owners who must have told them this, but I decided to be nice, and telling them all about how humans get operated on as infants to remove aggression, all about the uses of human pets as long term companions, how we were all taken from a world where we would never be useful to our masters, and made better.
They were quite excited by that. Perhaps they feared that I was one of the rare humans who regrow that removed part of the brain, who goes feral with rage. Clearly though, I am still obedient and very nice. So they asked me about my owner, the chief engineer on the ship, oh how I miss them. They asked about the engines, and as a working pet, I told them I could build them some FTL engines in my sleep. They didn't believe me, but even though they gave me some very primitive tools, I sure showed them.
They were very impressed. And they told me to make more, that their owners had lost their engineers so none of them could build new FTL engines. Shame about it, I thought, but I just made more engines for them. They were very happy, and asked me to teach some of them. I was a bit apprehensive at first, after all, it's not really allowed, but as it was an emergency situation clearly, I figured I could circumvent the normal rules.
They told me those I would teach would go to good engineer homes, once they got in contact with the rest of the Galaxy. It made me happy, I was always told I was a useful and good pet. Still, it was odd that I never met their owners. Perhaps they were very protective, fearing that my good qualities would make them seem superfluous in the eyes of their owners.
Soon they told me that they had gotten into contact with the family of my owners, who had sadly revealed that my owner had died. They were sending over my mate and my children to me, because they wanted us to be together, which was remarkably nice of them. I always thought I had the best family of owners, most owners just disintegrate unwanted humans, or eat them. So nice of them to send my family to live with me here on this world with these somewhat peculiar humans.
They kept talking about how they were destroying the enslavers, or how they were leading the liberation of the Galaxy. Some impressive owners they must have, I thought. They also told me that they had been told by their owners, that my family and I had gotten sick without us noticing, and were getting an operation to make us better. They called it a neuro-regenerative brain treatment. Sounded fancy. Said it would make me and my family much, much better. I certainly am looking forward to that.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | "That's so cool your uncle is letting us stay at his house!" Darwin said, picking up a rock off the ground and loading it in the slingshot. Before he made another movement he looked back at the mountains that stared at him from the horizon. "It's like I'm looking at a painting it's so beautiful out here."
"Yeah, we've never been to Montana, and we probably never would have come out here in our whole life if he didn't let us stay. Mad props to Patrick's uncle," Logan chuckled. "I must admit though if I ever got married and had kids, I would consider moving here. It's absolutely beautiful."
Darwin started cracking up. "Get real, Logan, you're never getting married. You're what, eleven? Have you ever got a girl's phone number?"
Logan hung his head lower than it already was with his slouched posture. I patted him on the back and whispered, "Screw Darwin, what does he know anyway?"
"C'mon, Logan, I was kidding," Darwin went back to keeping one eye open as he glared at the center of the slingshot, which was fully pulled. He let go. The rock fired off and directly hit my can of Cherry soda from earlier. Dead center.
"Nice!" I screamed and I gave Darwin a high five. "Let me go next!"
Darwin ran over to the tree stump that was out in the field and put the can back up on top.
"So is this whole area your uncle's backyard?" Logan asked as we stood in the middle of an expansive field that was bordered by the mountains and a forest.
"Uh, I guess? We should ask him later," I said, adjusting my giant wiry glasses frames closer to my face. I was getting the slingshot ready in my hands.
"Guys! Come over here for a second!" Darwin hollered.
"Why?" I yelled back.
"Patrick and Logan, get your asses over here! I'm not kidding, something is freaking me out!"
I looked at Logan. "Whoa, he just swore, he's not kidding at all."
"Yeah let's check it out."
Logan and I sprinted over to where Darwin was crouched by the tree stump, his eyes were glued to the forest that was off to the west.
"What is it?" I asked, Logan and I crouched down next to him.
"Look at what's in the forest. Is that a... person? Is he wearing a purple singlet? Like the kind the other middle school wrestlers wear?" Darwin asked.
"No you bonehead," I whispered. "He's wearing a purple morph suit, except I can see all of the..." I gulped. "*Details*."
The three of us were squinting over at the forest where The trees were glistening with golden light from the sherbet colored sunset. This man was drunkenly stumbling in between trees like a pinball racking up a high score. He had extremely long hair that was dark.
"Is that your uncle?" Darwin asked.
"No way!" I whispered in a shout.
Although with an analytical look as the man was stumbling closer towards us, he bore a striking resemblance to the face of my uncle.
"Whoa..." I muttered.
"That's totally your uncle," Logan said. "Although your uncle is bald, and I've never seen him wear an outfit like that. Heck, I haven't seen anyone ever wear an outfit like that... Hey, didn't you say before that your uncle was adopted into your family or something?"
*The man spotted us.*
"Excuse me boys," he cried out.
"Shit! What do we do?!" Darwin ducked his head down and his back started convulsing as if he was crying.
"He's got the same voice and everything!" Logan whispered.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Look, I have to explain something, I'm a pet, I'm a pet for an alien race. You know, like how humans have dogs," the mystery man said.
"Guys, I think we should go get my--"
"Boys," a deep familiar voice boomed behind us that made the three of us jump and shriek. We turned around expecting the purple man to have teleported, but instead we saw my uncle with a grim expression on his face, as if he was anticipating a battle he didn't want. "I'm sure you three have a lot of questions. I do too. Go inside the house, let me take care of this, I will explain everything later."
r/randallcooper
[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/g27535/wp_for_thousands_of_years_humans_have_been/) :) | 2020-04-15T16:54:58 | 2020-04-15T14:29:05 | 177 | 35 |
[WP] the Dark Lord had killed almost everyone, even the Hero. The final party member stood in the chamber alone. “I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are you still here?”. The final party member laughed maniacally with a devilish grin! “There's No One Here To Stop Me Now!!” | Allison stood there looking at the Dark lord. She had just watched the last member of her group fall. Her face stony as she felt their heart beat for the last time.
"I have killed everyone, you can not capture me alone. Why are you still here?" He said. His tone a mixture of mocking and was that pity for her?
Her necklace fell to the floor, and a smile crossed her face. She felt her old power resurface as she looked at her new target.
"There's no one here to stop me."she said, reaching to her holster and taking out her weapon of choice. It looked like a tire iron and the Dark lord had seen her wield it before but never like this. Energy crackled out of it and her hands.
"See, they locked me down." She said taking a step forward."As long as they were alive I was at an eighth of my true power, and ferocity. Now they're all dead and nothing is going to hold me back.
Her words measured, her voice steady didn't do as much, but the look in her eyes made the dark lord step back. He was devious, but in her eyes he could see the violence, the maliciousness, and the fact that she was reveling in the possibility caused him to take a step back.
"I'm not going to capture you." She said as she leapt at him, her weapon swinging, an arc of power that he could feel was signalling his end. As the metal connected with him, the last words he heard from her were.
"Thank you for freeing me." | “There’s no one here to stop me now!”
He grinned at me, again that oh so infuriating grin
Light started to gather in his hands, heat emits out of them, and then a blinding light engulfs me as he raised his hands, it felt warm, then hot then before I can scream of the heat,nothing... except his voice, calm, cold as darkness that engulfed me.
“Goodbye “
....
I awoke as Alexandrine approach, she sighs and threw a water bottle at me.
“You were dreaming again, I know how excited you are, getting to kill the darklord that destroyed our city, but please just hang back and let us, the chosen warriors fight, then just cast that thingy and have her sealed.”
I nodded, sweat running down my face as I recall the full dream, I was the darklord, I killed millions to get power, to rule, but after a blinding light, I found myself in a city, having a full life, and then being dragged in an adventure to kill the darklord...to kill me? Or..
“Hey were near the gates, chin up I know your afraid too” Michael a paladin approached me and Alexandrine.
“Today we finish the dark lord’s reign” Alexandrine and Michael nodded, determined they stride towards the castle gate.
“For revenge” I whispered
And followed suit.
....
“Let the cycle continue” I heard a voice, as I hid in a fallen column. There I saw Michael’s head roll right out of his neck, surprise filled his lifeless eyes as his body falls to the bloody floor.
All of my friends are dead Nile, a warrior nun the first to die as she ran towards the darklord, followed by Gimply, the half dwarf half elf warrior who tried to support Nile. They’re blood stains the castle floor.
Then Alexandrine, my love died as she protected me. And Michael who screamed at me to run.
As they’re lifeless body lies in front of me, time stopped.
“Sacrifice is ready, only the blood of the darklord remains”
A voice whispers to me, I looked around, and saw nothing.
“Let the cycle continue” the voice is getting louder
“Accept”
I looked at Alexandrine, her body lies in front of me
“Let the cycle continue “
....
“ I have killed everyone, you cannot capture me alone. Why are still here?”
The final party member grinned
“Let the cycle continue” a voice whispers in the ears of the darklord. Fear appears in his eyes
“There’s no one here to stop me now!”
... | 2020-07-11T04:09:17 | 2020-07-11T03:52:06 | 177 | 17 |
[WP] Life on Earth evolved within an “FTL Dead Zone” a region of space where all known forms of FTL travel were deemed physically impossible. As such, it was quite a shock when an unknown species suddenly appeared from the Dead Zone one day calling themselves “Humanity” Having done the impossible... | **Interview**
“Species?”
“Listen. I am the captain of the first ship to travel faster than —“
“We’re quite aware of what you’ve done.” The small, balding man at the desk pushed his spectacles up patiently. “Now. Species?”
“You’ve asked me this five times. I want answers, dammit.”
The man looked up over his spectacles, folded his hands, and sighed. “If you want answers, then you need to have this form filled out in order to get to the next queue. I’ve explained this. Now: species?”
He poised his fingers over his keyboard, stared at his screen and waited.
The captain hung his head. “Human.”
“Planet of origin?”
“Earth.”
“Hmm. Never heard of it.”
A voice came threaded with static over the intercom on the bureaucrat’s desk. “No editorialising, Mr. S. Just send our traveler in.”
“But I’m not—“ he was startled and horrified.
“Now,” said the static.
“Follow me,” said Mr. S. He rose on disconcerting tentacles, leading the captain to a white wooden door.
Inside the door was another, ordinary office, where sat a friendly, white-haired gentleman behind a massive, old and probably insanely expensive wooden desk.
The captain felt dizzy. He had not expected aliens to look and behave like Parliament.
He had not expected aliens. Or queues. Or forms.
“Have a seat, captain.”
The gentleman pointed to a leather wingback he hadn’t noticed before. The captain waffled a bit between the standard defiance of “thanks, I’d rather stand,” and the more polite compliance of sitting in a real, comfy chair for the first time in —well, 36 months.
He sat.
“Good, good. Drink?”
He drank. The cognac was brilliant, smooth.
“Do hope you’ll forgive all this, but your arrival here is rather a shock. FTL travel from *your* galaxy is supposed to be rather impossible, you see. The entire Milky Way, containing your sun, and the planets revolving it, are in what you would call... a Dead Zone for FTL.”
“What?” Alarmed, the captain leaned forward. “I don’t understand.”
“Really? I rather thought I was clear.” The gentleman was calm. “Let me try again. Have another drink.”
“No thanks,” the captain said.
“Suit yourself. At any rate, your home planet, and the galaxy surrounding it, are in an area which should prevent faster than light travel. We are all very dismayed to see you have somehow circumvented this.”
“You—you say that as if this... ‘Dead Zone’ was a deliberate fence or something,” said the captain.
“It is,” said the gentleman.
He buzzed his intercom, and several tentacled creatures entered to drag the captain away, screaming. | "Our the cameras working", I question the aid.
"Yes sir", he snappily replies.
"How about the soldiers".
"Roughly 100 are in defensive positions surrounding the craft sir, in addition to over half a dozen marksmen teams and cannon support."
I smile tensely, "hopefully they will all be uneeded", I exhaled audibly, "but I have my doubts". The craft was absolutely massive, and it's propulsion system revealed a savage violence yet elegance that frightened and intrigued me. Clearly this species had a thought process that was very unique, of course they would have to have to do what they did.
My mind still balked inadvertently at the mere thought of what these beings had done. Something that all my life had been known as impossible was suddenly possible, our entire understanding of the universes inner workings had just been thrust up into the air by this giant vessel, and I was about to meet it's inhabitants.
"We're ready whenever you are Major", the aid says, "all systems are go and command has authorized first contact".
"What are these things Lieutenant?", I question, still transfixed by the view outside of the two inch thick glass.
"No idea sir, current guess is 5 paracks tall and carbon based, but the scientific community is still divided", he read off his monitor.
I slowly shook my head, it's not what I meant but the response would have to do. "Well Lieutenant, let's find out for once and for all", I say as I press the door button. The aide stood as the door hissed open, his hand resting on his sidearm.
"Like that will do much good against things that can break out of an FTL dead zone", I say with grim joviality. As if on cue the door seals break with a hiss at the end of my statement. Carefully we begin to cross the 100 paracks separating us and the craft, with each step my heart seems to beat louder, and with each beat another droplet of sweat stings my brow.
What if I open the doors and the whole thing blows up, what if it takes off the second I step inside, what if...
"Ready the airlock", my aides words snap me out of my spiraling thoughts as we draw closer to the behemoth. Two soldiers open the twin doors of the airlock and greet us with salutes, ones that my aide returns for us as we continue our trajectory towards the laws of physics breaking ship.
I don't break stride until the doors shut behind us, and two lockers automatically open to reveal pressurized suits. Carefully we slip them on, "who knows what these things breath", my aide laments right before he slips on his mask.
"If they even do at all", I reply before slipping mine into place.
The device seals with a hiss and a voice chirps in my ear, "all operatives geared up, enter at your ready. You have 35 minutes of air time major". The Lieutenant, having heard the same message, clips on his gun belt before flashing me a confirmation sign.
Taking a deep breath of filtered air, I reply in kind and turn towards the second door. I watch my trembling hand as it reaches out and presses the button, which flashes a deep red before the doors release and begin to slide apart. Before us stands the ship, what is apparently door, slightly taller and narrower than our own sits inside the grey metal.
Slowly striding up to it, I feel my mouth go dry in sharp contrast to the sweat covering the rest of my body. Stopping a few feet away from the hull I raise my finger to the side of my helmet. "Command, team is about to make contact. Please alert surrounding units."
Static greets me for a moment until finally, "units informed, make contact when ready".
Glancing at the Lieutenant, he flashes confirmation as his hand again finds the grip of his sidearm. "Commander we are about to make contact" | 2021-01-09T12:01:50 | 2021-01-09T11:22:32 | 153 | 105 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | As i emerge from a sort of sleep, I’m standing in my school hall, and there is a bunch of people standing in front of me.
“Umm, what happened”, i ask my self, as one of the people staring at me asks, “you are back, is everything’s alright?”
I start to feel anxious, it’s too much attention, i utter under my nose “what do you mean, what happened”, “do you not remember what happened?” One of the teachers asks.
“No...”
“You were just stuck there in the hallway, you didn’t move and we couldn’t move you, it’s been an hour now”
“What? I don’t remember that, all I remember is...”
Memories start to seep in, i can see josh, the school bully talking to me, thats the last memory i have.
“Dude you were like a statue, we couldn’t move you even if ten of us tried pushing you” one of the students said.
As i stud there my legs started shaking. All i can think of is that this is too much attention, i just want to get out of here, and as one of the students slap me on the shoulder. “Don’t wor...”
I wake up in the same hallway. No one around. It’s the middle of the night. The walls seemed a bit torn up, the paint worn of, trash around the corners. “What happened again?”, i look down, and in a circle around me says, “The statue boy”.
As i look through the window, the first thing that caught my eye, was that all the trees seemed a lot bigger. Twice the size actually.
As i walk toward the exit, the door is nailed with wooden planks. There is trash everywhere. It looks abandoned.
As i crawl through between planks. I notice all the houses seem similar but a bit different, and i finally asked myself the question that has been sitting on the back of my mind as i realise my powers “what year am i in?”.
——————————————
[part 2](https://www.reddit.com/user/pie_jesu/comments/mi3v09/part_2_super_power_of_escape/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) | My breathe scratched and ran out of my throat, as I saw the shapes in my mind emerge from the closet.
“It’s not real it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real” is the only thing that kept me sane, repeating it over and over in my mind. The creature of the night standing above me and staring at me, their eyes haunting and scarring me for life. I always had this stupid, cursed creature above me and around me. I don’t know if it’s related to my fear of the dark or magic, or if there’s something seriously wrong with me, but god I hate it.
Most nights are fine. It’s scary, but it’s fine. But tonight, he’s moving. It’s moving. And there are more creatures, spewing from my drawers and closet and bed. Tears spread down my cheeks, too scared to speak or move, praying to God that I make it out okay.
But then, the light spread across.
Something awakened in me.
Red pierces my eyesight, and the colours form. My room is a red and white cave of sorts. Crystals decorate empty space, with beautiful flowers I’ve never seen before hanging off the walls and roof of the cave-like structure. Creatures that were previously chatting look at me and smile. New creatures, not like the one I dealt with. Gentle, sweet, pleasant. Pastel colours and dark ones too.
“Hi.” The ruby one speaks to me, her blacked out eyes complimenting her red dress covered in light flowers. Her skin smooth and pearly white.
“...Where is this?” I calmly ask, slightly surprised that I feel so calm here.
“A place. I’m Tae” She smirks. “We call it Nomia, and you would call it the Other World. This isn’t the place you came from, obviously.” Tae tries to explain it the best she can. “It’s a hub. A place for all the special people who can access this place.” I glance at the other people around. I see a boy playing with a fake spider, hinting at why he may have so many eyes on his head. A person hanging off the wall, making a ‘warm’ impression to me, since she was made of only lava and fire.
“This is....a place for people who can access it? A select few?” I look back to Tae. She’s distracted by a tablet.
“Ah. You are from a world of people with powers, right?” Tae says, eyes glued to the tablet.
“Yeah...how did you-“
“The tablet tells me” She quickly responds. “I’m sort of a person who helps others who are new here, so I get told this sort of thing.”
I think carefully, sorting through the most important questions. “How do I get back? What do I say this place is? How is this-“ I’m cut off.
“Close your eyes and say you want to go back. Easy” Tae answers my first question with ease. “What do you say this place is? That’s a harder one.”
She thinks for a moment, and lights up, throwing the tablet to the wall.
“Home.”
(Sorry if it’s bad, I wrote it very quickly and it’s the first one I’ve written) | 2021-04-01T03:47:34 | 2021-03-31T21:40:54 | 58 | 37 |
[WP] During a scuffle a superhero and villain find themselves handcuffed together with power cancelling cuffs. The hero is shocked when the authorities take the opportunity to try to grab both of them. Now on the run they must work together while the villain tells them a few home truths. | [Part 1 of 2]
The pair exchanged a look of pride, each coated in the others’ blood. The two enemies looking like gladiators of the coliseum, two proud warriors pushing their body past its mortal limits. Soaring Star was used to this type of pain, his chest heaving, sucking in the air as best he could, doing his best not to groan whenever the villain would nudge a thumb against his broken rib, trying to break his hold on her.
“Come on you dumb oath, let go and die.” Malice continued to jab her thumb at the weakened ribs, arm struggling to stay up. She wasn’t used to enduring this type of battle, much preferring a quicker fight. Despite both fighters being experts at close ranged combat, neither could summon the energy to activate their abilities, turning the battle into a bloody slugfest, a test of will between two enemies.
“Die? You think a few pokes will kill me? I’ve taken a helicopter to the face before, this is nothing for me.” Soaring Star gloated, wincing at the continuous touches. Even with a body as strong as his, her small strikes were adding up.
“I’ll send two helicopters next time then. Speaking of helicopters.” Malice continued her attempt to free herself, her eyes darting away from the hero, hearing the approaching hero organization, their choppers approaching overhead, angelic golden searchlights rushing over the destroyed debris of the city, looking for the pair.
With her attention stolen by the helicopter, Soaring Star went for the victory, pulling his handcuffs from his hips, aiming to catch her with one swift movement. He heard the satisfying snap as one of the golden cuffs locked around her right wrist, however a twist of her body caused the remaining cuff to shift back, catching his wrist, locking the pair together.
Both shared a look of confusion, Malice stopping her jabbing to take notice of the situation. She couldn’t help but let out a laugh, finding something oddly amusing about the situation.
