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[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 friend,
Oh dear friend. If only I could just step back for just one day and talk to you about all that has occurred since we last saw each other. I’m so thankful that we were able to spend the time in life together that we did.
I miss that little sigh of excitement that would rise up from my chest and escape my mouth every time you’d call or anytime I’d see you walking toward me with that little mischievous grin on your face. You were the best part of my days and for that I am forever grateful to you. I want you to know that. I’m so grateful.
The hours we spent on the phone talking about everything and anything and nothing at all. Sometimes talking about nothing at all can mean the world to someone and make all the difference. I just want you to know it made all the difference to me.
I want you to know that you taught me to love in a time that I felt nothing was worth loving.
I want you to know that you taught me my worth in a time of my life that I felt like I had no value and like my life wasn’t worth living. You made breathing exciting. You made laughing and crying together something to live for. I want you to know I’m so thankful for that.
If ever a miracle brings you to this letter, I just want you to know you are forever imprinted on my heart and every once in awhile I feel your mischievous grin creep across my face.
Stay golden | Not sure if this is more because this is what I want to tell you or what but here goes.
When I first came to this school. You where basically my first friend which then led me to becoming friends with a lot of people. However there was one person In particular I liked, a lot. One who gave me emotions I had never felt before and feelings I didn't know I had. However I didn't know much about who you liked or what your dating/romance history was and you should have told me sooner, because if only I had knew. I always had a single rule when it came to my friends and liking someone, If you've known them longer or liked them for longer than I have, i won't get in your way. She's all yours. But instead you told me you didn't like anyone, including her and so I fell, further than I ever thought I could. I tried my best to do things I've never done before, I tried my best to hide my emotions to everyone but you. But then she started to show affection for you and so did you, with or without realising it. I don't know. You kept reassuring me that you were just friends, even when everyone else told me to give up and not bother trying. But then... Then I told you about the other girl I like, not even a quarter as much though, because I could actually talk to her and do stuff with her, unlike the other. So I told you and trusted you with this just to get what I did back. You had liked her for much much longer, everything you had reassured me with, as obvious as it was, was a lie. The thing is, I know why you did this, because you told me. You didn't want to hurt me and you didn't, you never could. How could someone's best friend hurt them after all? But now after I've fallen so much and learnt all these new things, I did exactly what I said I would. I stepped back, I let you go for her and now, well soon... You'll be happy together. But now here I am, in the background as always, watching with all those feelings that do nothing but make me cry. Of course I'm happy for you, you got, not only the girl but each other. The one the other loves. But you kept one thing from me, something I know caused you pain. Watching as I tried, tried and failed. And now this, this I will keep from you, from everyone we know for no one to see but me. Ever.
I'm sorry. | 2017-11-05T23:44:56 | 2017-11-05T22:02:40 | 32 | 18 |
[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. | To you, whom I didn’t treat right, I’m sorry.
I’m sorry in a way that you may not even realize because it hurts me every day that I live I remember you. I remember not being the very best for you and that cracks me deep down, I don’t know how else to say it. I feel fractured because I wasn’t the best for you, and I wish so badly I could’ve been your superman, your hero, or at the very least your friend. You deserved and deserve so much more than I gave you and I pray you find a hero who will give you everything I didn’t. I made a choice through my inaction to not live to my fullest and treat you the best, I let you down. But please know that I honestly feel we are both better for it. Kintsukoroi means “golden repair”, essential we are better for having been broken and living past it, and I hope desperately that it will get better for you, or maybe it already has, I’m not sure. What I do know is that you are a beautiful entity, one the world sure could use more of, so go out and be more than who you were, because you are stronger now. You have your kintsukoroi, so it’s about time I get a move on with mine. | 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. | 2017-11-05T23:09:04 | 2017-11-05T20:37:15 | 29 | 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. | Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand | Justin,
It's been a little over 3 years since you died. I still get hit with random emotions that make me burst into tears thinking about you. Both anger and sadness. I think about how things would be different if I had said or done things another way. If I had told dad you could come live with me, would you still be alive? I miss having you around for sharing stupid things off of Reddit or Imgur. I miss Netflix-ing Korean horror movies with you over Xbox Live and trying to time it just right on both of our consoles so it was like we were in the same room. You pushed me to start playing Call Of Duty which, silly as it is, has lead me to the wonderful life I have now.
I wish you could see your nephew now. He's so big and smart, and he looks so much like you that it made mom cry the last time she saw him. Your niece never got to meet you, but I will make sure she knows who you are. They both have the same defiant streak you had, which is both frustrating and heartbreaking.
Why did you have to take those drugs? I wish I had let you come down and live with me. You never would have met those shit heads that left you to die instead of calling 911. I can't say that I think about you everyday... It hurts too much. But I see you in my dreams. I always try to save you, but I never can and it hurts just as bad as when I got the call from Uncle Joe while I was at Disney World, because dad couldn't compose himself enough to talk on the phone. He has destroyed himself because you two didn't have a good relationship and it kills him that you never will now. I am afraid he will kill himself when grandma dies. She's the last person he has that needs him, now.
I don't believe in an afterlife, and neither did you. But I hope wherever you are... nowhere, or wherever people go when they die... that you aren't suffering. I love and miss you.
XXOO | 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-05T21:34:09 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] Due to a rare brain condition you've spent your entire life hallucinating the presence of a six foot tall penguin. You're on a date one day when you're asked "So what's the deal with the penguin?" | “So, what’s the deal with the penguin?” he asked.
I paused, shocked. Could he see it? I looked to my left, where the penguin stood still as if frozen. Then I remembered, and glanced down at my wrist, where a tiny, colorful penguin popped against my pale skin.
“Oh,” I laughed. “I’ve just always liked penguins, I suppose.”
| "So what's the deal with the Penguin?" He asks while gesturing his fork towards the obnoxiously placed bird behind me. Shock spread inside me as I continued to keep a straight face and picked at my dinner. "You can see it can't you? Right behind you? It looks kind of creepy just standing there staring at us." He continues to pester until I shoot a look in his direction. The penguin waddles a bit closer to the table and my date turns his gaze up to the bird. "At least I look like I do on Facebook" the penguin mutters with an icy glare. My date chokes on his food and clears his throat. "I beg your pardon?" My date adjusts his tie and looks up with a smirk at the Penguin. "You heard me, you baiting son of a bitch" the penguin honks and smacks my date's drink out of his hand. "Oh god not again Napoleon, seriously? Every time I go on a date you do this" I groan and put my face in my hands. "I don't like him Karen look at this!" The penguin grabs my phone from my purse and pulls up the Facebook profile of my date. "LOOK AT HIS LIKES KAREN! PINEAPPLE ON PIZZA???!" I look over at Napoleon and then to my date. "I'm sorry I don't trust anyone who puts pineapple on pizza" | 2017-12-07T15:57:27 | 2017-12-07T15:24:47 | 29 | 19 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "I know of a game," said the man, finally speaking up after a long pause. Death's glare shifted, as if his bony face cocked an eyebrow. The man crossed his arms, collecting himself for the explanation. The only way to win this game was to make sure the other party lost first, after all.
"Well?" Death questioned, growing impatient. "What is it?"
Having prepared himself, the man looked up at Death, ready to win.
"Have you heard of The Game?" | Jason was surprised, Death knows who he deals with.
"*Any* game?" he replied, with a hint of confidence in his voice.
"Any game you want. Remember, cheating is allow-"
Jason cut him off. "Do you want to get the setup or should I?"
"Setup? What do you mean? You haven't even told me a game yet." Death was confused. Of course he wasn't shaken, he had dealt with this many times, people overconfident in their poker skills.
"Very well, I shall summon a deck of cards an-"
"No, we're not playing cards Mr. Reaper. Hold on, give me a couple minutes and I'll set everything up, okay? Shouldn't be long."
Death conceded. "10 minutes. I've got some emails to catch up on." And like that, Death vanished.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Jason runs down a checklist of what he needs. "Two controllers, yeah, an old CRT, check. This seems in order."
"HEY DEATH." Jason yells, as a black smoke emits from the wall before him.
"Game's ready."
A familiar glow fills the room. Jason takes a seat on the metal folding chair he set up and picks up the purple controller.
*MARTH* blares out of the TV.
Death stops. A supernatural being is frozen by the sound of a simple character selection in a video game.
"You can pick Fox, he's pretty strong, Mr. Reaper. Can I pick the stage? I want to play on Final Destination." | 2018-03-07T07:43:55 | 2018-03-07T07:23:27 | 251 | 88 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?"
"I choose Russian Roulette." Ted said without missing a beat.
Death fumbled a moment, the cold fires in his sockets flickering down then sparking back up in a surprised blink. "You can't be serious."
"*Deathly* so." Ted said with a grin at his own pun. "Give me a revolver and a bullet with the power to kill even you. I'll load it, and we go until one of us pops." Ted mimed an explosion with his hands, a grin on his face.
Death's sallow visage tightened as if glaring at the impertinence. "Very well. A bargain is a bargain." With a puff of smoke that smelled of must a six-chamber revolver and a single bullet appeared in Ted's hand. The bullet glowed an ethereal violet.
"Now before you get any bad ideas, Ted, let me tell you that even though cheating is allowed in this game, turning that gun on me and firing will be treated as a forfeiture of the game." Death said warily.
Ted loaded the bullet and spun the chamber with a cocky grin. "Never even occurred to me. A deal's a deal after all. Who starts?" Death offered a wave of his hand towards Ted, who placed the revolver to his temple, pulled the trigger... \*click*. Empty. "Your go, friend." Ted said as he handed the revolver, handle-first, to Death.
Death took the revolver, and put it to his own head with some trepidation. A moment of hesitation, of uncertainty... \*click.* His gaunt frame visibly released from held tension. "So, Ted, why Russian Roulette, of all games?"
Ted took the revolver, placed it to his temple... \*click*. "I figure the best chance I have is, well... chance. I've never been one for chess or other games of strategy, and cards are too easily manipulated. Russian Roulette is simple, raw, and... final." Ted met Death's spectral gaze as he handed the revolver over. "Your go."
Death's hand began to tremble as he lifted the revolver... two in three chance of winning... one in three chance of seeing what happened when he met his OWN grim shepherd... \*click. Death's sigh of relief could be heard echoing off the walls of his sepulcher as he handed the revolver back to Ted. "Fifty-Fifty chance now, Ted."
Ted stared at the revolver a moment, doubt flickering across his face... but he lifted the revolver to his head steadily. "Guess I was going to die anyway..." \*click.
Ted's face split widely into a joyful grin as he handed the revolver back to Death. Death took it gingerly, fearfully. He stared at it, as if not comprehending the reality of the situation. Ted goaded Death victoriously. "Game's not over yet. You going to follow through with it? You could concede if you wanted. Keep the gun, send me back. We both win."
Death looked to the revolver, and the fires in his eyes suddenly blazed hot and bright. "I am **Death**. I am the One Certainty, the only thing in this universe that is consistent and equal. I do not concede, and I do not go back on a deal. ...Congratulations, Ted."
Death held the revolver to his head, ready to fire the sixth and final shot...
\*click*
Death stared at the revolver with relief and confusion and bewilderment all washing across his sunken features in a rush. "I don't... what happened? I don't understand? That was the final chamber. I shouldn't *be* anymore..."
Ted dipped his hand into the sleeve of his jacket, and held the ethereal bullet between two fingers like it was a common cigarette. "Palmed it, friend. Gun's empty. You DID say we could cheat. I honestly thought you'd concede, though."
Death laughed. He broke down into peals of dusty hollow laughter that rang across the voids of eternity. He waved his hand and as Ted disappeared back to reality, the final thing he heard was:
"Get out of here and enjoy your ten years, you cheeky fuck. And NEXT time, it's CHESS." | I pant as I sprint across a smokey field of nothing, ball in hand, as a dark cloud chases after me. My legs felt heavy, and I was almost sure the endless, misty expanse around us was weighing me down. There was no way I could prove it though. Death was a clever one.
We'd been at it for over half an hour, and I was feeling it. Even though my body has been given an unnaturally long life, it's still starting to show some wear and tear. Death thought it would give him the edge over me eventually, but it wouldn't. He was already faster, stronger, and more durable. I had something he didn't.
As the cloaked figure sets upon me, I throw the ball into the air as high as I can, and dart to the left toward my true goal: a bat, lying on the ground. I snatch it up, and turn, facing upward. Sure enough, Death is already up there. He had caught the ball and is winding up.
"Tactical strike!" I yell as he lets loose. I step aside, and waggle the bat ahead of me. The ball flies past me with such force, it embeds itself in the ground.
**You missed. If I recall from last game, that means I get seven points.**
He has a good memory too. I shrug. "Yeah, that was well played, but I called my shot beforehand, so I get to advance to the 15 yard line." Death is clearly a little annoyed as he digs the ball out of the spectral turf. I grin as I jog to my new position.
**Are you ready to begin?**
I barely get the word "yeah" out of my mouth before Death rockets toward me at blinding speed. I had intended to just finish the game right then and there, and Death had picked up on it. He was going to tag me, and I'd already said that was worth 30 points. He only had 164, but that was the 8x multiplier ball. He'd pass me for sure, and then I'd be in trouble.
"Wait! Time out!" I cry. Death stops on a dime, even the smoky cloak he wore seemed to float in place, as is unaffected by the sudden change in momentum.
"I have 297 points, so I want to use 132 of them to impose a penalty on you. You have to do 132 burpees before you can keep moving." I knew that would be enough time. Death was impossibly fast, but an exercise like that relied on gravity to bring you back down to the ground. Unless he was obviously cheating, I would have enough time to get to the endzone.
**Then I will use all of my remaining points to impose the same penalty on you**
"You can't!" I say reflexively. "You... have... homefield advantage. You can't spend your points if you have homefield advantage!"
Death leans in slightly to look into my eyes. I can only see the shape of a face inside, the sight completely mottled by the black smoke he exudes at all times.
"That's the rule." I say. Death stands upright again, and after a short moment, drops to the ground, rockets his legs out, barely touches his toes (I assume) to the ground, then springs up to his feet again, rising just slightly into the air, despite his explosive jump. After seeing him stop on a dime before, I have no doubt it's just his natural ability to stop his momentum like that. He's going so fast that by the time I determine he's not altering gravity, he's already done thirteen burpees. I panic, and start sprinting toward the end zone. I probably had time, but I didn't want to risk having him fly into me with that kind of speed. The impact would probably kill me regardless of our game's outcome.
I lift my legs as I run, and they feel like a hundred pounds each moving through jello. No doubt about it, the fog along the floor of the realm we were in obfuscated everything below the knee, and felt thick.
"I know you're doing this!" I call him out.
**That's just my home field advantage**
Death sounded almost snide. The closest thing to any real emotion in his voice I've heard. I had to get away from him. I push forward, but I realize I can no longer see the line of the endzone through the fog.
Luckily, I pull my emergency paddle off my back, and use it as a makeshift fan, blowing the smog away. I hop over the thick chalk line aand throw my hands in the air.
"I win!" I shout, turning around. I see Death stop mid-burpee, and sink into the thick fog. He emerges almost instantaneously in front of me, acknowledging my victory. It's difficult to see what he's thinking, but hs skeletal hands are balled into fists.
**Very well, mortal. You win again**
I stick my tongue out "Don't be a sore loser." The world around us seems to swirl, and melt into itself as I get returned where I was before. My messy bedroom, with shelves crammed full of old comic books. On my dresser is a picture of Susie (I always wondered if she'd be mad at me for making her wait, but I wasn't ready to go yet) and a tattered stuffed tiger. Death loosens up, and almost seems to sigh.
**24 times we've played this game, and still the rules are unclear**
I grin and shrug. "That's Calvinball." | 2018-03-07T08:25:24 | 2018-03-07T08:20:44 | 192 | 24 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "I... admit that I am not familiar with that particular game," Death said, hesitantly. "What are the rules?"
He sat in his bed, smiling to himself. He had become an old man, but his spirit was alive and well. "Oh, nothing too complicated," he replied. "In order to set it up, we will need certain materials: a ball, some wickets, and a couple of flags. We'll also need a wooded field on which to play."
With a wave of his hand, Death brought them to a field, with all the requirements that had been set. It was clear to Death that this was a physical test of some variety, and he was beginning to become nervous. Why would an eighty year old man choose to compete in a sporting event, with his life on the line?
"Alright," said the man. "Let's set up the wickets, and we each choose a flag. Then, we play!"
"I begin to find this tiresome," responded Death. "You will explain it to me now. How do I win? What are the rules of this 'Calvinball'?" | I look at the game’s Death has surrounding the room.
There’s the ornate antique marble chess board, polished to a gleam with ivory and ebony pieces.
In stark contrast, right next to that there’s a well loved and worn checkerboard. It has obviously faded areas where players over the years slid their pieces over the board, rather than picking them up and placing them.
There are also many branded board games: Battleship, Connect Four, Monopoly, and *shit, is that...* ***Candy Land*** ?
There are some more modern ones that I’ve only heard of, but never played, like Settlers of Catan.
There are also a glut of various card games, like Uno, Magic of the Gathering, and even *Pokémon*!
Of course there’s also a deck of regular cards set out, and they’re somehow both a void of boundless incomprehensible black like a black hole in which no light can escape on the backs, and a ghastly bone white on the front.
The clubs and spades are more of the depthless black. The hearts and diamonds are glistening blood red.
I am intrigued.
“Go Fish.”, I say.
Death nods.
I think several times about cheating and not telling Death when I have I card, but I know I have a poor poker face. Even when cheating is aloud in the rules, I still can’t bring myself to do it.
Death, sets down four fours, then the aces, then tens. I was only putting down about one set to every three that Death was managing. I was going to lose.
The last sets were made, and there was no need to count them, I was so far behind.
My stomach sunk to my knees.
Death smiled, “You passed the test.”
I blanched, “How so? I lost!”
“You didn’t cheat. The test was whether or not you cheat, win or lose, you pass the test when you decide not to cheat.”
The next thing I know, I blearily wake up to the steady sound of a hospital heart monitor.
-fin
Edit: formatting, again | 2018-03-07T08:28:53 | 2018-03-07T07:49:56 | 65 | 10 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood? | "...Do video games count?", I ask the death man. He actually looked like a very normal guy, just wearing black clothing.
"...Sure. Just nothing single player."
"Or, we could make our own game out of a game."
"...What?"
"We both get computers. We mod Skyrim with the same mods and same load order. We continuously play through until the game crashes. Whoever ends up with a crashed game first loses. Freezing does not count, and the game must crash. No staying in the main menu or waiting in a house. You must play through normally as you can with mods."
Death looks at me. "...I have a better idea."
"Yes?"
"We play vanilla Skyrim. Whoever runs into a glitch first loses, and you must play through normally."
I grin. "You are a goddamn genius."
"My idea... It just works."
"Guaranteed to happen, because Bethesda."
And we play through the game. Unfortunately, death gets some glitchy horses in the intro.
"...Goddamnit. You win."
The horses in my game also start freaking out like, a second later.
"What a beautiful game, Bethesda." | I look at the game’s Death has surrounding the room.
There’s the ornate antique marble chess board, polished to a gleam with ivory and ebony pieces.
In stark contrast, right next to that there’s a well loved and worn checkerboard. It has obviously faded areas where players over the years slid their pieces over the board, rather than picking them up and placing them.
There are also many branded board games: Battleship, Connect Four, Monopoly, and *shit, is that...* ***Candy Land*** ?
There are some more modern ones that I’ve only heard of, but never played, like Settlers of Catan.
There are also a glut of various card games, like Uno, Magic of the Gathering, and even *Pokémon*!
Of course there’s also a deck of regular cards set out, and they’re somehow both a void of boundless incomprehensible black like a black hole in which no light can escape on the backs, and a ghastly bone white on the front.
The clubs and spades are more of the depthless black. The hearts and diamonds are glistening blood red.
I am intrigued.
“Go Fish.”, I say.
Death nods.
I think several times about cheating and not telling Death when I have I card, but I know I have a poor poker face. Even when cheating is aloud in the rules, I still can’t bring myself to do it.
Death, sets down four fours, then the aces, then tens. I was only putting down about one set to every three that Death was managing. I was going to lose.
The last sets were made, and there was no need to count them, I was so far behind.
My stomach sunk to my knees.
Death smiled, “You passed the test.”
I blanched, “How so? I lost!”
“You didn’t cheat. The test was whether or not you cheat, win or lose, you pass the test when you decide not to cheat.”
The next thing I know, I blearily wake up to the steady sound of a hospital heart monitor.
-fin
Edit: formatting, again | 2018-03-07T09:08:29 | 2018-03-07T07:49:56 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] The new guy in your office is nice enough, but you don't know why nobody else can see that he's literally just a group of otters in a trenchcoat. | It was 11:00 on a Thursday that I found myself huddled in me cubicle questioning my sanity. This was because just a few minutes ago I was walking back from the bathroom when I noticed a cubical which was usually empty now held what I initially thought was a guy in a trench coat. However a few steps later my eyes quickly corrected me; that wasn't a bald man, that was an seal's head! So there I was, hoping the company insurance covered sycophantic medication when I decided a second opinion should be taken before I commit myself. So I walked over to the water jug luckily Walter was also there.
"Hey Walter have you noticed anything, odd, about the new guy?"
"Wait which one?" he asked wearing a confused expression.
"That guy over there"I said pointing to the seat which held my new flubbery co-worker, who's arms were now flopping aimlessly over his keyboard.
"Oooh you mean Jim! No the only odd thing about him is how nice hes been. Like, its his first day on the job and he brought the department donuts!"
"Well don't you think he looks a bit.. you know.. off?" I said growing increasing worried that my theories of lunacy might be right after all.
"Oh well now that you mention it, he does look eerily similar to the host of mythbusters. Besides that I don't see what you're talking about. Do you not like the guy or something?" he asked with a expression which made it seem like he was personally offended by the idea.
"Naw man I was just curious" I shot back defensively. We both finished our water in awkward silence and returned to our seats.
I started back on my work and figured it would be best to leave him alone. It's not my job to question HR's new diversity policies and making a fuss would only fuck me over. I just hope next time I get a damn doughnut.
Edit 1: I fucked up I was thinking of seals lmao
Edit 2: Thanks to whoever gilded. Makes the fuck up hurt just a little less <3 | "What... the... fuck," John whispered as he inspected a shady man waiting for a coffee to be finished by the machine.
Not handling it well, he finally stood up and walked towards the boss's office. Just as he was about to knock on his office door, Mike left the room.
"John, what's up?" Mike asked as he closed the door.
"Nice April prank," John said, doing his fake laugh. "I don't know how they move-" he then shut his mouth, noticing the confusion on his boss' face. "Oh come on, I noticed that moment the new guy entered the room!"
Mike shook his head. "What are you talking about?"
"Otters? That new guy is just clothing full of otters!"
Mike then started to laugh. "Oh, so you're trying to prank me instead? I see," he shook his head again and just walked away. As he passed the otterman, he raised his hand and gave him a quick shoulder clap.
John was enraged. He walked towards otterman, frowning.
As he reached him, he turned towards the main office room. "Okay, everyone. I'm not gonna fall for this prank, okay? This is the stupidest prank I have seen... like ever!"
The whole office was staring at him, including the boss who now stopped clothing himself.
Even otterman looked at him, head a bit tilted.
John took hold of the otterman's trenchcoat and pulled it away.
Everyone gasped. Otterman took few steps back and tried to hide away his certain areas.
"See? I'm not crazy!"
Mike quickly walked to John, took the trenchcoat and gave it back to otterman. Otterman clothed himself quickly, while all the otters were crying a bit.
"You're fired!" John's boss said. As he said that, the boss skin started to shatter a bit, revealing scales. Then a snake's tongue started to slip out once in a while.
"Get out!" he shouted.
John walked away towards the exit, looking around the office. The office was full of different animals. Dogs, cats, rats and even a few sloths. Funnily enough, they actually were the slowest workers in the office.
He quickly entered an elevator and pressed the close button over and over again. His heart was beating fast. He was panicking. He finally turned around and looked in the mirror. Every elevator has a mirror, after all.
But it wasn't his typical face that looked back. Instead, there was a fox staring back at him.
John screamed and took a step back, hitting the elevator door with his back. He quickly touched his face, feeling the fur everywhere.
As John tried to figure all of this out, he finally started to realise something. "Damn, I see. I'm too smart. I can see the truth! I can see who they really are!"
As the elevator doors opened, he saw one huge hippo and gorilla waiting there, in police uniform.
John frowned. "Shit," he whispered.