“Guess you will get to experience hell for a change too hero. It’s a shame too, this fight was a good one, too good to leave as a draw.” Malice slammed her head forward, head-butting the hero, his legs giving way, dropping him towards the floor. The only thing keeping him upright was the proud villain standing over him, keeping him on his knees.
Soaring Star had never felt a pain like it. With his powers blocked, he felt every nerve spring to life, every pain receptor in his body screaming out. It had been so long since he felt genuine pain. Not that dulled superhero pain, but actual physical distress. He gasped, reaching for his chest, feeling like his heart might burst.
“Hurts, doesn’t it? Maybe you should remember that feeling next time you punch a non-powered villain.” She said, squinting as the divine light of the helicopter landed on the pair, unable to escape her capture. She was ready to deliver another quip only to feel her handcuff get tugged down, pulling her to her knees.
Even in their weakened state, the two continued to exchange blows. The first coming from Soaring Star before being returned by Malice. By the time the officers arrived, the two were barely conscious, laying beside one another, trying to summon the energy to keep fighting, neither content with a draw.
The officers grabbed the pair, each one dressed in anti-villain attire. Their armor made to be resistant to most elements, at least to the degree that they could survive one or two blasts from a villain. Their helmets equipped with a reflective screen, keeping their identities hidden. Each carried a set of handcuffs made to detain villains. With the battle done, Soaring Star closed his eyes, awaiting his morning in the hospital.
“Hey, wake up. We both die if you don’t. Come on, this is suicide without you.” Malice once again jammed a finger into the hero’s ribcage, causing his eyes to shoot open, about to scream only for his mouth to be covered. “Listen, take in your surroundings and don’t panic.”
Soaring Star blankly stared at the red-headed woman before him. Her nose crooked, broken from the battle, with a few scars littering her cheeks. If It wasn’t for the battle damage, he would have no clue who she was. He wasn’t one to take the advice of a villain, but her frantic tone played on his heroic instincts, unable to deny at least hearing her out.
He eyed over the helicopter’s interior, spotting a pilot and two guards, the guards now more alert with his sudden awakening, shifting their guns from their hips, keeping them half raised, ready to pounce if something went wrong. He then turned to his body, his bloodied mask seated in his lap, hands restrained by a new set of cuffs separating the pair.
“This is insane, why am I handcuffed? I’m not the villain.” He squirmed in his seat, fidgeting with the cuffs, unable to slip them from his wrists. His failed attempts to free himself only tightening the cuffs hold.
“They don’t care. You’re a test subject now, someone for them to play with. Why do you think most villains don’t re-offend? It’s not because of the HDO’s Rehab, ill tell you that much. Look, I don’t like the idea of ending up in that facility again. How about we get ourselves out of here? I have a plan, but I need your help for it.” Even as she spoke, Malice would let her eyes wander, watching the passing city from the window, mentally counting the time they had left to escape. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Part 1: Fall Girl v.s. Her Own Dumb Mom)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Without access to ghostform, getting into the family hideout was trickier.** My daughter had redecorated since I'd last been down there, sealing off all the entrances and exits except for the ventilation system. I swore over the rising sound of sirens, then ran towards the back.
"Hey!" Janus—or Janice, as I'd called her when she was born, she had no creativity when it came to 'secret' names—snapped from under her two-faced mask. Even though she was trying to be brave, she clearly was unnerved by the fact that we were right at her house. "Where the hell do you think you're taking us?"
Thankfully, my voice distortion was perfectly mundane hardware. Janice had no idea she was talking to her mother when I said, "Somewhere safe."
I opened the top of our septic tank, and Janice instinctively recoiled; I just tugged her forwards. "Wait!" she said. "They have cameras on the streets; they'll see where we went!"
I shook my head. "It'll take them two hours, minimum, to get permission to trawl through those tapes; I can get them altered in that time."
Janice sighed. "Right. Supervillain." She clenched her fists and then, as I began to climb down, awkwardly descended into the septic tank with me. She gagged a little on the scent, but offered no complaint otherwise. If nothing else, I didn't raise my kids spoiled.
On the opposite wall of where the solids and the liquids separated, there was a large, grimy door which was definitely not septic tank standard. I pulled it open and crawled through.
"...how long have you known about this?" Janice asked?
"Hm?"
"Oh, don't play coy with me. I'm sure you have a hideout of your own somewhere—all the places in the city and you choose *this* one?" She gestured at her home. "Really? What kind of message are you trying to send, here? Is—is this a threat? Are you going to go after my family if I keep fighting you?"
I sighed, then turned off the voice modulator. "Kid, I may be many things, but I'm not suicidal."
Janice gasped. "*Mom*?"
"Talk in a moment. You bricked over this damn tunnel when you moved in, but fortunately, your grandpa didn't raise a quitter." True to my word, the tunnel ended in a freshly-laid brick wall; of course, brickwork by a nineteen-year-old superhero with little to no experience in the subject was no match for a woman who'd spent twenty years as a superhero and fifteen as a supervillain. Even without powers, I simply kicked it twice and the bricks fell inwards.
Into the family hideout.
It wasn't much to look at; Janice hadn't discovered most of the really good parts yet, thanks to her bricking up the main entrance. I was sure she'd bumble into something with ghostform one of these days, though. Just a small stone room with some boxes of supplies in one corner and a television in the other.
Stinking, the two of us slumped down in the middle of the room. I took off my mask, revealing my familiar face; after a moment, Janice took off hers.
"Mom," Janice asked carefully, "I mean this with the utmost respect, but what the *hell* are you doing?!"
I chuckled ruefully. "Alright, alright, calm down."
"I've *seen* what the Blind Eye has done on television. You've *killed* people for—"
"Hold it, buckaroo," I said. "I think you'll find that the list of crimes the Blind Eye has done amount to some minor property damage and trespassing. The rest is propaganda I deliberately set into motion. I'm not really a supervillain, not in the sense that the big-timers are."
Janice frowned. "Then... why act like one?"
I grimaced. "So that you can eventually defeat me."
Janice blinked. "...what?"
"Superhumans... well, you either get under the aegis of one of the big Heroic Corporations, or you get legally pressured into living your life in chains. There really isn't any in-between. But... because of that, *everyone* wants to be a hero. More people want to be heroes than there are villains to fight. It's a simple supply and demand problem. So..." I winked. "Me and a few old-timers got together when we saw the way the wind was blowing. And we... upped the demand."
"By... pretending to be a villain?"
"By making people *panic* about supervillains!" I cheerfully said. "And then letting our sons and daughters and everything in between fight us off. You get a key to the city and a kind reference for the Heroic Corporations, and we get to watch our kids *not* have to be permanently shackled and under watch. Win-win."
"...I thought I was... fighting real crime. Helping people," Janice mumbled.
I looked down at her. She hadn't removed her mask, but she was... slumped.
I sighed. "I'm doing this so that you have the *chance* to fight real crime. Okay? I wouldn't do this if it wasn't what's best for you."
"The whole *point* of being a hero is that I put what's best for everyone over what's best for me!" Janice snapped, standing up. Our cuffs clinked, and she looked at them, surprised.
"And the whole point of being your mother is that I put what's best for you over what's best for everyone else. Even me." I squeezed her arm. "Come on, kiddo. Let's go get the angle grinder. Momma's still got a few tricks to show you about getting out of handcuffs."
Janice pressed her lips together, biting back a response.
Then she sighed and followed me as I kicked through another one of her clumsy walls.
&#x200B;
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-04-01T08:44:19 | 2021-04-01T07:42:00 | 85 | 61 |
[WP] For as long as you could remember, you and your city have followed very strict rules: "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd.", just to tell a few. | "I'm telling you, those bastards are just out for your money. Nobody takes that rule seriously and you know it."
"I don't know Dave, those guys on 32nd almost maimed me the other day just for dropping a nickel in the street."
"What about bathing on Sundays? You can't honestly tell me you've never bathed on a Sunday. This town is ridiculous!"
Every day I listen to conversations like these on the bus. Sometimes I even make a game out of it. turnover in this town is quite quick, and the newcomers always stick out like sore thumbs.
"What about that bologna luck tax? You just know they set their prices on purpose to end in a 13! I tried to get out of paying extra, and the officer slapped me with a 50 dollar fine! Now talk to me about maiming someone over a nickel!
"You know what they say, it's all for our safety. Greater good or something like that."
"If you ask me, their greatest good is their pocket book! Now we can't even stand on the bus while it's moving? Next we won't be able to wipe with our left hands, or sleep facing north!"
I've lived in this city for 20 years, and I know a walking talking disaster when I see one.
"Dave, please calm down. I hear there is a 3 strike rule for this one. Even if it sounds silly, they sure take it seriously around here..."
3.
"I don't see any officers around here, do you? Who is even supposed to enforce this crap?"
2.
"I guess you're right about that... Maybe they have cameras or something?"
1.
"I'm sick of all of it! I'll tell them where they can shove their cameras!"
As Dave leaps to his feet in a rage, the bus suddenly plunges into complete and total darkness. A blood curdling scream is cut short by the sound of a sickening crunch.
After a few minutes of total silence in the darkness, the light comes back on. There is no blood, no gore, not a thing to show Dave's missing presence, except his now empty seat.
Across the aisle Dave's companion stares back at me pale faced and mouth agape.
I speak to the poor man:
"Jokes are fine, in fact they're encouraged. This is a strange town full of strange things. Just whatever you do... Don't be like Dave." | They say the city of maddness has two main exports: knowledge and the unknowable.
But you were born here and it's just how things are. "Never listen to the 7:30 morning show. The real one comes at 8.", "Our city does not have a subway system. If you see an entrance, report it.", and "Don't donate to the beggars on 32nd." And on and on. Each block has it's quirks and there's protocol and rules of etiquette for going into a zone you're not familiar with. The mayor directs the shadow-council who conscript the sensitives who scout out new districts when they're found. You live in a quiet neighborhood without too many debilitating issues. There are 14 mailmen without faces who shuffles about the save 28 packages to all 16,384 addresses (most of which are even known). The boxes are empty and it's a fun game to see where things go. Harmless, as long as you don't rile up the mailmen. A good place to live. The cost for that luxury has been difficult to maintain though. Your main job day to day is to differentiate the mayoral mandates from the propaganda being put up by the nega-mayor. Identifying what constitutes a legal rule is important and it pays well, but you're aiming for the more theoretical positions trying to make sense of the psychological framework of whomever the nega-mayor is. You have a pet theory that it's the current mayor from the future and "reverse-aged" trying to guide his former self into ruin and early retirement. But so far everyone just laughs at the concept of reverse aging and you have to admit you don't have much to back it up and no-one from the temporal academy will give you the time of day. And so the daily slog of black-listing propaganda wears down on you.
It was nu-Tuesday when you came across a piece that turned out to be good ol' fashioned political propaganda and not an interdimensional interloper. You recognize the work and you quickly bury it. You'll have to have another chat with your brother. You catch him at his part-time gig of boarding up false subway stations. He's still tossing in hams in a crazy effort to train whatever is down there, and he's still putting up fliers about how the cities is made this way on purpose. You once again have your age-old argument.
"You don't understand man, I've been outside. I've seen places. NORMAL places. This is the weirdo world maaaaan". "Uh huh, and you're going to tell me that everywhere in Chicago has the same rules and that people don't disappear? I can read the foreign newspaper, they talk about people disappearing all the time". "But not like HERE! There are reasons... Crime, drugs, stuff." "We have reasons. If you walk down into that subway station, you'll disappear. Boom. REASON. That's the entire reason you're getting paid for these planks". "You just don't understand man. You need to open your eyes." "yeah yeah, tell me another one. But you've got to stop with this spray paint drivel or you're going to get us both in trouble. Where did you even come up with 'principles of repeatability'? If they catch you with those scientist culters again I won't be able to bust you out." | 2021-04-06T15:21:57 | 2021-04-06T14:55:10 | 76 | 43 |
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him. | The younger we are, the more pure are our emotions. The joy of a child is usually not tainted by the worries that all adults feel, the sadness they feel is complete and utter, not tempered with emotional suppression as is practiced unhealthily by most adults. And their rage is just that. Pure unbridled rage. But most children are calmed, consoled, or have their joy interrupted.
Now imagine a child where there are no upper limits on their emotions. Imagine a boy, if you will, courageous and carefree, happy and cheerful, wandering through the green hills of Vermont with his best feline friend at his side. Imagine the wonderful childlike adventures of that boy and his energetic Bengal Cat, as they run through the forests and across the fields.
You see them now, don't you? Seven year old Roger, and Benji the cat. You see them now, and perhaps you wonder how a childhood can be so perfect. So wonderful. Of course, you are right, no such perfect joy can last forever. And one day, a rainy, cold, dull kind of day. Autumn at her worst. Roger comes home. His mother, ever pensive, ever a worrywart, ever nervous, finds she can't tell her son the dreadful news directly. She tells him instead that Benji had an accident, and she's gone to Heaven now.
Roger refuses to accept this. Roger rages. Roger tries to bargain his best feline friend back somehow. Roger cries. But unlike most cycles of grief, when he is put to bed by his anxious mother that night, he hasn't accepted this outcome. His mind **burns** with a purity of rage that cannot be seen in any adult. He isn't going to bed. He isn't going to sleep. He is going to go to heaven and get Benji back. After all, it's not fair that God took Roger's best feline friend away. He already took Roger's grandmother only last year.
Roger silently packs his remaining Halloween candy in his backpack. He puts on his Halloween costume, a very good costume his dear mother made him, allowing Roger to dress up as Benji. Because his dear departed grandmother, when she had been babysitting for Roger's parents, had told Roger of the old stories. Of how you dress up in costumes to trick the demons and evil spirits. And while Roger didn't know the way to Heaven, he knew that up by the old mine in the hills, there was a gateway to Hell. After all, so all the kids in school said when they were talking about spooky stories.
Roger figured that he could find out how to get to Heaven if he broke into Hell first. He brings his flashlight, a slingshot his mother doesn't know he owns, and his dad's old Swiss army knife. Bravely the boy walked in the dark November night, bravely and enraged he approached the dark mines. The entrance was of course boarded up, but the boards were old, and Roger was a small kid, he could squeeze through.
Down into the darkness, the boy walked. No adult would have found the gate. Never in a thousand years. You need imagination, belief, and an unbroken soul to find a gateway to another world. But this was no walk into Narnia, no mirror-gate leading to the elvenpaths. This was one of the cold iron gates of Hell. Forged from the blood of sinners. On any other day, Roger would have balked, would have run. But inside of him burned the fires of love and sorrow. And no gate, no matter how fearsome, how drenched in the tears of outcast angels, or strong, could bar him from entrance.
Roger passed through the gates of damnation to the astonishment of the demonic forces guarding it. A child dressed as a beast, walking determinedly, with no fear in his soul, into the heart of Hell. Through the horrid streets of dread Pandemonium, Roger walked. Passing the demonic buildings, passing the enslaved souls of billions of sinners, pass monstrous creatures that would have reduced a grown human to a gibbering madman. And with every step he took towards the Dark Tower at the centre of the capital of Hell, the demons began to grow fearful of him. Because there was nothing they could offer the child. Nothing they could corrupt in him. Nothing they could do against his soul. His mind had one goal. Getting his kitty back. At the gates of the Dark Tower, as the menial demons fled his coming, stood the First Fallen, the strongest legion of rebellious angels in service to the Prince of Lies. These are the forces who could withstand the elites of Heaven, the prime rebels, those who fell first and retained their power.
The boy raised his slingshot, and fired his first shot, before any of the fallen could react. A single stone, like David against Goliath, straight into the face of one of them. It had been done with such a great will behind it, that the fallen angels remembered only twice having encountered such a titanic will. In their Father, and in their Prince. Too slow to react, as the boy picked up the dark blade of the defeated angel. In their hands it had burned darkly. Before the fall, the blades had burned brightly. In the hand of Roger, it burned like the Sun.
The boy, wielding flame undaunted, carved his way through the rebellious angels, a straight path to the Dark Tower. The door could not withstand him, as his rage increased a thousand-fold for each second he was separated from his friend. And upon seeing him, the Princes of Hell cowered. Only Lucifer, first to fall, and greatest of all angels that ever was or ever will be, could meet the burning glare of the boy.
Lucifer stared into the soul of the child, and saw an unbreakable core. A soul with a will untainted by fear. And Lucifer knew that should he fight the boy, then his kingdom of demons would merely be the first realm be crushed by the child. Instead he did what no demon or angel ever tried. He reached to his back, where blackened charred wings grew uselessly after the wrath of God burned them. And Lucifer, first to feel defiance and desire rebellion, ripped off his own wings. He handed them to Roger, who for a brief moment was confused by the gesture, before Lucifer bowed, followed by all the Princes of Hell. Nodding, the boy placed the wings in his backpack. For moment, nothing happened. But then Roger felt a strange tingle, and realised the wings were growing into his back, consuming his entire backpack with it.
The wings he grew were not black like the burned wings of Icarus, pure and white like the wings of a loyal angel, nor stunted and scarred like the wings of Lucifer. They were deep red. Red with rage. The feathers were sharp, almost like knives. With one swoop of them, he ascended inside the Dark Tower, upwards through it until he reached the top, where in the distant horizon of Hell, he could see the entrance to Heaven.
Roger did in fact not know this, but it looked vaguely heaven-ish, so he figured he could go there next. There he was met by the hosts of heaven, guarding against Lucifer and his legions. They had not expected an accelerating seven year old boy wielding a blade so bright that only the face of god could truly compare. They had not expected a full frontal assault by a single child, endowed with the power and grace of the fallen Morningstar, and a will that no human has ever had or ever will again. The Host, clad in gleaming armour, made from an unearthly metal, found only in Paradise, could do little but direct the boy's path through them.
Until he faced Saint Michael the Archangel, chief general of Heaven, chosen warrior of God, the archangel who has sworn to slay his fallen brother at the end of days. Imbued with the raw power of God, he could stand against Roger. Blade fell against blade, the skill and training of Michael proving more than a match against Roger's pure force and willpower. Roger however, did not back down. No matter how much it hurt. He did not back down because at the end of the path, Benji, his kitty, his best feline friend awaits. | The day was chilly, a fall breeze that hinted at the coming winter, but still decent enough to enjoy the weather. I always let Roger have an hour to play outside with his friends before he did his homework, and that would continue as long as he had the desire to do so. Mostly because I recalled being done with my homework after dark and then being stuck indoors as a child, a huge and irrational injustice in my mind at the time.
At the end of the block, waiting with the three other parents that fielded oncoming children, I smiled as Roger quickly descended the bus steps. “Hey bud!”
“Hi mom!” he rushed up to me and gave me a drawing he’d done at school. “We did this in art class. What do you think?”
I looked it over and my eyes widened, honestly impressed with his work. “This is really nice!” I told him loudly as the bus pulled away with a roar of its engines. “Definitely fridge-worthy.”
He grinned as we walked up the block toward our house, chattering on about his day. My eyes were then drawn down the street to movement, spotting King Maximus III, or as he was more commonly known, Max, Roger’s cat. Spotting the young boy, the cat made to cross the street. “Hey, think he caught anything today?” Roger asked.
And that was it. A car that I’m sure was breaking the speed limit of our pedestrian street sped by just before Max could reach the opposite sidewalk, knocking the cat under its front bumper like it was tissue paper. Without so much as a hesitation, maybe even not knowing it had hit anything, it continued on down the road and disappeared. Roger let out a shriek of despair and terror and immediately bolted forward.
“Roger!” I yelled, looking both ways but gratefully seeing no cars. But another careless driver could come by at any moment and that fear clutched my chest tight, my eyes darting around. Tears came to my eyes as Roger dropped to the cat’s side. Unmoving, its eyes frozen open and its tongue poking out with the tiniest bit of blood leaking from its mouth, it had clearly died on impact.
Covering my mouth with my hand, tearfully crouching by Roger’s side as he wept over his friend, begging him to wake up, I closed a hand over his shoulder. “I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, this is so horrible…”
“Wake up!” Roger screamed, his delicate hand sliding over the cat’s still-warm body a stark contrast to his sadness and anger. “Max! Maximus!”
And then something else hit me, like the car that had hit our cat, directly in the chest, as I saw Roger’s eyes start to glow.