----
/r/ElvenWrites ( For more stories! ) | 2018-04-04T07:55:36 | 2018-04-04T06:28:03 | 768 | 321 |
[WP] You are given a writing prompt by your English Professor. You decide to post the writing prompt to r/writingprompts and get an amazing story. You decide to use that story as your own and turn it in as your assignment only to find out that your professor was the one who wrote the story. | "You didn't write this."
"Sir? 'Course I did."
"No. You didn't. And get off your phone."
" Sir, you can't accuse me of playerger- player- of *copying*, without no proof. I could report you to the teacher council."
"*Teacher council?* You really are a buffoon."
"Thank you, sir. So you believe me?"
"You couldn't write a Christmas list to santa, let alone a well researched theologically sound allegory about the selling out of classical hinduism through the eyes of a modern American."
" Sir? My story was about selling weapons. Was a spy thing. "
"It bloody well wasn't. It was a deep, multi faceted, many levelled concoction, building to a sterling crescendo. "
"Oh, that's very kind of you sir."
"And a dunce like you did not and could not *possibly* write it."
"You don't know that."
"Ah! But, my naive little friend, I do know that. Do you know how I know that?"
"...Yes, sir. I think I do."
"Yes sir? What do you mean *yes sir*?"
" Well, there's only one way you could know. And um, I should say I did a little research of my own. User history, you see sir. "
"... I ... "
" As you say sir, it was a deep story. Ally gorical. So deserves a B, I'm thinking. "
"Only a B -- that's insane! Wait... You little worm. Are you trying to blackmail me!?"
"Sir, all I'm saying is big and bouncy is one thing, but posting on malesgonewild might not have been--"
"Very good! That will be all. Well done on your story."
"Thank you, sir. Oh and sir..."
" ... "
"Congrats on the gold."
"Yes, well. Thank you, I suppose. Although I'd rather it had been for the story."
---
/r/nickofnight | This wasn’t what I had expected to write when I went to browse r/WritingPrompts. My plan was to compose something worthwhile – something to take the reader’s breath away. Perhaps a tale from a land of four warring nations and swirling elemental magic, where heroes reign and Good clashes with Evil. Maybe a mysterious story about an android girl who gets pulled out of a dumpster and has to save the city from, not one, but two evil AIs who also happen to be twin sisters. I wanted to possibly write something dark – something along the lines of Gothic horror – Count Dracula teaming up with Van Helsing to solve a string of strange murders, perhaps.
At any rate, I wasn’t expecting to be writing this.
I look at the prompt again. It’s still there – it’s not like it’s going away. I wonder what the others will write about. The Devil maybe? Something with banana cake and time travel? A sob story about losing a significant other? Maybe something about Bob Ross?
I mean, nobody’s actually going to write about a student plagiarizing their teacher’s story, right? Right? There has to be some kind of twist to it, otherwise it’s just a cooking recipe in the prompt\-form, and a mediocre one at that – it would be like reading a bowl of porridge.
I need something devious and original, something that Reddit hasn’t seen before, something that’ll make people go ‘Aha! That’s amazing!’ and then shower me with virtual points… and gold, of course. Yes... those sweet, succulent golden coins that tell everyone that ‘**THIS RIGHT HERE IS WORTH READING**’ (but in reality does next to nothing\) – yeah, definitely going to be aiming for gold.
Gold is something that even non\-redditors can understand, it's a universal symbol of value. I'll be able to show off in the cafeteria. My fellow teachers will all go ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ in awe. I especially like the ‘aahs.’
Aah, I got it!
Okay, so here’s the perfect idea for a story. Get this: Inception meets the Joker meets Game of Thrones \(the Little Finger episodes\)! Actually, this story right here is a good start. Can you see it?
Well... it is an early draft.
I just need to make sure nobody steals it. What’s the best way? Hmm… I’ll just make it so gut\-wrenchingly horrible that even if a student steals it, I can just fail it without having to reveal my Reddit pen name.
Ah, and then to further trap my unsuspecting students, I’ll just hand out this writing prompt in class:
**[WP\] You are given a writing prompt by your English Professor. You decide to post the writing prompt to r/writingprompts and get an amazing story. You decide to use that story as your own and turn it in as your assignment only to find out that your professor was the one who wrote the story.**
Dark days ahead, my dear pupils, dark days ahead… | 2018-04-14T07:08:38 | 2018-04-14T06:41:27 | 3,552 | 344 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here. | The problem wasn't that the humans were there. The problem was that their myriad of cultures had developed forth and sent everyone of their champions with them. While, say, The Tarsary, who were known for exemplification in the culinary arts, and a diverse selection of pan flutes, programming, and general dance would send a handful of their best athletes, The humans took on a completely different, and altogether more annoying tactic.
For every single olympic event, they sent at least one person. While Humanity was from a far flung corner of the universe that didn't interact much with others, (not from lack of trying, but simply intergalactic positioning made their trade mostly insular, with their nearest partners being uplifted races of their own creation) it was during the olympics that they put on display everything a human could do.
And it wasn't that humans were even that good at the obscure sport of Carnellis, where people slung deactivated land mines across the surface of pools of lime-water, with the intention of knocking other floating land mines away from the center of the pool, (based, of course, on the legendary toss made by Lord Tynellis, whose brave action during the battle of Trennori saved his father's vessel from being breached by separatists.) nor was it that humans were particularly good at most of the games on display. It was simply sheer force of will. Every human that arrived was in the peak of condition for the sport.
And it wasn't even that they were rude about it either. This is the height of human culture; in the large macroscopic view of the galaxy, they weren't exceptional at almost anything they tried. The galactic standard, in their bizarre way. The Jovi were the masters of culinary craft, but the human chefs would manage at least a bronze almost every time, putting together some bastardized version of the best cuisine in the galaxy, haphazardly assembling things in a manner that pleased even the segmented eyes of the judges, clicking their pedipalps against one another in preparation.
But what was exceptional was that despite never, in the history of their attendance, sweeping the golds, or the platinums, or even the electrium metals, the humans never give up.
So it was that every year the humans arrived, there was only one winner for most total medals earned per species; Humanity. All brass, bronze, copper, and a few other lesser medals, but every year, they beat everyone else out in sheer volume of competition.
Then they throw the best damn parties in the universe. The Olympic authority would like to remind you that the Peace Office will be checking IDs at the door this year, so if you would all please not set the city on fire this time....
And don't take the humans up on their own sports. Satellite Jousting is not as big of a joke as they would have you believe.
Thank you for tuning into Your Astral Olympic Channel. We welcome you to tell us what you think with your tablets about our experimental history segment. And now, for the games!
-----
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ for more tiny bits like this.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/8fmtoo/space_olympics_2_there_will_be_jousting/ okay so someone wanted more of this have some space jousting | In space, no one can hear you scream.
Which, for the better part of the history of the universe had been true. Sound waves just aren't a thing in space. There's no air. No air, no sound. It's science.
Well, we could all hear them now. No idea how. No idea why. But it was happening. The entire sector was ablaze with the insidious ear disease they call rock.
**BOOM BOOM CLAP. BOOM BOOM CLAP.**
But that was the thing about humans, they tended to...do things. Often these things didn't make any sense and seemed to be for the sole purpose of making themselves known throughout reality as "those guys." For example, when everyone else was chipping in their best and brightest to create the Faster than Light Network, the humans backed out at the last minute only to reappear with the Much Faster than Light Network™, complete with deep space Starbucks™ at every pit stop. They had every right to build their own network if they wanted, but the FTLN was meant to be an intergalactic peace offering, a thing to pull species of all creeds and types together.
But that just wasn't the way they did things, the humans.
Imperator Qe'ler Bur scowled as the sound waves rolled over his ship, jarring his sensory membranes.. "Optics, pull up a visual." Immediately a giant picture of the human fleet appears, filling the view screen of the bridge.
Oh for the love of the of the eight moons of Qe'ler. They'd crossed the line this time. The lead ship wasn't painted the sensible space camouflage all races had long since adopted. Instead it was a glaring white with a huge picture of a Qe'ler being...impaled by some sort of appendage of what looked to be a male human. Written beneath in both Qe'ler and English were the words, "Qe'ler Sucks."
This was not in the spirit of intergalactic sportsmanship. "Comms, open a channel."
"This is Imperator Qe'ler Bur, demanding a channel with the Admiral of the human fleet." Great, his flaps were all flapping. Dealing with these creatures was infuriating.
The picture of the spaceship was replaced by an elderly man who sported a uniform with row upon row of medals. Undoubtedly a veteran of the Qe'ler/Human Troubles. Beneath the medals was a pin styled similarly to the exterior of his ship. His infernal music blared in the background. Qe'ler Bur forced his flippers to settle before transmitting his own visuals back.
Immediately the eyes of the Admiral lit up, "Well if isn't the Bur\-meister. How are those flaps doing ya?"
Informal, crass and aggressive. Diplomacy human style. "Salutations Admiral, I ask that you cease projecting those, sounds and change the exterior of your ship. Both are against the spirit of these games?"
"Oh, you noticed that did you? Got it especially for you."
"Given that it shows Qe'ler we assumed that was to be the case."
A smug smile spreads across his face. "Gotta say my little Bur\-buddy, we are going to stick it in twice as deep as we did during the Troubles."
The humans had responded to a small border misunderstanding by raiding and annexing half of Qe'ler's known space. Then they had forced the Qe'ler to sign a McDonald™'s franchise agreement to stop them from taking the other half. Half of Qe'ler was obese now, swollen from sawdust milkshakes.
Needless to say, it was a sore spot among the Qe'ler. These games were viewed as a chance to restore some of their dignity in the universe. It seemed like the humans were quite interested in preventing this.
"Hey, lemme show you something Bur." A moment later a human walked into the frame, all of a sudden flaps burst out of its back, waving about. "Check it out, we bio\-engineered a new subspecies so we could pound you guys in the flap races." He starts giggling.
"Cut the channel." The view screen goes black. "Arm the phase photons, Qe'ler shall be avenged."
**BOOM BOOM CLAP.**
\-\-\-
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-04-28T08:32:47 | 2018-04-28T08:32:32 | 5,018 | 735 |
[WP] You are eight years old when you fall into a coma. 70 years later, you unexpectedly awaken, a child in an elderly person’s body. Your parents are dead, and your relatives are nowhere to be found. Your only friend is the nurse who has watched over you for the last 30 years of her career. | My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I looked down at my hands. But where had previously been the pudgy, supple fingers of a child I now saw the wizened, feeble hands of an elder.
Something didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t quite place it. I started to sob, and called out for my mother. But where had previously been the soprano voice of a boy, I now heard the gruff croak of a lonely widower.
Only then did the severity of the situation dawn on me: I was not a boy, but an old man, my whole life having elapsed while I slumbered, unaware of the passage of decades.
I grabbed at the various tubes infiltrating my orifices and found a smooth, flat, object adorned with the small image of an apple. “iPhone,” it said. I wondered if this bizarre futuristic device could provide some answers to my terrifying predicament. I clicked the button on the side of the device, causing it to illuminate.
And then, an even sadder truth dawned on me: the author of this writing prompt plagiarized my recent post on r/morbidquestions shamefully and without attribution.
Then, my heart stopped. Again, darkness. | I'm at the carnival. It's one of my favorite episodes. That's what I call the different places. There are a lot of them. Sometimes they stop and vanish unexpectedly, and then another one begins. I don't know why.
"Come on, Tommy! Race you to the teacups!" a young boy with sandy brown hair and a missing tooth says to me. That's my brother Rick. We do everything together.
I haven't seen my parents in a while, but that's okay, I'll find them soon. We set a meeting place in case Rick and I get lost, but we aren't lost.
The carnival is fun because of the cotton candy, and the spinning tea cups that spin really really fast and stuff. I wish they would go faster.
The carnival. The beach. The playground. I like those ones. Sometimes there are bad ones. I don't like the airport. My brother Rick goes missing in that one, and I can't find him.
But right now I'm at the carnival, waiting in line with Rick for our turn on the spinning ride that looks like tea cups. There's a young girl in a blue dress waving me us in, and a little white rabbit also, and a really funny looking cat, and some old guy with crazy hair and a big hat. I don't know why they are all there, but I don't really care.
"Go ahead, son," the ticket taker says to me as he takes my ticket.
Rick and I rush over to my favorite teacup, one that is green and has a 10/6 on it, but before I reach it there's a flash of white.
The carnival is gone. Faceless people in blue masks are looking down at me. There's strange sounds, beeping, voices.
"Congratulations, Dr. Agarwal," a woman says. "You did it."
I don't know which one is Dr. Agarwal, or what he did, but I want to go back to the carnival. I try to tell them this, but they don't listen.
"Try to calm down Rick - er, Tommy," the man says to me.
"Congratulations, Dr," another man says and pats the man that must be Dr. Agarwal on the back. "First ever transfer of consciousness from one person to another. Incredible!"
| 2018-11-03T12:27:06 | 2018-11-03T11:15:16 | 46 | 24 |
[WP] "Ok doc, give it to me straight." "Well, while we can't say what will happen for sure, we have reason to believe these two things: That you will survive, and that afterwards, you get to name it." | The room shifted before my eyes. Where the doctor had stood, was now empty. The bed I had been lying in alone, was now occupied by an irritated gentleman and myself. The floor was different too - tiled instead of linoleum - although it took a few hallucinations to notice.
'Get off me!'
I sprang from the bed and apologised. It felt, and looked, so *real*. The man was old, with a blanket pulled close to his chest. His eyes were misty but moved fervently between the door and me.
'How'd you do that?' The old man asked, his voice sounding like he had swallowed a bucket of sand.
'You're not real,' I repeated like a mantra.
'I bloody well am! Now one minute I'm laying in my hospital bed waiting for the sweet kiss of death, and the next you're-' The old man broke into a fit of coughing. '-excuse me. Where was I?'
'Something about the kiss of death.'
'Right,' The old man said and used the blanket to wipe the spit from his mouth. 'You appeared, right here on top of me.'
'This will be over any second,' I said, clenching my eyes shut and wishing it would end.
'People don't just appear you know,' The old man continued. His lips fell apart in an *ah-hah* moment. 'Have you come to take me?'
I looked at him blankly.
'Are you death?'
Before I could shake my head, the room shifted again. The bed was empty, the floor was back to linoleum, and there was somebody stood next to me.
'Welcome back,' Doctor Vaughn said.
I blinked in confusion and said. 'I hallucinated again.'
'What did you see this time?'
'An old man,' I said pointing to the bed. 'He was lying underneath me and said that I appeared out of nowhere. He thought I was death.'
'And this was the first time you've met someone else in your "hallucinations"?'
I nodded.
'You said that you appeared out of nowhere.'
I nodded.
Doctor Vaughn placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me to the empty bed. I sat like a disoriented puppet.
'I need to be frank with you,' Doctor Vaughn said. 'These "hallucinations" are something else. Something there's not even a name for yet.'
'I don't understand.'
'You mentioned that you popped into existence for the old man. Well, you popped out of existence for me.'
'So you didn't see me jump out of bed?' I asked.
'No.'
'But you can see me now?'
'Obviously.'
'So I just *appeared* next to you?'
'I experience pretty much what the old man experienced.'
I buried my head in my hands and rooted through my hair. I started tugging at strands, feeling a grounding pain. 'This makes no sense.'
'In no way, shape, or form,' Doctor Vaughn said.
'I don't even know where to begin... how... why?'
'This is only the second time I've witnessed you disappear, but you always come back. So that's a good thing. Where you go, that's a mystery. I'm out of my element here, and I don't think there's a doctor in the world who could diagnose your conditions - well, perhaps upon hearing the symptoms they may lean towards mental disorder.'
'But that would mean you're mental too?'
'Precisely,' Doctor Vaughn said. 'And I like to think of myself as a stable person. I do have an idea though. It may be stupid and fruitless, but if you wore a tracker then I could monitor-'
Before the doctor could finish, the world swam. I heard his voice like a pinprick at the end of a hallway. My vision cleared and I was no longer in the hospital room.
---
/r/WrittenThought
I went fairly abstract with this, and hopefully, some of you followed along! I dislike spelling things out for the reader, but I do wonder how much of it makes sense. Any feedback or thoughts would greatly help me improve as a writer. Thanks for reading. | A moan slid between my lips. I could feel my skin burning, feel the sweat coating every inch of me.
Someone moved, at the edge of my vision. A person. Someone was *there*.
"How are you feeling, Zack?" I heard him say, his tone filled with the careful cheerfulness I'd heard time and time again.
I focused every ounce of strength I had, bringing my will to bear - and my eye cracked open. The doctor stood at the foot of my bed. *Watching* me.
"Fucking *great*," I whispered. My limbs trembled as another pang of agony shot through me. "Can you-"
"Don't worry," he said, patting my leg consolingly. "It'll pass."
I laughed. the sound hollow and empty. "That's..that's what you said. Last week."
He grinned down at me, his lips parting to expose his perfectly white teeth. "Well, our guesses have been a little off. That's all."
"Can I see my-"
"Rest assured, you'll get through this. We're quite sure of that much."
I nodded slowly, feeling the exhaustion tugging at my thoughts again. It was like the simple conversation we'd had thus far had drained the last of my energy straight out of me. "Okay," I heard myself whisper. I'd trust him.
Not like I had a lot of choice.
My vision blurred, going grey about the edges as he leaned forward conspiratorially.
"Look on the bright side, eh? We might even get to name it after you!"
The words chased me into the black.
---
The moment of lucidity were few, and getting fewer. In the moments of wakefulness I could cling to, the memories were a familiar, easy escape from the pain. My apartment. My pets. Stacy's smile as she looked back at me. All of my friends, waiting there.
And I could remember the moment I'd fallen, too. The shaking that had spread in minutes, stealing the strength from my limbs and leaving me numb and limp on the ground.
I could remember the ambulance that had pulled up alongside me, lights streaming forth.
It had taken a long time to get to the hospital. That much had stuck out to me through the cocktail of painkillers and drugs. Our hospital should only have been a few miles away. That day, those few miles had felt more like hours.
And ever since, there I lay.
My eyes slid open the barest fraction of an inch. The ceiling tiles stared back, just the same as always. I'd done all but count the holes in them. It wasn't like I could-
I blinked, ice flooding my veins. I *could* move. For the first time in what seemed like weeks, I could feel my fingers flex at my beck and call. It wasn't much, but it was *something*. I'd begun to think I was paralyzed, rather than just weak.
But when I pushed further, testing my limits, my arm only moved a few inches. The soft clink of metal accompanied the attempt - as something latched about me held me in place.
I lay back, my mind spinning. The pain was still there, a distant memory. It was just a soft undertone to my confusion.
The sound of quiet footsteps drifted into my hearing. I opened my eyes in time to see a woman step into view, delicate and clad in scrubs.
She jumped about a foot in the air, a squeak sliding between her lips when she saw me awake.
"Hi," I croaked. "Can you-"
"Doctor!" she shrieked, looking back over her shoulder. "He's awake!"
"Could you just-"
Before I could say another word, she turned on her heel, stalking off somewhere I couldn't see.
Perfect. I'd finally woken up, and none of them gave a damn? Once I was feeling better, I'd-
I paused. It'd only been a few minutes, but I *was* feeling better. I felt good, in fact. With every breath I took, it was like something inside of me was spreading, taking root. The grey at the edges of my vision blurred and faded, driven out by whatever it was.
I raised myself a few inches, emboldened by the sensation, and froze.
There, propped up on my elbows, I could finally catch sight of the handcuffs around my wrists, pinning me to the bed.
I stared at them, completely taken aback. Why? Why was I-
"Zack! Well, isn't this something."
My head twisted. I looked back, fighting against my restraints in my need to see. I could see him creeping closer - the doctor. He was wearing that awful smile again, with the woman at his elbow.
His eyes swept over me, cold and assessing.
And then his smile widened.
"Isn't this something indeed."
(/r/inorai for shorter stuff by me
/r/redditserials for longer stuff by me and others) | 2019-04-08T05:47:35 | 2019-04-08T05:36:25 | 1,071 | 56 |
[WP] Walking home one night you find an old lamp and a Genie pops out. He tells you that you have 6 wishes, 3 more than usual. You take it home to sleep on it, because this is important. You must be sure! You wake up to find a frantic Genie. You only have one wish left because you sleep talk. | I woke up screaming.
3 things occurred to me all at once—
1: I could see without the glasses I’ve needed my whole life.
2: I wasn’t in my bed, where I’d been when I was asleep. I was floating amongst the clouds— something I’d wanted to do since I was a kid, so cool— and I was wearing some sort of jester Halloween costume. The material felt oddly expensive.
3: I met a genie last night.
“HEY!” A voice screamed through what I noticed were my Bluetooth headphones. “SO, YOU USED LIKE, ALMOST ALL OF YOUR WISHES, BUT I THINK YOU MADE SOME PRETTY GOOD DECISIONS!”
My entire life flashed before my eyes. So many possibilities— I could’ve messed up the space time continuum and while I wasn’t even conscious. I took in a shaky breath. “How do I get back to my house?”
“Oh! Just—“
POP!
I was now sitting on my bed. My entire body felt like a liquid and was slowly solidifying again.
“Hah, I forgot! You wished superheroes were real and you wanted to be able to have the powers you’ve always wanted.” I let out a nervous laugh, looking down at my hands. Sure enough, within a few seconds I’d teleported to various countries around the world and then back to my room.
“Oh my god. What else did I wish for?!”
“You wanted to end all discrimination, war and world hunger, there was a wish for happiness and money for your family and friends, you wished to know what happens after you die, then wished to forget and be immortal.”
I looked around the room, then glanced up to the genie, who had happy tears in their eyes. “You did good, kid. There’s one wish left— what do you want it to be?”
I was genuinely shocked. What else was there to wish for? This was in every sense the perfect world— at least, for me. My entire life, changed, just like that. Everything I’ve ever wanted! Except...
“I wish I knew how to whistle.” | My eyes opened slowly as I felt a cool breeze on my face. Looking from left to right I could see nothing but a gray expanse, until my eyes settled on the Genie. He was rubbing his hands together, obviously distraught, glancing around.
"Hey Genie, what's wrong?" I asked.
He stiffened and relaxed, a bit. "Thank Zeus you are finally awake." He said a little too fast. That's when I finally realized I wasn't in my room anymore and I sat up quickly, but instead of sitting straight up I started to flip. My eyes caught sight of gray sky and then clouds, over and over and I continued to spin.
"Don't just float there! Help me!" I shouted at the Genie. He gentled floated over and stopped my spin so I was standing straight up.
"What is happening?!?!" The Genie continued to rub his hands together. "I-We may have messed things up." he stuttered. "When you went to sleep I stood guard as I have done for previous masters. After an hour or two you started to make some odd noises and then started saying random phrases." I shut my eyes as I knew where this was going. "Well you clearly said 'I wish I could fly', so I granted it and you started to rise until you touched the ceiling a few minutes later."
I slowly nodded, "well that explains why I am able to stay afloat up here. But why am I outside?"
"Why don't I just tell you what you wished for, oh you only have one left by the way." The Genie explained nervously.
My eyebrows shot up at that news. "How could I have possibly said 'I wish' that many times?!?!"
"Well you didn't say that every time." He said sheepishly. "We are allowed to take some liberties when granting wishes. You said 'make me able to teleport', 'I want to control the weather Genie', 'I wish I was the richest man in the world', and finally 'I just wish I was the only one on Earth, that would be fun', I didn't *want* to grant the last wish. But you said 'I wish' so I had to."
The realization sweeping over me chilled me to the bone. Did I really murder everyone in my sleep?! I thought about home and was instantly standing in my bedroom with the Genie standing beside me. I ran outside as traffic would be insane right outside at this time of day. Cars were wrecked all over the road with some clearly having started on fire and burned out long ago.
"Genie, did I kill them all?" A hoarse whisper escaped my lips.
"Well, no, like I said we are able to take some liberties when granting wishes."
"Where are they?!?!" I demanded.
The Genie smiled "Not on Earth."
I blinked slowly and thought for a moment. "I wish for everyone who believes in God to be left where ever you sent them, bring the rest back." | 2019-09-20T12:12:58 | 2019-09-20T11:27:14 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month. | It's a good job. I think. I don't know. If I chose it, it's probably good.
Every morning I take the motions through my morning routine, get up, shower, get dressed, brush my teeth, pack my lunch, and leave.
And every evening I take the motions through my nightly routine. Unpack my lunch, make dinner, eat dinner, do the dishes, a few games on the Oculus, watch TV, brush my teeth, sleep.
And I have no idea what lies between these.
As soon as I'm in the car, backing out of my driveway, my consciousness fades and picks back up as I'm pulling into the driveway.