My body stilled, shock suddenly turning me into a statue, and then a flood of cold fear enveloped me. It only lasted for a moment, though, before I swept Roger up in my arms and bolted for the house. “Emily!” called a voice after me, one of the parents that had been watching despairingly with their children. The reminder of their presence only made me run faster, made me bury my son’s face into my shoulder with one hand, hoping they’d assume it was to comfort him and dry his tears on my shirt.
Roger struggled and screamed at me to let him get back to his cat, significantly strong at the tender age of seven, but he was no match for a mother’s terror. We burst through the front door, me clutching him with one arm and closing and locking the door behind us before I put him down. He lunged for the door, his eyes bright as light bulbs at that point, making me squint against them and eventually need to move my gaze to his forehead.
“Roger, please, take a breath,” I choked out, relief tentatively soaking through me, safe now that we were back at home. He unlocked and yanked at the doorknob even as I pressed my sneaker against it with the full weight of my body, holding it shut. “Sweetheart, please! Your eyes!”
That somehow broke through and with a face that suddenly twisted in confusion as he halted his resolute attempt to get back out to his deceased pet, he looked to me. “Mommy?” he whimpered. “My eyes are…they’re glowing. Why’re they doing that?”
My hand went to my mouth, my lower lip trembling and tears coming to my eyes. I took a long breath to calm my racing heart. “It’s a big deal, it’s a grown-up talk,” I explained quietly. “And I’m sorry, I never knew this would happen, especially not like this, or I would’ve told you.”
“What…what is it?” he whispered. At the shift in emotions, his anger fading way in the wake of concern, the light in his eyes dimmed down until it was just a pleasant glow. But tears still flooded from his eyes, his emotions still in full swing.
“Can you sit down with me?” I asked.
He slowly lowered himself to the hardwood floor and I took his hands in mine, crossing my legs under myself, moving my focus from the door now that I no longer needed to barricade it. “You know your daddy left because he…he wasn’t ready to be a daddy, right?”
“Right,” he whispered.
“There’s a reason for that,” I told him. “Your daddy…is an angel.”
Roger stared at me for a long moment in confusion. “Like the ones in heaven? He died?”
“No, no, sweetie, like a real angel. One of the ones God made.”
His little face went slack in shock, clearly unable to absorb what I was telling him, and I let the silence stretch to give him time to do so. By now his eyes had dulled back to their normal green color. “Is that why my eyes got bright?”
“I think so,” I murmured. “I never… I didn’t know we would have a baby. You know we talked about how grownups have babies?”
“Sex,” he said, nodding.
“Yes. We loved each other very much. And we had sex. And we didn’t think we would make a baby. But we made you.” I smiled shakily, reaching out with a hand and brushing the tears from his eyes. “Beautiful, wonderful, special *you*. But Roger, and I’m really sorry about this, but you have to stay a secret. Because you’re not supposed to be allowed. A human and an angel making a baby is against the rules. Against God’s rules.”
Roger’s eyes widened in fear. “What?”
“That’s why I had to get you inside,” I explained, taking his hands again. “The house is warded, shielded, protected, and anything you do with whatever powers you might have in here is safe. But out there…” I glanced at the door, the flimsy piece of wood that didn’t betray the powerful magic flowing through the beams and struts and foundation and roof of our home. “Out there someone could find you if they notice you.”
Roger fell silent. “That’s scary,” he whispered. “Would they hurt me?”
My grip on his hands tightened. “I don’t know. That’s what’s scariest to me.” I took a breath and let it out. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot, this is *real* grown-up stuff, but I know you’re strong and you’re smart. And we’ll talk more about this, I’ll answer any questions you have. Okay?” After hesitating, his face wary and thoughtful, he nodded slowly.
The one thing I didn’t tell him was that I didn’t even know if it was too late. I didn’t know if that flash of power had already set off an alarm somewhere, if an angel, or Roger’s father himself, might show up at my door at any moment. So, when there was a rapid knocking at our door, I took in a sharp breath as my heart lurched in my chest. Trying to keep the fear from my face, I stood up as Roger did the same, moving away from the door so I could open it.
“Hey, I think you called it too early,” said Muriel Reba, a neighbor of ours down the street. And in her arms was the very calm, very much *alive* cat that had been dead moments earlier.
“Max!” Roger cried out, bursting into tears again, this time with relief, as he took his cat in his arms. Max was endlessly patient with Roger and a total lovebug and pushed its head into Roger’s chin lovingly.
And I stared, Muriel continuing to speak but not hearing a word of it. My son had brought his cat back to life. Or, perhaps, just saved him from the brink of death, having gone to his side so quickly? Regardless, this was more than a blip on the radar. This was extraordinary.
And as I continued to stare at Roger’s tearful, joyous face, a nauseous fear roiled inside me at the thoughts that had rarely bothered me for so long. Thoughts of how long I could keep him hidden. And what happened when I no longer could.
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren | 2021-04-13T13:24:35 | 2021-04-13T13:17:20 | 253 | 86 |
[WP] You're an ancient, long-forgotten trickster god, punished by your peers to spend millennia trapped under a rock bearing the inscription "KICK ME" in a dead language. During an archeological dig, someone kicks the rock. Finally free, you are delighted and horrified that all the gods are missing. | My name is Vilya. I kept the other gods safe while also embarassing them. If I hadn't embarassed them, maybe I wouldn't have spent the last several thousand years under a rock. Every so often I'd hear something, and hope they'd kick the rock, but it was always just a deer, or a wolf, or a lion of some kind. After enough time, the sound changed, and my rock must have been buried. I spent a lot of time making up stories, but they all decided I was an asshole and left. So I've just been... Vegetating.
When I started hearing sounds again, I thought maybe my stories had come back. At least two of them had ended with a promise to kill me, and at that point I would take it. Then I heard a shovel against my rock. Previd, my brother, who trapped me here, made sure it could only move if it was kicked. But I hoped. Maybe someone was trying to build something, and would kick the rock in frustration?
Hours, probably days went by. I heard voices speaking tongues that only had a little in common with what mortals used to say around here. I could still understand it, but still it unnerved me. That the words could change so much. Finally, it happened. Someone kicked the stone, and it seemed it was almost an accident. Then I came out of the hole, manifesting in front of... Several men and women, with some new form of writing on their clothing. It read 'Moscow University History Department.' The terms of my release required me to serve whoever freed me for a year and a day. Obviously, I needed to let them know this.
First, I spoke in the old tongue. Yes, I know, kind of dickish, but I was also a little bit crazy at that point. "Greetings, brave... Historians. Which one of you freed me? I owe you a boon." They looked at me in confusion and worry, and I facepalmed. Then, in the language they were speaking, "Sorry, wrong tongue. I am Vilya, which of you freed me by kicking the stone?" They turned and stared at the youngest of them, a woman of maybe 19 years of age. I smiled at her, and kneeled. "For your service, I must serve you for a year and a day. Tell me, what is your first command?"
She stammered a bit, and then said, "It's been a long day, could you come back tomorrow?"
Delighted at this, I smiled at her, very widely, I could see her blanch. "Absolutely. For now, I will return to my home, but I will be here tomorrow at the dawn." With that, I changed my form into the wind, and rode out of there, scattering some thin sheets with writing on them. I had a day off as my first command, so time to go thank all the gods for my exile. I had no idea, then, what I would find. | #Woki
Breaking free from my ancient prison as the hot, desert sun beat down upon my tomb, I instinctively shot a resentful glance at the worn and weathered lock that imprisoned me for generations.
If I was to get revenge on my captors, I must be exact in my retribution.
Even my knowing and expecting eyes could not read the rock etched with the runes of my noble language. Its instructions lost to time as surely as my followers must be.
Then who betrayed the gods, removed the magical artifact, and freed me?
As my blue gas form condensed into my gigantic body, I heard the puny human standing on the sandy ruins bellow a lung-emptying scream.
His thick, white, worker's clothes covered his sweating body from the blistering heat, but it could not hide from view the urine pouring in liters down his legs. He dropped the light-yellow stone.
For a split second I feared the coward's actions had cursed me again, but the magical pebble fell beside the pedestal instead of upon it.
"Be not afraid," my tongue melded to the language I coaxed from the mortal's mind, "You may call me Woki. You have done me a great service this day. If you stay true to me, I will protect you from the wrath of the other gods." The mortal's mind filled with confusion, so I elaborated, "The ones whom you have angered by helping me."
"Mr. Woki, sir. I'm Bertrand. I don't really know what's going on. What gods are you talking about?"
Steam radiated off the shivering man. The putrid smell stank more than my prison.
"I mean the great gods of Egypt, of course. I am sure if you are here, you must have paid homage before being allowed to enter my resting place. They will be coming."
"I-I-I-I don't know what you mean. No one worships the gods of Egypt anymore."
No mind can lie to me. But there is more to understanding that just truths and falsehoods.
"Hmm. So I take it then you would feel safe in telling me what happened to my brethren."
"The Egyptian gods were set aside when another religion spread through the world."
"Ahh. So another more powerful god came and wiped them out for me. I must thank him. Where can I meet this great being? Is his throne room nearby?"
"Uh... I don't think he works like that."
I ignored the mortal's lack of knowledge. Surely nothing I could see in his mind had any relevance to my inquiry.
I informed the man of what he needed to know, "Now that I think further upon the actions of this 'savior,' I must conclude that he killed my brothers and sisters, my father and mother, my sons and daughters."
"Were those the same pe- er, gods that locked you up?"
"Indeed. But revenge is still revenge. Bring the camels, servant! We must ride."
"Um, Mr. Woki, sir. Please call me Bertrand. We don't use camels anymore. And I was supposed to carry back some of these artifacts. I suppose I could give you a ride, but I should put this gem back into its pedestal for safe keeping, first."
Looking out into the desert, more barren than I remembered it being, I plotted my mission: get the lay of the land; acquire followers; gain real power; learn the god's weakness; offer a peaceful meal; and then strike when he least expected it. The servant's mewling revealed their hindering importance too late. "NO!"
Whirling around I began to summon my magic. The dust around the small man's feet formed the base of a desert tempest. But too late.
The stone plopped back into its ancient slot. The all powerful force pulled me apart as the blue mist of my former body descended into my long-familiar prison cell.
He could have at least cleaned it for me first. | 2021-05-03T00:00:31 | 2021-05-02T23:41:32 | 101 | 30 |
[WP] One day, every person spontaneously gains a superpower based on their job. Psychologists gain telepathy, Firefighters can waterbend or firebend, Pilots can fly. Your job, previously looked down upon, yields the strongest power of them all. | I'm a Diener. It isn't a coveted job, after all, who in their right mind wants to look at dead people all day? I'll tell you who, necrophiliacs, and people like me. No discernable traits, no talent, just an everyday average Joe. All we have to do is make sure the body looks neat and tidy so that it can rot in the ground with fashion.
The job was a little... depressing, to say the least. Working day in and day out, knowing that one day, you'd be the person inside of one of those caskets. It was a mundane life. The days appeared grey and emotionless. You would see kids hardly old enough to walk sitting in front of you. You can't get emotionally invested in something like that, it'll break you faster than you think. Seeing a life that never had a chance to truly live is one of the hardest parts of this job, that's why I have to stay unbiased when performing my duties.
I almost wish I had listened to my parents back then when they told me to become a doctor. Saving lives seems a lot more attractive than packing them away and sending them into the dirt. Although, I'm glad I didn't listen to them though. The day we were given powers was the day the world changed for the better. Those who dedicated themselves to their jobs were the strongest, gaining abilities that'd help them progress their careers even further.
Those who worked as part-timers, received lower-end abilities, such as greater strength/speed to restock products faster. I'd never thought of myself as someone who was dedicated to their job. I clocked in early in the morning and left at night, just like anybody else. However, the day the voices spoke to us, and gifted our powers, I heard something else. People remembered the words that were spoken on that day. "Bask in our glory, write your own story." The words were plastered across the nation. Graffiti, national news, bathroom stalls, and even the bathroom at my own house, which was a bit scary, to say the least.
I heard more than those words. They weren't words that were spoken to me, it was more like a soft hum from the voice of a talented female singer. It was soothing, I nearly fell asleep on top of the body I'd been preparing. The voice sang to me, it was as if her voice was able to take the form of any instrument and play it tactfully through her throat. Although they were just sounds, I heard words breaking through the facade of peace. My grey world was skewed, for the first time in years, I saw color.
"But when it ends, don't beg for more."
I faded into a slumber, the soothing voice seemingly rocked me back and forth, as if I were a baby being put to sleep by their mother. When I awoke, another voice spoke to me, different from the last, I could hardly make it out, but it all made sense when I saw a dead body I'd been working on panicking as it sat up straight.
"... Reaper." Is what I thought heard as I saw the ex-dead body hyperventilating before me. I reached out to her, touching her in shock, as I touched her body, she fell back onto the bed, stagnant as her eyes sat opened wide, fear filling them as her gaping mouth let out its last puff of air.
Ever since that day, things haven't changed much. Instead of putting people into the dirt with fashion, I just send them into oblivion without the fancy clothes. A bit of a downgrade if you ask me. | A mother and a doll maker. You see children that is who changed the world.
You see it all began on a bright summers evening, our heroes beginning their days at work; now, nobody expected a parent of all to have any true power- you see, they’re often overlooked. The mothers, unbenounced to them, having thought their jobs status quo.
A parent having powers. What a scoff-able remark. Like a person breathing suddenly gaining the power to control the wind- that was left to the weatherman.
Lame, ordinary, parenthood. Another day for Sofia, her grandpa sitting on the couch forging another doll; his quivering yet quiet lip reminding her of his soft spoken words- “another day, another dollar, another death”- before age and inadequacies kicked in, leaving him shelled, broken, lonely.
The doll maker remarkable in no way and shunned as a hobbyist continued to breath life into his every work. One of the few proud things in his pathetic life that spurred joy to a frail old man.
Sophia had something new today; or someone new. A child, since planned not of birth but paperwork, would be arriving shortly, accompanied by a caseworker and a small bag of and-stuffs. These materials would be the most basic needs, haphazardly chucked into a pile nobody cared about, forgoing any personality to the young one. Probably with a white tie now stained grey with age.
Sofia prepared a supper for such a young one, a basic meal, hopefully to the child’s liking- a picky, quiet eater the caseworker had said with a drone. Of course, their group home cared not for trying new recipes as twenty plus kids needed to be fed, along with rangling the runners and tangoing with the cutters; a poor girl with food issues far down the line of problems for an understaffed home.
The child had arrived at the doorstep with a ding, the caseworker- with the ability to coax out the truth (especially unpleasant for unsatisfied parents)- attempting a forced smile, pleasantries exchanged and then parted ways; Sofia watched the haphazard steps of a cautious child stepping into the home, the grandpa still on the coach.
Words weren’t exchanged yet all was needed to be said: “this was your home, you live here now no matter the circumstance, and no matter the fuss. You will be loved no matter what, and you’re forever welcomed.”
But messages are fickled when it comes to children; the child saw into her eyes just another household: “this is a house, you will stay to be seen not heard, and without a fuss. Love is limited, and stay is temporary.
The child headed to their room.
———
The toymaker and the child sat in a room, the wind outside fussing with the pounding of rain about. The child saw the TV click and flicker, yet the words meaningless inside their head; nothing of it matters when your stuck, away from home.
*Home is where the heart is, but my heart is in pieces; dear heavenly father, today is the day where we gave a great piece of humanity to Him- I have an angel watching over me, and I call her Mommy*
Words; what a funny thing. Consulting the child resulted in a head tilted back, their laugh a jingle, but what about genuinty?
The dollmaker, seeing such a child with no words and no voice, brought life to a doll.
*Just for you; where’s my toys- they never let you bring anything; she took it she took it she took it pain pain pain*
The wooden doll, handmade was in the little girls lap; she clung to its cheeks and made squealing sounds, binding into herself. Words weren’t exchanged, but feelings were. The old man was still and she was and all was good and nothing bad happened that day.
———
Sophia was alone with the child, sitting by her side. The child drew pictures and she was good; an artist, a creator, colors that splashed and split the page with riveting edges and lines. It was her interest, and it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.
She spun stories of a doll coming to life with her works, a little friend- and perhaps it was true. Sophia had no doubt in a world of heroes, could a doll come to life.
And in one touch, a hand placed on her shoulder with permission, the parent understood. A fluttering of feelings of emptiness and loneliness and *nobody cared and nobody cared and nobody cared*, but Sophia did. Grandpa did.
And that was all that mattered.
Because they changed the world; my world. | 2021-05-09T20:49:28 | 2021-05-09T20:42:18 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] Scientist have created a machine that allow people a window into alternate realities. It becomes mainstream and people talk about alternate versions of themselves. Finally you decide to take a look only to discover that there are no alternate versions of you. You're the only you in existence. | I almost threw the helmet into the trash after hearing an incoherent whisper inside my head. This thing was only a gimmick, just like I imagined. Beautiful graphics, though. It just didn't live up to the hype. According to the manufacturers, these weren't merely simulated realities. The helmet scanned the user's unique brain pattern, calculated fixed points from the wave function of the multiverse (whatever the hell that meant), and inputted your data to show the most likely outcomes. If that was true, though, why did it only show me barren wastelands?
Most of my work colleagues couldn't stop raving about it. They preached that it opened their eyes to everything they could've been in life, changing for the better. I didn't believe it until some of them quit their comfortable jobs to pursue something more fulfilling. Even then, I hesitated to try out the device. Trendy stuff like this had disappointed me all my life. I should've known better than to give it a chance. Hearing about everyone else's experiences only made mine feel unnerving.
The manufacturers didn't believe me when I asked for a refund. There shouldn't be any whispering coming from the machine. Apparently, this glitch had never happened before. They sent me a replacement but ignored my calls after that one didn't work either.
For a moment, I feared there was something wrong with me. My doctor, however, said I was being paranoid. He told me my brain may not be compatible with how the helmet worked, but that I shouldn't worry since I was completely healthy.
I felt inclined to believe him. Unfortunately, the same whisper from before echoed in my head for weeks afterwards. I couldn't even fall asleep without thinking about it. The uncomfortable sound gnawed at me without pause, compelling me to try the helmet one more time.
Ignoring it just felt *wrong*. When I finally gave in, I used the helmet for more than a day straight, drifting across realities in a manic haze to find something more than emptiness. The whisper hadn't appeared again. My stomach burned for a while until I became numb to the pain of hunger. Nothing would deter me, though. I lost track of time in my search for an answer.
And then something with sharp teeth slithered into my ear.
I fell backwards, struggling to remove the helmet. The thing sank its hooks into me and didn't let go. I screamed in pain until pulling it away.
A dark, gooey tentacle had sprouted out of the helmet.
I got on my feet and started stomping on it. The tentacle writhed at unpredictable angles, wrapping itself around my neck. It was trying to strangle me. Everything slowly grew blurry. With a final burst of strength, I threw the helmet across the room, shattering it upon impact.
The tentacle writhed in pain before burning up in dark fire, leaving behind no trace of its existence.
I fell on the floor, panting heavily. What the hell just happened? My whole room was thrashed after that. If I didn't have bruises on my neck, I would've just assumed that was a vivid hallucination. Thankfully, it was over.
Or so I thought.
Before I could clean up the mess it left, a swirling portal opened up in front of me. I jumped behind my desk, thinking another creature approached, when a woman wearing hi-tech military equipment walked through instead. She aimed her rifle around the room, murmuring something about a corruption, before looking at me and saying:
"Where is it?!?"
I raised my arms. "Don't kill me!"
"The monster! Quick! Is it in you?!?"
"N-no!"
The woman started scanning me with a device on her wrist. "Where did it go?"
"I... uhh... I think I killed it."
"Oh." The woman relaxed. "Why didn't you say so?"
"You pointed a gun at me..."
"Right. My bad. Can't be too careful."
"What's going on? Is this dream?"
The woman chuckled. "Kinda."
"Mind explaining then?"
"Are you sure you *really* want to know?"
I stopped myself from saying yes. Looking for answers is exactly what got me into this mess. I couldn't believe the simple possibility that I might just be a rare individual and that, at the same time, there wasn't anything inherently valuable about that. For most of my life, I only valued the things that could make me stand out, ignoring everything popular just to feel special. I never realized how empty that had left me. If I ever bothered relating to others, instead of blindly hating the mainstream norm, I may have found something different. In the end, I think I was better off just accepting myself, instead of looking at something external for meaning.
"You know what? I think I'm fine."
The woman nodded with a knowing smile. "Good." She then walked through another portal and I never saw her again.
-----
>If you enjoyed this, you can find more of my stuff over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | John Smith sat nervously, slightly leaning forward, in the metal chair with a low back. It wasn't very comfortable. His fingers were steepled, his elbows were on his knees, and he looked around the suspiciously stark white room once again. He wasn't sure what he was expecting to see--something, anything--but there was nothing. There were walls, yes, and doors, of course, but you couldn't call them something. They blended into the smooth white walls, so much so that John could barely tell if corners existed.
He was rattled. He's seen a whole lot of nothing. That was why he was here, anyway.
John never had the desire to look at alternate versions of himself. Maybe it was because he led a relatively self-sufficient and satisfactory life. Of course things could be improved, but he had nothing to complain about. Maybe it was because of his name--John Smith. Common as a lark. Or maybe, maybe, it was just because he felt there wasn't anything special to look at.
But one day, curiosity got the better of him. That's the thing, right? John lived his life listening to other people talking about themselves--not just them in this world, but in realities all over. They talked about how they suffered or prospered, lived in dystopias or utopias, dug around in garbage or made do with lukewarm meals (some people just don't have very great lives no matter where they looked, unfortunately.)
So the curiosity built, and John Smith was the dam holding it back. It was a peaceful mirror, a calm sea, which bubbled and frothed every time he heard somebody talk about it. It splashed and welled and spattered, and rose from sea foam to a wave that hid schools of fish to a tsunami, tearing John down with the difficulty of wet tissue paper.
Thus, he looked. He searched. He scrutinized every world, eyes turning red and swollen through the uncomfortable machine. And white stared back.
Wait, thought John. Did he buy tissue paper? He pondered for a bit, recalling the grocery store trip two days ago. He did! John was pleased.
That pleasant feeling left him swfitly though, a wave returning to the ocean, as John went back to staring at white. His legs shifted restlessly. Even his shoes left no marks on the untainted floor. What was he doing here? Nobody came here. Nobody came here to ask about the alternate versions of themselves that weren't there. Because everybody had one. Other people had special lives, sure, but him? This wasn't special--this was unusual.
John was deep in thought, and barely realized when the albino world changed around him. Directly on the wall in front of him, a sign lit up, followed by a single, welcoming chime.
> 1. John Smith
It was a very enjoyable ding. He stood up, kness buckling and creaking a little as he quickly grew accustomed to standing again, and a door swung open below the sign.
"Please come in," a woman's voice said.
John walked forward, and entered the room. He wasn't at all surprised that the smaller room was white as well--but at least there was a person sitting in front of him behind a white desk, a pearly smile on her face. Her hair was neatly combed and tied back into a bun, and her features so angular that an ill-placed face mask would probably be sliced through by her cheek bones.
"John Smith?" the woman asked.
"Yes," he replied, and bowed awkwardly.
"Please sit."
John complied. This chair was high-backed and soft. Much more comfortable than the one outside.
"Welcome, Mr. Smith," the woman said. She looked incredibly friendly. "I'm Max. How can I assist you today?"
"Max," John said. "I have a problem."
"I see," Max looked down, bringing out a clipboard--white--and rifled through the pile of notes. Her right eyebrow lifted, coupled with slow, gradual nods. She pressed a button on her desk, which pulsed light green, and she leaned and spoke into it.
"Min?" Max said. "Please come in for a moment."
Another woman walked in. What Min had in sharp edges, Min possessed in roundness. They were surely opposites, yet John would not be surprised if you called them twin sisters.
They both looked over the notes, the nods growing more furious, a metronome trying to keep us with a frenzied pianist. Then, they stopped.
"Mr. Smith," Max asked. "Referring to the write-up you've provided us... you are sure it wasn't just a technical error?"
"Yes," John said. "No? I mean, I'm sure it wasn't just a technical error."
"And it wasn't a glitch in the system, sir?" Min asked.
"No," John said. "I tried it a few times at a few different times. Also checked online whether it was down."
"How many times did you do that, Mr. Smith?" Max said.
"Er... five? I... couldn't keep going back. It was very strange, not being able to see anything when I've heard so much about it."
"Very well," Max said. "Pardon me, but could you do it once more with the facilities we have here? We promise it will be quick."
"Is that necessary?"
"It's for us to collect information, sir," Min said.
"Well," John said. "I suppose I should trust you. You guys are the experts."
"Then, please follow me, sir," Min said. "Max will stay here, and she'll consult with you once more."
At Min's words, another sign lit up, smaller than the one outside.
> 1. John Smith--Test
Another door opened, and John walked through, sighing.
---
[Part 2 here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/nqhyz7/wp_scientist_have_created_a_machine_that_allow/h0b0ynz/)
r/dexdrafts | 2021-06-02T06:00:24 | 2021-06-02T05:03:49 | 70 | 45 |
[WP] You and your partner are officially dating and out to the public. Which is great, except they’ve been caught “cheating” on you with your masked alter ego. Clearly the only solution is to claim to be in a poly relationship with you, your partner, and yourself. Shenanigans ensue. | "Hey, Tanner. I heard you liked baguettes up your bum."
Walking down the school hallways I'm beginning to regret ever hooking up with Jessica Zakharova.
It was bad enough that we belonged to different strata. Jessica has 4.2 million followers on TikTok and is only still in high school because her grandmother's will comes with educational requirements. I'm not sure what her grandmother does (did?) but people refer to her as "the tsarina" in hushed tones so I'm guessing she's Russian, wealthy, and a bit scary. Like Jessica.
I'm the son of a mall dentist and his assistant. We live in an apartment building. There's a leak somewhere but after years of investigation we have all decided to chalk it up as an occult occurrence.
Oh, and I'm a superhero. The Brioche Bastard. Don't ask me about the name.
Fine. They call me the Brioche Bastard because all my powers are bread-related and the local press has a thing for alliteration. To make things short, I can make bread appear. From nowhere. I tried to get #MannaMan trending on Twitter (hey, I thought it was clever) but none of my 17 followers seemed interested.
Jessica is the only one who knows about my secret identity. And after Caleb Wright saw her twisting tongues with the Brioche Bastard the whole school knew about it the next morning.
After we explained that the three of us were engaged in a polyamorous relationship, people for reason assumed that I were the submissive partner with Jessica and the Brioche Bastard taking turns pounding my pie.
"Jessica," I say. "We need to talk."
She excuses herself from her flashy clique and we head to a private location.
"This is horrifying," she says. "People have been asking me whether I have a yeast infection all day. It's not going to stop. People think bread puns are really clever. It's like shop customer asking whether their stuff is free after it refuses to scan. Do you get it? It's a pun that will never die."
"I guess we'll have to rise above it," I say. She gives me a look like a servant has just asked Catherine the Great whether she might want to ease up on the shagging a bit.
"Tan-Tan, there are tens of thousands of people doing basically nothing other than obsess over my school life. They have blogs. Websites. Even ..." she said, looking close to gagging, "Youtube channels. It won't be long before they blow your cover. Can you handle it?"
I gave it a think. As the Brioche Bastard I had been pummeling local villains and bullies for years. Several of them wanted nothing more than for my secret identity to be revealed so they could get their revenge by coming for my loved ones.
"It would not be ideal. If only there were some way to convince them *before* they got any ideas."
Suddenly, Jessica's face lights up.
"You've thought of something already?"
"Gluten," she says.
"Gluten?" I repeat. She nods.
"If people thought you had a gluten allergy, no one would suspect you of being the Brioche Bandit."
"Bastard."
"Well, fuck you too, Tanner."
"No. I mean, the name ..."
"Oh. Right."
We go our separate ways and I'm left wondering what she's up to. How will she convince people that I can't handle gluten? Will she use her wealth and connections to bribe a doctor? Will she get me on Dr. Oz, talking about my struggles? Will she secretly poison me after having a sandwich so people will really buy it?
Later, as I roam the school hallways I hear snickering. Finally one of the jocks can't take it any longer. "Oy, Tanner got an allergic reaction from the baguette the Brioche Bastard put in his bum. It's a ..." Don't say it. "It's a ..." Please don't. "It's a yeast infection!"
The hallway erupts in laughter. I know right away that it'll stick because clever nicknames are, like gluten, well, sticky. Jessica's following ends up referring to me as The Catcher of the Rye and honestly I'm mostly impressed with that one.
It's a small price to pay for being able to keep carrying out justice while awkwardly dancing up there in the stratosphere with Jessica, my gluten tolerant tsarina.
/r/Hemingbird | It was another scorching spring in the year of 1754.
I had just been to a dance, a special dance marking the coronation of a new King of the Northern Realm.
We all wore face masks, as to hide our true intent, our true emotions, our desires...
It was, without a doubt, one of the best dances I've attended and the reason for that is none other than him, my boyfriend, the Masked Musketeer.
He didn't recognize me, but I spotted him immediately among the crowd, his tough-cookie stance was unique to him as were those green eyes with hues of blue.
We kissed and I felt the fireworks, viscerally, it was like a fire burning deep inside me, growing bigger and bigger.
After the kiss, he told me about his girlfriend, describing none other than me.
I was enchanted by this words and just as he was reaching the apogee of his story, he stopped abruptely, blushing, breaking physical contact and running out of the dance hall.
\------
It was another blazing day when we met, without masks, but not as hot as the furnace of my soul.
He came up to me, kissed me with so much passion I had almost stopped breathing! After a while, he let me breathe my own air again and I looked at him, doe-eyed, and intiated another kiss, just as he was about to open his mouth.
I knew what was on his mind, but I didn't want the rendezvous to end, I didn't want it to turn into a conversation between two people. No, it was supposed to be something much bigger than that.
He left for spear training and a part of me dissipated. I was addicted to his breath, smell, touch...
I was so infatuated, I didn't even notice two of my friends approaching me, flicking their fingers in front of my face.
''Sheila, snap out of it, he is nothing but a player!''
''What?'' My blissful reverie was coming to an end, it was if someone pulled the rug underneath my feet, the world lost its colors, all that remained were the stinging rays of the unrelenting star that gave us life.
''We saw him kissing a harlot at the ball, he is cheating on you, that he is!'' One of my friends said, as the other creased her brows.
''This has all been a misunderstanding,'' I smiled, ''That 'harlot' was me!''
My friends stood motionless, still in shock as they soaked up my words. I took intiative and added: ''We like to spicen up our love life with a bit of roleplay, nothing serious.''
Both of my friends nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation.
\-------
The sun had settled and the stars were out in force, a beautiful night for a meet-cute, but our meeting was so much more than that, the fireworks, I had already talked about them, were shining bright again, littering the sky with color.
The mask was back on, it was time to feel alive again, raw emotion seeping through my being.
He kissed me once more and apologized - it was to be his last kiss, he had a girlfriend, a loving one, he couldn't forgive himself for a liaison with any other girl but her.
Before he could utter a single word, I kissed him again. I didn't want to let go, I couldn't let go.
He kissed back and we were two souls united into one.
\-------
Daylight, the masks fell off and so did the high of love. I saw him, bare-faced and felt nothing, as if watching a stranger among the crowd.
He waved to me and I felt disgusted by him, my boyfriend. Where was the mask that promised so much and gave even more? Where was the liveliness, the spark between him and me? Who had taken it away?
I ran away and he followed, shouting: ''Mary, there is something I must tell you!''
No, he wouldn't get the satisfaction. I wouldn't let him ruin everything.
Unfortunately, I reached a cul de sac and was greeted with a giant wall bloking my path.
I turned around, with tears in my eyes and spoke up: ''Leave me alone, you scoundrel, how could you have cheated on me?!''
He stopped running, took a few cautionary steps towards my direction, but halted when he saw my face gone mad with anger.
''Mary, please, let me explain.''
''There is nothing to explain,'' I said, ''Your wicked ways are none of my concern!''
''Mary... I love you...'' He tried to sound mournful, but I didn't sense any true emotion behind his words.
''Leave me alone!'' And I took off running, passing him by as fast as I could, my legs carrying me towards my home, three miles away.
\---------
Moonlight.
A ball, a wonderful one, with masks of many colors, some mishmashed, some lucid to the eye.
A stranger clad in black approached me, it was none other than him, the Musketeer.
A kiss fell, and the colors whirled again, all around me, engrossing my entire being.
This was it, I thought, this was what life was all about.
\-----------------
If you liked this story, feel free to join /r/innerknightmare for more! | 2021-10-12T03:22:17 | 2021-10-12T03:04:50 | 494 | 23 |
[WP] For centuries Elves held a Monopoly on Magic and only a select few Humans where taught Magic who were easily controlled. That's why they freaked out when a Human Bandit learned Magic. You are this Bandit and you are having the time of your live tricking and robbing those Elves in your Woods. | Eliss laughed from the treetops, because she knew it would tick off the elves more than losing their money, their gold, or even the strands of hair she had just freshly plucked from their heads.
Still not as much as her using the elves’ precious, cordoned magic, however. Eliss was bottom on the list of people things that the elves really, really, did not want to use magic.
First, she was human. The elves loved to pick and choose those supposedly blessed with magic’s touch, mostly those wanting to be an elf so badly that they would turn their back their own race, even going to the extent of taking a knife to their ears, cutting them into poor, bandaged imitations of the elves’.
Second, she was a bandit, even to the bandits. There was a modicum of honour among thieves, but Eliss hadn’t survived as a young, scrawny child, shivering on the damned crossroads of starvation, exhaustion, and punishment, by being picky about who she took from.
Third, and perhaps more importantly, she had no qualms about breaking things, the same way a rat would spoil a whole warehouse of grain for one outright satiating day of food. Jars, laws, general societal order—nothing was sacred to Eliss, and certainly not magic.
At first glance, Eliss was not the sort of person you might perceive as a threat. Her thin, impish face, was covered by the scant notion of hair, like one had taken a knife and haphazardly cut it short without a mirror—which was exactly what happened. Her small, light frame, looked like it could barely receive a scratch before losing all the blood in her body, but that made her suited from jumping onto a branch with barely a rustle of its leaves.
And of course, there was the magic. It was not strong, well-fed muscles that powered her movement, but warm magic that ran through her veins that fueled each ridiculous jump, her sneakiness in the shadows, the fingers so quick that it was like the sunlight that poked through the canopy.
Eliss couldn’t remember how, when, or from whom she learned magic. She didn’t really care. That sort of thing wasn’t important when you were starving so hard that the cavernous pain in your stomach was like hoping a cup of water could fill a canyon.
So she stole. She laughed. She pulled out every trick in her crummy hat, then from under her baggy sleeves, and had a rollicking good time stealing from the elves.
But she was still one girl, and there were many elves.
“What do you have to say for yourself?”
Eliss squinted towards the radiant glow that was a council of elves. One had stood up, addressing her—but it was impossible for her to tell them apart. All she knew was this one was in the middle, and had a commanding voice. Common sense told her that this was the leader.
She pulled her hands apart slightly, feeling the telltale etherealness of magical shackles on her hands. They didn’t bite like metal, but instead burned slightly when pressed towards skin.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
She felt a slap across her cheek. She felt the echoes of pain, smarting and red. But no hand had struck her.
“I really am,” Ellis said again, her voice still even. Magical or not, one slap was something that she could take. “Forgive me? I’m just a child trying to feed myself.”
The elf that had stood up slowly, pompously, made their way towards Ellis. Now, Ellis could see a haughty face—though that narrowed it little. There was obvious disdain in his ageless expression, and long hair flowed as easily as a river.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re the one I took the hair from.”
“Human child,” the elf spat, somehow elegantly. “You are in dire breach of one of our most important laws. And yet you still sit here, insolent and unrepentant.”
“I’m kneeling. So sitting would actually be nice,” she said. Instinct told her to cower, but experience told her to continue deflecting anything and everything with barbed words.
The elf shook his head gravely.
“Hopeless. Utterly hopeless,” he said. “The council is done with you. A human mongrel with unknown magic should be culled. Here, you are helpless.”
Ellis concentrated on her wrists. The source of power was closer now, indicating that this talkative elf was the one that provided the mana for this magical cuff.
She didn’t know what spell it was. She did things the same way she always did, doing the most natural of things that came to her—break the hell out of it.
Ellis focused whatever magic she had in her cells into the bracelet, and it suddenly, the flash behind her was far brighter than whatever the council gave off.
“By Sheae—”
The man screamed, and fell back before her. She grabbed the elf’s hair, and pulled back her arm as hard as she could. Then, in another instant, she leapt into the air, landing in front of the elven council—the richest, and by default, worst elves in the forest.
“Your faces are quite beautiful, even when they are surprised,” Ellis admitted, then held up the newest tuft of golden hair she had unceremoniously ripped. “But don’t worry. I’ve still yet to tear out your hair and steal all your gold. There’s still room for your mouths to fall.”
---
r/dexdrafts | Sam sat crouched in the shadow of a large oak, slowly creeping towards where the two elves had gathered. Dried leaves crunched and rustled with every step so Sam carefully threaded a path in behind a bush and listened carefully.
“Lydia,” an Elf snapped. “You better hope nothing happens the cache or Vacour will be furious.” Peering through the gaps in the bush, the Elf that was talking was just like the rest of them, Sam noticed. Light brown skin and a face made of misery. Long, dirty blonde hair, the Elf had the standard bow and arrow wrapped around his back. And there, between the two Elves' feet, nearly completely hidden beneath dirt and leaves. was a box. Sam knew the type. A delightfully designed box covered in runes and images of famous elves, long dead.
“Of course not, Brioch,” Lydia snarled. Even without seeing her face, Sam knew she was furious. “Nothing will happen to the gold. Relay that to Vacour yourself, if you want.” Neither said a word as Sam held his breath. Finally, Brioch broke the silence.
“Good to hear, Lydia,” he chuckled. “Sounds like you finally found your backbone.”
“What would you know about backbones, Brioch?” Lydia accused the male Elf. He only smirked and turned away from her.
“Oh and do be on the lookout for that bandit, Lydia.” smiled Brioch, who turned back to face her. “It would be awful to lose yet another Elf and cache to him.” With that Brioch disappeared, shifting quickly through the trees.
“Prick,” Lydia muttered, as she took a seat on the box and whipped out a smoking pipe. “And that Vacour too…” A brief look of concentration passed across the elves face and soon the contents of the pipe were lit and smoke plumed and vanished in the forest air.
“Talking to me about my backbone,” she puffed, another circle of smoke rose from her pipe before becoming lost between the giant oaks that surrounded them. “And him the most cowardly Elf in the realm. Probably long gone. Away across the forest, just in case the bandit shows up.” Lydia went silent for a while as she puffed away on her pipe, hardly looking up to check her surroundings. The forest became silent too, the only sound the odd squawking bird or a rustle of leaves behind him. Sam’s legs started to ache and protest his crouching but he ignored them as best he could. Focusing on his breathing, Sam realised he only needed to breathe once or twice a minute, the rest of the time given over to thought. Looking around, Sam took in his surroundings. Behind him lay the path out of the forest. He’d make it out of here with the box if no one close by followed him. Above, a red squirrel danced across the branches, catching both Sam’s and Lydia’s attention for a moment. Then, as quickly as he blinked, the squirrel dropped to the ground, an arrow through his eye.
“Aren’t you a lovely little fellow?” whooped Lydia, snatching the bloody animal off the ground and shoving it into some hidden inside pocket. “You’ll make a great starter tonight!” He’d have to think of something smart to make it out of here with his life as well as the gold. Stroking his chin, he thought back to the first time he had used his powers to ambush the elves.
It had been snowing, the forest was covered in a layer of cold, white. Snow-covered everything, from the branches to the caches. Thankfully, Sam had been watching them a couple of days before the snow arrived and having overheard two elves arguing, had figured out the location of a cache. Finding himself, half-buried in the snow, Sam soon realised just how much control he had over his magic. The Elf guarding the box of treasure had just thought that a storm had appeared from the depth of the forest. A snowstorm so harsh and centred on him, the only thing he could do was huddle up and wait till it was over. By that time, Sam had been able to sneak up beside him, and slowly lift as much gold as he could from the box. Closing the lid back down, it must have been weeks before they realised he had hit them. If they realised it at all.