It took me a few weeks to realize this. After I left my old job at Starbucks, I remember going to a few interviews and getting a job. For a few weeks I started going to my new job and eventually realized I remembered nothing about it. I checked my contacts for coworkers and found nothing.
I never went out with friends during the evening, only on weekends. It eventually occurred to me that I could use my weekends to try to figure out where I worked. On the third Saturday of 2020, I began my search.
After a little thinking, I checked my history on Google Maps to see where I went every day.
I followed my path on the first day of my new job to a house not too far from my own. I went here every weekday according to Google, and the similarity of my paths ended there. Each day was a completely unique route around the city. And every day I ended up back at the house, following the same route home from there.
Was I some kind of chauffeur? That didn't align with my skills at all. I thought I might have picked up some office job.
The following day, I bought an audio recording device and planted it under the steering column. I set it to record and wirelessly send the data to my computer back home.
The next day, I left in suspense for my job, coming home with the same feeling. I rushed inside, not even unpacking my lunch, and listened to the recording.
Silence.
So, skipping my routine, I went out to buy a camera I could plant in the car.
And I planted it.
Tuesday.
I drove. I returned.
I watched.
I stopped in front of the house. The passenger door opened, and a figure in a black cloak holding a long scythe got in. It pulled the cloak out of the door's way and shut it.
At every stop, it got out, and I waited a few minutes. It came back in, and i drove again.
Was I Death's chauffeur? | Wait, what was that?
I had just left for work, I was just on the road pulling up to... somewhere. It was blank. My mind couldn't remember anything. I was driving... now I'm heading in the opposite direction. I checked over my shoulder to see the same old bus stop I remember seeing every day. I could just make out the colors of some type of advertisement, but the words were blotched out with what looked like black paint. Only parts of a smiling face were visible. That same woman with a grin wider and whiter than ever stared at me like I remembered every single day. Probably a toothpaste ad or something, I thought. I kept driving forward as the sun shone through my windshield. I was heading west. It was frustrating, it all started flowing back to me about thirty seconds after I came to. This happens every time I leave my house on a weekday, whether it's a holiday or not. What could it be? I went to take a sip from my coffee cup I had brought with me this morning. Empty. Disappointed, I set it back in my cup holder. That's right, what was I thinking, it happened like this every day. Though, I could still taste the faint bitterness in my mouth like I had just finished the thermos at most ten minutes ago. My head hurt and I was tired. I hated these too, the splitting headaches.
&#x200B;
I fumbled for my keys. Coat pocket? No. I checked both sides along with my breast pockets and jeans. Wait. I had forgotten the routine. I moved off the porch to my somehow beautiful flower bed in front of the house. Checking to make sure no one was around, I lifted a somewhat cumbersome rock to find my keys with the same dirty note I got every day. Written in a nice but messy handwriting it read:
*For you*
Beside these, was the large stack of hundred dollar bills that I came to expect every month. They were held together with a white elastic band. Thank you, unknown associate. And I entered my home.
&#x200B;
It felt too familiar, I was just here yet not at the same time. I could smell my clothing, the cotton white shirt I had on under my plaid summer jacket had a weak odor of something on it. There was sweaty smell, as my under arms were damp, but there was something else. It was almost metallic yet smelled like some kind of animal. Again, I was left in the dark. I switched on the living room lights. The comforts of home. Yet... it was all too soon. I was in possession of a less-than-modest house with spacious rooms and an over abundance of white. It was perfect. Too perfect in that regard, but I couldn't really complain. This job I took, whatever it was, paid a considerable sum for how little I seemed to do. In fact, it was almost too much to be comfortable with receiving. Turning on the television, I sat carefully on the flawless couch across from it, as to not disturb the pristine perfection my house had become. Somebody would come and tidy everything up in the time that I was gone to work. Though I had never seen who this person was, I assumed they were the same person that left the note, money and somehow my own keys which I thought I had taken with me on my day's journey. This meant that this same person was either the one or was associated with the one I was working for. I sat and pondered my situation. What to do? Nothing? Just keep living this life in spite of my frustration?
&#x200B;
Thanks for reading! I would write more but I have to get to bed. Let me know if you want more and I can continue this another time :) | 2020-02-11T20:50:13 | 2020-02-11T19:23:45 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You are playing hide and seek, and decide to hide in the washing machine. You sit there for some time, but it seems like your friends gave up. You climb out, only to discover that you are on a mountain of socks. Welcome to the land, where all the lost things go. | Welcome to the land where the lost things go,
Where keys and socks and wallets flow,
Your pens, your gum, your Christmas lights,
All wind up here once out of sight,
There's toys and dolls and games and more,
But soon enough, you'll get quite bored,
I've lived here for a thousand years,
For time does not have lodging here,
And yes, my fate may seem quite rotten,
I'm here because I'd been forgotten,
Among the piles of bitter ends,
I've never once met other friends,
This lonely land of myth and story,
Is my personal purgatory,
There's only one way I can be free...
Remember me, remember me... |
''This is just like aquapark that I went last week.'' I say and I wander around.
I see a movement in a distance and I decide to check it out. It’s a pair of socks fighting each other. It’s really hard to tell who is winning at the moment and suddenly hits me.
''This is just like Narnia.'' I say out loud.
They stop fighting and suddenly I find myself surrounded by hundreds of pairs of socks. They bring me to someplace called ‘Dirty but not that Dirty’.
Some tall figure emerges from the shadow and tells that I need to be brought to the water.
''What is your name, sir?'' I ask.
''It’s Mr.Pants'' figure replies.
The place gets even more crowded with other kinds of clothings. There is one specific clothing that I see rarely and it types into some sort of keyboard whenever Mr.Pants or anybody else speaks.
''You are being accused of trespassing holy grounds and speaking an evil language.''
''I’m sorry, what?''
''How do you plead?''
''Not guilty...?''
Mr.Pants starts to laugh and colourful bubbles come out from him.
''I think you were gonna say, Dirty'' Mr. Pants says.
''I’m dirty?'' I ask...
''Accused admitted his crime. You will be punished with cleaning 9.300 pairs of socks.''
''I don’t think I can do that.''
''How about 6.150?''
''It still sounds a lot.''
''Two then?''
''Two pair or a pair of socks?''
''Oh god, get him out of here. Don’t even try to come back here.''
-------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-08-31T06:55:40 | 2020-08-31T06:00:23 | 75 | 38 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | In an instant you could hear a pin drop in the mess hall. The conversations, clicking of silverware, rattling of tables, and even the very air stopped. Every other alien inside froze in fear and looked down at their food. I had started vomiting.
For a moment even I was worried - food poisoning was never fun as I would be dehydrated and severely… inconvenienced for a couple days. But the worry extended beyond me. The minute I’m even slightly sick we know the crew is in danger too. I looked up from the trash bin to my boss with fear and worry.
There’s a reason I’ve never been in management and that’s because I can barely manage my hair let alone another human being. I would never have been able to so calmly direct everyone to remain calm, leave their food behind, and return to their rooms for the time being. While I stood over the garbage bin like a statue scared. It was always strange when a human got sick. It was almost like they accused us of being the ones who brought the sickness and not that we were just their canaries.
At least with my head over the trash I couldn’t see their looks of fear, worry, pity, blame… all the emotions that came when staring at death. I had only the one heave and now just nausea as I stood there. *Please don’t be in the food* was all that ran through my mind.
I was brought to the quarantine zone where a fellow human acted as our doctor. The bright side of being so resilient to diseases was we made excellent health care workers for everyone. I’d always been glad our doctor was Dena since she shared my sense of humor. I laid down on the table and held a bucket nearby in case - the nausea was still there but was slowly dissipating.
When Dena walked in I gave a small smile and played the usual 20 questions.
“Are you tired?” Dena asked.
“Yes. Nothing new,” I responded.
“Headache?”
“Of course.”
“Weight gain?”
“Just the usual bloating from travel.”
Dena cocked her eyebrow and looked me up and down. “Changes in urination or bowel movements?”
“Ugh so gross. No.” Yup I’m an adult researcher on a distant planet still acting like a 12 year old. And on and on the questions went.
I finally asked, “Is it food poisoning? Is everyone safe?”
“I don’t know. Even alien based food poisoning doesn’t usually come on in less than 10 minutes. Let’s run a couple tests. Go pee in this cup.” She shoved a plastic cup in my hands and walked off. Some things never change.
After taking care of my business and the nausea subsided I sat on the table staring at the wall. I’d heard of how hospital waiting rooms are a place where time is distorted and I’ve decided the waiting for anything in the hospital is distorted. Dena came back just before I finished going through my mental to do list and I was relieved when I saw her face held no worry or stress. In fact she almost looked… smug?
“Let’s go through what happened on your trip before you came back. What did you do?” Dena asked.
I recounted my month home for her. “Well, James and I went to visit my family. Then had a fun trip to the lake…” Did I get something while I was home? Noooo... that would mean so many people have been exposed.
Dena eventually sighed and said, “Well it’s nothing contagious but you’ll be changed for the rest of your life. You’ll even have to call your family after this.”
“Wait, do I have cancer? What is going on?” I began to panic even more.
Dena just gave me a mischievous smile and of course paused for effect. “You’re pregnant.”
I didn’t breathe. I didn’t blink. The shock was too much. The only thing I managed to get out was, “THIS LITTLE SHIT MADE THE ENTIRE CREW PANIC BEFORE EVEN BEING BORN!?!?!?”
Dena just laughed and walked away telling me I was free to go.
As I walked down the halls there was an announcement over the PA that all was fine and no one had to worry for their safety. You could hear a collective sigh in the compound as people started leaving their rooms and work spaces. At dinner that night we all sat down to enjoy our meals when one of my sweetest crew mates, Milalik, clicked at me, “Are you ok? What happened?”
“Ah, nothing is wrong. I’m just pregnant.”
Milalik looked at me strangely. “Does… that make you sick?”
“Yeah, it’s a normal thing. Women get sick, sore, hurt, and uncomfortable when pregnant.”
Once again the room went silent.
Milalik’s insectoid face clearly conveyed shock for once. “You poor humans. What the hell is wrong with you? How have you survived your entire existence? How did you even convince yourselves to reproduce? How are you immune to everything but your own spawn?” Everyone else looked like they held the same sentiment.
I just sighed, started stabbing food on my plate, and all I could say was, “I dunno, Earth is like Space Australia, I guess.” | 'Dinner's in the mess' Mira shouted jovially over the ships intercom. Alex, Karnag, Celephlan, Jarus and Thud began slowly to kongregate as Mira one of the 2 humans gleefully served up a vile smelling meal to each of the crew of the Serendipity.
Each of the crew had their own job aboard the ship but they all took it in turns to cook. The problem was, well Mira couldn't cook. She did love to cook and she was an excellent diplomatic negotiator and well for the purposes of rag tag crew of theives that meant she could lie through her teeth better than anyone this side of the galaxy. She also happened to be the younger sister of Alex; a former black ops soldier and starfighter pilot turned rogue after having his brain mostly fried from too many memory wipes and torture from Taraxian Crystal spider venom from the time on Taraxia. He was also the only other human on Serendipity. Everyone on the crew owed him their lives multiple times over and not just from Mira's cooking.
Karnag, was the ships captain and an oversized Taraxian that had bought Alex as a slave and while not exactly freeing him, had given him purpose and a decent life again and reunited him with his sister. Karnag was a big softie and a ruthless, extremely calculated, relentless enemy if anyone ever came after his crew.
Celephlan, was a Lesarian a race of spindly creatures that evolved to withstand extreme temperatures, radiation levels, extreme winds and pressures They could move faster than any other sentient life form in the galaxy, and had lighting quick reactions to compliment their speed. Celephlan, she was the ships pilot.
Jarus was a Tamishan and described himself as basically a human, except he had scary telekinetic powers, and pointy ears. Mira kept teasing him for being a space elf, and kept stealing his shampoo. He was good in a fight and an excellent cook, but lazy and didn't really do much. Not even cook.
Thud, was a Goron, a nigh on immortal stone man. He was both their mechanic and doctor. He'd been alive longer than anyone aboard the ship could fathom. He'd seen civilisations rise and fall, empires, dynasties, federations reach out across the cosmos and he'd seen that reach turn to dust time and time again. He'd seen more wonders of the universe than all of them and he reckoned that the universe kept making more wonders for him to discover.
Nervously the crew took their seats around the table. Celephlan exchanged a nervous glance with Jarus, Jarus with Karnag, Karnag with Thud, whom merely shrugged and smiled politely at Mira before turning and intense gaze upon Alex whom was chowing down on his food. Mira took her seat chastising Alex for not waiting for her to start eating. Alex looked up with tearful eyes at his friends around the table and shook his head. Mira catching onto this frowned "It's not that bad right?" She asked her voice cracking. As she took a bite. Almost immediately she spat the food. Getting up from the table she ran from the mess to her bunk. Although the bulkhead slammed behind her the crew could hear her sobbing. Even though the food she served would literally kill the crew, they all loved her that much, they knew that while Alex wasn't quite all there due to his pain and hardship, Mira's Pain, she'd suffered the most. None of them coul bring themselves to be rude about her cooking. Not even Jarus.
Karnag sighed, "I think there are some MRE rations in cargo that we looted from that stellar guard cruiser a week back" before glaring at Jarus whom immediately got defensive.
"What the hell is that look for?" He said puffing up ready to defend and justify his laziness.
"Not asking you to cook for her, she loves cooking but for oursake teach the girl to cook." Karnag growled
"Even when you're trying to be diplomatic you still sound so agressive" Jarus whined back.
"Jarus you're lazy and destructive, the latter being why we don't ask you to do much. And it pains me to say this but you're the best damned chef on board. It's literally the only day to day job you're good at." Celephlan started.
"You're supposed to give a compliment either side of bad news like a sandwich" Jarus said before immediately cursing himself fro bringing up food and digging himself into a deeper hole.
"Like seriously Thud, have you ever met anyone lazier than Jarus?" Celephlan asked.
"One but he literally starved to death" the stone man confirmed.
"Jarus just please teach her to cook, she might stop stealing your shampoo if you do" Karnag said grasping at straws.
Alex finished his meal and shook his head and laughed "Mira stop stealing?" He asked rhetorically before continuing "that'll never happen, just be glad it's only your shampoo she uses to establish her dominance over you Jarus"
"She takes my shampoo to establish her dominance?" Jarus asked wildly terror creeping into his voice.
"So how bad is it?" Thud asked concern.
"Honestly, this is probably just going to be the sweats and the shits, but yeah it'll kill ya" Alex said crudely. Grabbing Celephlan's plate and chowing down again.
"And he goes back for seconds" Jarus exclaimed throwing his hands in the air.
"Why would you do that? You know it's going to make you sick" Karnag asked in disbelief.
Alex shrugged "Foods food and I've had far worse" he answered with his mouthful.
"There's a worse cook than Mira?" Thud asked.
"There are plenty, Mom was one of them" Alex laughed grabbing Karnag's plate.
"So where did you learn to cook then?" Celephlan asked.
"Prison" Alex shrugged, sliding Mira's plate infront of Jarus with a wink.
"I'll teach her to cook" Jarus blurted quickly.
"She'll like that" | 2021-02-03T19:28:38 | 2021-02-03T18:06:36 | 155 | 87 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you." | (first, try at a prompt really only a fragment and I know my grammar sucks)
GREEN ALERT! GREEN ALERT! BOARDING PARTIES HAVE BREACHED THE HULL!
The alert looped the anouncement as The Captain assessed the situation "REPORT" they barked The Captain looked as the color drained from the junior officer's face. 'C Captian! life sign detectors indicate The boarding party is... HUMANS! what's more, they are unmasked and headed for ...goddess no! THEY ARE HEADED FOR LIFE SUPPORT!" the junior officer began to cry.
Humans, deceptively by their appearance are actually one of the hardest species in the universe. With a radiation tolerance that would kill other species, immune to more bio pathogens than every other space fairing race and it's said they drink a form of acid in the mornings because they like the taste that insane durability comes at a cost they are walking pathogen farms just their breath can kill most other species. As the old saying goes "If it can make a human sick it will Kill you"
without Hesitating the captain gave the order "if we are dead anyway I'm making damn sure taking them with us SET AUTO DESTRUCT!"
(that bit about acid is true btw both orange juice and coffee are acidic always thought it sounded badass) | *"Glory days"*
&#x200B;
*So what?* My father always was dismissive of my knowledge and Zorklian pride. Damn he never understood. I wasn't a useless bean-counter like him. I was made for adventure. I was made for learning and exploring. And i was determined to do it.
*"These primates on planet 23451-3 were definitely resilient"* , i thought, as i gazed through my almanac of the galaxy.
I gathered tidbits of information like this one , certain that some day something would fit in the mosaic that was my destiny. I obsessed on 23451-3 for hours, yes, hours dreaming to fearlessly explore that cesspool of pathogens. That horrible blue ball, those horrific mushy creatures that dominate the planet, all those pathogens. I must go, to find a destiny, a treasure, something special. Important things are found in places nobody else thought about. 23451-3 was my inspiration.
Whatever. I'm going. I have money. I am emancipated. I'm going. fuck you dad. I will NEVER die old and useless like you. I grab everything i need and head towards 23451-3.
I'm overwhelmed by excitement, imagining the glory received by me, the fearless explorer at his return to zorkl. My good creator, just the bragging rights. I could imagine my friends at my graduation party, WHAT? YOU WENT WHERE?
And I, novice adventurer, would answer smirking, *yeah , i did that , no big deal.* wow i'm awesome.
As i disembark, I get the munchies. I slowly open up my small snack , mom made a big batch a couple of days ago. I should had never.
This atmosphere is loaded, it's a broth of unknown elements, creator what have i done.
Slowly my gear, insufficient, injects poison in my systems, It’s all over for me. i will be a forgotten number , just like you dad.
I’m sorry dad, i was vain, I’m sorry.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\*edits: reformatting, clean up a bit. | 2021-02-03T19:39:24 | 2021-02-03T19:38:55 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A trio of witches who live on the outskirts of town as outcasts befriend a neighbor child. They are annoyed at first by them but after their persistence realize they are genuine. One day they don’t show up as usual so the witches look for them and learn the town has been taken over by soldiers. | Where did Henry go?
The question was asked by Bitty, when she first came back from gathering herbs in the woods. She said he used to linger by the gate and ask her what she got and if she got anything for him. She would always swat his hand away and say 'nothing for ill-behaved children,' and he'd say 'please?' and she'd give him a small cup of berries or an apple for his questions.
He wasn't there this morning, and so she asked.
Leticia propped her chin on her hand as she flipped through her book. "I don't... well I haven't seen the dear boy in three days! Nettles, when did you last see him?"
My fingers had frozen over the soft, downy feathers of Persimone, my owl. Then I resumed my stroking, and whispered to the bird, "Where is Henry Miles?"
She rotated her head 180 to look out the window. Then, back at me her head swiveled, and she blinked mournfully at the idea of a morning flight. I tapped her on the back and she ruefully stretched her wings and leapt from the kitchen window. I could only wonder if she'd spot him before he her. The boy always had a knack for knowing when I approached, heralded by a sion most normal folks' eyes glazed past. It warmed a cold vein in my heart, knowing how often his eyes looked out for me and my own.
"I'm sure his mother tired of his games and mischief and kept him inside a few days is all," Leticia said, striving to calm her already worked up nerves. "I'm sure it's simply a matter of family squabbles."
Bitty stretched her old back and bustled to the hearth with her bag of plants and herbs. "I don't like it. Feel something bad in my bones. I think we ought best check the village, see what's been brewing." For all her reprimanding of him as a poorly mannered child, she knew as well as I did that his mother liked very much our friendship. She'd always been scared of us, Mrs. Miles, and liked the idea that he'd turned our eyes kindly on the family.
"I like that idea less than musing if something bad's happened." My words weren't very loud but the other two looked at me, hearing it nonetheless. They'd heard the hardness in my words but not the uneasiness underneath.
"Ah, Nettles, don't say that." Leticia swooped down on me, all a flurry of dark robes obscuring her thin frame. Those big, tawny eyes of hers fixed me with a reproach that wouldn't look out of place on my familiar. "He's just a boy of eight."
"You're soft," I complained, but I knew she was right and I felt it in my heart just as much. "Persimone will return. She will report back on what she finds. We will act with knowledge and information, not off emotion or hunch."
Leticia drew her robes around her, as if merely clutching at the gossamer fabric could contain them. She turned and stalked from me, back to her book.
"Ah, quit the squabbling," Bitty said, stoking up a fire. "I'll brew some tea and have a reading done before your bird returns." A wheezy laugh escaped her lips and I scoffed.
"Meanings far more muddled than a direct report." That time she didn't hear me, and a smile played on my lips, knowing I'd murmured unheard.
Bitty did have the reading done before Persimone returned, and hearing her muttering over the tea leaves did have my stomach disquieted for the first time since her return. Leticia, so young and fraught with anxieties, oft worried where nothing was worth worrying over, but Bitty didn't play with nerves.
"Something's amiss," she finally said. "Something-"
She was cut off by the fluttering call of my bird, who'd just soared in through the window, causing an already tightly wound Leticia to gasp.
I held out my arm and Persimone, flying with uncharacteristic speed, crashed onto it, talons sinking deep into the generous flesh under the thick leather sleeves of my shirt. She bowed her head and immediately pressed it against mine, not waiting for a greeting or request.
*There's a crash of iron and the smell of burning and it overwhelms me before I even see color. The color visible is red, fire and blood, and again my nose burns with the acrid scent. There's crying in the background, a beg, a moan. The village is empty soon after. Soon after, nothing stands but ruin.*
"Something's amiss," I whispered.
\~\~\~
We arrived in the village as smoke on the wind and found it as my faithful owl had described it. In ruin.
Bitty wasted no time in casting runes into the ash on the ground. Her report soon began trickling from her lips, a tide growing stronger and stronger and she gathered more details about the nature of the attack.
"...but alive," she finished. "Prisoners. Few dead."
"And Henry?" Leticia, for all her emotions, cared little about the general towns folks but oh did that boy's fate burn brightly in her mind's eye. "Did he go with them?"
"They took him," Bitty said. She stood, her periwinkle robes smudged with soot. "Not for good purposes. The villagers will be the latest bargaining tool for the baron lords to extract land and riches from the King. This has not traditionally gone well for the hostages." I could hear in her words an undercurrent of fervor unusual on the lips of our eldest sister. For the first time, I let my mind wander to the inevitably panicked mind of a child, kidnapped by soldiers. That fear was not one my heart liked to remember. Even I was sixteen when chased out and threatened.
To put such fear into the mind of a boy not yet ten...
I looked to my bird, who circled the village, a mournful call emitting from her beak. I knew its meaning. We did not return to our home this eve.
"We will chase them down," I said, my voice quiet and directed at neither witch nor fowl. "That becomes our new cause? Retrieving those who cast us aside. Who threatened to burn us as this village was burnt."
"For the child." Leticia's voice had turned from her usual melodic lilt to a primal growl and the Earth beneath me quaked in her rage. "Kindness isn't a gift lightly bestow on the likes of us. I will not let that gift go unanswered. The friendship of a stranger is answered in kind by the vengeance of witches."
Leticia didn't often set her mind in stone, but something had changed in the composition of the rocks and dirt we stood upon. There was no backing down from this cause now.
Persimone called again, and this time her cry was responded to by the furious caw of the raven, the ugly squawk of the crow, the jeer of the magpie.
"As the bird flies," I said, my voice strong, "so do we."
Bitty reached into her pocket, bringing out a fistful of pale green powder. She released it, slipping from her fingers in a silty stream, and it caught a wind none feel, streaming forward in a direction we had no choice but to follow.
"Then let us take the path."
For the child.
___
[2: The Path Set](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/comments/mcc9m4/the_coven_three_2_the_path_set/)
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) | "Soup’s on, ladies!"
With a wicked whiff of something smokey and gnarly, two shadows rushed towards the dank dining room. The two shadows emerged and slowly descent towards opposite chairs on the table.
One turned into a misty blue apparition, gradually a voluptuous beauty draped in aquamarine robes and a similarly coloured pointy hat appeared in its place. She crossed her long thick legs and leaned towards the jet-black metal pot in front of her.
"Yum! That smells delish, El!" the aquamarine lady said giddily.
"Did you use the spiced liquorice I’ve bought yesterday?"
The one who just asked the question was the other shadow from earlier. Like her counterpart, she eventually took form after the clearing of the red smoke around her. Red – dark and light – adorned her rather slender frame. One look at her and it was clear that she’d taken care of the articles she wore. Instead of a robe, she opted for a long red cape flowing freely from her pencil-like nape. Yet the distinctly familiar pointy hat was still similar to her blue-themed counterpart’s.