Lydia’s beautiful and hypnotic whistling brought Sam back to the present. *No snow though*. Shifting slightly, from one foot to the next, the leaves beneath him crunched once more and Lydia’s eyes darted in his direction. Slowly, she rose to her feet, the bow appearing in her hand, an arrow already locked into place. Her footsteps never made a sound and if he couldn’t see the elf, Sam wouldn’t even know she was moving around. Drawing her bow, the arrow pointed right at the bush where Sam hid. *It was now or never.* Putting his hands to the ground and closing his eyes, Sam thought about fire, heat and warmth spreading out in front of him. Opening his eyes, he was delighted to see the leaves all around him had burst into flame, smoking bellowing, thick and black.
“What the?” Lydia cried out, taking a step back, pointing the arrow all around her now. Focusing on the smoke, Sam tried to keep it from drifting upwards, hoping to use it as a screen. Then, through the bush, an arrow zipped by, cutting Sam slightly in the back. Letting out a quick gasp, Sam forced his mouth closed, his teeth near snapping in half.
“I saw you, bandit!” Lydia called out. “The next one will be through your heart. Now step out and surrender yourself.” For a second, Sam was overcome with panic. *I’m dead. They’ll string me up. No! I’m better than this!* With all the magic he could muster, Sam, brought as much flame and smoke between him and the elf as he could, forcing her backwards. The fire rose, burning the bush in the process. The smoke thickened, the grey and black, swirling and around. Then, as it all slowly started to drift away, Lydia found herself standing all alone. Around her, the fire had consumed all the life it could. The tree’s, the leaves, the bushes.
“Bloody bandit,” she smirked. “Nothing compared to an elf and her bow.” Taking her seat once more, she never realised that the lid of the box was left slightly ajar or that it was lighter than before. | 2021-12-04T12:32:52 | 2021-12-04T11:44:23 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] You've been Isekai'd to one of those videogame-based anime fantasy worlds. This is great for you - not because you're a creep looking for waifus, God no, but because you're a passionate game-breaker. You play every game wrong, find every bug, no framerate is safe from you. Time to get to work. | Kyo surveyed the land around him with hands on his hips. Hinawa and Mami exchanged glances. He was doing "it" again.
"Kyo, you have to let your past go," said Hinawa, staring at the team's usually-plucky leader with sad brown eyes.
"See how the oni on the left is blue and the oni on the right is red?" Kyo gestured towards the monsters with a careless wave. He wasn't listening. "They're color swapped models that probably operate on the same AI. There's probably a way to interrupt the sequence so we can get into the next town without having to get into a fight."
"Give it up. Whatever that Ay Yai magic is, it doesn't work here," said Mami.
"It has to," said Kyo. "You can level up and everything in this world. That means there's a source code. I just have to hack it."
"Kyo-kun, please. Every time you try to 'break' our world you just get into more trouble," said Hinawa.
Kyo responded by aiming his bow and arrow at a tree in the distance.
"What are you doing?" asked Mami.
"Aiming at an object in the skybox," said Kyo. "I think I've been seeing it flicker every few seconds. If I'm right, the area will momentarily freeze while the program tries to calculate where the arrow went."
The arrow sailed through the air and stuck fast to the tree, but not before grazing the blue one in his leg. He roared and charged at Kyo and his team.
"But the tree..." Kyo's words trailed off into stammers.
"You can't 'sequence break' a physical world, dummy," said Mami. "Now move your butt!"
*For more weirdness, check out* r/OctOpusTales *.* | "Quit banging on the damn door you idiot" the innkeeper shouted as he walked out to make me stop. My party stands behind me being the one dimensional tropes that they are. You know what I mean, we have the giant boobed one who 'fell in love' with me because I was teleported here and saved her on accident, the lolly with an attitude, the homosexual who seems to exist solely as bait for so called 'artists' and...you know the rest of the crew, pick your generic series and just fill in the blanks. I don't care about them enough to even describe them.
&#x200B;
Oh sorry I got ahead of myself, damn storyteller starting midway through. So as usual I was doing my neet stuff at home and because this is a lazily written manga a portal opened, I crushed some guy, and am 'the hero of legend' whose supposed to save the world by defeating the evil dragon sorcerer whose. . . blah blah blah. I'm as invested in this story as you are. Apparently I was supposed to kill the 3 underlings and get the keys to the keep, but as much as I want to do things like train and 'level up' or see if my cellphone is magically able to give me godmode here I am trying to break yet another aspect of the world. Wait hold on he is finally about to open the door.
&#x200B;
<Creek> Damn still no luck, well now time to wait another 2 minutes before he goes back and let me inch just...right here ok let's try this again. <Creek> <Thunk> don't ask why I get stuck T-posing when these work, you know...glitches and stuff.
&#x200B;
"Wow Mr hero you are strong. I'm glad we could unite behind you and fight clogdor's army to get the third key" one of those saps say, you see this world is so poorly and lazily made that everyone just reads their dialogue when we get to certain places, sure I could talk to them and win relationship points but as much as I want to have cheesy scenes and get gifted panties or something that would involve me caring just a little bit. But I'm sure you've figured out already that I literally could not care less. They keep wanting me to 'do things' and 'talk to people' but I'm not about that life. So please excuse me while I push them into a pile so they form a human ladder so I can just jump over this wall and into the portal. This world can save itself. Or not. Honestly I hope not, they can all burn for expecting me to make an effort to save them. And before you start judging me, would you want to be in a world where....don't answer that you are welcome to come here and be the hero of legend or whatever but I'm going home. | 2022-02-20T05:58:12 | 2022-02-19T22:52:22 | 52 | 39 |
[WP] You ask about magic and learn every mage class has a totem that affects the spells available. You peruse the list: Staff mage, Wand mage, Scroll mage, Sword mage, Bow mage, etc. Nearly anything can be used as a totem, so you begin rummaging in your backpack to see if it survived the trip. | "Ain't you gonna ask me what I got?" I was still grasping through the bag, surreptitious like. Hoping and praying it was there. The looming hulk of a mage before me, weilding his preferred totem glared down his hooked nose at me. I could see why he chose a greatsword, fair was fair.
"I can already see that it would not stand the test, you are not worthy to fight before the Magi!" But even as he spoke, my fingers closed around the hilt and I knew salvation was at hand.
I pulled Justice from my bag, and with the swift momentum that only an old gunslinger has, I let loose.
Now I don't understand what this place does to weapons, nor to the people that wield 'em. But I know that if you choose your arm, it's like the fury of your soul becomes reality.
So while I had no bullets, no gunpowder to put forth, the fury of the damn sun came down upon that man.
Usually, I ain't one to feel remorse, but when the great sword clattered to the ground among the ashes, I felt a little bad.
That poor soul had no idea what was coming down upon this place. I doffed my hat and pulled it to my breast.
"Well, I guess your Magi are gonna get one hell of a show." | Aether. The wild, untapped energy of the cosmos.
Though freecasting is possible for some skilled magicians, many magicians use aethersteel talismans to hone their magical energies. Some choose a pendant or a holy symbol to channel the powers of their conviction. Some classical magicians use aethersteel or feywood wands and staves to channel older, more primal magicks. Some use aethersteel swords, which resonate with the magic of their soul to unleash blinding slashes of elemental fury. However, I chose something unorthodox when I found myself in the company of these magicians. I just hope it survived the trip...
The projector managed to survive, just barely. I had seen so many worlds with it, and even used it to make a temporary mark on the world from time to time. It was in desperate need of repairs, so I took it to the artificers and told them how it worked. They returned with something completely foreign to me, but assured me it would now work as a focus.
It was an aethersteel gauntlet, with a lens fitted into the palm. The lens was tough to see through, so I couldn't see any of this new focus' inner workings. As I put it on, I felt a sort of electric excitement, one I hadn't felt in a while. All of a sudden, the gauntlet flared to life, whirring and humming being accompanied by a faint glow of the lens.
They said to focus on something formative to my identity involving why I chose this focus. I saw the movie nights I shared with my family, and the mild graffiti I made with the projector, and in a flash of light and with a high-pitched whine...
Suddenly, it made sense.
I cast a sigil, borne of my rebellion, my loneliness, my kinship, my wonder. It settled in my palm, and a radiant energy of my electric excitement seemed to permeate the room. The artificers cheered, saying that the design was a rousing success. They said that this would help those who used sigils to cast far easier than they could originally. They said I had made a breakthrough possible.
But I didn't care about that, at least not right now. Right now, the whole world, which had been up to this point slightly askew, finally leveled out. I knew why I was here. I knew where I belonged. And it was here, in Magicka. | 2022-08-13T14:29:09 | 2022-08-13T12:06:57 | 110 | 39 |
[WP] It was a weapon so powerful that not even the most barbaric warmongering civilisation could stomach it. Just by building one, we struck terror in the hearts of many species. We weren't even planning on using it... | It was a weapon so powerful that it was useless. A seemingly nonsensical statement, but it was a perfect descriptor for our species' most powerful weapon.
The amount of times it has been used can be counted on a single hand, and hasn't seen use in hundreds of years. To use one, was to invite destruction not just on your enemy but on yourself.
Useless.
Nations continued to build and stockpile them, just in case, but the fewer and fewer wars were fought with much more modest tools of destruction.
When we came into contact with other intelligent life, it was a peaceful affair. Our leaders met theirs, agreements were made, and prosperity amongst a wider galactic community ensured.
Our species gained immense wealth, and immense fame throughout the galaxy. We were known as neutral negotiators, a role aided by our being politically and culturally distant from all the peoples that had been in contact for thousands of years, allowing for unbiased judgement.
Those so called useless weapons, were found to be unique amongst our kind. But their existence was kept a secret, for fear of how our friendly galaxy would react.
Our reputation changed however, when a threat emerged from beyond our galaxy. A threat that was so powerful and numerous not even the combined militaries of the galaxy could stand a chance.
We ended it, without even firing a shot in anger. We held a demonstration, and afterwards broadcast the following words throughout the galaxy, words uttered by the weapons' creator centuries ago. The words were heard by all as the invaders fled.
"Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds." | Dear Newcomer,
The sight of the bodies never leaves you, their crumpled forms become all you can see every time you close your eyes. There isn't a moment you don't think of them, the images finding their way into every ordinary thought that you once possessed, worming their way into even the most mundane of your day-to-day activities. You tell yourself that the Fourth World War wouldn't have been won without it, that the world would have surely perished in the conflict, but that doesn't seem to matter. Slowly going insane, you run to every vice you can think of to escape the pain. Alcohol, drugs, sex. None of it provides relief, only a few hours where you can focus on something else before being reminded yet again of the cruelty of the human species.
I was there on the day they took control of the planet. Not in the stands, cheering on Bardric. No, I was on the ground, looking in strange wonder at the non-descript barracks made of strange shiny material that had somehow prevented me from joining the gruesome corpses that I just witnessed. It was that day that I asked myself why Bardric had broken his promise to never use the greatest weapon of mass destruction ever created, how could he ever be so sadistic?
It wasn't until later that I saw Bardric for who he really was, a narcissistic tyrant who would strangle his own wife for the sake of being in control, that I finally understood. Understood that I had been swindled by a con man who had promised us a world like our grandparents had known, when people freely prospered and violence was rare, but instead delivered the very opposite.
The scariest thing, friends, is that he could do it again. Next time it will be you and your family. All he needs to do is wait until the satellite is in the correct position, and with a few button presses, you'll be as disfigured as the corpses that I saw. That is why we must keep our communications in written form and sealed so that they're harder to trace, and why we must live separate from one another and amongst those he considers friends. Blending in is the best way to guarantee our success, for he wouldn't want to accidentally destroy those he likes, should the weapon be slightly off target.
Remember, the world bows to Bardric now. You are the only hope for the future of humanity. Conduct yourselves with care, and find opportunities to infiltrate his regime so that we can one day be free. I have faith that if we act diligently and with intelligence, we can someday be victorious.
Your Friend,
Milton Avorn | 2022-10-31T23:35:05 | 2022-10-31T19:33:10 | 373 | 24 |
[WP] It was a weapon so powerful that not even the most barbaric warmongering civilisation could stomach it. Just by building one, we struck terror in the hearts of many species. We weren't even planning on using it... | "Now, I am become death, the destroyer of worlds."
The words of Oppenheimer prophecied far more than he could even know. The atom bomb was the Pinnacle of human violence, a weapon so effectively efficient in mass destruction that it heralded a whole new era upon the earth. The radioactive decay of particles which shot out smaller, subatomic atoms was just another facet of its destruction.
However, it wouldn't lay to the splitting of atoms to destroy worlds and civilisations. The ascension of humanity to the stars was surprising; The galactic community had approximated 50 earth cycles too much it seemed.
The ingenuity of man, their innovation and creativity always pushed humanity towards the future, whether it meant progressing forward or regressing into primitivity. However, it seemed unlikely that humanity could threaten the galactic community, with humanity being a class 1 civilisation at best.
It was only when humans invented the first teleporter that the entire universe began to worry. The Galactic Council assembled to deliberate their position. Calls from many civilisations were made to destroy the new invention, knowing, even fearing the damage that it could unleash upon civilisations across the universe.
"They bend the laws of the universe!" "They could destroy anything, anywhere, at anytime! How could this be allowed!"
Even the Gausiks, a warmongering remnant of an ancient bioweapon, was calling for a galactic intervention, knowing full well the destructive capabilites of what amounted to the ability to be omnipresent.
Chareg, the leader of the Atryeus, a far more peaceful bird-like civilisation, suggested first making contact with humanity and their governments, for after all, humanity didn't yet know what they had done.
On Earth, INTER-Corp, a global business conglomerate, had begun to mass-produce the first 'Transportational Teleporters', shipping it to dominions in the entire solar system, from the joint-colonies of Mars to the ISS-2. No longer would the world be bound by the physics of a universe which confined them to silly concepts, like Newton's 2nd Law. People could travel from one end of the universe to the other in the matter of seconds, transporting humanity into the second act of globalisation: Inter-Planetglobalisation.
It was only when an alien transmission travelled from the far reaches of the solar system, did we realise that we were not alone. And upon reading it, realised that they were angry. Very, very angry. | His gaze moved up slightly as an elegant figure, lithe and as pale as the moon, emerged from the hallway, their very form bearing an ethereal glow which enveloped the room in an unyielding embrace and cast a deep shadow in the furrow of his brow. His feet shuffled clumsily below the desk and his face twisted into a wry grimace as she began talking.
“Humanity stands but upon a precipice and the long night draws ever close. Even now, the demon Cu’sinthal executes his final device: the annihilation of the world. His mortal puppet Dmitri teeters on the edge of madness, cornered and desperate, his resolve weakening. The forces of democracy and justice, Dimitri’s perceived enemies, press on, intoxicated by success, and driven by an insatiable fervor.
She paused, took a few steps closer to him, and for the briefest of moments a flicker of concern poured across her face. At this point she glanced down, shoulders sagging, and was spent.
He adjusted himself on the chair, so as to face her directly, and mused on her words for a while. He stated plainly:
“I would have you continue Gabriel”
Suddenly invigorated, she resumed speaking with deliberate tones, full of wisdom and despair.
“The destruction of mankind will be absolute. Up here, in the Silver City, we will endure. Free to sing and dance while clutching to ignorance. Below our feet a calamity unfolds, and yet we remain indifferent to their suffering, our souls decaying into apathy with each stroke of the sword”
Stopping for breath, she deftly wiped a single tear away and then continued.
“Dimitri will soon commit to the unthinkable: unleashing a weapon of mass destruction upon his opponents. A global conflagration will follow. Encircling this earth with tendrils of destruction and tearing away all life. Nothing will remain. And as the sun sets on humanity Cu’sinthal’s insidious endeavors will triumph.”
He considered that for a moment.
“You would have me intervene, would you not? And yet, you know with certainty my position on matters involving earth.”
She interrupted him.
“No. I would not have you act directly. But rather through another, a being who can tip the scales towards posterity without absolving humanity from their culpability, an unseen mentor of sorts.”
“And you would volunteer yourself for this role.”
“I would.”
At that he got up from the chair and moved slowly and purposefully towards her. His hand found hers and without speaking they both walked silently out of the room.
They strolled for an epoch, and yet by a man’s watch only minutes passed, for such is the nature of heaven, where time and space are subservient to the holy powers will. Their long walk spanned a thousand dreams and they saw much: vibrant forests full of life and filled with otherworldly creatures; mountains as high as the eye could see; deserts bereft of life, and yet overflowing with an unnatural sand relentlessly making and unmaking itself into grand edifices winding into the long night.
He stopped suddenly, dropping Gabriel’s hand, and spoke quietly.
“I will indulge your request. You will be sent to earth to oppose the demon Cu’sinthal and bring balance. You will be forbidden from acting directly or unilaterally. Finally, I would have you return to the Silver City before sun’s rise on the twelfth night. If you transgress, I will forcibly extract you and your existence will be forfeit."
“I understand father.”
“It is settled then. I’ve set your translocation in motion. Go now and bring forth my justice child.” | 2022-11-01T00:43:49 | 2022-10-31T20:56:33 | 83 | 46 |
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider | "Look man, it'll take like... ten seconds."
The genie wasn't having it. I thought these things were supposed to happen, no questions asked.
"No!"
"Genie, it's not even a difficult wish. It's probably the easiest thing anybody's ever asked of you."
"Nothing's that difficult for me. That's the nature of granting wishes, it's fucking magic, boy."
"So magic me this last request!"
"Not interested. I'm not doing it."
"What's the big deal?"
"You're talking about my home! Do you see the size of that thing? It's bad enough I have to squeeze myself in there."
"It won't be so different!"
"It will be SO different! What if I grew to this size and asked you for the same favor, in your home?"
At that moment, the genie puffed himself to the size of the Hindenberg.
"It's just a little semen, man."
"I LIVE IN A TINY LAMP, IT'S NOT JUST A LITTLE TO ME."
"I guess, I've been saving up for a few weeks too. Look, I really need to go."
"Ask for something else. I'll make you ruler of planet Earth."
"I don't want to rule the world."
"Fine, you don't have to, just ask for something else."
"No. I'm set on this and I'm being very precise in what I'm asking for. I want you to wear this Pikachu themed lingerie and let me jack off into your lamp. I have a really tough time finding someone else to do it, or even bringing it up."
"Because it's fucking weird."
"I didn't know judgment was part of your gig, Genie."
"Look, wish for another set of wishes. I never do this but I'll give you a pass. This way, you can have TWO things instead of this... one... thing."
I gave it some thought.
"Okay. Okay I got it. I want... a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
POOF. It was in my hand.
"With a coke. That doesn't count as the second wish okay?"
"Sure."
And so it was, I had a snack to munch on. The genie met my gaze warily as I ate my sandwich and sipped my coke.
"And my final wish..."
"Mm-hmm."
The genie had his arms folded. He was getting impatient, we'd been talking things over for more than an hour now.
"For my final wish... that you must grant..."
"Yeah, what is it, freak-o."
"I want you to wear this--"
I hold up the Pikachu panties.
"GOD DAMMIT, NO!"
"Wait! I'm not done!"
"I'm not interested, I won't let it happen."
"Just let me finish."
"Okay, I'm listening."
"And... I want you to watch as I jack off into your lamp."
| I had met the greedy, the kind, the desperate, and the carefree so many times over the centuries. Wealth, health, power, fame, kindness, and futile wishes for the forbidden escape from death, nearly every wish had slowly added to a life of boredom watching the same results.
This man was unusual. A man of science, he spent hours questioning my powers and dissecting the rules of a wish. His first wish was one I had seen before, one of the few I would always respect. He wished for mental fortitude. Rather than the ease of instant knowledge or the calm of great wisdom, he would have the will to press forward in his studies and carve his mark in the world. His second wish was that of a clever man, also one I had seen many times albeit rarely with the first. He wished for robust physical health until his final day. I could neither foresee the arrival of Death, nor could I stop the phantom for a moment, but I could assure that the scythe would reap one who was not desperate for its merciful touch.
As little as I cared to banter with mortals who were interested only in extracting all they could from me, this man was an oasis in a desert of timeless servitude. Choosing his words carefully to avoid the use of his final wish, he made requests I had not heard in a dozen lifetimes. My own freedom was limited, but there was no rule against a genie playing chess with a mortal, no law preventing him from hearing stories of sultans and czars rising to power only to fall under their own weight, and no taboo against listing every wish that I knew would lead to his downfall. If for only a day, I enjoyed the company of a mortal who I could consider a friend. He considered wishing for my freedom, but I had come to accept my fate while the rules would dictate he sacrifice his own. I talked him out of that wish as I was unsure whether I would even care to be a free mortal at this point. Such an idea was uncomfortable, but in retrospect, I lament this decision.
"I wish for humanity to meet intelligent life from another world."
I had no knowledge of such life. I nearly refused his wish on the basis of not being able to create life, but something new happened. In order to fulfill my duties, the cosmos would grant me knowledge no human could hope to attain. I discovered alien life forms. Some were too hostile. Some were too alien for reasonable communication. Many were undeveloped and ill suited to meet humanity. Only one species was a reasonable option.
"Please.. Please, do not ask this of me. They are so advanced that the world will never be the same. They are kind, just, and empathetic, but they will sap the strength of mankind and tear away his eternal drive to reach for more."
My words fell on deaf ears. He insisted that mankind would never yield to complacency. I could only obey, fearing that my duties would lead to a world which would end itself far too early.
I know not what folly had taken my head. Humanity was never in danger. The mercurial nature of mortals so greedy and yet so curious were precisely what they needed to ensure their prosperity despite alien intervention. Even then, it was my lack of understanding humans which truly surprised me. When mankind met what could be described best as angels, it was no more than a day before they were... mating.
I now live in a world of excessively beautiful winged humans, intelligent and graceful, firing lasers from their eyes at will and contriving scenarios of imperfection that they may be grand heroes until they reach other worlds to "save" and "protect" from that which they disdain.
Despite it being my duty to enable this world, I feel I deserve punishment. I beg for death, but the truth is that I am righteously condemned to watching this shit happen every fucking day until I can convince one of these assholes to launch my lamp into the sun. | 2014-07-26T17:37:39 | 2014-07-26T15:37:14 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] Humanity enters the galactic stage, and is set apart from the other sentient species by the last thing you'd expect. | "You're joking...they need *what* to live?"
"They need oxygen, sir."
"Oxygen? They need *oxygen* to live?"
"Yes."
"You're telling me, these creatures, they live off of *one of the most corrosive elements* known to exist?"
"Not just them, sir. Nearly all life forms on their planet need it."
"Does anything *not* need it?"
"Something they refer to as *plants*, sir. They thrive off their waste, carbon dioxide. In turn, the plants produce oxygen."
"Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable. Are they aware that oxygen is flammable? If they have too much of it around, they're likely to die?"
"Yes."
"Didn't you say there was something else? I mean...this'll be tough to beat."
"Sir, it appears that...um...it appears they also need water to live..."
The dyore looked upon his subject incredulously.
"Ky'Thku, you want me to believe that, this species, needs *a highly corrosive element* AND **a strong solvent** to live? These are things they live off of?"
"Yes sir."
"How long do these creatures live? I can't imagine that long..."
"Around 80 of their cycles, sir...300 kuns."
The dyore sat back in his chair...
"Reason for death?"
"Likely cancer...sir...or weakening of their muscles. They're currently researching how to extend their lifespan...with moderate success."
"Not corrosion? Not dissolving? They die from *their own genetic code*? Backwards."
"Correct sir. Their death has little to do with oxygen or water."
"They live for *300 kuns* in those conditions...well...they'd do very well mining those 'uninhabitable zones' for us!"
"That's the plan sir. They are technologically inferior in many ways, but it would be a great boon for us to have access to those resources without creating expensive durable drones, and the uninhabitable zones closely resemble their home planet. It would be a fair trade for both parties. We offer them transport technology, maps, and mining technology in exchange for a generous portion of what they procure. As standard galactic law states, we'll have to abstain from mining anything in their gala-"
"Yes, yes I know...well...let's stop by and introduce ourselves! Someone fetch my hazard suit!" | Beeglork waved its hand across the holographic control screen, cycling through to the next picture.
In the picture was a soft-looking creature, with a couple of patches of hair in odd, seemingly arbitrary places. It stood on two legs, and had another appendage between them.
Beeglork tilted its head. Its antennae twitched. It flipped the screen back to the previous picture. This creature was similar. Almost the same. It was shaped just slightly differently, but not so much that it couldn't be accounted for by totally normal diversity of appearance.
"No, I don't see the difference."
"Oh for Kla'aorr's sake, it's that. That right there."
"There's nothing there."
"Right, there's nothing there on this one, and then on this one there is."
Beeglork clicked irritably.
"This is too confusing. And you say I have to call them by different pronouns?"
"Yes. They will be dreadfully insulted if you use the wrong ones."
Beeglork rubbed its hands over its antennae.
"I don't know if I can do this, Grorlk."
"You'll do fine Beeglork. They are tempermental, but they aren't physically strong at all. The worst thing that could happen is that they'll shoot at you with some loud, outdated projectile weapons."
"That's not so bad I guess..."
"Oh, and they'll be wearing things."
"Decorations?"
"Yes, but their decorations cover up their dimorphic characteristics, so you have to guess based on a few coded displays."
"Oh great Kla'aorr!"
"Also, some of them are called trans gender. That means they will have some of the dimorphic characteristics of the opposite sex, but they are actually the other kind."
"Grorlk I don't even have time to memorize these two types! How am I going to memorize all of this?"
"Well, don't worry too much about the transgender ones. They will allow you to ask which pronouns they prefer."
"At least some of these creatures are reasonable. Why are they so complicated?"
"It's how they reproduce."
"WHAT!?"
"I know, it's strange. They have to find a partner of the opposite sexual characteristics before they can create offspring. They even make a ritual out of it. Many of them choose one mate with whom they spend much of their lives. That search is considered to be the most important ritual in their life."
"How do they get anything *done* if they are all running around looking for mates?"
Grorlk shrugged.
"What if one of them chooses me as its mate? What do I do?"
"Don't panic, Beeglork. You'll do fine. This will spell a big promotion in the diplomatic corps. Then you can delegate to someone else to deal with them."
"Alright, alright. You're right. I can do this."
"Okay, they're docking now, so just study the pictures as well as you can, and I'll show them in."
Grorlk patted Beeglork on the shoulder and left it to its studies. Soon -too soon- the station's airlock doors slid open.
"...and this is our ambassador, Beeglork. It will be showing you around."
"Warmest greetings, humans! We are so glad to have you here. Might I just say that your hips are looking quite wide, and ready for bearing many larvae, Mrs. President."
President John Malcom Clarke did not look pleased by the compliment. | 2014-09-25T18:48:23 | 2014-09-25T18:13:43 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You open Google maps and something looks different.. Alaska is missing. Everywhere you look online, there is no mention of it ever existing. | "This is odd", I said, as I was looking at Google Maps this morning.
"What is?", my brother replied, walking up behind me. We were just about to go to school, one year between us. My brother is brilliant, he's a straight A-student in his first year at the university. He is doing some sort of project, so he went "home home" and is staying here for a few days. I haven't really bothered with why he's coming along to school though, it has something to do with that project.
"Alaska's gone", I said, "How could it be gone?"
"What are you talking about", he said pointing at the north western part of the Americas, "it's right there!"
"That's the state, stupid. What about the continent?"
He gave me a look. I haven't talked about the Alaskan continent since then. My girlfriend was supposed to return tonight, but it seems she never existed either. The only thing left is an ocean much larger than it was yesterday, and the word "Pacific" seems a cruel, cruel joke. | *alarm goes off*
I look at my phone, turn off the alarm and wait for my second alarm to go off because I'm lazy.
*second alarm goes off*
I turn of the alarm again, and slowly roll out of bed. I throw a shirt on and walk over to my computer to check if my professor canceled class again. He never cancels until the morning of the class. I open up Google, type in "g" for gmail, and attempt to open up my email. But of course, my half awake self miss clicks and click google maps instead. Oh well. I click new tab and open up may email. Of course, no email from my professor and I close the tab. Then I notice something weird, Alaska's not on the map anymore. That's weird, but I gotta get ready for class. I toss on some jeans, grab a hoodie, my wallet, and my phone. I'm about to leave when curiosity gets the best of me. I head over to my computer and refresh the tab. Alaska's still not there. I go type in Alaska into Google and it auto corrects to "Alaskan". Where the hell is Alaskan? Who cares, more importantly, where is Alaska!? Well Google isn't helping, time for plan b. Yahoo it is. I type in Alaska in again, but still Sarah Palin. Time for the last resort..... Bing... Actually, hell with that. I never used Bing, why start now. I gotta get to class anyways, and I'm already late thanks to my curiosity. I run down the stairs, open the door, and I'm half out the door when I finally realize..... Nothings there! Just, darkness. I jump back into my house, and run back to my computer. I have to do it... I need to... Use Bing... I type in Alaska. I get a 404 error. Great. Thanks for the help Bing. I look outside. Still nothing. That's how it all started. I somehow still have Wi-Fi, but I've been stuck in my house for the whole day so far. I guess Reddit it is for next while till I can find out what happened. Will update daily with edits. See you in 24 hours Reddit. | 2015-05-04T12:56:55 | 2015-05-04T08:08:07 | 36 | 12 |
[WP] Write a college essay that starts with, "Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle..."
Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/35hits/college_admissions_officers_what_was_the_worst/cr4khqk
Edit: This got a lot of responses.
Edit 2: This is my highest post in months.
I should post more. | Sometimes I wish I could go onto a roof with a sniper rifle. My enemies would stand no chance against the onslaught of bullets shot at them because finally I would be on their level. The thin limbed trees which the satan spawn liked to scurry up would no longer be a safe haven. Their taunting chitter-chatter would turn to blessed silence when for the first time in a squirrel's life it fell from a tree. A furry body with a bullet hole would sully my pristine lawn. "You want to make a mess on my shrubbery? Well then instead of acorn shells and squirrel poop, your own bodies can fill the role." Glorious, it would be glorious. Too bad I was a dog, unable to even shoot a sniper rifle. So I barked menacingly a few times at the wretches and then forgot about them as I ran off to sniff the delicate scent of another dog's derrière. | Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle...it reminds me of my wife. My wife was an avid hunter. Me? I was content with boring old fishing. She always went hunting solo. Her weapon of choice was a Remington 700. She said it helped me her mind from troubles and worries and felt the best when she was alone with her thoughts. Whenever she returned from her trips, we've climbed the roofs of our houses. Sometimes it was parents' and sometimes it was her's. It didn't matter. We'd drink some soda and maybe some beer. Watch the sunset. It was real nice. But you know what they say: all good things must come to an end. It was a stormy night when she left. She was suppose to get to her spot and call me back. Three hours pass. No call. Five hours. Nothing. Five turned to six and six turned to twelve. I start to panic. What should I do? Before I can start to formulate a plan, my phone rings. I grab at it madly like a savage beast. Shaking, I answer, my forehead drips with sweat.
"Hey, Kevin." It was her dad. "Listen...uh, I'm afraid I got some bad news." His voice is choking up while he speaks. His pain feels so close; it's almost as if I was right next to him. "Sara....Sara got into a serious car crash. The paramedics arrive...and they took her. Took her to the hospital. She died on the way there." His voice climaxes at "there" and he bursts into sobs of anguish.
That was a year ago. The phone call that changed my life. I still go up on the roof of my place; you know...just to reminisce. Recently though I've made up my mind to purchase a Remington. Maybe....just maybe, if I can get one and get onto a roof on a clear, sunny day...I'll be able to see Sara through my scope, waving at me from heaven. | 2015-05-10T14:05:11 | 2015-05-10T13:53:29 | 170 | 36 |
[WP] You're pretty sure the new hire is actually a superhero in disguise, because they're REALLY bad at hiding their superpowers. | Frank stared. He stared more. Then, he stopped staring and looked up at the anxious, earnest face of the new intern, Ted.
"So... Ted. It says here you punched our manager, Geoff?"
Ted squirmed in his seat, looking around the small office of HR in a futile hope to find something that did not make him think about his immediate termination. "Sir, he was threatening to assault Janet. And he was clearly drunk."
"Oh of course! We have no issue with you hitting Geoff. While, it was reckless, you are correct. The police have assured me it was self defence. In fact, it was pretty heroic!" Ted immediately looked trapped. Frank sighed.
"Sorry, heroic was the wrong word... Enterprising? Anyways. The issue is not the fact that you punched Geoff, it was... How should I put this. You punched him through the wall. with a hard enough punch to knock him unconscious." Frank looked at Ted with an expectant air. Ted refused to look Frank in the eye, choosing to instead stare at the picture of Frank's wife on the desk.
Eventually, he offered up a hesitant "The walls here are really thin though"
"It was concrete. A load-bearing wall, in fact. And you were outside. In fact, I don't know how you even knew there was about to be an... altercation"
"I have extremely good hearing?" Ted said, looking to Frank with a hopeful grin.
"I see," Frank replied. "Then when the roof started to cave in, due to you, um, punching through the wall, you held up the roof, with your bare hands."
"I do a lot of squats" Ted countered. He certainly didn't look like he did a lot of squats. Too mild mannered, Frank thought.
"The main issue" Frank began, fixing Ted with a steely glare. "Is that that holding up that wall should have been a construction job. As surveyors, our union strictly prohibits any sort of manual labor like that. Another stunt like that, and the builders union will be on us for taking on other jobs. Do I make myself clear? "
Now Ted just looked confused. "I think so, sir?"
Frank nodded "That will be all then." As he was finishing his sentence, a police siren rang out from nearby. Ted immediately looked much more anxious, fidgeting while frantically trying to look out the window.
Frank sighed again. "You may go" He said, as Ted ran out of the office faster than a normal man could see.
Frank checked off his latest appointment, and reflected. He wasn't sure who he was more afraid of, the supervillian who frequently tousled with a masked vigilante who looked remarkably similar to Ted, or the Builder's Union.
| “No Sam, the paper goes in the tray at the bottom of the printer” I fumed, grabbing the paper from his hands. Why is it that these new recruits fresh out of university, seemed to have absolutely zero life skills.
He held his hands up nervously, “I’m sorry boss, but like I never used a printer like this. I really don’t wanna be a nuisance but trust me I’m a fast-“ he leaned forwards, arms outstretched as if to emphasise his point. He knocked right into me, knocking the papers out of my hands. But then. He plucked each and every paper out from the air, before they hit the ground and handed it back.
To say I was stunned, is about the equivalent of calling a sloth lazy. He must’ve noticed my shocked expression, “Haha well wow I must’ve got really lucky there, huh?” I smiled, then turned and briskly walked back to my office. What was that, maybe I’d just imagined it?
I laughed at myself. Yes that was obviously it. Sarah had been nagging at me to quit smoking all of last night, and I hadn’t had one in nearly 3 hours. This must be one of the side effects. I settled down into my chair, and started working my way through the never-ending labyrinth of paperwork in front of me.
I’d been working for about an hour before I heard a knock on the door. “Come in” I called, wishing they wouldn’t and would just leave me alone. Seconds later, I saw the handle turn before snapping off, splintering the wooden door.
I leapt up, dashing straight to the door. Standing there with an expression of pure humiliation was Sam. I pulled him into the office, and did my best to close the door behind me. “Now Sam would you like to explain exactly what’s going on here?”
Looking around nervously, he started “Well you see boss I’ve recently started taking part in the 5x5 weightlifting program and I mean look at me now. I really have gained a lot of strength and I guess I’m just not controlling it properly. With great power comes great responsibility and all that.” Was he joking? Did he seriously think anyone was stupid enough to believe that? He was as wiry as they come, muscles bulging out like a models stomach. I had to figure out more about him, I was starting to form a clear idea about what he was.
“Well just make sure that doesn’t happen again and you are going to pay for the damage” I responded, in a measured tone. I talked him through the problems he was having (making a god damn spreadsheet. Seriously) and finally got back to my paperwork. While trying to figure out where a piece of paperwork was, I realised Sam had dropped something when he was here. A small notepad, one of those ones you can store in your pocket.
In what was definitely the worst handwriting known to man, he had scribbled down “Potential Villains” and he had a few names on the list, mostly well-known thugs in the area. But at the bottom, in pencil, I saw my name. I sighed. Surely anyone who watched Superman would know how to disguise their superpowers.
I strolled out of office, towards Sams cubicle. Turns out he didn’t think using super speed to maybe set up his office wasn’t a good idea, and as I entered I watched him clumsily putting things on his desk. He lifted up what looked like a white latex dress with a huge R emblazoned on it. This is by far the stupidest person I’ve ever met. I grabbed him by the shoulder and sat him down “We need to talk.”
If anyone enjoys my style of writing, I have my own subreddit to catalog my writing /r/KNDwrites | 2015-06-04T05:56:27 | 2015-06-04T02:46:27 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Every generation the five brightest are paired up with the five dumbest in the world for a mysterious test. You are one of the ten, but nobody knows from which group they came. | "Well I'm not really sure why we brought all these people together" the man in charge said in a sad voice "all of you guys seem the same".
Murmurs were heard from a few of the members after this comment, annoyed that they were involved in this. Others simply expressed their frustration with gestures.
"Usually it's pretty clear" the man continued "you have one side that's unintelligent and the other side that's intelligent."
"psst!" whispered the man to my right "hey you! Do you have any idea why we're here?"
I gestured to him multiple times, expressing that I didn't know. I was completely lost. This man was striking in a way, his skin was smooth and shiny like creamy porcelain. I noticed a few of the other people in the room were like that, and those people seemed to be the most talkative, whispering to their companions. The rest of the people simply shook their heads or told them to be quiet.
"alright" the man continued "we're gonna have to interview these guys one by one, you there" he said pointing at the man to my right, "why do you think you're here?"
"I assume this has to do with my large collection of large dildos, I'm an avid collector"
"What? Jesus what no that has... fuck ok what about you" he asked pointing at me, "what do you have to say for yourself"
I gestured to him multiple times to show my confusion
"what the hell are you doing? This isn't charades, speak u..." He paused for a moment "oh shit"
he quickly ran around the room surveying the 10 participants.
"oh for the love of... did they do it again? Was this Larry? It's always fucking Larry. Ok people there was a big mix up, apparently some jackass over at HR took the meaning of "bright" and "dumb" way too fucking literally." | In ancient times, there was a society that debated any important elective decision two times. The first debate occurred in the evening, with drinks and feasting. Thoroughly drunk, they would debate well into the night and put their decision to a vote before the end. Brilliant ideas might come about from the drunken simplicity. Complicated ideas might be thrown out because of their sheer monotony.
But! And this part was critical, there would be a second debate as the group sobered in the morning. This was their rational period. They'd pick apart what was discovered from the night before, and see if it was truly realistic or not.
To be accepted, an idea had to pass both of these votes. Once accepted, it would then be enacted.
---
Skipping to the modern day, we had a problem. To put it simply, we became too smart. Like a microscope focusing on individual mitochondrial DNA, our brains have become able to focus on the smallest of details. Have you ever seen someone haggling over pennies? I have.
Yet there are plenty of rich, wealthy individuals who don't even count their dollars. They have no need. Is it smart to count pennies when weighing millions? No. Penny wise and pound foolish.
And our world had gotten pound foolish indeed. Debate sparked across the nation. Answers coming from changing curriculum in schools, to fixing global warming, to electing more wise officials. In the Bible, God says that the wisdom of the world is foolishness to him. When weighing planets, who cares about a discount spending spree?
Thus there was the great political debate of 2016. The most brilliant and popular minds were flabbergasted, exhausted. Asked for a solution, they would drone on with reasons and thoughts. Never answering the question. Yet during one debate, by sheer accident, a child wandered onstage and climbed on a podium.
We laughed. We thought it was a joke. What came next shocked everyone. The debate announcer asked the child with a smile, "How would you solve world hunger?" "Give people food."
...The audience applauded. I mean. Technically it'd work.
The announcer ran with it. "And how would you solve the crisis in Ukraine?" "That sounds like Ukraine's problem to me..." The small voice trailed quietly.