"Yes, yes. I didn’t forget. But I’ve taken care to add my own 'twist' just to make it a bit tastier," a third person appeared out of the kitchen, ladle and staff on her hands.
This one was more plainly dressed in all black. She worn an uninspiring parka and high boots, presumably to give the illusion that her legs were longer than they truly were. It took her some time before reaching the table, even with hurried steps.
With a proud grin, she waved her staff around as if she was composing an orchestra. Suddenly bowls and spoons began to fly off of the shelves. They danced around the ladies in a beautiful harmony, then proceeding to queue in front of the lady in black. In a well-coordinated manner, the woman ladled up the soup to the bowls and they immediately flew to the other two waiting at their seats.
"Well, thank you for your hard work, El!" the lady in blue shouted.
"Hmmmm, it’s not bad. I’ll give it a 6 out of 10–"
"Wha-That’s pretty low! I’d give it a 6.5 out of 10!"
The two 'judges' seemed content and continued to devour their meals. The lady in black simply nodded and let out a sigh.
"Yeah, I guess you guys were right. I’ll give it a 5 out of 10, seems fair that way."
"I think we should’ve gotten that boy to judge too! He’d be a great independent appraiser!" the lady in red said as she let out a hearty burp.
"Eww… That’s pretty unladylike, Bo. You’re lucky no one is here to judge your manners or you’d end up all alone forever."
"Nah nothing to worry about, Mon! I’m sure the men of these realms won’t pass up the opportunity to make a move at me–"
As they were having their little banter, a knock on the door sent them into alert. Normally one would simply walk up to the door and answered the person on the other side. But in their circumstance, there’d never ever been anyone who’d just up and knock – unless they were as naive as that boy they’ve mentioned earlier.
"Eleanor, I think it’ll be better if you go and see who that is," said the lady in red beckoning the lady in black with her outstretched arms.
"W-Why not you, instead? I’m sure they’ll be at a loss for word and just start ogling you instead!"
"Hmmm, I don’t know. An innocent-looking little girl answering the door might lower their guard for a bit. I’m sure you can handle them, if it’s that much no?"
With a heavy heart, Eleanor – the jet-black lady – began to make her way to the door. She perked up her cheeks and practised the appropriate greeting as well as a particular 'style of talking' which her friend, Bottie – the aquamarine lady – had taught her. Apparently it was an effective weapon against potentially dangerous people, or so she said.
"Hewwwo! How can I hewp youuu?" Eleanor said in a high-pitched voice.
The men at the door almost jumped back before somehow regaining their cool, "Uh, pardon us, young miss… But are there any adults here which we can talk to?"
*Goddamnit! I hate this, I don’t believe they really think I’m a fucking kid!* Eleanor screamed to herself in frustration at the men’s reaction.
"Ahhh! I’m sooowwwy! I’m all awwone! I can tell my pawents you came by, tho!"
The men let out some indecent 'aww' before snapping back to a much more appropriate tone.
"R-Right, well if your parents are back please tell them that there was a missing boy from the farmland down at the village. Also, it’d be safer for you all to stay indoors for a while since the village had been taken over by soldiers of the neighbouring kingdom. So, yeah… take care, young miss."
***
The three ladies then got to work. They brought out scrolls and magic items onto the dining room table. Eleanor started chanting and began to caress the somewhat oversized crystal ball at her hands. Bottie simply unfurled some magical scrolls one at a time, with each one burning up into colourful flames. Mona – the lady in red – drew a magic circle on the floor with a purple chalk, which soon lit up eerily.
The three were all doing their own specialised way of gathering intelligence. The information they’ve received from the men who knocked on their door earlier didn’t register immediately with any of them. Perhaps they were too focused on their work in the house that they’ve missed out on some rather important events happening just outside their door.
First, the boy. He was just a normal village boy. At first they thought he was bothersome, but after some persistent invasion into their personal spaces the boy was simply part of the furniture at the house. At least, they thought so to make his presence less of an annoyance.
When the men told them that this boy was missing, they reacted rather indifferently.
*Surely, boys go out on little adventures of their own and go 'missing' for a while before making their way back home, eh?* was what they thought had happened.
But from preliminary intelligence gathered by Mona, the boy’s disappearance was a bit strange indeed. Usually, they’d cast a spell to locate someone by slipping in their name in the spell. Even after a few tries – each time, she poured more magical power into the cast – the location was unknown. That was why she had formed a magic circle which would not only increase the efficacy of such spell but also guarantee whether the boy was still alive or not.
Then, the soldiers who had taken the village.
Eleanor was unsure whether the men from earlier were indeed just some random villagers or the so-called soldiers from the neighbouring kingdom. Yes, she probably could’ve probed into it. But her whole schtick didn’t bode much result except to have lowered the men’s guards. She still shivered recalling how the men had reacted in such a perverse way.
So, she used her trusty crystal ball to recce the village. Indeed, she saw strange soldiers who had never been there before. In the past she recalled soldier-looking men and women who would occasionally visit the village, usually carrying supplies and doing patrols. But these men were somewhat different – they wore darker-coloured armour and had an aura of death lingering about them. For a moment, she was concerned with how the villagers were being treated. Some of them were rounded up in the village square and were in chains. Though she had not seen anyone dead, so perhaps it was a rather unwarranted concern to have.
Just a precaution, Bottie also took initiatives and began putting up magical barricades to protect themselves. Of course, when push comes to shove they’d put up a fight sooner than giving up on their beloved house. There were too many valuable things inside which would cause damage if someone else were to get ahold of them.
"What do we do now?" Eleanor broke the focused silence.
"I mean… what *can* we do? It seems like we are in quite a tight spot."
"I agree with Bottie," the red-cape wearing Mona jumped up and dusted her velvety cape off of the chalk dust, "but we shouldn’t just sit on our arses. Surely they’d come here, *again* and try to investigate why a little girl was all alone in such an old crooked house, no?"
"Well I was talking more about the boy–"
"Who cares, he’s pretty annoying anyway. I think we should investigate the soldiers down in the village, see if they’re indeed a threat or non-issue," Bottie said in a matter-of-fact way.
"I think that’s good, should we use cosplay as travellers and head down there?"
"… I call dibs on the drab shirt and trousers!" | 2021-03-24T09:08:37 | 2021-03-24T06:37:15 | 532 | 56 |
[WP] Time travel is real and as a result so are Time Cops. You’ve been in the organization for years, one day a coworker tells you that a prisoner will only talk to you. You enter the Interrogation room to see an older version of yourself. | “Paperwork duty again?” Paul gave an incredulous look toward the piles of files on Trevor’s desk. “You gotta get out of here, kid. Live your life. Start a family. Get a job that makes you glad to be alive, y’know? Don’t waste away in this place like me.”
Paul shuffled over to the coffee maker and leaned his cane against the wall while resting a hand on the counter for support. He pours a cup of coffee and proceeds to fish through a tin of off-brand sweetener packets. Giving up with an audible sigh, he looks back at Trevor. “I hate watching you be miserable day in and day out, kid. I’ve been here since this place was built and let me tell you, it doesn’t get much better from here.”
Trevor continued to stare holes through the papers strewn across his desk. “Maybe you’re right. Honestly I’ve been here four years and the Captain seems to be dead-set on keeping me here away from fieldwork.”
Paul nodded to himself. “Is there anything you’ve always wanted to do? Become a chef? Write a book? Travel the world?”
“Honestly? I’ve always thought about—“
The door slams into the wall, its doorstop missing for weeks. “What is this about,” Paul asks defensively, having recently fixed the wall for the second time this week. The captain leans on the doorframe, arms crossed, ignoring him altogether, staring at Trevor instead. “It’s your lucky day, Winters.” He smiles coldly to himself and puts on a sarcastic tone. “Looks like you amounted to something after all.” He motioned with his head for Trevor to follow him and pushed off from the doorframe with a broad shoulder.
As the distance from his cubicle grew, so did his uncertainty and soon enough, they came upon the interrogation room. Trevor looked visibly confused but said nothing as Captain Donahue barred the door with his arm. “We need you to go in there. He said he’ll only speak to you. Look, I don’t know what’s going on but we’ll be in the next room listening. Don’t get too close. Don’t let him catch you off-guard. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t do anything stupid. Get him to talk but say nothing. We’ll do all the work. Understand?” Trevor nods. “Good. Go on. We’re watching.” It almost sounded like a threat and Trevor wasn’t sure it wasn’t meant to be one.
Entering the room, Trevor froze and time seemed to stand still. Every breath he drew was shallower, quicker. The room felt suffocating, humid, repulsive. His stomach squeezed and threatened to empty its contents.
The man across the table wasted no time. “Trevor, they tell me it’s May 22nd 2043. Is this correct?”
Trevor merely nods back. The man continues. “Close enough. Trevor, what I am about to tell you is crucial. Who else is listening?”
Trevor makes no reply but looks to the mirror briefly, as if asking for a cue. A voice merely repeats “Proceed” in return.
“Captain Donahue, great to hear your voice after all these years. Who all is in there?”
“Don’t play games, old man. You are in violation of UN Temporal Treaty 6A section 7.12B. State your purpose and what you’ve done here or you will be sentenced to a desolate hellhole no archeologist would ever find.”
“Touchy. Very well, Jim.” He looks back at Trevor and his demeanor becomes serious once more. “Listen very carefully.” Quickly, he whispers, “A week or two - I don’t really remember. Stay far away from the evidence room around then. You can’t stop it. We’ve tried. Don’t trust—“
“What’s he saying, Winters?”
“I was telling him to make sure he sees his grandmother next weekend, Jim. Don’t stick your baton where it doesn’t go.”
“You’re testing my patience, old man. We’ve convicted people for far less.”
“Oh, I know, Jim. I know. But I also know that you’re too insecure right now not to want to solve this case yourself.” He flashes a coy smile but quickly remembers himself. “Listen. All of you. Your organization was created by a terrorist group from the future. You’ve been their pawns from the beginning.”
Silence overtakes the atmosphere between the rooms.
Captain Donahue is uncharacteristically quiet.
“Many of you are good men caught up in a lie. Some of you are the deceivers.” He turns to Trevor, rushing over his words now. “I’m sorry, they’ve been trying to steer you away from hunting them but they’re actively going to come after you now. I had to come this week. I’m sorry. I can’t stay but one day you will understand. Follow Donahue. Do not trust Paul.”
He vanished just as a bullet buried itself in the wall next to where his head would’ve been.
More shots rang out and Trevor, panic-stricken, hid by the wall out of sight from the mirror.
The door slams open as shouts emanate from the hallway.
Donahue’s towering frame overtakes the doorway as he stretches out a hand. “Winters. Sounds like we have work to do.” | “Well look what the cat dragged in.”
“Oh hush.”
Steven quickly closed the airlock.
“How in the hell are you even here?”
“Hey man, I’m just here to give you something.”
“No no no I'm not going to go down a paradox and fill out the multitude of paperwork that it's going to take to get you back on your way. You’re going to jail ok and-
“Whoa whoa, it's about Daisy! Why don’t you chill out!”
“Oh-“ Steven sat down and looked over at the see-through wall. He looked down at his arm monitor to check if anyone was in the room on the scheduling. No-one was.
“Alright, so you’re here to give me-
“dating advice”
“Yes.”
“Oh come one are you serious? Am I really this haphazard in the future?”
“Don’t you care about her ?”
“Well, Yes.”
“Then hear me out.”
“Wait a minute, you do know that coming here and trying to help me date her is going against the official timeline right?”
“Yes. But you don’t know that she’s going to break up with E.”
“Hmmm”
“Yeah”
“So you're just here to make sure I get to her before a certain time? That's even more pointless.”
“She transfers out man. Then moves six galaxies away.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, she can always message me then.”
“Then she gets a Ritchom parasite and loses the ability to love.”
“This is starting to get ridiculous. Plus those don’t even latch on to humans in the first place.”
He laid back in his chair.
“You're just going to lose out man.”
“Why are you acting so chill if it's this important?”
“You already end up with Daisy man, I can be chill because it doesn't matter what I do she still finds her way back to you. ”
“You’re joking.”
“Yup. I'm just here to be here. I met another one of you and then all this happened.”
“So you came here to tell me to get with daisy before she breaks up with E, then goes and gets a parasite that makes her lose the ability to love, just to come back with me?
“Correct”
Then why go back in time?
“Never said they weren’t other problems, even when someone is attracted to you without an ability to love to justify it. You’re part of a bigger picture. I'm just here to lighten the load.”
“What?”
“20 years from now relationships are going to look entirely different because of all of those things.” He laughed to himself.
“You think relationships are hard to gauge now, wait till you find out what it's like to the offspring of people without love.
“Geez, man. What makes me so optimistic?”
“ I lost my own capability to feel fear.”
“Huh.” He pulled out his gun,
"So you're fine if I use this on you."
“Yup.”
It was awkward while he put the gun back in his holster, wasn't even a good threat.
“This is crazy.”
“I live in a future that is pretty chaotic but somehow more fulfilling. I came here to be nostalgic. I also want to help you with advice.”
“What?”
“Don’t think so much about the details or the procedures. Life is a bit more complicated than the stress about any particular fact or truth. Perversion isn’t just a sexual thing. It can be a transformative icon in an apparently futile society. It's ok to stray from the path of life to create a new type of it.”
“Now your not making any sense.”
“You and Daisy have kids. Beautiful kids.”
“What?”
“Martha and Wendell” he lifted up a picture of them. They are the brightest people in their species, our species."
“The human race?”
“The alpha human race. Another legacy forming from the emotionless. Some think of a chemical imbalance as a bad thing in your world. But in this one 10 years from now, it's a part of a different galaxy. Some people are completely just one emotion. Others are completely not. All of the abstract nature of it will make more sense than to.”
He was silent in thought.
“Now second, always keep an eye on your gun.”
He said raising it up at him. Steven’s heart stopped, would he kill himself? A moment of clarity. A moment of danger hit him uniquely. It was kinda refreshing. The corporation never allowed you to use your weapon which made sense, but because of that, it gathered dust. He didn’t have any sort of criminals to interrogate anyway, so it was getting more use in his own hands than it ever did. What was the point of a gun anyway?
Luckily his copy moved it away to the wall and pulled the trigger, followed by a jolt and an explosion.
“Hey!” Steven yelled as his copy ran toward the hole and jumped out of it.
“Hey!” A vehicle flew up past the hole with him saved, hanging not the side of it. Daisy was at the helm, as beautiful as ever.
Steven smiled. He couldn’t believe that not only did he make sense to him, throughout that entire time. He was overjoyed, deep inside. He lied to himself to keep from feeling bad about the words that he would tell him. He’d felt bad about being a time cop for so long that even the job didn’t make sense. It seeped into things that he didn’t like and would often keep him up at night. The responsibility, the anxious attentive fear to not overstep the timeline, the forbidding of relationships by the organization, the lack of human to human interrogation that he found to be enlightening and educating that was now an A-I’s responsibility, and the solemn oath of celibacy.
A bell rings in the room as his coworker walked into the room.
“He made a good case to me. Told me about a lot.”
“Told me enough that I just understood. We have to go and make sure you meet Daisy at the space dock."
"Why?"
"She told me she wasn’t feeling well."
He did and told her the story, and like magic, she found a living purpose. His copy had lied to himself, there was a purpose, Daisy was about to kill herself after he told her everything it made all the sense in the world to her, and would put them on a quest for a rest away spot from what they would call home, looking for a parasite in Ritchom. | 2021-05-21T19:34:46 | 2021-05-21T18:45:46 | 50 | 29 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors. | yet another kid stopped me today. he actually wanted to spar. i just wanted to take a shower. \_he\_ was very draining today. i slung the weapon on my back and trudged into the ready room and this candy-coloured fool stopped me to ask if i wanted a sparring partner. said he'd watched me sitting in the Danger Room and thought i was waiting for someone. i looked at him and tried not to shake with fatigue or draw on the power any more than a minimum.
I said no. i dont need a saprring partner. i said i was tired and just wanted to shower and sleep and he had to ask what i was doing, why i needed to book a danger room just to sit there and all the usual shit.
Harry, sorry - Apex - doesnt make them read the notes in the welcome pack anymore. that has to be it. just because i told him i dont play. he is such an asshole.
Gilda - Glint - stood back nervously when i rounded on the kid. she's been scared of me after that invasion cluster from the fictional worlds i wiped out. she was so nice up until she twigged i killed 126 thousand alternates to stop the attack.
i have \_never\_ raised a hand against a league member. i will never either. i just want to be let be until there is no choice. i wont let ME out unless there is no choice. So everyday i face with the weapon and fight ME to a standstill.
i could feel the bruises and torn muscles all over my body. i just wanted to rest and this bright speck of light insisted on asking "Why" like a damn toddler.
i looked at Glint. shes beautiful even among the beautiful people who come here. so caring. she can give people hope and the will to keep going in the darkest of times. not for me though. and now she knows why.
one day i will not have the strength to hold ME off. one day ME will get out without control. Apex will try to kill - i did order him to. i just hope they have the will to do it. if they dont...
i cant tell the kid in front of me that i'm the Leagues WMD.
Apex makes earthquakes when he rams the ground. Glint sterilised the moon with light when the thing from Outside came. Harrow animated Philly to fight the Lamda Horde.
what can be worse than that?
ME.
i wish i had never said i wanted to let out the baddest mf'r in the world. i was so stupid. i was so young.
"Longbow," the tannoy squeeked, "leave Damocles alone and go about your business"
Apex voice was still echoing when the kids face went white.
thanks Apex. now another kid knows before he needs to.
asshole | Khan we need you... Said desperate Calypso.
Me, El Mayor, Thunderstrike and Kervan we... we could not do anything. They have thousands thousands of ships. Their fleet is ready to embark and conquer earth and we can’t stop them.
Khan stood up from the chair. Wearing his usual black drapes. His massive figure is on display. In ancient times they called him Atlas the Gods of old called him the pillar that holds the earth. A titan.
Khan leaves the ship with no word or thought.
He hates being the ender of worlds. He hates knowing that all the innocent people will have to die for their kinsmen’s irrationality and inability to prosper peacefully. Khan’s power is truly immense.
Khan swings his massive arm and opens a portal to his destination.
Reda as beautiful as ever. Reda was a beautiful planet with all types of imaginable vegetation and fauna. The native Redan’s are peaceful people who where conquered by the tyrannical Surenos... Khan was their leader. He conquered half the universe. When he came upon earth he saw that it was good. He stayed and vowed to protect it. So long that humans remain neutral in cosmic warefare. So long they do not do what he did.
War was coming to Earth and its starting point was Reda where all the forces of the surenos were stationed.
As Khan ingested the statuesque scenery he noticed a camp through the thick vegetation. As he approached he realised it was the Redan’s
I come in peace. I am here to save you. Though your planet will be ashes.
The Redan’s know Khan’s face after all you dont become the Khan of the universe and not be hated and recognised everywhere this side of the galaxy.
The Redan’s peaceful and smart knew that Khan was no longer a threat. He was a true king now. He did not lead by fear or power. He lead with inspiration.
Khan quickly opens a portal... Go. No time. They’re coming.
The last of the Redan’s, Khan maybe counted 50 in total. In his mind he thought A whole planet of people is left with only 50 natives because of my people because of what I indoctrinated into them. Fate is such... I began this and I shall end this.
Khan built up power in his massive powerful legs and jumped... Though it wasn’t a jump. He flew. He knew the highest peak in Reda is actually a nest. The natives called him Umburu. In eternal sleep the sky demon was entrapped in the mountain by Khan years before.
Khan flew straight into the mountain destroying it completely.
Demon. You are free. This planet is yours. You shall keep it preserved for when I return.
Instead of destroying the whole planet Khan decided to purify this world of evil. Demons are evil but fiercely protective of their habitat.
A deafening shriek and a flap of wings whuuump whuump and umburu was in the sky again. As soon as the demon was in the sky. Khan jumped again and flew well above the Demon. He wanted to see.
Umburu now nosediving straight for the fleet his eyes start to electrify !POOF! He sends a massive storm cloud that fired lightning with great power at every single ship. In minutes it was done. Thousands of oppressors killing thousands of innocents.
Am I any different now?
Am I still Khan the conqueror.
As the deed was done. The demon now taking his human form flies up to Khan.
Khan you freed me so I can kill your people?
I am no longer of that cloth. I do not crave to kill or conquer.
I want peace.
He falls into a portal back to his dwelling.
The pain Khan feels for the horror he has caused is immeasurable. He killed his entire race. He is the last. | 2021-05-26T03:48:48 | 2021-05-26T01:46:59 | 153 | 65 |
[WP] Aliens has invaded Earth and forced humans to flee into underground bunkers. It is now 200 years later and humanity take a cautious look at the surface only to find that it's nothing like they expected it to be. | When the first groups of survivors emerged into the light of the 201st year, they wept.
Earth was now a pristine garden. More beautiful than any pre - invasion images. Flocks of beautiful, once extinct birds filled the skies. Herds of great aurochs roamed the forests, mammoths walked the tundra. And buffalo in their millions thundered across the north American plains.
Back in the bunkers, the old counselled caution. They were just old enough to have know the children of those first bunker dwellers, the shattered remnants of civilisation who had fled underground, grubbing out a life in the darkness. Terrified lest the aliens crack open their bunkers and continue the slaughter.
The stories they told of the aliens were characterized by the utterly emotionless way they had killed those unfortunates unable to make it to the bunkers. They told of children picked up by the heels and swung against trees. Of the elderly and infirm bludgeoned where they cowered. Of cities levelled. Rivers boiling.
Stranger still were the stories of face to face encounters with aliens where inexplicably, people had been spared. Of tall, gaunt, alien figures raising weapons only to lower them, and turn away.
The old told of how gradually the ones who had made it to the bunkers realised that they were all fit, strong, healthy, prime breeding age. And the suspicion rose that they had all been spared for a reason.
In the two centuries since, this suspicion had faded into myth. But the old remembered.
When the eager scouting parties reached the site of the nearest city, they realised the old folk were right.
A plain of glass lay before them, stretching all the way to the old city limits.
At its centre stood a colossal statue, a figure from the stories they had been scared with as children. The alien figure stood ten times the height of a man.One skeletal arm outstretched, pointing at the ground near its feet.
It took a day for one of the group to master their terror and approach near enough to see what the statue wanted them to see.
A tablet stood before the statue, covered in writing. It took some time before she realised that it was the same sentence written over and over in every variation of every language humanity had ever used.
"Know you were culled for a reason. Know too we took no pleasure in it.
Sentient you may be. Potential you may have. But repeat the mistakes of the past and we will return not to cull, but to exterminate.
We are watching." | The alien wars occured back in 2023. There was a sudden invasion from an unknown highly advanced alien species. After a vigorous 1 year of brutal war. The barely remaining forces of humans retreated and pleaded for mercy.
After the talks, we were let to live out in underground bunkers, where we could keep our species alive.
Now, its year 2223.
My name is Triano. Born in 2198. I believe that we humans need to fight our way back to the surface.
"My fellow humans, every morning when I spend my time in the Solar chamber to get my exposure. I stare at the skies. It fascinates me.Our journey of evolution began with us looking up at the sky and wondering, questioning things!"
The gathering in front of Triano nod their heads, but do not seem to have any energy.
Triano raising his right arm
"People born used to wonder, then create. We now aren't even exposed to the possibility of that! I strongly believe that the main aim of the aliens wasn't to destroy us... they wanted us to stop evolving!"
Takes in a deep breath.
"I believe they saw the potential in us, and knew we were too dangerous if left unchecked. We were evolving and learning at a very high rate!"
People still do not understand what exactly Triano wanted to convey.
"I want to go to the surface. I want to change the fate for the future generations!"
People see each other in surprise. One of them, "What exactly do you propose? We cannot fight them! They will destroy us all!"
Triano nodding and taking a deep breath.
"I only wish to talk to them about letting us live on an island. We are only a population of around 700! I believe we can live comfortably in an isolated island without even disturbing the life of aliens! I will request for a middle ground between the species. A co existence!"
In the end of it all. No one agreed even to this. All the people were traumatised by the stories of their parents, their grandparents and they never dared to go against that.
I just couldn't stand this. We just were spineless.
Education became a choice! All we do is work towards being self sufficient. We are born and only thought to farm. This isn't our purpose. This isn't the reason why we were made. Our species has a deeper purpose. I want to help us get back on our path!
So after this, I made my decision, to go to the surface. Come what may!
I manage to escape from the agricultural domes. It was a difficult task, but I cannot deny that it was fun.
As I make my final climb, there it was, the beauty of the land!
The bright blue skies. My eyes were hurting. The large trees! Wonderful!
But where are the aliens?
I walk along a road. The road even seems fresh.
There must be life around here.
I hold my gun in one hand and constantly keep looking around.
It was different, walking on the planet with the mighty Sun above. A wonderful feeling.
As I walk, suddenly I can hear a vehicle behind me. When I am about to turn,
"Put your hands in the air sir! And throw your weapon away!"
I did not know the aliens could speak like us.
"Don't you hear me! Quick! Don't turn And get down on your knees "
I throw my weapon and get down slowly on my knees.
As I hear footsteps. I realise, these aren't aliens.! | 2021-05-30T12:20:26 | 2021-05-30T10:34:02 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Two criminals share what is to be their last conversation on death row. With nothing left to lose, all is laid bare to the other stranger. | *Drip...drip...drip...drip...*
The leaking water drops slowly nearby my cell. I gaze at the water droplets, forming a small puddle near the door. The officers will fix it, probably when they take me outside. It's quiet today, as most of the prisoners have gone off to the execution ward. I think I'm the only one left when I hear a cough and sneeze in the cell to my left.
"Bless you." I don't know why I said it; guess the little bit of decency I had left called for me to show respect to the sound. What surprised me next was a laugh.
"I don't think I'm allowed to be blessed son." The voice was of an older man, maybe in his 60's or 70's. It surprised me, wondering why he was here and not in the life sentencing. "Ya see, my execution is tomorrow."
I grimace hearing that; sometimes, prisoners screamed and begged for more time, while others simply walked with their heads down. I've seen them all, because my cell is the closest to the exit. No man ever faces death the same, and to be honest, I don't blame each and every one. Some might have been innocent, some knew what they were getting into. I never asked, because we weren't allowed to talk to anyone passing over. Like dogs, some men react differently to others. We were the worst of the worst. The ones that society couldn't keep alive, for if we ever got out...
I realized I never said anything to the old man, so I asked, "What did you do?"
"I killed two officers and a family while evading the police. The family was an accident..."
"Damn..." that was all I could say.
"I've been a junkie my whole life, and I had a bad episode... I didn't even realized the family was dead til the officers approached me. I denied killing them and in an act of rage, I just... ran them over."
Should I apologize? Should I express sympathy? No... men like us didn't deserve that. It was too late.
"You sound young, what did you do?"
"Murder in the first degree. I killed my ex wife and her boyfriend."
"Damn kid... she broke yer heart that badly?" I say yes, and he laughs. "Holdin grudges is a horrible way ta go. No woman is worth it."
"We had a family, and she was cheating on me the whole time. I don't even know if the kids are mine!" I hiss.
I hear a chuckle then "It ain't worth worryin about now. They're gone and so shall we be."
"How are you calm about this? This is it; you're going to die."
"That is true. I'm just waitin to be moved... I know what I did was wrong, and soon, I will face God and be casted into Hell."
"You're not going to try to ask for forgiveness?" I ask.
"No point now. I did at the beginning, but it's too late for me now. Maybe I'll ask for forgiveness when I'm on the gurney, but if those families can't forgive me, then neither will God."
I stopped to think about my in laws and the family of the boyfriend I killed; the look on their faces were of disgust and hatred as I was in court. The cheers of my sentencing still ring in my ears at night, and I growl thinking about it.
"Men like us don't deserve forgiveness." I didn't realize I said it aloud until I hear the old man laugh and he says, "Who told ya that? That's a cruel way to think 'bout life..."
"I'm sorry, it's just... true... look at what you and I did, we murdered people. People who slightly wronged us and we took it to the extreme! If I could take my actions back-"
"Stop thinkin like that. There ain't no use. How long ya been in here?"
"Two years."
"You're young still. Ya can't spend the rest of yer time thinkin about 'I could've done this' or, 'I should've done that'. Ya don't get that chance to make amends. Yer gonna die, and only the state has the power to save ya."
I sigh and close my eyes, absorbing his words to heart. If I could cry, I would but all the tears I had were wasted at the sentencing, saying goodbye to my kids. If they were even mine.
"If God exists," I muster out, "He is cruel to make man so flawed."
"Didn't you ever read yer Bible? Man fell because of sin. We were always destined to fall, some just fell harder than others." The old man wheezes and I ask if he's okay.
"It's the musty air in here... my old lungs can't handle it." He coughs some more and I wait for him to stop before I ask, "Do you think it's painful? To die?"
"Yes I do." I shiver when he said it so bluntly. "It's the end of life. Our soul or whatever wants to stay with others. Dying is being taken away from that. No matter how a person dies, it'll always be painful."
I nod and take a deep breath. "I hope... it won't be as painful as other deaths."
"Me too son... me too..."
I wanted to say more, but the sound of the door opening makes me turn to see five officers march past me to the other cell. They don't even say the old man's name, just open his cell and I hear cuffs being locked then more footsteps. I watch as they take the old man away, and he stops for a second to stare at me. His dark brown eyes bore into me, and I notice that he only had a grey black beard; no hair on the top of his head. He looked older than he should have been. He looked tired.
Before they dragged him away, he said, "Forget about me kid." Then they took him away. One guard stays behind and he says, "We'll have to fix that damn leak again..." Then he too leaves, leaving me all alone... alone with the dripping noise.
*Drip... drip... drip... drip... drip...* | “Are you scared?” The meek, thin man asked, scooting closer to my side, trying to find some solace in the cold, bare cell. It was strange that he even wished to speak. We had spent at least an hour by each other’s side without a word and suddenly he wished to talk.
“Not really. I mean, maybe a little? I don’t know. You go through stages with it, I guess? Its weird, isn’t it, like turning off a light switch? That’s what the guard told me.” I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the guard’s earlier comment or cry, something morbidly amusing about the ease with which thirty years of life would be erased.
“Right, yeah. I’m scared. How can’t a person be scared? You grow up being taught to avoid death. Don’t cross roads without looking, don’t touch spiders. Things like that and then suddenly you 're locked in a room and expected to keep calm. I’m trying to keep calm but part of me just wants to pull those bars open.”
“A frail man like you wouldn’t even make those bars budge.” I gave him a smirk, but he didn’t return one, huffing at my joke.
“Shut up, just because you look tough. Why do you think I kept my mouth shut earlier? I thought you would beat me if I spoke, but I’m not sure why that scared me. A beating can’t be worse than death, can it?”
“Depends on what a person breaks. You ever tried to breathe with a broken rib? Bastard of a thing. Teeth are one of the worst. When you feel it loosen, its just not a pleasant feeling. What are they killing you for, anyway? Filed some snobs taxes the wrong way?”
“Again, shut up. If you must know, I planned to assassinate a politician. A man called George Mallik. Did you not hear about it? It was a rather big story. I shot him in the shoulder.” The man asked, expecting some sort of applause from me, looking disappointed when I looked away.
“Must have been after my sentence, they don’t show us much tv in here. I heard something about a politician but there’s always a person cursing a politician in every sector of this prison, you just start drowning it out.”
“I see. Guess you had to be outside to notice it. What about you? Gang related? Drugs? Booze? What’s your sinful poison?” He said, prodding me for information, only to scoot back when I shot him a glare.
“Armed robbery gone wrong. I was going from state-to-state robbing stores, it was a nice little operation, but I got greedy. News spread about my actions, and soon shops began keeping weapons behind their registers. That didn’t stop me at first, the stores that kept weapons were far too few to be an issue and a person getting paid $20 an hour wasn’t about to be a hero.”
“So, what happened? Can’t have been that good of an operation if you got caught.” He teased, trying to get back at me for earlier, disheartened when I didn’t react to his prodding.
“Told you, I got greedy. I told myself I would get enough to keep my family fed, but then I got ambitious. Robbed one store too many and got a gun pulled on me. I didn’t even think, I shot the man dead where he was standing. Then I panicked and got into a shootout with the law. Think I killed two of them. You can probably guess how nicely they treated me when they got me away from cameras.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure they offered you the water facial cleanse they gave me. It’s good at opening your pores and blocking your respiratory system.”
“You like telling jokes? Ever consider comedy rather than political assassination?”
“When I was younger, yes. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the wit for it. We could have made a good duo though; every two piece needs a straight man. You know, a stern face that rolls his eyes at the other’s humor?”
“Right, yeah. I think I’ve heard of it. Think I would rather take the needle then do comedy with you though. No offence, I just know which one sounds less painful.”
“A lot of offence taken. I could have raised you through Hollywood, we could have been something. Something more than this.” His hands clutched at his knees, gripping them.
“We all want to be somebody, don’t we?” I said, giving the man a pat on the back, one that startled him.
“I thought killing him would help people out. He wanted to remove the healthcare benefits for those that can’t afford proper treatment. I thought that would be my grand stand against the world, an ultimate act of defiance and yet it was a whimper.”
“An idealistic idiot.”
“Pardon?”
“An idealistic idiot. If you cared you would have signed petitions or promoted action healthily, not by shooting whoever you disagreed with. That’s just a petty excuse.” I stated, watching the man rise to his feet, gripping the scruff of my outfit.
“Listen here you. What makes you think any of that would have worked? People like him need to feel scared, they need to see the people won’t lay dormant. What about you? Robbing for your child while others struggle to feed their families after you steal from them.”
“I know what I did was-“ I went to fire up at the man, rising to my feet only to hear a clanging of metal outside, causing me to drop back onto the bench, the man following. “Sorry, I guess I’m an idealistic idiot too.”
“I’m sorry too. You wanted something better than I ever did. I hope your family is ok, if that’s any consolation. I’m sure your child will understand why you did what you did.”
“Hope she doesn’t. I don’t want her thinking that’s a good way to live. I hid some money for her, enough that it should give her the start her father never could.”
“I’m sure she will at least appreciate the gesture. Do you regret what you did?” The man asked, moving again closer to my side.
“I do. My parents weren’t great, and I wanted to give her what I never had. I wanted that sitcom family and in trying to do that I robbed her of a normal life. My father was a bastard, but he was at least around. I can’t say that for myself.”
“I didn’t have any family left, but I can imagine if anyone’s watching me from beyond the grave, they would be disappointed. They did everything they could to give me a good life, and I blew it away. I’m Paul, by the way, it was a pleasure to meet you.”
“Jeremy.” I responded, giving the man a nod. I could hear the heavy footsteps of a guard approaching our cell, causing my chest to stir with oxygen. “And Paul, I’m scared too.” I said before standing up, waiting for the guard to open the cell.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-07-28T08:17:36 | 2021-07-28T07:21:55 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] You’re an obscure, ancient god who had resigned yourself to slowly fading away. One day, an inventor whose sibling is an archaeologist names a new type of tech after you. As the tech becomes wildly popular and ubiquitous, you find yourself growing in power vastly beyond what you had ever known. | "You should call it Meili." Boomika said, before ladling a spoonful of cereal in her mouth.
"Come again?" I said, watching her eat through the screen. She was a very busy woman, and had somehow found the time to call me through video on her untimely lunch break.
"Meili. We just uncovered more tapestry of him in this site. He's the god of travel and voyage."
"I thought you were in Iceland?"
"I am."
"There's a tapestry to a Chinese deity there?"
"Meili is Nordic, moron."
"Oh, really? It sounds kind of Chinese."
"Well, that'll be a nice touch to your Chinese shareholders. An added plus."
"Meili. God of travels." I said, smiling.
"Listen, I got to go. These interns don't know what they're doing and I'm scared they'll mess up the sensors." My sister said, drinking the milk straight from the bowl.
"Easy, you can't chug milk like that."
"Oh, this isn't milk. It's straight up coffee."
"You are eating cereal in a bowl of coffee?"
"You should try it. You get the caffeine, and you get some nutrition. It's efficient. And like coffee, it's an acquired taste."
"Jesus, I don't think I'll resort to that."
"Suit yourself. I seriously got to go. Bye, Shreya!"
[][][][][][][][][]
Throughout the ages I hear whispers of my name. From a learned scholar or a curious person.
*I need a cool name for a god for my fantasy setting. Hmm... Meili isn't bad.*
*Wait, Thor had another brother? Called Meili?*
*Honestly, if we're discussing god strengths, Hermes easily outclasses Meili. Not much is even known about Meili, to be honest. Pretty forgettable Aesir god compared to an Olympian like Hermes who has so much mythos.*
*Meili? You sure that's what you want to call this... Transporter? Doesn't really roll off the tongue. And sounds Chinese. I don't think an Indian tech company should call their product Meili.*
That last whisper was the most recent. First mention of me in a context that was not academic or archaeological in a long time. My faded consciousness coalesced into a weak presence as I appeared where this discussion about some transporter was taking place.
A man and a woman were in a room. An office. The man seemed a little miffed as the woman explained her case.
"It's not Chinese. It's Norse. Named after the god of travels. It's a perfect fit."
"Why not an Indian deity? Like Ganesh?"
"That's a bit on the nose, don't you think? And literally everything is named Ganesh. I stopped by for some roadside tea at a stall named Ganesh Tea."
"But... Meili?"
"It's my invention. My transporter. I'm putting my foot down."
"Shreya, this is like the dumbest thing to argue about. We have a dedicated marketing team that can come up with—"
"You know, even if it sound Chinese it's fine. Our Chinese backers might like it." Shreya said, and I recognized the glint in her mortal eyes. She was playing a card she knew would play well.
"Well, uh... I guess that's true. Meili, huh. I want to see how you spell it in Hindi. And Tamil. Standardise the spelling. And give it to the marketing people. Hopefully they can cook up a nice logo."
"Meili Transporter. I think you'll get used to saying it after a while."
"Shreya Transporter sounds better. Named after the inventor, like any sane person would try to do. Rolls off the tongue nicer, too."
"No. I'll stick with Meili." Shreya said, smiling to herself.
[][][][][][][]
The transporter technology Shreya had unlocked for humanity inadvertently awakened me. I could feel it. As the tests progressed over the next few months I gained some semblance of power. Little. But I was stronger than I was before.
Because the transporter was meant for travelling. And I was the god of travels. By naming her invention after me, she had granted me a worship like no other.
My name was suddenly being uttered everywhere in the context of her invention. And as people saw the reason behind the name and knowledge of me became more well known, I only got stronger.
Shreya had singlehandedly made me more than relevant. Suddenly, I realized, my power was because of her. And so, I ensured she would succeed. I was there for every test, aiding her with my growing arcane power.
I was there as she unveiled the first production model. I was there as she took her maiden voyage through the transporter, and travelled between the realm between realms and reappeared instantaneously at her destination.
She had done what her forefathers only dreamt of. And, for the first time in a long time, I was unabashedly proud of the mortal ingenuity of people. Of mortals.
Shreya was my apostle, my oracle, my priestess, my everything. And as my powers grew, I continued to ensure her machine never failed. I was there for every transportation, stretching my now everpresent form to every transporter in use, making sure every transportation was perfect.
Because travelling between realms was no straightforward task, and as much as her technology accounted for the strange metaphysical workings in the realm between realms, it could not account for everything. And that was where I came in.
I thought back to my prime, where I would not have bothered with these kinds of tricks and aid, even to my most devout followers. I was arrogant. As arrogant and the rest of my kind, thinking the piety and the power we harness from it would last forever.
All these eons I had to reflect allowed me to see the bigger picture. We were nothing without these humans.
And so I existed, using this vast power I had to help Shreya in her quest to aid the people of the world to travel as painlessly and quick as possible. I, the god of travels, shall do my task without needing worship, without recognition for my work. This existence is acceptable. I will help them achieve their wonders. I will aid them in all the good they wished to do.
I should have done this from the start. From the very beginning. But since I did not, I shall start now.
Edit: [Meili would be glad, y'all](https://i.imgur.com/D76NlJc.jpg), that you're suddenly looking him up | The potential investors gathered around the brother and sister team, admiring — but not yet understanding — the invention that stood on the table in front of them.
It was an odd thing to look at, this invention: a series of reed tubes and copper wires, of dripping water and a moss lined hole, of a small round crystal monitor that stood wedged in the top of it like the clock of a bell tower. Altogether it looked like a madman’s dream of the future back in the time of the ancient Egyptians.
”So, Taylor,” asked one investor in an impatient bark. “You got us all to come out here to the middle of nowhere-America to see your marvellous invention. I trust you’re at least going to at least enlighten us as to what it does?”
Taylor looked at her brother, then at the speaker. “It’s based on a Mesopotamian design we uncovered last year.“
The man nodded and smiled an impatient plastic smile. ”Okay, it’s an old design, I follow that much. But what value does it have in today’s society?”
”Well, we really didn’t know when we started creating it, isn’t that right Alex?”
Her brother chimed in. ”Exactly right. It was a risk. The plans were incomplete and there was no understanding of what it might do. But hell, after uncovering the plans neither of us could stop dreaming about it, you know? Of what it would be like when created. Of what its purpose was.”
The ring of spectators closed in around it.
“Okay,” said the same man. “And what purpose did you find for it?”
Alex shrugged. “We still don’t know what it’s for. If anything. And to be honest, what we’ve ended up with was nothing like the plans we found.”
There was a collective sigh.
”You dragged us out here to show us a faux-ancient Rube Goldberg machine? Only this one’s a folly? And you expect us to invest?” He laughed in the way an annoyed wasp stings over and over.
Taylor said softly, “No. That’s not why we asked you here.”
The man squinted. “I don’t follow.”
“The strangest thing happened after we completed the machine,” said Alex. “See, neither me nor my sister are very content people — not that we understood this until recently. But we were always searching for something. The next big discovery or the next great invention. We didn’t stop. Barely slept.”
“But then we started making this and… Well, since then we’re both practically different people.”
”We’re happier. And we needed to be! Not that we knew it but we were in pain. And, I hope you’ll excuse me for saying this, but we think all of you need to be happier, too. That’s why we invited you.”
“See, we’re not after your money. Money, we’ve found, is a weight. Pockets full of coins can drown a man. Instead, we wanted to share our invention with you. We call it Ji Hais. *Small joy*. Because… and this is going to sound silly, but we spent *months* working on it. And I know it doesn’t look like much but the months of making it were so much fun.”
”We took joy in all the little things. In our company. In getting the designs wrong — in starting over again and again.”
”In this quite-possibly-failed creation we’ve ended up with, we’ve become happier than we’ve been since we were children.”
”And we thought if all of you saw it and understood that the happiness we gained from it isn’t anything to do with profit—“
”But rather in the process of creation… Then perhaps...”
”We‘re not going to sell it but rather we’re going to help people make their own version of it — however that might look in the end. See, what we’ve got on the desk is our version of *happiness*. Yours will look different. Maybe a lot different, we’ve honestly no idea.”
“But that’s exciting for us! We’re going to help people do this for free and we thought that you all might like to be the first group we mentor.”
The grouchy investor now stepped towards the machine. He ran a finger beneath the dripping water. Wiped it dry on the moss. Stared at the blank, unchanging crystal screen. Then he looked up at the brother and sister and said, “You’re both mad. Absolute lunatics. Expect a bill for my time. And a large one at that.” Then he turned and headed towards the exit.
The remaining investors followed suit, grumbling on their way out about their day being wasted and, more importantly, of their money being wasted. Because time is not happiness, it’s money.
&#x200B;
\*\*
I followed the vocal investor out of the building and shadowed him towards the car park. He passed a homeless man, ignoring the dirt-stained raised hands completely. Then he paused near his car to take out his phone. He held it for a moment, then he put away again and looked at his finger - the one he’d run beneath the dripping water.
That’s when he saw me.
“Evening,” he said. “You were in the meeting, weren’t you? With the pair of lunatic inventors and their machine.“
”Yes,” I said. “Small joys.”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. After a long pause he said, in a soft voice, “I think I’m going to go back and speak to them again.”
”Oh yeah?”
“I think maybe I acted too quickly.”
I nodded. “You want to see what your invention looks like.”
He sighed. “If that’s really their happiness sitting on the table…”
”It is.”
”Then my happiness…” he said.
”You’re worried the table will be empty even after you’re finished.” I knew this much. People these days didn’t know the shape or feel of happiness. Of how to make it, let alone hold it.
We were quiet for a moment. The investor looked at his hands, exhaled loudly.
“I used to make carts with my father,” he said. “When I was a kid. It’s funny, I’ve made millions since, done everything you could want to do, but those days with my dad are the memories that stay with me. Him spilling his coffee over the wood and us working it into the design. Hammering a finger. More paint on the ground than on the wood.”
”It’s the small joys in life, right?”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“You know,” I said, “the real joys they found, they weren’t in the creation of the invention like they think. What’s on the table is the shape of their happiness, sure — equal parts of what they love were put in it. But those parts were found elsewhere. Like for you, it wasn’t in making the carts that brought happiness.”
”No,” he said, after a moment. “It was the small joys with my father, I think. The things that happened around making it.”
”There are more joys yet to be found, if you’re willing to look. They’re everywhere. The world’s full of them. And I bet those two can help you find at least a few.”
“We’ll see, I suppose.”
”We will.”
He nodded and walked away, back towards the building.
I watched him stop by the homeless person, handing him something then pointing towards his car.
Then he vanished into the building with the first genuine smile he’d worn in years. | 2022-02-04T06:02:16 | 2022-02-04T05:57:58 | 1,910 | 167 |
[WP] What they don't tell you about MMO/JRPG Isekai fantasy worlds is that before sending in the real anime protagonists, the Gods invite beta testers to make sure everything's up to snuff. One of those testers has a... reputation. He is Josh, known by his infamous catchphrase "let's game it out." | "Are you the one they call Josh?", the hovering goddess asked the man before her.
"Yes I am," Josh said, looking around at the finely hewn white marble columns and floors. He looked puzzled. They all do at first. Though there was something about the way he was examining her palace that made her feel…unsafe.
She pushed it out of her mind. "I am the goddess Liteshria. I have summoned you here for the purpose of exploring a new world I have created. You were recommended to me as a person who could make sure everything is working as it should."
“I was, was I?” The man’s face transformed from a puzzled look to a mischievous smirk. She didn’t like it.
“Um…well yes. Or…sort of. I heard that Rakeshmael had summoned for a similar purpose. So I went to see how you performed for him.”
“Ah yes. I remember him. How is old Rake doing by the way?” Josh asked with a grin.
“He’s…taking a break from things. It seems trying to create and manage a world was a little too much for him. But between the uncontrolled fits of laughter and crying, he did say that that you performed beyond his wildest imagination. So I’m hoping you could perform the same services for me.”
The smile on Josh’s face grew even wider. His eyes were practically glinting. Why did she feel a pit of dread opening in her stomach?
“Er, yes. Just so you understand, there is no reward for doing this other than being the first to see a new unspoiled world. You can of course refuse to participate at which point you will be returned to your world,” she squirmed a bit, secretly hoping he would refuse. “Do you wish to return…”.
“Nope. I got this. Let’s game it out!” Josh said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.
She was really having second thoughts about this, but she really needed to make sure the world was ready for the hero she was going to be summoning. She had already signed the paperwork to have the demonic entity known as Truck-kun to run over an unsuspecting high school girl so there wasn’t much time left.
She cleared her throat. “Very well. Then prepare yourself, hero, for the world of Shonos!”
With that, she raised her arms and brought down a pillar of golden light. The light enveloped Josh in its energy and began teleporting him to her new world.
As the beam faded from her palace, she thought she heard laughter. | Hey there its's Josh, welcome back to Let's Game It Out and today we are checking out this new world that the Gods so kindly gave me the key for called Mossar. Thank you Gods I hope you don't regret this choice.
Mossar is a pretty standard isekai fantasy world meaning it has a lot of elements from the Holy Roman Empire but that is not why we are here, we are here for the magic. As far as I can tell, the magic in Mossar works when you speak an incantation or poem or whatever and then the magic happens whether that is a fire ball or an illusion or whatever your little heart may desire. So of course my first course of action was too say the incantation wrong, I'll start with the classic fire ball spell.
*Ignis, Lord of Fire, the one of heat and destruction heed my call... could I have some water?*
Oh! Oh my. Hahaha! Ok so, in case you missed that, instead of the fire ball spell making, you know, a fire ball, Ignis blew me up. He must not have liked that. So that makes me want to ask, what else can I make go wrong. Be right back.
\*Many Hours Later\*
It turns out that all twelve spirits of magic hate me. When you call their name they are obligated to fulfill some type of magic so I have been using the almighty spirits to create a world wide labyrinth using magic that doesn't belong to them. I haven't been counting but I think I managed to capture four different kingdoms in the walls. And you'll never guess who we found ruling one of these kingdoms. That's right, it's Queen Grace!