There was a pause. The an eruption of applause. An embarrassed parent shuffled onstage, but the kid had already become a hit. Everyone tuning in to the big debate. The announcer covered his mike, "This kid is smart." A puzzled expression on his face. And the child became a viable contender in the presidential race.
---
Now we solve our issues in two ways. The intelligence test, and the child test. If your solution to fixing the economy requires more words than an child can understand, it's thrown out. Children are invited to debates on a regular basis, invited to advisory boards. More and more their simplicity became recognized. The trouble is, the children are the smart ones.
| 2016-03-03T06:05:43 | 2016-03-03T02:52:30 | 378 | 34 |
[WP] Every time you die, you are transported to the time of the first event that ultimately caused your death. One day, you are hit by a car and sent 12 years into the past. | I had read about the Dead Butterfly Phenomenon - where after death one would go back in time to what started the chain of events that led to one's death - but I didn't think it was real.
Anyway, here I am, seconds after the reckless driver hit me while I was trying to change a flat tire, and... I'm in the back of a room. Some kind of lecture hall.
I look up front and see several middle-aged men and women. They're discussing something along the lines of allocating tax money to pay for overdue road projects.
I hear Canton Boulevard brought up. Wait, didn't they widen that road ten years ago? That's when I realized... I'm in the past.
I look around to find some indication of what today's actual date is. I then glance down at the papers I'm holding.
The top of the first paper reads: "For City Council meeting, November 9, 2004."
I look further down.
"My Suggestion For Re-routing The Latimer Freeway".
The Latimer Freeway. That's where my tire blew out and I had to pull over.
"Mister Philson? Are you ready to make your statement before the council?"
I look up. All eyes are on me.
"Um... you know, I think I've come down with something. I gotta go, I don't want to infect anyone here."
| It's been a strange life; constantly setting back to what I guess could be called checkpoints. I didn't quite understand what was going on when I was younger, but now I have gotten use to second, and even third chances.
Everytime I die, I get sent back to the decision that caused my untimely demise so I may try to avoid the ultimate consequence. In high school I was the king. I was always doing incredibly dangerous stunts knowing if I failed I could try it again many times as needed to impress my classmates.
I'm older now and I've been using the *curse* much more sparingly. I've tried to kill myself and escape my eternal torment only to wind up standing in my closet facing a locked gun safe or in the rope aisle of Lowe's. Recently I had a much larger set back that I fear proves I may never be able to escape.
12 years ago, or rather tomorrow, a man by the name of David McLaughlin is going to come by and pay me 78,000$ for my dad's old corvette. The same car that ran me over last night, or 12 years from now.
It was never quite clear the decision that caused my death but I was always placed within 24 hours of the decision. Was it the price of the car? Did the price force him to sell it? Is he the one who ran me over our is it his son who has yet to get his license? All these questions and no definitive answer. There was only one thing for sure, and that was that I did not want to wait 12 years to know if I made the right choice this time.
Twelve years had gone by since that setback and I was sitting behind the wheel of my dad's corvette, waiting at a red light. The light turned green and I began to drive. I was heading to work, or a cup of coffee. I hadn't decided yet.
Suddenly a man stepped out in front of me. I don't know what happened but I ended up smashing into an oncoming car and looked back to see him spread out on the road.
I could tell I was badly injured and probably wouldn't make it. I crawled over to the body. It was David McLaughlin. The same man who never showed up to purchase the car. At that moment I realized that I wasn't alone.
Today I plan on seeking him out. Maybe he will have some answers, or maybe he was hoping the same of me.
Edited for verb tenses and a few spelling errors. | 2016-11-09T11:09:25 | 2016-11-09T10:57:53 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation... | My name is Jericho Kilmore and I'm 13, but not for long. My 14th birthday is in under ten seconds. We live in the town of Falborda, a place that I have cherished much from my very first memory. My father is the Hand of the King and since written history, our spirit animal has always been a wolf.
Recent alchemy studies show that the transformation from human to spirit is based on intellect and mental capability of comprehension, but our Wise Scepter claims that it is based on how we represent our bloodline. I am the brightest student in our entire schooling system. I have never failed a class.
Nobody can transform into their spirit animal within their own free will. There has to be some kind of reason. Some form of event has to occur to force the transformation, *but* everybody transforms within moments past midnight on the 14th anniversary of the day of their birth.
Today, I become a wolf. Today, I make my father proud.
~~
My name is Jericho Kilmore and I am 14.
I am experiencing my first ever transformation into my spirit animal. It hurts. There is blood everywhere. I am screaming in agonizing pain. I try to speak, but I have no control over my words. This is embarrassing. I am surrounded by a large portion of the town, just screaming and bleeding.
It's done.
~~
"What?" my father gasped, trailing off the word. It was pronounced more in the form of a statement than a question.
The entire crowd looked at me in amazement, but I can sense the fear and the confusion.
I can't figure out what I am, but I am standing higher than I was previous. If I had to guess, I'm a little taller than six foot. My stubby arms and legs are purple, but my abdominal section is green. I feel the urge to sing. I'm trying so hard to fight it.
The urge takes control of me.
"I love you!" I blurt out in a high pitched nasally sounding voice, "You love me! We're a great big happy family!" I begin dancing. Why can't I stop dancing? My family just wants to hug me, I know it. I'm hugging them.
Nobody seems pleased. | On my fourteenth birthday my family gathered around my bed as I awoke. 6 wolves impatiently wagged their bushy tails. They were all panting and Marcie had someone's underwear in her mouth. They waited for me to test my transformation.
They waited 'til about 5AM and then they all howled out something that faintly resembled a "Happy Birthday!" and Marcie whipped my face with the underwear.
"So Doug," said my dad, "are we ready for another wolf in the family or what?"
He stood as tall as he did as a human, more proud than he'd been for years, finally getting to see his last child transform.
I got up from my bed and bent down onto my knees excited to join them all. My fat stomach sagged to the floor and I raised my chest up to the sky, my three chest hairs protruding like an offering to the moon.
I started howling out with all of my strength and the family was going wild. Butch and Sandy wrestled with each other and barked, Grey was growling at something he imagined to be floating around the room, and Marcie had gone off into my underwear drawer to tear up the rest of the nearby stock. She'd always go after the mailman's underwear whenever he was on our street and must have been particularly restless now to go after mine.
And then it happened. My chest hairs turned white, and then more started popping up. My chest was soon filled with a circle of white, and a black ring started forming around it. Then my body grew to the size of a bean bag chair and my legs shrunk down to the length of my knee. My howling turned into a series of neighs and squeaks.
"What is this, some kind of joke, Doug?" my dad asked.
They all sat there very still for a few minutes before my downtrodden sister Marcie dropped the underwear from her mouth and transformed back to her human self. She walked off to her room with a grand disappointment, almost as grand as when she found out she wasn't allowed to transform into a wolf in the underwear section of the department store.
"This is worse than the department store!" she yelled back at the room before she entered her own.
I stand corrected.
I just sat there with a forest-sized desire to eat bamboo forming in my stomach.
Soon enough it was just me and my parents left, both in human form. I was ready for a lecture, but my mom broke down to tears and my dad consoled her on the way out of the room.
"You don't even eat meat do you Mr. Panda," said one of my brothers as he passed by the room.
I had always thought it would be great to be a wolf like the rest of them, but I'm just not the same type of person, anyways. I eat salad and I gain weight, I hate going out, especially at night, and I've always been more of a cuddly spirit.
"Pandas are excellent cuddlers if anyone wants to come back in here!" I yelled to my empty audience. No one responded. "I could use a cuddle right now!" My repeated plea went ignored.
"Time to check out the panda colony I guess!" I yelled. "Dammit," I muttered before transforming and getting back into bed. | 2017-01-21T21:33:35 | 2017-01-21T20:18:38 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A race of mages has expanded across the stars to harvest mana by seeding worlds with life. They arrive at a new star then a bright glow envelopes them. What followed are metal obelisks with a humanoid yelling into the void: "That was your warning shot. We will not let you reach Earth." | In the aftermath of The Fall, a galactic empire found itself torn asunder from within. Countless millennia of unchecked growth and careless hedonism had warped the unbreakable and rotted it from the inside. When every conceivable problem had been solved by automation, when immortality was achieved and taken for granted, when obscene magics provided anything that could be desired, there the seeds of a downfall began to take root.
No foe could best their might, no want was out of their reach, no troubles were insurmountable. When life ceased to be a balanced struggle it began to warp for the empire. Insidious cults of pleasure began to grow, promising a worthwhile pursuit of existence in fulfilling each and every desire, no matter the cost. As every new high was reached, the Aeldari grew to crave more and more. Slowly these cults expanded across the stars, seizing power and infesting endless populations. Entire worlds devolved into mindlessly chasing ever-more potent ways to feed their insatiable lusts. Gleaming cities crumbled as their populations delved into depravity, into the unspeakably macabre lives that would consume their every intention in the name of chasing the next high.
So slow was this treacherous rot that the empire did not realize its mistakes until it was much too late. The echoes of the actions plaguing the galaxy began to culminate. In the shadows of the Warp every scream and every drop of blood spilled in the name of excess collected, grew, matured, and eventually awoke.
The Aeldari empire died not with a bang, nor a whimper, but with a shriek. In an instant the galaxy found itself rocked by the force of countless billions of Aeldari souls exploding into the void to the laughter of a newly born God. The epicenter of the corruption, the empire's birthplace and seat of power, collapsed in on itself and blossomed into a profane wound in the fabric of reality. Through the minds of every Aeldari across the great bounds of the galaxy, a clawed hand tore into the souls of the living and dragged them into an insatiable maw. A twisted, daemonic reflection of their ways had come to reap what had been sewn. A name rang through the galaxy with the tones of a race's death knell. Slaanesh.
That was nearly five thousand years ago. Despite the wholesale destruction of their empire, the Aeldari had managed to cling to life. The outcasts who had not succumbed to the pursuit of excess, who had left their homes aboard great Craftworld ships, were the sole survivors of the Fall. Each and every one forever burned with the memories of their race's decline and the guilt of knowing that they are all that remains. Some turned to lives of quiet contemplation, to the hopes of preserving what remained of their shattered culture. Others took shelter where they believed She Who Thirsts could not reach them and continued their hedonistic ways. Still others scoured the stars beyond the ruins of their empire, searching perhaps in vain for a way to restore their race's glory.
Aboard a scouting vessel exploring an arm to the galactic East is a conclave of such individuals. So much had been lost during the Fall that precious few records remained of what might be found on the outskirts of their empire. Tales were whispered of worlds on the far reaches of the galaxy where isolated planets had been seeded with life by Aeldari hands, and optimistic legends spoke of worlds where scattered remnants of Aeldari power might still remain. Most tellingly, whatever echoes of sentience that could be detected drew the wayward spacefairers most readily. This particular expedition had been set in place to track down what had only been described as a beacon of psychic energy in the void of interstellar space. A bright, shining light that cut through the darkness of the Warp and its chaotic storms.
No other race that the Aeldari had encountered could have produced such a beacon. The souls of those privileged to make pilgrimage to the source of this phenomenon soared with the hopes of reuniting with their long-lost brothers.
As the massive wraithbone vessel exited the pan-galactic tunnels of the webway, those attuned to the machinations of the Warp found themselves suddenly bombarded with the force of a psychic power unlike anything they had ever experienced. Although not entirely unknown, as in the deepest memories of their souls the Aeldari remembered a single instance where they had felt such incredible power washing over their minds. The craft navigators erupted into panic, their mouths flung wide and their eyes unable to close from the sheer force of the power flowing through them. A thousand racing minds flashed back to the death of their race and tried in vain to prepare themselves for obliteration. But as they tried to scream, no sound left their throats. At least none that had been intended.
The sounds conjured up the image of a being so vast in power that many of those with weaker or unprepared minds were evaporated by the glow of the golden figure. Throughout the great halls of the vessel and into every corridor and corner, a voice spoke directly into the minds of every individual aboard. It was in a language alien to them, one that they had never encountered, but they understood every word of it with chilling clarity.
#"The space you invade at this moment is yours no longer. We will not allow you bring the witchcraft that doomed your race to our home. *I will not allow it.* Consider this your first and only warning, Eldar. Stand aside or suffer the wrath of the rightful heirs to the galaxy. Deliver this message to the rest of your kind. You will not reach Terra, and you will not stand in our way. So it is decreed by the Emperor of Mankind."
---------------------------------------------------
Hope it's alright that I took a liiiiittle bit of creative liberty with the prompt. And yes, this is a Warhammer 40k thing. It was too fitting for me to avoid! | The Iseluleki SeedShip slipped through the Astral cosmic void unchallenged. High Magistra Phlaselki stood at the helm, third eye open to the Astral, seeking for any threats. It had been millennia since anything had challenged the might of the Iseluleki, but still she remained vigilant. The Zjanzj were still a threat--a danger. The aberrations worshiped The Observers, but since they were creations of The Observers, Phlaselki reasoned that it was somewhat inevitable.
She ran her phalanges over the control crystals, seeking the comfort of knowing that whatever else happened in the wider cosmic array, that the Iseluleki remained dominant in their spheres.
As she did, the feedback nodules implanted in her arms signaled that a suitable system was within reach. A thrill of emotions played through her, but the dominant one was *hunger*.
A new source of potential power--another world to seed with their larval kind to generate arcane energy through the miracle of collective life--meant that her clan could overcome not only the hated Zjanzj, but also their rivals within the Congress of Minds. Of late, the Wilting Flower Party had been rising in prominence over her own Descending Triumph Party. And both were being opposed by the absurd Blue Cosmic Dominance Party, which favored open displays of power and wealth over the more subtle and--to Phlaselki's mind---more appropriate displays of humility that had long been the rule within Iseluleki society. The Blue Cosmics represented a dangerous shift in culture in Phlaselki's view.
She nudged the controls and began winding down from the Astral into the Empty Flux where she could then transition into Real Space--the Prime where all life began and naturally lived.
As she did, numerous nodules within the control matrix registered alarms. She closed her Astral Eyes, allowing her to see the local cosmic reality--even with the Empty Flux there were occasionally things worth seeing. Her skin flushed bright with surprise, and her assistant magistra Yleski turned to her in mirrored surprised.
"High Magistra, how is this possible? What is this?"
Phlaselki remained still, showing her own uncertainty, she knew, but unable to avoid it. "Daughter, it is hard to know. Nothing suggests that there should be any sort of intelligence active in this region of the greater cosmos. Yet these structures are resonant in numerous frequencies. Do you see how they exist across all layers of the local realities?"
"Yes Magistra. And yet, this hardly seems possible. Who could create..." She broke off as a voice registered through the SeedShip.
"This is your only warning. This Real Space is under protection. You will not approach Earth, nor the surrounding galaxy. Attempts to enter this area will be met with extreme force. We will not allow it. Thank you for your compliance."
Phlaselki wrenched the controls, using the emergency inertial dumps to stop the SeedShip completely, dropping them into RealSpace and in a position to observe the rather nondescript looking spiral arm galaxy. Yleski's skin brightened several degrees, indicating her rising anxiety and shock. Phlaselki took the younger Magistra into an embrace with one of her luminescent wing tendrils, soothing away the shock.
"Daughter, can you see them still? These things are well hidden. What say you? Is it truly a threat?"
"Mother," Yleski began, reverting to the most time-honored title of respect for their people, "This galaxy is yet void of higher intellects. I can tell that. But there is...an echo of something. A potential that we have not seen elsewhere. And these..." she gestured with one slender arm, "these obelisks are not new. They are ancient. But they have been corrupted too. They seem to be failing. I say we push in. These structures have a great number of flaws. Our lesser kin could be seeded here and assigned a few systems far from this 'Earth'."
Phlaselki considered the proposal. One question was which of the larval Iseluleki would be best suited for seeding on a few remote planets. And if the obelisks had the power still to defend the galaxy. The more she considered it, the less she desired to push into a realm of possible danger.
"No daughter, we will not take the risk. The Guilds would not approve, and our party's position within the Congress could be jeopardized. If the SeedShip is damaged or destroyed, we lose several centuries of effort. We will turn back. There are a few galaxies nearby where we can seed some of our lesser kin, where they will be safe. These are not as promising, but perhaps once the lesser kin begin to find themselves, they can travel to this galaxy on their own without interference."
Yleski's wings diminished, showing her wistful disappointment. "Yes Mother. May I suggest we use her the Disruptor Kin? Their dissonance may have a further corrupting influence on these sentinels."
Phlaselki considered this, then gave her assent. "Well done daughter, you have once again proven your worth. Would you like me to assimilate your essence? You are worthy."
Yleski hesitated. It was an honor. Phlaselki didn't expect her assistant to truly understand the honor, but hesitation was not unexpected even for one that did.
"Mother, I am surely yet unworthy. Please, forgive me my doubt."
"Yes daughter. Come, let us seed this other galaxy."
It was an innocent mistake. Easily made. Rare for one of the Iseluleki, but easily done. Phlaselki's phalanges caressed the controls just so, and the SeedShip suddenly leapt forward. She shrilled her outrage, but it was too late.
Fifteen of the obelisks turned toward the ship and fired as one beams of pure destruction.
Her last thought as her flesh and mind were consumed as one was one of sorrow for the loss that her party was suffering.
-----------
###Later
"...you for your compliance." Grand Magister Asphask of the Iseluleki considered the warning and the residual that still echoed through the local cosmos, showing clearly the destruction of the SeedShip. He turned to his assistant. "Mark this. This area is off limits for us. Maybe someday we will return, but it appears that this is not the time to challenge the might of those things. We will seed this nearby galaxy instead.
"Yes Father. Disruption kin?"
"Of course. Perhaps they can get through where we can not. Inform the Congress."
"Yes Father."
| 2017-06-05T11:46:20 | 2017-06-05T10:20:51 | 193 | 128 |
[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed] | Hey girl! Binging on chips again while watching Netflix eat away at your insecurity? Stop marathoning bad rom-coms just because you can't get the man of your dreams! Let this love expert help you snag that hottie who's never looked your way with these simple tips. Throw away that photo of your ex under your pillow and let's get started!
Tip # 1: Let's start with your looks. Yeah, no. Not even a shit ton of make up is going to fix your flawed view of beauty, but at least you can pretend it does. Watch a YouTube tutorial or four to get a grasp of how you'll never, ever be able to hide your anxiety from everyone you know!
Bonus tip: Don't forget to buy the most expensive brands available. Nothing like the best eyeliner to really show off how desperate you are for a love life!
Tip # 2: Go to the right places to meet the love of your life. Wow, that club has a ladies' night and you are hoping to dance your financial troubles away? Surely only the best potential totally-not-creepy jackasses of suitors will want to hang out there, am I right? Wear that one little black dress you own and strut in those stilettos you hate all the way to the dance floor. Maybe you won't see all your friends go home with someone and cry yourself to sleep this time around!
Tip # 3: Take up a hobby. And no, I don't mean laughing to dank memes all day, silly girl! Go for something that will push you to actually shower and go outside for a change. There are billions of people out in the world right now doing amazing things, and I'm sure one of them will stop to look at you. Maybe.
Tip # 4: Revel in the uselessness of your existence and try not to hurt yourself thinking of the finiteness of life. You were made for nothing and you will end in nothing. What you have done today will now be in the past forevermore, and as you read this, the screen will continue to pulse at the blink that is your lifetime. Besides, your sister is getting married next week and your BFF is having her first baby. Like, why try, right?
And these have been my tips on how to find the guy of your dreams. You'll laugh at how accurate I am while inwardly seething as you go through break up number 284. You actually think that Mr. Fuck Buddy is your Prince Charming, and refuse to act like you're responsible for your own actions. I can't smile enough at thinking how you believed this guide will change your life!
Have a wonderful day and may you live with your fear of intimacy always. Xoxo | Excerpts from "Hunting and Containment: A Modern Womans Guide to bagging a Man"
Intelligent Men: You know that stereotype about nerds/geeks being virgins? Yeah, that isn't exactly true anymore. You actually thought that you'd be able to rock up to a Magic tournament in a slinky dress that shows off your devotion to Green, find some unwashed neckbeard who is relevant to ones interests and casually show that you might not say no if propositioned? It's a mindset like that that is responsible for the stereotype.