Moving up in the world, are ya Grace? Perfect.
Some of you may be asking how I got enough magic to pull this off. Simple really! First I call a spirit of magic which only takes a little bit of mana and then ask them to give me more mana. For some reason, the spirits won't just give me infinite mana, so I had to go painstakingly to each of the twelve spirits and ask for mana more times than I can count. Rinse and repeat and I am the new god of Mossar.
What? Why don't I use my own magic to do this you say? Well, why would I cast magic when I can make twelve angry magic spirits do it for me in unpredictable and destructive ways?
*Undyne, Lady of the Deep, listen up and lock Grace up in this tower.*
Hahaha! Oh my stars! You okay there Grace? Undyyyne, why would you do this? What part of that spell made you think, "you know what that spell needs? Sharks!" Wait no, this is a fantasy world. Are those Leviathans? Oh God they're like beached whales. *Ignis! Quick! Fill the labyrinth with water!*
Ok, so a sea of flame was not quite what I was thinking but this is so much better. Ignore the smoky human smell, I am sure they are fine. Wait, where's Grace?
Grace? Graaace? Oh there you are, at the tippy top of your tower. How fares your kingdom your Majesty? \*Deafening roar of fire and distant screams\* Great!
Anyways I think that does it for today. I hope you had fun, I know I did. Thanks again to the Gods for letting me beta test Mossar, it has been a real treat. I am sure Mossar will be fine, so I will see you next time. | 2022-02-25T22:39:56 | 2022-02-25T22:35:24 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] when it was discovered that all alien civilizations were destroyed by eldritch gods we wondered why they hadn't done the same to us. Then we learned that the human mind can drive an eldritch god insane. | Ever since Humanity learned of the existence of the Eldritch, certain historical events began falling into place. Civilizations disappeared from thin-air, ‘dancing’ plagues, mass hallucinations. Almost every strange event in the mythology of dead civilizations were no longer treated as mythology, but as a warning.
We waited for the day that the Old Gods would return, but when that day finally came we weren’t ready for what we saw. It was chaotic at first. A few of the weaker-minded individuals began babbling about ‘them’ and about other vague threats that only got more and more terrifying as time went on. A growing, unnatural sense of dread was reported in major cities across the globe, then we knew. Our preparations had taken order, and with the younger generation (Codename: Zoomers) weaponized we only had about five hundred million shots at this.
“Quirked up white boy, goated with the sauce, bussin it down sexual style.” | >You have to understand this chief above all else. To even be able to conceive the concept of an eldritch being is a great leap. These other races had the capacity to create what could be, but had no capacity to dream of what couldn't be, or what shouldn't be. There is no fourth spacial dimension to them. There is no looped time. There is no inverse friction. Thus there cannot be a being that occupies dimensional space we cannot perceive. When such things happen across them, it creates a panic in the communal consciousness all similar beings share, and they ultimately unmake themselves. As a famous writer once postulated: "When you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you." That applies not just to us, but these creatures.
>Imagine a picture that watches you. Imagine it beckoning to you, trying to reach you from within it's borders. I see more than a few of you shuddered at the notion, that's good. That's empathy. Now imagine finding out that the picture not only knows you're name, but it's actively trying to escape the frame! You'd be carted away to an asylum and heavily medicated. These 5D creatures in 4D space are no different than the myriad of dead we've discovered in the previous centuries in space. They perceive what shouldn't be, and it breaks them.
>The hope is someday we can do for them what we hope to do for any 2D people that we don't similarly drive mad. Our mastery of this dimension has reached its completion. Our necronauts have established contact with the dead and we've even the technology to imprint them into genetically matched bodies of who they once were. We believe we'll be able uplift the 2D into our dimension, and at long last we will no longer be alone!
Keynote Speech at the Universal Technological Symposium in the Core of Sol as given by Dimensional Technologist Ciarin O'Malley 25th Rev. | 2022-02-28T07:58:39 | 2022-02-28T06:32:44 | 468 | 215 |
[WP] "Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems" | “Can I be clear about this gentlemen? I have in front of me a paper trail stretching back nearly two years of every email, call and memo I have sent out discussing my worries about the state of this facility's chrono-shielding.”
Dr Harriet Landen’s deceptively calm words fill the boardroom, washing over the faces of the smartly dressed men in front of her. Powerful figures working for an even more powerful organisation, all of which were looking at her now like ants contemplating the steady approach of a vacuum cleaner wondering what the sound might herald.
“I contacted security and was told that it was ‘being looked into’ and ‘not a present priority’".
She gesture’s without looking away from her notes towards a large bald man, his face a knot of scar tissue that had taken one eye with it. His remaining orb refuses to meet the glare of Dr Landen’s finger.
“I spoke to the budgeting department and was left with a stack of figures that almost snapped my desk, all while asking me where I expected us to get the money from. I don’t know Keith, and do you know why I don’t know? Because I don’t work in the god damn budgeting department.”
Keith, for his part, looks like he wants to melt and drip down from his ergonomic chair and pool under the table away from the growing rage. Unfortunately for him the molecules in his body refuse this request, leaving him in the firing range.
“Worst of all, I spoke to you Director. On multiple occasions. Each and every time you assured me that my worries would be addressed, that teams were looking into the possibility and that I should ‘continue to keep an open dialogue with you’. Well guess what? Here I am, still keeping that dialogue firmly open. Thrown wide and screaming because today is the day I get to tell you all I GOD DAMN TOLD YOU SO.”
“Harriet-”
A cold voice attempts to cut her off, an attempt that fails miserably. The Director was not a man used to being interrupted, let alone actively talked over. Today however he wasn’t willing to pull rank and play the title game. After all, she was right.
“Don’t you Harriet me. It’s Dr Landen if you are lucky right now, and judging by what’s happening outside the windows I don’t think you are. You asked me to gather a team and make a working prototype. To push the boundaries of physics and go out into the frontier to see what I could find.”
“Well guess what? You got what you wanted. It’s sat five floors under this room currently ripping the dampening tiles off the walls and atomising them before scattering those atoms between ancient Rome and the primeval soup. Congratulations gentlemen, you got your time machine.”
“Only one teeny, tiny, little problem. A small one which, being that you all are being of such infinite intellect who clearly know better than me when it comes to safety protocols, I am sure you can all solve for me.”
“When that thing went off an hour ago, in a cascade event the likes of which I predicted and sent nearly SEVENTEEN TIMES across notes to each of you, and ripped us and half the building with it back into the Jurassic era… did any of you maybe have a contingency plan in place? A way of getting us back to the present or at the very least into the same timeline?”
Her questions are met with silence. The same silence that has been growing from all other members of the board as they wait for the tirade to end, hoping for a light at the end of the tunnel and not just further smackdown.
“No? Well, I guess it’s down to me then. I’m going to go downstairs, scream obscenities while reciting each of your names, find the nearest coffee machine to drain and then work on saving all our lives with my team. If you need me, follow the noise, I’m sure there will be plenty. Until then you are all welcome to sit here and wait until I come back with a proposal.”
“And to be clear, when I walk back through that door with a materials list in hand, if I hear a SINGLE complaint from any of you, I’m perfectly happy to let you replace me. Perhaps you’ll find a more compliant t-rex outside who is better at taking orders. I’m certainly willing to watch and find out.”
With this, Dr Landen turns and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her on the way out and heading for the stairs, all while trying to ignore the roars and howls of the large beasts just barely kept at bay by the facility's walls. It was going to be another long day. | "Johnson, report!" the overhead speakers blared, ignorant to the chaos in the test chamber and observation room.
"Dammit man, we need answers up here! Your power levels are plummeting, and we've lost visual contact."
"Johnson's dead, sir. Containment has been breached." Michaels managed to reach the microphone, propping himself up on the console. Looking around, it seemed he was the only member of the 2-person team in the room that made it. If he wouldn't have ducked down at that moment, the shard of glass that gave him a cut on his scalp would have gone through his eyes.
His hand moved to his head, attempting to put pressure on the wound, but to no avail. Blood was pouring through his fingers, tinting his vision crimson.
"Michaels? Your ass better have a good explanation as to what just happened."
"What IS happening, sir. The creature pulled from the portal was able to draw power from our containment field, as theorized. We don't have visual on the portal or the creature, and the rest of the team is dead. The portal appears to have closed, but something's wrong."
"No SHIT something is wrong! We've had this experiment planned for years. Your department assured us multiple times that the containment field would hold. Do you have any idea how much you just cost GalacTech?"
"Oh, screw you! Don't blame the science department for this mess. The science went PERFECTLY. It's not OUR fault that corporate decided to skimp out on the compound's security and containment systems. I sent you the updated charts MONTHS ago confirming this was a possibility."
Michaels slumped down next to the console, leaving the microphone slick with his blood. If the creature was able to draw power through containment, it must have been able to make it to the surface using the air shafts. Maybe even outside the facility's perimeter, if it was smart. At least the backup generators were still providing light and airflow. He tried to remember the few moments he had to observe the creature on this side of the portal before it broke free. Michaels leaned his head back, trying to block out the screaming through the speakers coming from his superior officers as well as the screaming pain from his forehead.
The creature dubbed AVN-8 was bird-like, and used its leathery wings as forearms to stand on four points. It had an enormous beak that curled at the end and appeared to glow when it was observed near the portal, which is why it was selected for testing. There were multiple theorized purposes, but it must have been what initially drew power. Michaels saw it latch on to the cage with its beak for a second before the energy levels started dipping at his station. He leaned over to get a closer look at the numbers when the containment field overloaded.
The blast knocked him to the ground, where he could only hear the creature make its escape. The electric hum that normally filled the room grew steadily like someone was sitting on the volume control until the room exploded into crackles, and then fell silent again. The portal they had opened to its world should have been cut as soon as the power fluctuations started, but Michaels still saw it still spiraling away, emitting its spiral blue sparks for just a moment after things went quiet before shrinking out of existence.
Could the creature have been trying to keep the portal open? That seemed like a stretch, but he didn't have long to think about it before he noticed that the screaming coming through the speakers changed in tone. Instead of the room being filled with screams of anger, it shifted to screams of terror. These mixed with the sounds of gunfire before dropping silent again. That simply wasn't possible. The AVN-8 had gotten to the remote facility? They weren't located on the same continent, and were only connected via satellite. The creature still found them, AND found them that quickly?
If that was the case, there was simply no time. The AVN-8 must able to shift forms to travel long distances, which was the best theorized way the experiment could even work in the first place.
It also must be able to follow electric signals in this form. They were SUPPOSED to have multiple Faraday cages set up to ensure a proper testing environment, but apparently those are hard to retrofit into underground facilities. A single layer of lead was deemed acceptable to Johnson after being 'convinced' by one of the upper management a few weeks prior.
He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, spreading blood across his forehead. The only remaining choice was to lure the creature to a different facility with proper containment. The only facility that had a suitable chamber he could reach was operated by a competing company. His contract was very clear on 'leaking' any information, but there was no other alternatives, and no time. He blinked several times, trying to clear his vision of the red tint, and stood up again. It wasn't until he went to leave that the portal began to open again.
The backup generators didn't have enough power to create a portal. They were only designed to hold one open. Michaels stepped forward to examine this new portal. Did it seem.. cockeyed? The mechanisms required absolute precision, and never produced one at an angle like this before. It was also too far forward, almost in the observation room instead of the test chamber. Michaels only started to piece it together when he noticed that instead of creating blue sparks that spiraled outward, the colored sparks were spontaneously popping into existence, and then spiraling towards the edge of the portal.
Michaels stared at this new development, almost in a trance. He didn't even notice the blue glowing beak slowly emerging through the portal until it touched his console. | 2022-05-09T12:52:09 | 2022-05-09T11:25:48 | 371 | 18 |
[WP] You've been warned that you'll be sucked into the next fictional story you consume. You're desperately trying to find a fun and survivable book or video game. | It was an easy choice for me. Pokémon. I knew it fairly well, it was perfectly survivable, people were very friendly to strangers, and what really sealed the deal was that although it was a world of adventure, it was also a world where 12 year olds could solve all the worlds problems. I'm not 12, so I felt pretty confident that the world would leave me alone.
So I booted up my phone where I had a bootlegged version of Pokémon Crystal. But, I had a stray thought as my finger hovered over the icon. Why did 12 year olds solve all the worlds problems? What were the *adults* doing? Suddenly I had a feeling that I was going to find out something very, very unpleasant about the friendly world I'd grown up adoring. A flicker of doubt made me hesitate. What if there was a hidden, in-universe reason for adults to be so incompetent at everything?
My hand shaked a little..
And I pressed the wrong icon.
I only had time to panic for a brief moment, before I was a naked dude with his legs stuck in a pot. In my hands was a sledgehammer. I tried dropping it, but it was glued to my hands.
I screamed into the void.
The void did not scream back. It did something far, far more chilling.
It gave me life advice. | It was only after my second Margarita that I started to think clearer. Tequila always had a calming and reassuring effect on my sense of reality.
I had to think. I needed to elevate my thinking to a point of survival. I needed that instinct to finally kick in, but all I felt was the numbing sensation of dread and panic and fear.
I would run away, but there was only one door and he was behind it. There was no escape, only doom.
My drinking partner finally returned from the bathroom. He’d either been gone an extremely long time or I was drinking quickly.
I say partner, I was probably now more a kidnap victim. I had no idea where I was or how I'd got there.
He sat down next to me and thumped the bar with his fist. He quite obviously held a penchant for violence and he held my frightened gaze with a malevolent grin.
“So what’s it going to be then, fuckface?” he slurred. He spoke with a thick Irish brogue that dragged over the vowels.
He had to be wearing contact lenses, because I’d never seen a man with violet eyes - they could have been ultraviolet, if that was at all possible.
“You want me to pick a book from that bookcase?” I asked, pointing at the small mahogany piece in the corner.
He smiled and nodded in agreement.
“You want me to pick out a book, read the first line of the book, and commit myself to that story for eternity?”
His smile faded instantly.
"You do understand that that is actually insane?" I asked.
“Stop playing for time. Pick a fucking book.”
“You know that this is insanity,” I repeated.
“Pick a book. Do it quickly.”
I walked over and finally understood this to be hell, for the bookcase contained only horror. I knew most of these book titles, I’d read at least half of them.
Finally, I chose a book that I had not read at random. I’d already had two drinks so I thought I’d be clever and pick out a title containing more alcohol.
“The Master and Margarita”, I said. At least he couldn't take away the tequila.
The Irishman smiled. “Well chosen,” he said. “In hell, the alcohol consumes you.” | 2022-10-09T07:45:05 | 2022-10-09T07:08:20 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Instead of trading money for everyday things, we trade memories. | I found a diary today. It was tucked into an old backpack that I hadn't seen for some time. I'm still not sure why I even bothered to look through that filthy pack. I had it for three years when I was living in homeless shelters and parks. When I was finally able to afford a house, the first thing I did was hide the backpack in my basement so I wouldn't have to look at it anymore.
The diary still smelled like the filthy drifter I used to be. I almost threw it away but, for a reason I still can't understand, I couldn't put it down.
My memories of the past are a little fuzzy. I know I sold some memories to pay for the house but I'm not sure exactly what I lost. That was always fine with me. I'm finally off the street and I can't miss what I don't remember.
I scanned the pages of the diary and I was filled with disgust. Everything I wrote was so full of self-pity and mourning. Maybe if I hadn't wasted so much time feeling sorry for myself I wouldn't have been without a job for so long.
Every few pages, I found a poem or lyrics to a song. They were all addressed to the same name: Claire. I didn't write this book to mourn my own poverty. I wrote it to mourn the loss of this woman.
On the last page, I saw a few sentences. I had addressed them to myself.
*"It has been three years, eight months, and six days since Claire died. Every one of these days has hurt just as bad as the day of the car wreck. If you have read the pages of this book then you understand how much her loss has pained me. Within a few months, depression put me out on the street. I filled dozens of books like these with poems and stories to try to flush out my pain into ink but it did nothing.*
*"About two years ago, a man read one of these books. He told me he had searched his whole life for the type of love I had. He wanted my memories of her. He offered me food. When that wasn't enough he offered me a job. When that wasn't enough he offered me a house. For two years I refused, choosing to be homeless rather than to give her up. But I can't keep making this choice anymore. I envy the blissful ignorance you will live with. I considered writing the address of her grave in these pages but ~~you don't des~~ we don't deserve her."*
Sometimes, when I climb into my cold, empty bed at night, I think of Claire. But I feel nothing. And it makes me sad. | Neil snorted as he handed over the holocube. "This one is my favorite," he said as the cube reflected a rainbow pattern across his eyes in the dim light of the loft apartment.
Tom held it in his hands and stared at it quizzically. "Man, its heavy. This must be super dense."
"Its 19k resolution with complete field of view. It has level 3 sense output, so you need a decent neuroport to really feel it. You need a Tamochi VR or better to use it," Neil said. "But I think its worth it," he chuckled. "Ever wonder what its like to have sex with a woman... as a woman? Be a babe with a babe? Dildos, plugs, collars, ropes, hot wax, chastity belts, humiliation, you name it. 15 different sessions. You can flip between being the sub or the dom. Your choice."
Tom raised his eyebrow, "Come on Neil, weirdo porn. That's the best you got? I risked driving from the suburbs for this?!"
Neil sighed, "Alright, don't make me guess. What's your poison, man?"
Tom looked around Neil's quiet apartment, spying only Neil and a cybertronic kitten sitting on the couch cleaning itself. "Uh... I like war. I really like war."
"Ah yes, I have some famous battles. I have a pretty good battle of Shanghai clip somewhere. I used to have a Sri Lankan naval engagement that was critically acclaimed. The Tamil Tigers built a god damned battleship from old Volkswagons and Toyotas and sank a government cruiser. Insane stuff."
"The soldier needs to kill civilians," Tom said. "He needs to kill women or children or unarmed people. That's what I drove from the suburbs for. That's what Sarah told me you had. Mass slaughter, murder, executions, etc. Total hearts of darkness."
Neil sat down, adjusted the velcro on his sweater, and said, "That'll cost extra, being illegal and all."
Tom flashed his wrist display and Neil's eyes reflected the amber light. "I have coins," he added. "Let's say I had a good year... for the last 10 years."
Neil laughed. "Good. I don't like weirdos, but I love rich weirdos." He opened a drawer and handed Tom a different, smaller holocube.
"This thing is fucking tiny," said Tom as he pulled out a chrome inhaler, sniffed, and stared out into space for moment. "Fucking tiny. What is this?"
"Its vintage. Its from one of the first holonets to be used. This is classic amoral war machine against a defenseless country. Classic no rules shit. Low res, no sense, but you'll feel like you're there."
Tom leaned on a wall and examined the cube. "Lebanon? No wait, this is Chechnya right? Right?"
Neil said, "Better man, better. Second battle of Fallujah '04. Front line stuff. Door to door. Screaming women, shot children, hung men, explosions, body parts. You name it. No rules. Its got it all and... uh you didn't get it from me."
Tom laughed and put the cube in his pocket, "This. This is what I came for," and gave Neil a hearty handshake. "This will hit the spot, my friend. Totally hit the spot." Tom twitched and giggled as he wired 3 coins to Neil's anonymous cointank account. Neil showed him to the door. "You sure you want coins? I got meat. Real meat. Even fruit." Neil paused, "No, coins are good, thanks."
Neil locked the door, sighed, and said, "Fucking weirdos, man. Fucking weirdos."
| 2014-01-31T11:30:25 | 2014-01-31T11:29:27 | 36 | 17 |
[FF] 100 words to make me hate a character. 100 words to make me come to love them. 100 words to crush my soul as you kill them.
Great turnout and work everybody. Keep em' coming.
Newcomers:
A. Don't feel afraid to post or otherwise get turned off posting by the number of already completed responses.
B. Read all the way to the bottom. There's some high quality stuff all over this thread, including way down there. | Liam winced as the faggot walked by. Lest he catch it, like an infectious disease, he side-stepped to the left while walking down the Boston sidewalk. A few steps later, he couldn't help but look back. The man's bright blue shirt dissipated into the distance.
God. Fucking, no good...queer.
It was a queer like that who had taken him by the hand last June. Showed him his vinyl record collection and traced figure eights on the skin of his back as they lay in bed with the window open. Stupid mistake. Crickets singing in the yard and everything feeling so very right. Stupid fucking mistake.
Because now what? He felt the harsh January wind against his cheeks, thinner by the day since the disease had started to eat away at his body. He shivered and pulled his jacket tighter across his chest. What a stupid fucking mistake. | I gave it a shot.
>Italian Business party (300 words)
"ARE YOU PROUD OF YOURSELF? Peed your pants, Jesus! Little piss-pants! Your mother and I can't take you anywhere! After Daddy's boss said to bring you, you just piss yourself. It looks like you'll be a little boy forever, Brian!" Charney hollered at his son, gaining an audience.
Brian sobbed uncontrollably and stared at his mother, silently imploring help while not daring to meet his fathers gaze. Brian tried heading to the washroom, but Charney grabbed his arm.
"OH no! No! If you don't know when to use the washroom, then you don't get to. Go see your bitch mother."
Brian's head hung as Charney walked him over to his mother who kneeled down on his level and offered a soothing hug.
"Ahh, Brian. It's okay, he means well.. Shhhh."
Charney touched his wife. "Take him home and clean him up..." He stared at her. "Take him home now." He nodded, tipping her off to the danger.
Charney walked from his family into the party billiards room and closed the door. A suited man addressed him with an Italian accent.
"Charney, this is Jakomoto, the Yakuza boss."
Jakomoto extended his hand in approval. "Aggressive display, Charney, yet important. A man must be the head of his family. A man like this would surely take his business ventures just as seriously."
The two shook. "Italians always want to mix family and business. I'm just about the business." Jakomoto opened a briefcase on the table, exposing six white bricks.
"That's paradise." Charney said loudly and clearly.
SWAT members crashed through the windows reacting to Charney's cue. The Italian responded by drawing and firing at Charney. He flew back through the parlour doors, landing as a corpse at the feet of his son and wife, who got held up saying their party goodbyes. | 2014-03-11T09:08:35 | 2014-03-11T04:29:19 | 289 | 117 |
[WP] Eminem finds out he isnt the real slim shady
Woah this blew up! Good job to everyone who submitted!...i still cant believe how big this got! I literally created this prompt in the middle of my chemistry class listening to some eminem | His jaw dropped in disbelief as soon as his gaze landed on him, he knew immediately he was the real slim shady. His slender sketchy appearance made that apparent. A sleeve of dark tattoos clearly visible on his arms vibrantly stood out against his pale white skin.
As the real slim shady stood up and started to speak Marshalls nerves got the best of him and he threw up the spaghetti his recently reconciled mother had prepared for him.
"Mr. Mathers I'm glad you could make it." Slim spoke, "You can have a seat now." pointing to an old wooden chair in the center of a large plain room lit by a single hanging light bulb.
As he cleaned the vomit from the corners of his mouth he began to speak, "How long have you known?" He stammered weakly. As he sat on the rickety chair.
"Many years, we have just been debating on how to break the news to you because as you know, there can be only one." spoke slim as he started to reached into his pocket. "My people and I have decided it is only right that you know that you were just imitating." He spoke firmly brandishing a small single shot pistol and loaded it with a silver shot. "Looks like you're going back to 8 mile. Better luck next time" Slim spoke as he pulled the trigger.
Mashall heard a loud bang before he heard the noise of people when he finally came to he found himself getting booed off stage at the old hip hop shop in Detroit.
| "Who the fuck are you supposed to be!?" Asked the shocked Eminem. All of a sudden, standing in his living room was himself, but 10 years older.
"I'm the real Slim Shady" anounced this older version of him. "Have a seat" said Marshal while pulling off his glasses and motioning to the seat near him.
Confused, hesitant, still a little hungover and slowly becoming angry the younger Eminem sat down.
"Allow me to explain, I'm Marshal Mathers III, the first" said the elder Eminem. "You're my clone, and your time has come". Completely shocked the younger Marshal the third junior looked at the floor and threw up all of moms microwave spaghetti, although it sounded completely absurd it still seemed somewhat believable for some unexpected reason.
"But how!? This is my house, those are MY awards" said Marshal junior, poìnting at the countless grammys and platinum records on the walls. "I even performed two nights ago in Detroit" announced Eminem, obviously not so convinced by himself and unsure how true that is.
"I had you cloned 5 years ago. This lifestyle was getting to be too much for me with all the stress and constant trips to rehab. I found the doctors to clone me, and transplant the memories, you work and live the life while I'm in thailand. " explained Marshal.
"And what do you mean my time has come?" asked the younger eminem, coming to terms with the shocking news suprisingly well and fast. "You couldnt just leave me to my life and enjoy yours in paradise?"
"No" he answered quickly, "Theres another reason I had myself cloned" he started to explain "all those years of partying and loud music took its toll... " "You've come for my liver!?" He quickly exclaimed.
"Not exactly" explained the older marshal, "the doctors say that all those years of cheap peroxide has taken its toll on me, and the only way to keep living is to replace parts of my brain every few years". Quickly understanding whats happening Marshall got up to run, but members of D12 held him down. "You cant do this!!" Yelled the younger Marshal, but was subdued and lost consciousness soom after from the chokehold.
"Bring in the next clone" said the original marshal, leaving bags of cocaine and half finished bottles of hennesy on the floor "hel wake up in an hour, but Il see him again here in 5 years....
First writing prompt, hope it looks good.. Im typing thos from my phone | 2014-12-09T11:32:47 | 2014-12-09T11:06:44 | 89 | 16 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own. | Dear diary,
Today I started to get my super power! Stupid Harvey Deno dumb face got super speed for his birthday. That guy is such a dick. But I got something better, I can hear when someone is thinking about me. I'm going to be such a ladies man! I can't wait to start school tomorrow, it's going to be wicked tits.
Dear diary, everyone noticed the zit..
| Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you?
But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang.
*Hello?*
*Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party?*
*Sure, pick me up in ten.*
*Hello?*
I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled.
Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did. | 2015-01-21T21:48:36 | 2015-01-21T21:42:59 | 132 | 10 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | My dearest Anna,
I know that when I left I told you it was for the best, and that I needed space, but this was not the way to get it. The front has been hell. Sitting in what feels like a pit, eating watery soup they call food, and wishing I could come back home to your delicious cooking. I know I told you I was joining up on your 21st birthday, but this just feels right, and I want to say I'm sorry. This ordeal has caused me to forget what I was even mad about.
I miss you, and tell my mom I miss her too. My tour will be over in three months, and I will have some apologizing to do.
Ok, Anna, most sorry, but in raid, husband was shot. English not first language, so please bear with. Husband is in hospital, looks like no going to make it, he wanted me to say sorry, and he loves you. I am sorry too. Do not blame me, or husband for shot, just doing the jobs.
Signed:
Harland Jones, and Pvt. Yuri Kaspanov | Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger. | 2015-02-03T13:10:45 | 2015-02-03T12:59:38 | 95 | 20 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Dear Mom,
I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease.
There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I
have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy.
Love,
your son
| Hey Judy,
I know it's been a while since my last letter and I'm sorry. I honestly did try to write whenever I got the chance, but time gets away from you, you know? There's a lot I want to say and probably not a lot of time to say it.
First, I want you to know that I love you. Always have. From the moment I saw you in that red prom dress standing awkwardly by the DJ while Lindsey made out with Hank. I never thought I could get a girl like you. It helped that Lindsey was ignoring you. That softened you up for me so you agreed to that dance pretty quick. I felt bad for stepping on your toes during that dance and for doing it again at our wedding, big feet and all that. Seeing you in that gown was like prom all over again. Every time you got dressed up it felt like I was dying. My heart always stopped when I saw you, you were so beautiful.
Getting our first house was amazing too, wasn't it? I'm sorry I got the wrong paint for the living room and feel like I still owe you for helping me repaint it after you got home to your 'surprise'. My sense of color has always been off and I wouldn't be able to get dressed in the morning if it wasn't for you, or so you always told me. That made being in the military so easy, I just wear the same thing every day. Being apart from you was the hardest thing about enlisting, but I always told you I'd make it home.
I uhh, don't have much longer. I'm sorry I lied about being able to make it home. We were fighting some of the locals today, some stupid mission to recapture a bridge. Anyway's, I got shot. I'm sitting her and saying all this to the guy who shot me. He's doing a good job writing for me even though English isn't his first language. Please don't blame him. Or anyone else. He was just doing his job and so was I.
I love you. I'm sorry I won't be there for...
Sincerely,
Your husband and a sorry stranger. | 2015-02-03T13:25:34 | 2015-02-03T12:59:38 | 67 | 20 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Maria,
Thinking of you all today. Things aren’t getting better out here. There’s not many of us left. The recruits are younger and younger. Most of them don’t last much more than a week but there are still a few naturals. I don’t know what the reels back home are saying – things are pretty grim but we have one last trick up our sleeve. One last chance. I can’t say much but you’ll soon know all about it.
With any luck we’ll finish this and I can walk through our gate again. I hope you’re still waiting. I’ll remember this day as the turning point.
*Today is not that day. You will soon know all about it.*
*I will never walk through that gate.*
*We are coming for you.*
*XXX* | Sam-
I am, I fear, losing something. Perhaps it is lost.
Nights and days bleed together like the red mud underfoot and the sonic sludge of bugs and bullets whining and hunting for what the soil has yet to accept from us. I hardly notice it anymore. I don't know if I am glad for this.
You and Alex keep me going, I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't read your letters at night. I won't tell you what hers say, that's private, and bug off if you feel I'm being schmaltzy- I just don't think I'd ever write again if I didn't have your letters to hold me up. You are the stars I wish upon at night, strewn across a sky cursed to look over this dirt and blood spectrum of a life.
Thank you for the news of Dad, I cannot say how glad I am to hear he's doing better, and that little spawn of yours looks like something too cute to have any sort of relation to your bucktoothed ass.
Anyway, I sent Alex a
Hello,
I do not know who you are, and for that I am glad and sad and shatteringly sorry all in the same moment.
I do not know you. I do not know you, and I have dealt you the saddest hand a man could hold. I am sorry. Reading his words to you renders me speechless and broken and burned as if I have ripped a star from the sky and sought to consume it.
I wish you the best and will have this letter sent to you, and I wish you to know that we are all of us victims of a monstrous and foolish necessity.
I wish you to hate me if you must, and as his words echo in my mind as they will ever-more, I shall struggle not to do the same.
Yours,
Alexander Harwick
| 2015-02-03T16:03:03 | 2015-02-03T15:21:50 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] 50% of the world's population has the ability to fly, 50% does not. The only way to find out is to jump from a height that will surely kill you. | Who knew the suicide attempt would turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to me? Here I was thinking my life would end right off of this bridge. No idea it had just begun. The girls that couldn't fly started to get really into all the guys that could. Me being one of them, of course. However, they paid no attention to me before, so why should I pay attention to them now? They all say, "fly me to the sky and make love to me!" So you know what I did? I took them up as high as I could go, and then drop them. I guess you could say I didn't give a flying fuck. | The sweltering heat singes my furrowed brow. Unbuckling my seat belt, I stepped out of my old aged car, laying my feet onto the arid, sandy gravel. A cool breeze hit my forehead, before being replaced again with the blistering heat.
Letting out a sigh of relief, I started to walk towards the destination I had since the beginning. Standing on the cusp of this tired, dreary mountain, I dare not look down, for I would see it all eventually. For now, all i could do is take in the moment, since there's a good chance it could be my last. Most people would never dream of taking this cruel test, but I have nothing left. My parents are dead, I've never had a love partner, and I work a dead end job at 7/11. I figure that, no matter what the outcome, i'll be happy with it.
I took in the last of the crisp breeze, and then I took a deep breath. I took one step, and found inertia setting in, sending my plummeting towards the barren earth. The wind steadily got louder in my ears as i got close to my terminal velocity, steadily making my curiosity rise. My will alone could not hold it back, I quickly opened my eyes, and the ground was a lot closer than I had imagined, the little memories I had began to flash before my eyes. Then everything stopped, the wind, my memories, and that plummeting feeling. Alone with my thoughts, I was bewildered as to what happened, but then I remembered. I still had my vision. I opened my eyes yet again to see myself floating upwards, but I wasn't the one in control. | 2015-04-04T18:33:11 | 2015-04-04T17:45:02 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] Everyone in the world is able to choose exactly one superpower. The catch: the more people select a certain power, the weaker it becomes.
Example: if many people choose telekinesis, they'll only be able to move small, light objects. If many people choose time travel, they'll only be able to go back a few seconds. | Strength and flight are vastly overrated. No, really, ask anyone stupid enough to take them. They're basically worthless, oh boy I can float am inch off of the ground or lift something slightly heavier! No real thought went into those choices, dumbasses just wanted to be Superman.
Everyone remembers that group of people in Nevada who teamed up, each one able to conjure up rare gems and metals... Which eventually drove down the prices of those materials, turning their billion dollar idea into squat.
Poor future planning.
And who could forget that poor girl in New Hampshire who accidentally got too excited on her birthday, went nuclear, and wiped out half the state. (I've heard she actually survived and is sitting in a mental ward deep underground.)
As for me, though, no statues will ever be erected in my honor. No plaques posted signifying my birthplace. Hell, even the geneticists who gave me my abilities remember doing it.
Who am I? I'm the guy at the party whose name no one ever catches. I'm the guy in the background of the pictures who no one remembers talking to or seeing.
I'm the guy who can walk into a bank, rob the place, and walk out without being bothered about it.
I'm the guy who saw a world full of people who wanted to be somebody and chose to be nobody.
I'm the Forgettable Face, and I get away with it.
In fact, you won't even remember me telling you this when I leave this room, with everything you own. | The universe is a weird place, but back in 2016 we thought we had it figured out more or less - we thought we knew the possible and could separate it from the impossible. We were wrong.
Reality-defying superpowers started springing up all over the place. Nobody knows how the powers work, or exactly how you acquire them... but there's obviously some kind of system behind it.
You can't be 'Superman', because that involves multiple powers: flight, strength, speed, heat vision, x-ray vision, near-invulnerability, and probably a few others. If you try to claim 'Superman' as your powers... sometimes you get one of his attributes, but sometimes you get nothing - and there were no second chances. Oh, the poor 'blanks'. People who got greedy and tried to scam the supernatural and got nothing in return.
Then we discovered there was only really one of each power, and it was divided in strength among all users. The super-strong really weren't after about a month, because so many people chose it. Thankfully the same was true for the telepaths, because they could have been seriously dangerous.
But a few clever individuals, like myself, chose the ability to mimic the powers of others. Well... actually, I went one further, chose something rarer (and therefore stronger). I chose to *absorb* the powers of others.
After that, it was a strategy game - hunting telepaths to drain so I could sense my targets and my enemies. Hunting the speedsters so I could cover more ground, the fliers so I could cross oceans, the healers so on the occasions I had bad luck I could recover.
It was almost too late when it occurred to me I should preferentially hunt my own kind... every power I absorbed I really only got *half* of, and the other half went back into the 'pool'. Powers are divided by the number of people who carry them, not by the number who *carried* them.
So for a while I sought out some offensive abilities like strength, laser eyes, telekinesis, that sort of thing, then started hunting other mimics and absorbers before they were too powerful to risk taking on.
The world is a different place, now. I'm the only absorber left, and my telepathy lets me find any new absorbers as soon as they happen and take their power before they learn how to tame it. I'm the only powered individual of any type, actually.
I don't think the world needs more than superhero, and it's good to be king. | 2015-05-05T10:11:25 | 2015-05-05T09:38:36 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Instead of a modern adaptation of a myth, write a mythic adaptation of a modern story. | They struck at early morning, when the peasants were disorganized, and the king was off visiting a nursery. The twin dragons found the symbol of wealth of the prosperous land of May Rica. Two glimmering towers made of enchanted iron and sand stood tall, above all the other huts and inns around it.
The dragons knew their deed, and knew they would not come home, but had fire and resolve in their hearts.
The peasants did not react, stunned at witnessing two dragons where they should not be. Amaireleven struck first, crashing into the north tower with tremendous force. Once it was lodged inside, it breathed dragon fire into the chamber within.
Uniaironsevfi followed suit and crashed into the remaining tower, and it too breathed its dragon fire within it.
The peasants watched in fear, at the unspeakable atrocity, unsure what to do, when all of a sudden first tower collapsed, followed by the second, their enchanted iron beams melted by dragon fire.
The city was in ruins, debris strewn for hundreds of miles, pieces of the tower could be found as far away as the Isle of Fire, and on that day the peasants of May Rica never forgot the day, Niney Leven. | Once upon a time, in a faraway land of chocolates and timekeeping and mountains, a man was born. The man spent his life planning great games to keep the people of his magical, punctual land happy. He worked hard, and over the years his prestige grew. Eventually, he was charged with planning the greatest tournament in the world. People from every corner of the earth would gather every four years to watch the tournament, and it was said the game had such sway over the world that it could even stop wars.
Slowly, the man was seduced by the darker side of his power. Untold riches flowed into his coffers from nations all across the globe. Bribery was rampant. Those who opposed the man were swiftly and brutally handled. The man built a dark fortress under the ground in the mountains of his homeland, to hide his evil deeds from the gods themselves.
One year, a cabal of wealthy slavers promised the man a staggering fortune in exchange for the right to host the legendary tournament in their arid, inhospitable lands. Blinded by his lust for power and gold, the man agreed. The slavers drove thousands to their deaths constructing massive arenas in the harsh desert.
Across the Western sea, the former ruler of a great empire was furious. He had been convinced his homeland, the most powerful state in the world, would be awarded the tournament. He gathered his greatest wizards, hatching a plot to use the arcane powers of RICO to trap and destroy the dark lord in his mountain fortress.
The wizards lured a lieutenant of the dark lord to their cause, promising that he would be spared the harsh reprisals planned for lackeys of the great evil. The lieutenant, a mountain of a man with a foul-mouthed parrot on his shoulder, returned to the dark lord's fortress as a spy. He gathered damning evidence of the corruption that ate at the very heart of the dark lord's organization.
Finally, it was time to strike. Soldiers stormed the fortress, and the world gasped as the servants and allies of the dark lord were placed in chains and hurled into the dungeons of the great empire across the Western sea. The dark lord himself had fled, but his power was broken. The slavers were furious, but the world rejoiced.
The great nations of the world would have to rebuild the tournament themselves. But that, children, is a story for another day. | 2015-06-10T10:26:42 | 2015-06-10T08:06:59 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Napoleon and Hitler were born 129 years apart, came into power 129 years apart, and invaded Russia 129 years apart. It is now 2070. You've been reincarnated and rose to power for the third time. Russia is looking very tempting.
Edit: Holy cow. There are some seriously awesome stories here. Thank you so much :) | President Pushkin hung his head in his hands as Commander in Chief Qin personally led the Chinese land forces into Red Square. The entire month of February had been an endless series of frustrations, as nothing could stop the 100 million man army inevitably marching through Novosibirsk, Yekaterinburg, and Kazan. Birth rates had plummeted for the better part of the century throughout Russia, and no amount of technology, armaments, or diplomacy could stop such a throng of people.
His country had been through a lot over the centuries, but there was a bitter sting of shame in knowing that Qin was about to achieve what so many had failed on his watch. Pushkin looked out onto the square, and dejectedly slugged what was left of his vodka.
---
"And that's another 6, I take Moscow!" beamed Odin, moving his piece, President Qin into the Russian capital.
Ra quipped, "Certainly took you long enough, you gave up a huge lead trying before, and now you've left Guangzhou vulnerable."
"Well that doesn't matter anymore," Odin grinned, as he flipped over his mission card:
> Conquer Russia in the Winter with a Land Army
"Noooo!" exclaimed Poseidon as he flipped over his card "I was one turn away from finishing cold fusion and winning!"
"Oh man, should have seen that coming, must have hurt to fail so spectacularly at it twice before," groaned Ra.
"Actually, I intended to lose both of those campaigns," explained Odin. "I knew I couldn't win back then, so I did my best to keep you two at bay, and set the stage for a later victory. A land victory in the winter would have been impossible with the temperature so cold, so I used both of those campaigns to accelerate global warming as much as I could."
"My Napoleon campaign advanced the development of nation states, and indirectly led to the Industrial Revolution. My Hitler campaign rapidly accelerated technological development on all sides. By the time my Qin campaign came around, Moscow was a balmy 20°C in February, eliminating the +2 defensive bonus."
"Well nicely played, shuffle the globe and go again?" asked Poseidon, "Here I was thinking you just had terrible luck."
The One-eyed deity smiled and he leaned back in his chair, "You should know better Poseidon, a god does not play dice." | "Your reports, sir." Jessica laid out a manilla envelope on Martin's desk.
Martin briefly flipped through the pages. "And what do they say?" he asked.
"That MartinCo has had the best quarter yet. We control the largest share in the continental market, we're about to overtake the biggest competitor in the UK, and offers for joint business ventures are coming in from the US and Middle East." Jessica smirked as she smoothed out the creases in her skirt.
Martin leaned back in his chair, steepled his fingers, and swiveled his chair. This is something that not anyone can do, for most people would just look ridiculous. But with Martin, this act become an art emanating power, effectively saying *anyone who opposes me will be dealt with without mercy*. It helps that he had practiced just this in the mirror quite a few times.
He glanced up at the large map on display, showing the continent of Europe. He mentally ticked off the markets, the *countries* that were effectively under his control, and was pleased with the result. However, something seemed off, something wasn't right...
"Jessica," he said, "what about Russia?"
Jessica straightened up. "What about 'Russia'?"
Martin pointed up at the map. "We have gained market share control over much of Western and Eastern Europe, but we've hardly made any in-roads into Russia. Why not?"
"It's..." Jessica began. "It's not exactly a prime market right now. The economy is not that great, and our commodities are not highly sought after there. It would not be a sound financial move, at this time."
"But Jessica, look!" Martin waved his hand at the map. "It's just so, so...imbalanced."
"Imbalanced?"
"Yes, I mean, when you look at this map and where we are, we are focusing far to much in the West. We must move East!"
"If it's balance you're after, I can have a different map brought in. One without Russia not on it."
"No, that won't work, I would know it's there. Besides, the trade routes are practically set up already." He got up from his chair and went to the map. "We can get supplies sent to Vilnius, Lithuania, have convoys bypass Minsk and go straight to Viciebsk, Belarus, and hop over the border to Smolensk and then Moscow! We could have our commodities selling there in a week!"
"I'm...not so sure, sir." Jessica worriedly chewed on a pen cap. "Those passes are difficult to navigate, especially being winter right now. And even if we could get there quickly, with such a low demand for our products, we might meet with high resistance."
"Nonsense! I want half of the UK team transferred to this project immediately. I want us selling in Moscow before the end of February. Now go!" He turned towards the window and placed his hand inside his breast coat pocket, feeling the comfort of his large wallet.
Jessica rose cautiously. "Sir, I'm not..."
Martin turned and raised a single eyebrow at Jessica (also a look practiced in the mirror).
Jessica nodded. "Yes sir." She hurriedly left the office.
Martin turned back to the window and caught his dim reflection in the glass, a stately figure with one armed draped across his chest. Yes, this venture into Russia will be exactly was is needed. Nothing could go wrong, now.
___
Check out /r/killersealion for more! | 2016-02-17T12:43:05 | 2016-02-17T11:28:00 | 874 | 70 |
[WP] Create a guilt trip so that anyone reading my diary's first page automatically feels they don't want to.
Morality is one of the strongest things to control someone's actions. So I want a first page to sort of guilt trip the person reading to make sure they don't read the rest. | Dear Diary,
I saw a new little girl in the park yesterday. I feel like I can't fight the urges anymore, I know it's wrong. I just want to tell her how I feel. We are no strangers to love, you know. Everyone knows the rules. I want to give you a full commitment, that's what I'm thinking. You know that no other guy could give you what I can. I just want to tell you how I'm feeling. I gotta make you understand that I'm never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down. Never gonna run around and desert you. Never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye. Never gonna tell a lie and hurt you.
Signed,
Ricky | In a Godless universe, there is no room for moral arguments. So, if you aren't God-fearing, read on and feel no shame, but keep one thing in mind:
Tread lightly, for you bear the responsibility of your actions from this point forward, from this page forward.
Every action has a consequence. And it's extent does not always immediately reveal itself. Should you decide to turn this page and pore over the secrets behind it, you may find immediate gratification, a sudden sense of relief or simply a chuckle for the now and a joke for tomorrow. What you won't find, however, are the inevitable repercussions of your decision.
Throughout history, seemingly insignificant decisions have led to events that have changed the world forever.
Gavrilo Princip decides to console himself by buying a sandwich at a local Sarajevo café. The car carrying Archduke Ferdinand takes a wrong turn, backing up in front of it, giving Princip the chance to kill the Archduke, subsequently setting off WWI, in which 20 million people lost their lives and even more suffered.
A sheriff refuses Martin Luther King's application for a license to carry a firearm in self-defense. An insignificant decision which would benefit the legacy of a man who would later light the fire of a pacifist Civil Rights movement across the United States.
So, will your decision be the one that leads to the death of millions or the rise of an inspiring historical figure. Will today be remembered in infamy or with gratitude? Perhaps neither, but are you really willing to take that risk?
Choose responsibility now so you don't have to take it later.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
*Thanks for reading "A Seemingly Insignificant Decision"! More of my work at /r/Socrates_Burrito. I welcome constructive criticism and advice.* | 2016-03-11T08:11:27 | 2016-03-11T03:45:55 | 47 | 24 |
[WP] You are a hero with a strange power. Every time you raise your hand in a catching position, a voice yells a party nickname for you and a drink or drug tossed into your hand with impressive speed and accuracy. This is your epic. | It started at a party a while back. Lots of people, loud music, hot, sweaty. A good party. I was dancing with this babe, seemed to making some progress with her. There was a pause between the tunes and she asked if I would get her something to drink. I was not about to leave her, so I looked over to where the beer cooler was, stuck my hand up and shouted "somebody beer me".
From somewhere I heard someone say "Bob-bay" and a beer hit my hand. I was at a party, that's how it's supposed to go. It handed it to her and I could tell beer wasn't really her drink. Just then another song started. It was one of my current favs and I shot my hand up in the air in appreciation. "Bobster!" I heard over the tune, and a bottle hit my hand. Somehow I reflexively caught the bottle. I looked at in surprise, and my dance partner took it with a thankful look in her eye.
That was the beginning. It took me a little bit to "get" what was happening. I don't understand why it's happening, mind you, only the process. I stick my hand up in the air, I heard a voice from somewhere shouting a variation on my name or some other nickname, and some type of "party substance" hits my open hand with amazing speed and accuracy, and I catch it every time.
It was fun at first. I'm hot and thirsty? Pow, beer. I want to relax, a fat joint. I want to party...you get the idea. It's almost always appropriate to the situation I'm in or who I'm with. Its made me a very popular guy to be with too. I could always get you something.
I just wish I could control it. I had to stop raising my hand in class as my college professors found it disruptive. I can't go to sporting events or concerts, or anywhere cheering might be involved as the constant incoming volley of cans or bottles or bags is difficult to deal with. Playing sports? Forget about it.
The worst though is what landed me where I am, in the hospital. I was cruising down the street down by the beach. There was traffic and fair number of people. I saw a buddy of mine and absently threw my hand up to wave at him as I called his name. I big can of Foster's Lager hit my hand. I caught of course, I always do. I also lost my balance. I mentioned the traffic right?
I came to while the paramedics were attending to me. I was lying down, my right arm was broken, along with several other injuries. I was kinda out of it for a bit, but the horror my injuries were made evident in the hospital. You see, because of the injury to my arm, and shoulder, and everything else, they needed to keep my arm immobilized. And elevated.
Make it stop. I can't take it any more. | The sun was out as Ethan and Geoffrey walked and enjoyed the passing of spring into summer around them. It had been long since the temperatures would allow for leisurely strolls, but as usual in their frigid little town, the warmth came quickly with the season. Around them were fir trees, green and warm like the sun on their backs, frozen ground thawing beneath them. Beautiful in the way only forests are beautiful.
"Thank you.. for dragging me out" Geoffrey said quietly, eyeing the treeline from their dirt trail. "No problem, bud. Me and Jodey's been worried about you. We've barely seen you in town for months. You've become a hermit. What've you been doing in that cabin of yours?" Ethan replied in his usual friendly tone. He tried to give Geoff a quick pat on the shoulder, immediately causing him to recoil.