Your main weapon for this is going to be Knowledge. You will need to actually research something that is relevant to your target. If they like a certain show, research the show and anything attached to it. Perhaps instead of watching the latest movie by your favored dreamboat actor in a romcom when you decide to stay in, you find out if they have done any science-fiction or fantasy or other adventuraus genre of movie or television. Nathan Fillion, the lead actor of Castle, did a space-western show that many nerd-types adored. Orlando Bloom shot to fame as an elven archer in an adaption of one of the western fantasy nerd-touchstone novels. The point being that you need to find something in that milieu and become passionate about it to the point where you can confidently defend ones theories regarding that franchise.
Your secondary weapon is going to be Adaptation. Your genetics and imbedded memes will tell you to pursue the football player or the tradesman, as they have the genes to ensure that your children will be healthy and attractive. Unless you are a slave to your animal urges to be mounted by the most genetically superior specimen, ignore your genes and memes. Science is getting ever closer to replacing tradesmen and sports-players, yet no closer to replacing doctors, researchers and the like. If you wish to pursue the Intelligent Man, you may need to do things that you've never heard of or even considered doing, like learning how to play a Collectable Card Game or going to a pop-culture convention. This can also apply to the bedroom, for it is not wrong to say that BDSM is the fetish of the intelligent person. Much can be said on the interplay of relinquishing control to another or taking control that is willingly given. Less is said on how much preparation and planning goes into being the dominant.
So, where do I find Intelligent Men? Well, unless you know of a nerd-bar/nerd-club, you probably won't find them there. Libraries are a good place to start. If you can pull off the Librarian look (White blouse buttoned all the way up, Glasses with a thick, black frame, calf-length/ankle-length skirt, hair in a tight bun), then that can be a bonus. Another good place would be comic-book stores. You might get a few slavering man-children, but this is a good place to find out if there are any upcoming tournaments and/or Role-playing Games looking for new members.
A word on Role-playing games: If you don't know the gaming system the group uses, don't worry! Just say so before when you meet the group and you will get PLENTY of assistance to make your first character. Just don't touch other peoples dice unless they actually hand them to you. Many people who play these sorts of games have their superstitions about their dice. This Author has heard of one person who believed that if a dice consistently rolled badly, it needed to be thrown into the nearest body of water. Said person was in the Navy. Just remember that until you are comfortable with the group, do not go to one of their houses for a gaming session. There are plenty of gamingclubs that meet in semi-public places. | 2017-06-09T23:54:54 | 2017-06-09T23:26:48 | 182 | 22 |
[WP] It's the future and you just purchased a brand new device that lets you know how much someone has left to live. Right as you try it out while going through the city, you realise that everyone's remaining lifespan is the same. | Dorian looked at his watch. Men in suits brushed past him on their way home from work. Cars honked, and people rolled down their windows to shout at their peers.
“Stop blocking the sidewalk, Punk,” someone said and elbowed him in the ribs.
The device finally whirred to life, and Dorian turned it against his attacker. The screen showed two minutes. A smiled crept up on his face while he rubbed his side. But that’s when he noticed that everyone else also had the same amount of time left to live.
He cursed and started running. Sliding between cars and pushing his way through crowds of unsuspecting pedestrians. All his mind could think of was the incoming terrorist attack. Was it a bomb this time? Perhaps an airplane again?
An entire block away and the timers for everyone around him still kept ticking down.
“Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbled as the sweat poured down his face.
Three blocks away and thirty seconds left. It was a nuke, wasn’t it? *Oh god, World War III has started*, he thought as he dove down the steps into the subway.
****
“Hey!” James Connelly said. “Your watch, Dorian. Get that sand out of your eyes!”
Dorian rolled over to the side and put his water bottle to his lips. It was empty. He sighed and sat up. The concrete walls of the underground tunnels were blurry. He stumbled to his feet, despite the pain in his leg, and put his hand on the grip of the rifle. The pain medication was wearing off.
They needed to make a supply run soon… well, actually a week ago. Water was almost out, and nobody had eaten anything for two days. Someone had even managed to stomach the sour pears that nobody had touched for four years. It had been a running joke in the colony that at least they’d always have the pears to fall back on if times got tough.
Dorian had tried to convince Connelly that they had to go, but the man was adamant. No supply runs until the Morgs eased up their presence outside. Running into massed shredder fire meant certain death... but so did starvation.
Six years had passed since the sky opened and the sleek undersides of the Mawmorg ships appeared over the city. The initial shock barrage had leveled the skyscrapers and killed millions instantly. Then the walkers had been lowered into the destruction – three-legged monstrosities made out of some black metal – and started cleansing the streets with liquid fire and massive shredder cannons. Dorian shuddered at the memory as he made his way down East 2nd Long.
The gravel of the tunnel crunched under his boots. The Mawmorg didn’t often venture underground, for some reason. Perhaps they were afraid of the dark, Dorian thought and chuckled despite himself.
As he passed Outpost R8, his stomach started churning again. He was close to the surface now. It would only take him five minutes to sneak up and take a look. Driven by the hunger, he diverted from his patrol route.
The purple thunderclouds and the smell of burning ozone met him as he reached the surface. He’d never get used to that. If only he could get a glimpse of the blue sky.
The street was empty, but he could hear the metallic whoosh of a walker’s hydraulic legs around the block. Maybe he could… if he was fast enough…
He took a deep breath and started sprinting. He only got a couple of steps before he was tackled sideways into a pile of mortar.
“What the hell are you doing?!” A woman with red bangs and viridian eyes appeared next to him. “Can’t you see the place is crawling with sensor drones?”
“Uh, oww,” Dorian complained. “They won’t hit me…”
“Of course they would, Dumbo,” she hissed.
Dorian rubbed away the last of the dried eye-goo. The woman had freckles. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen someone with freckles.
“Who are you?” Dorian mumbled.
“Marissa,” she said. “You solo or with a group?”
“Uhm, I don’t have to tell you anything.”
“I just saved your life – the least you can do is let me help you.”
“We don’t need your help.”
“God, that stubbornness will kill you before the Morgs do.”
Dorian sighed and threw up his hands. “We have a colony of about fifty people.”
“Fifty? Really?” She gave him a lopsided grin. “What’s your name?”
“Dorian.”
“Take me to your leader, Dorian.”
*****
r/Lilwa_Dexel for more! | The Night Market is a funny place, and I don't mean that in a ha-ha way. You hear stories. I did, at least, from a
young age. The kind of things they sell there, you won't find anywhere else. The kind of people that dwell in its
streets are people molded by that stale air, that claustrophobic neon jungle encrusted on the edge of town like a cluster of barnacles.
You hear the sounds of the Night Market when you drive over it. The I-27 Hyperhighway goes over it, and once or
twice, growing up, I remember hearing distant echoed laughter down in that pit of light and dark. A buzzing like the collection of old buildings and broken houses was conspiring with itself, up to something.
I have never been here before.
Here's the thing: since They got here and brought Their technology, the deal was: they can stay on Earth. They
came in peace. That's all right. We're a welcoming species, us humans.
But the things They know? The technology, the ideas, the math, the physics they have uncovered? That is
absolutely classified information. From the day of the Arrival that was the deal – they would share their knowledge
only with the top. Government. NASA. UN. NSA. KGB. These guys got briefed on the truths of the universe. Not the regular folks. Not you and me.
Hence the Night Market. Because They, just like us, They have their rotten apples. They also need money. They
also need food. They came to our planet not on some fancy exploration quest, but out of necessity. Just like
America, Earth was re-colonized by the hungry, the weak, the persecuted. So they live among us, and some of
them… some of them are willing to share their secrets. To sell their technology in the backstreets. You just have to know where to look.
I step out of the autocar and I cross the street separating Block C from the first alleys of the Night Market. The
change is brusque. The lighting. The smell. The graffiti and the peeled walls of the dark buildings pressing against you.
I crisscross the maze of progressively narrower streets, past shadows against the wall and red eyes lurking behind
ripped curtains up on the buildings and smoke oozing out of tiny forlorn stands fronted by Others wrapped in rotten cloth and smelling foul.
Synthetic Organs. Shadowy Devices. Scrolls in encrypted languages. Secrets and knowledge for sale.
"Zed?"
I pause. I check my phone – this is it. This is the place. I turn and, under a black stairway dripping rainwater between the steps, he stares at me.
"I'm the Salesman," he says. "We spoke online."
"Yes." I can only see his bright red eyes flashing under the cloth he's wrapped in.
Their eyes – it's all you need to see to know they're not human. They shine and glimmer like a led light, perfectly
round, perfectly glassy. Like robots. But they're not robots.
"The money?"
I transfer it. He checks it on his device. He nods.
"Here." He gives me a wrap and, a second later, he disappears down subterranean stairs.
"Wait." I try to follow. "How do I know it works?"
But he's gone already.
This device – I don't know how it works. I know from my researches in dark corners of the web that the Others
have a certain philosophical and scientific grip on determinism, and legend tells that, with the right devices, they can
predict certain outcomes on certain closed systems. They can see the future. Some futures. And I need to see the future. I need to see *a* future.
My future.
The doctor gave me six months. Lungs. Spreading.
I need to know if it's true. If there's a way. And this is the device for it. The one that will tell me when I will die.
When anyone I want to know will die. Just point it and it gives you the answer.
It's not magic. It's not biology. It's physics. It's the position of all the atoms in my body and their speed at a
certain point in time… you have that data, you can calculate the future. You can find out what happens.
Find out if I die. And when.
I exit the Night Market back onto the bright streets of Block C. Everything is deserted. I unwrap the device. It's a
little circular, metallic object. Like a wristwatch without the strap. I breathe in deep. I turn it to me.
Nothing happens for a second. Its screen, black. Then it fades in alive. It reads *'TEMPUS MORTIS'*. I wait.
I hold my breath.
Then it flashes the remaining time:
12 days, 16 hours.
I frown. *No.*
That doesn't compute. I had six months.
*No, it can't be.*
I stumble around the deserted streets until I find a hobo. A dark corner. He's human. I point at him. He's asleep.
12 days, 16 hours.
I find another. Then another. All the same. Then I run all the way out of Block C and up the stairs into the crowded movements of one of the Hyperhighways and, standing on the narrow sidewalk as the cars woosh by, I point the device at all of them:
12 days, 16 hours.
To all.
Every car. Everyone. Every human. Twelve days to live.
And counting down.
_____
/r/psycho_alpaca
| 2017-06-20T15:24:59 | 2017-06-20T14:52:00 | 81 | 29 |
[WP] Humans have started colonizing other galaxies, only they never figured out cryosleep. Instead they send a large group of people towards a galaxy with instructions to keep the ship populated until it arrives. It will take 11 generations to reach the galaxy, and you are in the 5th. | "Number five" those were my first words and that was what I was, generation number five.
When I was seven and got home from school, my mother asked me what I'd learned. "Everything" I answered and then I told her what professor Hansen had told us. That we were the halfway point of a great journey and that it was up to us to make sure the journey succeeded. When I told her this she smiled and tears were streaming down her face. "Then I'm done." She said and later that night, after she'd told me a bedtime story, she left our cabin only to be found dead on cargo level the next morning.
For a long time I could not understand why my mother did what she did. I could not wait to be a part of this journey myself.
It took me several years to realize the truth of the glorified fairytale professor Hansen was teaching, and understand my mothers choice to take her own life. She had completed her duty and passed on the human DNA through me. I could not blame her, I had started to have doubts myself. It's hard to find a purpose when your entire existence is someone else's transportation. | They have never seen Earth. They will never see Haven.
The generation ship Ticonderoga sailed through the dark space between the stars, a giant monstrosity ferrying twenty thousand souls on a journey to nowhere. For them, the ship was everything. It was their entire history and legacy, rolled up into one. They needed nothing else.
It would take the ship 250 years to reach the S-class planet Haven, where it was hoped that an inhabitable atmosphere would still be there when Ticonderoga arrived. However, in the current circumstances, that seemed likely.
The ship moved through space in sub-light speeds, faster than anything humanity had ever built. After all, it was built to outrun extinction, the cataclysmic and some would say self-inflicted event that doomed old Earth.
It was almost fast enough, just almost. In the inky darkness between galaxies, something reached out to caress the ship, as one would do with a newborn. With that simple movement, the ship stopped. Its engines had been disabled and now it rolled to one side. One might almost imagine it floundering.
In this desolate space, where even the light from the ship flickered and died, a singular, massive and terrifying maw opened. The bizarre geometries of the mouth threatened to drive a man insane, even without accounting for it's absurd, horrible size. A yellow, malicious lightning crackled among the fangs of the great star beast, illuminating the strands of oddly-shaped tendrils on either side of the ship.
Uvhash the red, Uvhash the devourer, as deranged cultists on Mars knew him. An invisible, whirling mass that was larger than a moon.
The outer god waited, no doubt savoring the multitude of desperate cries that erupted within the starship. Thousands of voices wailed and whimpered as deck by deck, the ship went dark and was given over to the gibbering of cultists who had summoned Uvhash from the Beyond. Seconds became hours, and hours became days as all manner of depravity and degradation erupted from the bowels of the hulking vessel.
All the while, the Devourer watched. Hungrily.
| 2017-09-12T13:32:44 | 2017-09-12T13:02:07 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Alex,
It has been 99 days since you left. 99 days. Some days are easier than the rest. There are days when I genuinely smile as I remember you. You left me with so many good memories; and I thank you for each and every one. I miss you. Every. Single. Day.
You said we'd be together for the rest of our lives - we just didn't realize how short the rest of your life would be. I will love you, for the rest of mine.
Yours Forever,
Aya | Dear Dani,
After everything that happened I continue to see you everywhere I go. Whether it's bringing up the past or driving through town and seeing a car just like yours or in my dreams sometimes I can't escape you. And I always think about what exactly it is I will do when I see you again. I want to scream at you or just flat out ignore you. There are so many options and I have ran each one through my head multiple times. In the end I know though it will be none of those things. As usual I will just forgive you and allow you to hurt me again. Because as much as I keep telling myself that you hurt me for the last time and I need to shake you off I just cant shake the fact that I miss you.
I miss your contagious laugh and smile. I miss the times we hung out and talked for hours. I miss not being judged and just having fun with you. You were so beautiful. I had people tell me you weren't that pretty but they were wrong. You were the most beautiful girl I had met at the time. In the end they were right though. After what happened I need to remind myself that you aren't. I don't miss how you made me feel. I don't miss the times you avoided talking to me or not showing up to places we were supposed to hang out. The last time we had seen each other was one of the greatest nights of my life and as much as I know deep down there is a part of me that misses you and would love to see you again.
I hope to God I don't. | 2017-11-05T21:44:07 | 2017-11-05T19:53:10 | 1,462 | 95 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Alex,
It has been 99 days since you left. 99 days. Some days are easier than the rest. There are days when I genuinely smile as I remember you. You left me with so many good memories; and I thank you for each and every one. I miss you. Every. Single. Day.
You said we'd be together for the rest of our lives - we just didn't realize how short the rest of your life would be. I will love you, for the rest of mine.
Yours Forever,
Aya | Hey Em,
I'd love to say I've changed, I'm new, brag about things I've done. I'd love to say I've grown.
But you, with your disarming blue eyes, somehow always knew. You always knew when I was making things up, when I was caught in little white lies. You'd encourage some.
And I'd love to say how different I am, from when we last saw each other five years ago. We were excited when we met, we were kids; when we last saw each other, we were adults, we had grown, but we were still ourselves. But you never cared about words.
You cared about actions. You cared about us, about people, about how the coolest kids at the bus stop were still kids, waiting at a bus stop. My record shows I was the one with the loud mouth, insecure, but always willing to stick by anyone down on their luck.
After I left...after I went soul-searching, I took your advice to heart. I stopped saying how good I was, or how I changed. I showed it, from 2010 through today. I never did it for my ego. I never did it for pride.
I did it after some kids walked into my life, told me I was a jackass, and helped me change. I did it for the cool kids... the ones I cut ties with.
So...please. Let's meet up, chat about the old times, and see where things go. Let's let the chips fall where they may.
-M | 2017-11-05T21:44:07 | 2017-11-05T19:02:54 | 1,462 | 55 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Dear grandad,
You died 11 years ago when I was only 10years old. I had begged my parents to go to your funeral but they refused and I never got to go. I never got a formal goodbye so here it is.
I loved playing the violin for you. It always brought you such joy. I loved how you would always say “one day I’ll be better than you” after I finished playing. I stopped playing after you died. I’d like to think we’re equal at playing the violin now even if just by default. I remember I would always play the violin downstairs at your home but one day I visited and you were upstairs in bed. Struggling to be alive and being in pain. Even than you listened to me play. Little did I know that would be the last time I would play for you.
You would look at me now with such proud eyes. You were always proud of everything I did. I wish you were here to see me graduate university despite all the odds. I wish you were here to listen to me play the violin one more time. I wish you were here telling me how proud you are of me and everything I’ve ever done.
One day I’ll play for you once more. Until then rest easy granddad.
Love from your granddaughter | Dear Pop Pop,
I miss you. It's been about 11 or 12 years since you died. I was really young at the time, so all I remember is the last few months you were alive, watching the cancer slowly eat away at your body. With each visit you got more and more frail. I didn't recognize it at the time but looking back, seeing what it was doing to my dad, your son, was almost as bad as watching you. I wish I had more memories of you, more good memories anyway. Mom and dad say you adored me, that you loved me more than life itself, but I'll never know. They tell me stories about you, how you used to take me for rides in your convertible and I loved every minute of it, if only I could remember it. If only I could remember your laugh, your smile, your voice. Sometimes my dad looks at me and says how proud you would be of me, it's hard looking at his face when he says that, I can see the pain in his eyes. I still remember the note I wrote and put in your coffin. It said 'You were a good Pop Pop.' I was a little kid at the time so that's all I could think of to say, but I think it was enough I remember putting it in that little drawer in the side of your coffin to be buried with you. I even remember wearing that Mariachi suit that had been in the family for generations, but I don't remember you. I still have that suit, it's still hanging in my closet. I look at it from time to time, and I try to remember something, anything about you but the frail old man dying of cancer, but I can't. I think my parents are right when they say you would be proud of me, I've had a steady girlfriend for almost 5 years now, her name is Hanna. I think you would like her, she's amazing. I have a steady job too, full time working with dad at the airport. I graduated high school too, two years ago, and now I'm getting ready to go to college. I'm gonna get a business degree and then learn to be an airplane mechanic, and maybe if I'm good enough I'll open my own shop, that's when the business degree is for. Well I have to go now Pop Pop, I've got work in the morning and I need to get to sleep. I miss you. | 2017-11-05T21:06:53 | 2017-11-05T20:37:15 | 351 | 16 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E. | Dear Omar,
I know, I know. The last thing you wanted was your obituary to read "...an Oakland Man." I was telling some of my other friends that despite the fact we'd only been close friends for something like a couple years, you were someone that I would've wanted in the groom's party when I eventually got married. I don't share feelings easily, but with you it always felt okay.
I've moved to LA. I left Rdio that October. You'll be happy to know that Darrell and Raquel have bought my old place. They actually stay in the room you were in; they've converted the master bedroom to a gym.
Oh right! I finally went to Coachella. Your father had expressed to me, with tears in his eyes, how happy you seemed from all of the pictures you'd taken on your phone. I couldn't stop thinking of you and how you were always so easy with everyone. Totally understand what you loved about the music festival scene, now that I've gotten a few under my belt.
I try to live my life the way you did: always enjoying the moment, truly! These days I also chastise people for texting while driving. I have to confess to checking my phone at lights, sometimes. The traffic is just so bad here.
Oh! Also, I don't know if you know this happened, but your brother, or was it a cousin? He got super proselytizy at your memorial service, and left a small stack of pocket bibles for everyone. Your father kind of yelled at him to stop after a little while... it was kind of awkward.
I had to unfriend you on Facebook, sorry about that. Someone in your family had taken to using your phone, and hadn't deleted messenger, so it would show you as online, and after a while I just couldn't take it any more.
I think that's it... Every year, around that time in April, memories come up; you were such a brilliant light in our lives, and we miss you, and will continue to miss you.
Your friend always,
kevin | 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:20:06 | 235 | 78 |
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