"Bud?" he asked, surprised. "Sorry. I guess I'm just twitchy. Been on my own for a while, uh, working on my novel." Geoffrey said dismissively. "Your novel? Well.. that's great. You've talked about it for so long, I'm glad you got motivated to start." Ethan replied incredulously. They walked for a while like that, letting the warmth and the birds beckon them on, taking in the green all around them. Geoffrey slowed and ran his fingers through his unkempt beard. "Actually, man.. I've gotta tell you something. Something.. happened to me a few months ago. And I need you to believe me.". Ethan stopped with him, eyeing him curiously. "What 'something'? he asked. Geoffrey took a deep breath and half-way looked like he was about to start crying. "You're not going to believe me unless I show you." he continued. Not waiting for a reply, Geoffrey raised his hand and pointedly looked into the other direction. "Geoffrey, what a-" Ethan started. "G-MAN!" someone yelled. And just like that, an impossibly cool beercan with beads of frost slammed into Geoffrey's hand, perfectly palming it. Ethan spun, scanning the trees for the thrower. There was nothing. No one. He turned back to Geoffrey, who now had tears running down his cheeks.
"Who the fuck was that? Ethan asked. "I don't know, man" Geoffrey sobbed in reply. "3 months ago I went to get firewood when I thought I saw movement in the sensor lights outside my dad's cabin. When I put my hand over my eyes to see better, someone yelled out "Geoffster" and a fucking beercan slammed into my hand, scaring the shit out of me. I grabbed my rifle and looked for close to an hour. I couldn't find anyone, man. There was no one! It happened again a week after that. I went outside after writing for hours and I tried to stretch.. Then again. Voice, nickname, beercan. So... I tried it again. But it wouldn't work, until I looked in the other direction. Then I.. I tried it again next to my car so I could see in the window reflection and... I'm telling you man, there was someone there. I can never catch them but I think I'm haunted by an alcoholic baseball pitcher or some shit.".
Geoffrey looked at Ethan for a long time, pleading desperation in his eyes. "I need you to be ready and look when it happens Ethan. Tell me I'm not crazy.". Ethan felt like saying something, but instead nodded at his dishevelled friend, for the first time noticing the bags under his eyes. "Just look over there, alright? Look closely." Geoffrey said. Then he slowly raised his hand, palm facing the direction Ethan was looking in, and opened his fist. "Geoff-rod!". Geoffrey immediately dropped the can and turned to Ethan. "Well?". Ethan still looked in the direction the voice had come from, pale and wide-eyed. And then he started running.
Sorry, not sure what you meant by epic but I just got the idea and felt like writing it. | 2016-05-30T19:17:28 | 2016-05-30T18:31:05 | 340 | 36 |
[WP]There is no prompt. Just write a story you've always been thinking about or one you've been thinking about sharing. Anything goes. | Working on my thesis at the moment which revolves around my Dad growing up as an ethnic minority in Vietnam during the war (Degar, Rhade/E De tribe). But also working on a collection of short-shorts about my mothers life growing up as well.
---
Our Garden in Saigon
I was seven, and my mother and I pushed a food cart around the city. We took turns with the cart, though when it was my turn she guided with one hand on the cart, another on my shoulder. We went from apartment to apartment, house to house, business to business, and everyone bought our food.
The cart was metal, clean and polished. It had an umbrella attached to the middle; my mother opened it up whenever it rained or the sun was too much for us to stand under. There was a heater off to the side of the umbrella stand, fueled by a propane gas tank underneath. My mother was always adamant about her food staying warm. On the side of the cart sat two small handles for pushing.
We sold sandwiches - bánh mì. We did not have a business name, so most people called us “Thi and her daughter”. My mother was a good saleswoman too, always smiling and never making bargains. No one complained though; her sandwiches were the best in Saigon.
The war took my father when I was very young. He said the sandwiches were the best, but only because he grew the vegetables. He had started a garden outside of our home before he left to fight in Pleiku. The garden was lush, full of peppers and cucumbers and mints – everything we needed to make bánh mì. It was all we had left of him.
My mother sang over the garden every day, the same songs my father sang when he taught her how much water the soil needed for the plants to flourish. Her favorite was “The Comforter Has Come”, an old hymn we sang within the makeshift missionary churches. I knew she sang the song now because it reminded her of my father, and though I was very young, I knew she sang it over the garden as if it was a blessing for the plants to yield good vegetables.
Every weekend my mother and I pushed the cart to the radio station a couple of miles from our house. One windy Sunday, we reached the radio station. The numbers “504” hung on the side of the building in rusted metal. The windows were streaked with dirt and rain spots. A metal staircase led to the large double door entrance, rusted and bent.
My mother looked at the doors. Normally she would tell me to wait outside, and would bring in a small bag of five or six sandwiches.
“Come in with me,” she said.
I wondered what was so different today. I grinned and tucked a few sandwiches in a plastic bag and followed her up the steps.
I watched my mother as we walked toward the doors. She looked tired. Dark bags rested beneath her eyes and crow’s feet to the side. Her skin seemed rough and leathery from the sun. She was only in her mid-thirties, but looked much older.
We were not wealthy. We lived in a one room apartment in District 3, where people thought it was ok to throw their trash out onto the street. But my mother was adamant we ate well. She made soups and curries with ingredients she bought at the marketplace. She only had one rule, and that was to never eat the bánh mì. “They are for the customers, my daughter,” she said.
We stepped inside the radio station that Sunday, and it smelled like burnt coffee and mold. Hallways split in each direction, and a small, empty desk sat at the front of the lobby. A phone rang there. Rang and rang.
My mother nudged her head toward the hallway on our right. There were plenty of people moving around, stacks of papers in their hands. Two men sat inside of an enclosed booth, headphones covering their ears as they spoke through fluffy microphones.
I followed behind my mother, followed her long, black hair, swinging side to side as she walked. I still carried the bag of sandwiches, and it was getting heavier now. My sandals stuck to the tile floor, stained with old gum and spilt coffee.
We reached the end of the hall, where my mother waved at one of the men in the booth. He was clean shaven, and had a broad forehead. He looked up from his thin glasses and nodded at her. He said something into the fluffy microphone, took his headphones off, and walked out of the booth to greet us.
“Finally,” he said. “I am starving, where is the food?”
“This is my daughter, Cúc.” My mother put her hand on my head.
The man looked at my mother and then squinted his eyes at me like he did not believe I was actually there.
“Uh, hello,” the man said. “Can I speak with your mommy in private?”
I nodded.
He pulled my mother aside while I watched. They spoke quietly and I could see the man start to get frustrated. They started to get louder.
“You didn’t tell me you had a child,” I heard. “So you are married now too?”
“Was,” my mother said. “My husband died in the war.”
The man stomped his foot and stormed back into the booth, his eyes wide like skies.
My mother walked back over to me. She gently pushed me down the hall, and I dragged the bag of sandwiches behind me. I turned my head and the man slammed headphones over his ears, and shouted into the microphone.
We left the radio station and never returned there to sell sandwiches. Two weeks went by. Kids at school called my mother a whore. The man at the radio station had spoken publicly about my mother, how she had slept with men for the money, though she had been his only mistress.
My mother picked up another job. Worked in a small restaurant near Lam-Son Square, cooking and cleaning and whatever else they made her do. I had to stay home and turn off all the lights, shut all the blinds when she was gone. We no longer ate soups and curries. We broke her rule, ate the bánh mì she cooked from the food cart because she had become too withered by the stress.
One morning, I woke up and went outside. My mother was at the garden, harvesting banana peppers. She did not have enough money to support most of the garden now, and half of it had started withering away.
She squatted over the plants, plucking peppers and putting them into a small wicker basket. She sang the same song, “The Comforter Has Come”, but now her voice quivered like rippled water.
“What do you want to eat tonight?” she said, and cleared her throat.
It was a question I had not heard in the last few weeks. “I thought we were just going to eat bánh mì.”
“Whatever you want, tell me,” she said.
“Can we eat curry tonight?” I said. “I liked the curry you used to make, except not as many potatoes.”
“Ok,” she said. “I’ll do that.”
I sat down, cross-legged in the dirt and watched her pluck the peppers from the garden. She moved over to the cucumbers and green beans, and I could see her face reddening.
“I’m sorry,” she said, almost a whisper. “Can you forgive me?”
“For what?” I said.
She plucked and plucked, moving down the garden, where dead fruit lay on wilted flowers. “Can you forgive me?” she repeated, and stared at the garden.
I know now that she was speaking to my father.
| **(This is a short shitty rough draft for a shitty short story I wrote that heavily apes from Fight Club, Mr. Robot, and Hotline Miami. Basically it's from the POV of a college kid who interns for a clickbait-y Buzzfeed-ish blog, but his editor is *forcing* him to be part of the sensationalized stories that he writes about. I kinda wanna expand this one day but I haven't really had the time or energy to in-between school and work, lol. Honest feedback appreciated.)**
On a clear day, you can see forever. In a Dodo bird mask, you can only see in vignettes. Wide, vacuous black circles, grasping at the fringes of your peripheral vision, futilely clawing at the seams to lift themselves from the void of extinction. Alright, maybe that’s a little hyperbolic, but even through the sedation and latex I can smell the doldrums of the Shit’s Creek I waded myself into. Even through the void I can feel the vibrations of my smartphone bursting to life, the blue LED light radiating through my palms, through the blackness, suffocating the melatonin supply to my brain.
I didn’t want to pick up, I didn’t want to answer from that sanctimonious fuck, I didn’t want to know how far up Shit’s Creek I paddled, but I twiddled my thumbs through the zip ties and slid that lock button anyway. It was either that, or becoming nothing more than a byline, yet another member of the collective pile of meaningless stardust that collectively finished playing the meaningless charade.
In Blackjack, you have a 1 in 21 chance of beating the dealer. In American Roulette, you have a 1 in 38 chance of nailing that ball on the jackpot. In Russian Roulette, you have a 1 in 6 chance of embedding a .38 into your skull. In a couple billion years time, the sun has a 100% chance of metastasizing into a red giant and swallowing the ethos of human achievement down the incendiary drain. *Place your bets.*
Lifting my hands up to my ears (or lack thereof) like the dumb-assed Dodo I was, all I could muster through the mask was a meek, pathetic “Hello?” And all the sanctimonious fuck could muster in return was “Not everyday you wake up riding shotgun toward revolution in a latex Dodo bird mask, is it Bo?” Fucking hell. What did I do? What did he do? What did we do? “Coming down from the Venti yet? Takes a lot of sugar and horse tranquilizers to bring down a guy your size.”
One minute Quade’s got me the most badass, high-paying freelance Gonzo journalist gig around. The next, he’s got me drugged in the random ass passenger seat of a random ass car on Arch Street. I hit the speaker button so I can feel for the shifter and enunciate my response loud and clear: “Go fuck yourself.” *No shifter.* I go for the wheel. *No wheel.* Quade enunciates his response loud and clear: “But we already have Bo; it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Since Day One we’ve just been leeching, consuming, and consuming, shoveling superficial sludge through our eyes, ears, and mouths. And for what? What good transportation will that white van you’re in be without a wheel to guide it? What good is that salary I’ve been paying you for, besides flooding your veins with carcinogens and killing yourself over a fucking piece of paper? What good is anything worth if we’re all just circlejerking each other off into the Great Cosmic Toilet?”
I should’ve been more anxious. I should’ve felt the warm blood and adrenaline and carcinogens flowing through my arteries realizing how far I’ve paddled up Shit’s Creek. I’ve should’ve cried out begging, pleading for my life and all the other innocent lives down the block. I should’ve shouted through the void that no Quade, I was killing myself over TWO fucking pieces of paper, and that I hated driving anyways, but all Bo the Dumb-Assed Dodo could muster through the drugs was a pathetic, monotone “I dunno”.
Yes, here we were, you, me, the arid sense of extinction, vaguely chemical aroma, and faint ticking permeating through the humid summer air, and all I could respond to that was a fucking “I dunno”. “Exactly,” Quad responded, “Who does? We’ve all been sleeping through a stupor for the past fourteen billion years, but today Bo, you, I, and the rest of my reporters will give the world a wake-up call. Today, you will have severed one of the Hydra’s main heads. Today, ten minutes from now, you and the rest of my news team will end this morning imprinting everlasting phosphoric footprints all over the country. Remember that saying I told you on your first beat?”
I knew you knew he knew about that saying, so I didn’t give him the satisfaction of explaining it all over again. Instead, I responded with the most logical retort that a drugged up hostage wearing a latex Dodo mask could muster: “Crocodiles can’t talk!”. I felt around the leather seat for a belt buckle. *Bingo*. Unclasping the damn thing was easy; getting out of the van would be far from it.
The blood was flowing back to my hands. I pounded my knuckles raw against the window and futilely grasped at the lock. No dice. I yelled out to the possible families, to the droves of hypothetical white-collared businessmen, to the residential strung-out soft-pretzel selling, sax-playing homeless guys, but my message was left unheard through the tinted, soundproof, bulletproof reinforced windows. *Did you hear it? Quade did.* “You think they give two shits about the revolution?”
He was right. The bastard got me into this meaningless, terroristic nonsensical mess, all for the sake of paying for two fucking pieces of paper, but he was right. The people didn’t want to be told. They wanted a tangible aesthetic, instant visual stimuli to materialize, and then and only then would they give two shits. In T-minus nine minutes Quade’s magnum opus would materialize, and me and the U.S. Mint would be no more, all because of… ...*Two* fucking pieces of paper? Wads of meaningless pieces of paper money? Search Engine Optimization? God basking in his morbid sense of humor with the ultimate prank: crippling the already decrepit U.S. economy with the final nail in the coffin?
No. If God was up there, he wouldn’t let things get this FUBAR. He wouldn’t make I, Bo “the Dumb Assed Dodo” Kaczynski, wannabe Gonzo journo, part-time busboy, and tentative community college freshman, the reluctant face of the Meaningless Revolution. He sure as hell wouldn’t have been cool with me roleplaying as him in some shitty dollar store Halloween mask.
I pictured the lemmings outside, blissfully stuck in their morning routines, following perpetual motion, obliviously walking toward the cliffside, and I envied them. It beat being stuck rotting minute to minute in this steel coffin, with nobody to hear my cries for help besides me, Quade, and you, my solipsistic friend. *Do you know what that word means? Do I know what that word means? Is there any fucking clarity to be found within the black void of a Dodo bird mask?*
"Will you *relax*?” Quade said, “I’m granting you an eternal afterlife of bylines and SEOs, and this is the thanks I get? Begging?!??” My hands grasped up top at the seams of the Dodo mask. No dice. “Ah well, you’ll be thanking me in seven minutes time. By the way, you like my super glue dye job? ”
Now, this might be the part of the story where you’re screaming at me to wake up and dial 9-1-1, or my mom, or my buddy Rico that I haven’t talked to since graduation. Possible prison time and embarrassing bald spots don’t seem so bad when your other option is extinction. But I’ve got more stories to tell. That’s all we’ve got, right?
Well, that, a latex Dodo bird mask, a smartphone, six minutes to kill, and one-in-two odds of toppling the economy like dominoes, all for the byline of the century and two fucking pieces of paper.
*Place your bets.*
| 2016-09-11T10:25:17 | 2016-09-11T09:34:23 | 103 | 73 |
[WP] In another reality, the Americas, Australia, Europe, Asia, Africa, and Antartica don't exist. Instead, the super-continent of Pangaea never broke up. | Sailing. Sailing is all I knew. We had set out days ago, in an attempt to find any other land. It may be our only hope with our overpopulation... Pangaea is all we had known forever. Attempts to go into space had failed so far, yet that would allow us to map all of our ball.
We could never agree on a name for our planet. Who needs one? As long as we're on Pangaea, there's no need to be more specific. Sure, people had gone to the Great Sea, but the two places are so vastly different; could they be called the same?
Land finding expeditions have failed so far and people never returned; not even the mighty sailor Garrett. We made our risk as it would bring unimaginable glory and wealth. Even the smallest island could make our town prominent.
-----
Our sailors have gone weary. None of us have families. If we did, why would we leave to likely death? Our crew of convicts and beggars have started to fight. Each group knew each other before the voyage, and alliances have been forming as our food runs out. I wonder if this happens to all ships. None returned so we can't say.
-----
Spotters claim to have seen land yet it quickly disappeared. Simply the idea has been enough to quell the fighting. We're saying the area to look for it. Hopefully, we don't find nothing, meaning all we saw is a mirage. If that happens, a bloodbath will pursue.
-----
"Sir! We see the land!"
"Jacobson. 30 degree turn south. LAND HO!!"
"This land will save us! I shall finally eat again!"
"I'm so excited!"
"We lived!"
Yet as our explorers became closer to the land, something peculiar was seen.
"Sir! There's houses on the island! And smoke coming from the chimneys!"
"Impossible!"
As the boat came to a rest on the beach, the men dropped the anchor. As they disembarked, a group of men came near them. They had clothes from years ago and medals from various towns on Pangaea.
"Who are you natives?! How'd you get those clothes?"
"Welcome new comers. We are the settlers of Garetia, founded by the honourable sailor Garett. Here, you may find escape from conflict and overpopulation. All we ask is one thing... That you burn your boat." | Jerstom’s back ached with the strain of the alderwood he had hewn from the hillside, but he persisted, one burdensome step at a time, with only the thoughts of his father for company.
By the time he reached the beachside, dusk had already usurped the horizon. Mathae, his wife, was heating meagre provisions over a modest fire. Salt, on the air, stung his face.
“Children?”
“Asleep. They insisted on coming, but I said it was too early still.”
“They have years to learn. We have but hours. Come, help me.”
Husband and wife took turns preparing the alderwood, binding the strongest branches together, pruning errant limbs, applying liberal amounts of the resin-sap they had collected. Although custom called for Jerstom to be the one chanting prayers throughout the process, Mathae was occasionally moved to chime in. The old man had treated her like his own daughter, after all.
The early rays of dawn found their task complete, and Jerstom set the raft upon the choppy waters stoically, a dense clout of emotions weighing every movement.
“As you came before me, so shall you go before me,” intoned Jerstom, with Mathae’s hand upon his shoulder for support. “I give back to you one half of the wealth I have, for I would have nothing without you.”
At those words, Jerstom placed the bundle Mathae had prepared onto the raft, and slowly unwrapped it, revealing two humble ingots of rough gold, each the size of a man’s fist. Mathae poured the remainder of the resin-sap onto the ingots, bonding them with the raft.
Jerstom knew his father would have been just as happy with the other customary offering, that of a cache of sweetened meats and honeymead, similarly encased in the resin-sap. Yet Jerstom was only too glad to part with the gold, for his father surely deserved it.
“May you find peace in the great beyond these unending waters,” said Jerstom, as he gently pushed the raft out to sea with his foot.
“May you find peace,” repeated Mathae.
Husband and wife, holding each other for support as the tumultuous waves grew in strength, stood by the beach until the raft was but a speck in the distance.
---
On the other side of the world, Butoohey emerged from the choppy waves, having twisted and snaked through the waters as determinedly as a salmon swimming upstream. Thick ropes around his waist were latched onto the raft he had just retrieved.
Kerru, his wife waiting on the shore, did not even need to examine the raft to know the outcome. Everything was written on Butoohey’s downcast face.
“Gods! Why have you done this!” she cried, lifting her hands to the heavens. “Have we displeased you again? We followed your commandments, yet this is the third month in a row you have not sent us any of your heavenly food!”
“Hush, woman!” urged Butoohey as he rushed to his wife’s side. “God has a reason for everything. There is a lesson too in this, we just need to know what it is.”
That said, Butoohey reverentially placed the two yellow rocks from the raft next to a veritable mountain of similar rocks on the beach, and holding his wife’s hand, began the trek back to their hut on the coast.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | 2017-02-09T08:16:02 | 2017-02-09T06:21:57 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later | Charles let out a small smirk, glancing at his almost teary eyed opponent. Well he wasn't crying, or even closed to teary eyed, but Charles knew that on the inside, his opponent was in utter shambles. After a grueling 4 hour match, he had finally figured out the move that would lead to his eventual victory, the simple, yet elegant, Qd3. And by the looks of the opponent, he had come to this realization as well. Charles was a few moves away from becoming the Chess World Champion, a goal he had aspired for since his youth.
The grin on his face becoming wider, he moved his hands towards the Black Queen piece in front of him. The moment he touched the piece, however, he started to feel the sensation he dreaded oh so much.
"Oh, for fucks sake, not now," he thought to himself, the panic rising. "Please, what did I ever do to deserve this. I mean I know torrenting that one Teletubbies Epi-," and before his thought was finished, he vanished from the stage, just like that, leaving his opponent, and the audience, bewildered.
Moments after he left the stage, he started to materialize in an all too familiar room, surrounded with a bunch of kids and their parents. Everyone gazed in awe, some mouths gaping wide open, as they saw the fully suited up Charles pop into existence, seemingly out of nowhere.
Little Johnny tugged at his mom's collar, "Mommy, is that what they call a real magician?" Naturally, Johnny's mom was too awestruck to respond, her eyes fixated on the rather dashing Charles.
Charles body started to heat up, and he was blushing wildly, "Uh, hello everyone. I assure you, this is not what it looks like." He started to scan the room quickly, and saw Lana standing in front of the sliding door that lead out. Making his way briskly towards her, brushing past the crowd of startled parents and kids, he gently grabbed her by the shoulder, and took her outside. But not before giving his best fake smile to everyone inside, "Ladies and Gentlemen, that has been the surprise act for the day, please enjoy the rest of the show. Making a swift motion with his hands, he bowed down, his toupee falling off and falling right into his hands.
"And yet, another part of the act, the disappearing hair act," Charles lamented, gritting his teeth together, knowing what he said made absolutely no sense. He heard a few laughs from the parents and kids alike, before shutting the door behind him. While adjusting his toupee, he glared at Lana, who was shifting her feet uncomfortably, staring at the grass surface beneath her newly bought red Nike Shoes, complimenting her freshly dyed Scarlet Red hair.
"My God, woman, what is it now? I don't see a single thing that could be possibly be wrong," Charles bellowed, his arms flailing wildly, "Do you realize where I was before this?" With a loud stomp of his foot, he continued his onslaught of words, "I was this close," his index and thumb finger a hairs width apart, "This fucking close to winning the World Chess Cham-"
"I, uh, need help with this new game I'm playing," Lana muttered, bringing her iPhone up to Charles' face.
"What."
"I can't progress, and I'm really frustrated because this one player keeps kicking my ass."
Charles jaw dropped, and using every last bit of his remaining energy from collapsing, he whispered, "... The Legend 27?" | A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..." | 2017-03-22T15:15:54 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 135 | 19 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | Each lifetime seemed to me only a moment. I had always forcefully forged a path, etching my name in the memories of past world's inhabitants to be passed on for eternities to come.
I have been here a thousand times before. That short and sweet gift of existence, the driving hunger and motivation to succeed, to change humanity for the better, always somehow brings me back. Driving the world forward, for better or worse. I have always believed this my burden to bear, my cross to carry.
This is my last chance, and now I must decide.
33 Years Later:
My fingers drift through soft, strawberry curls. The weight of her head rests on my shoulder, her small body nestled in close to me. Here, now. This is where I want to stay forever.
Thirty three years ago, I realized how I had failed every time before. Forcing my presence on the world, exhaustively exerting all energy in the hopes that my actions would provide a direction for the rest of His creation. How selfish I had been. How vain.
This time, I dedicated my life to the life of someone else. In this life, I have not forced my presence on the world. I have not attempted to move mountains. My life has been and will be dedicated to this beautiful being, this innocent child.
I will show her the wonder of the world, convey to her the preciousness of its existence and the preciousness of all life residing here.
This time, I will live history and not become it. This time, my contribution to the world will be her. Her laughter, her love, her curiosity, her joy. Her light.
This time, I became a father. | "Well, looks like you're back again. Where are you going to now?" the angel asked. It didn't look like he was impressed with my achievements as a rebellion leader in the 28th century. In fact, he looked at me like this is the billionth time I was here, just like the question he asked had implied. However, I couldn't recall actually being here. Hell, I didn't even know my cause of death. "What are you talking about? Have I died before? How did I die?" I asked. "You... You don't know? I need to consult an archangel about this." was the response from the now slightly stressed-looking angel. He rushed off to somewhere, leaving me in the seemingly sterile environment that consisted mostly of clouds, with small rooms of marble here and there. The angel came back eventually, accompanied by an armed and armoured man, presumably the archangel he was talking about before. "This is the one, sir, the one that cannot recall his past lives or cause of death." he said, referring to me. The archangel was seemingly taken aback by my presence, as he drew his weapon and plunged it into the ground, probably to intimidate me. It didn't work, I had seen much more intimidating foes as a rebel leader. "So, you don't know who you were?" he inquired, almost as if he didn't believe me. "Well, I know I was named Sir Satan during my life," I replied, "nobody knows what my birth name was, as it was lost to time when Imperial Intelligence captured me."
The angel and what I assumed was his superior retreated to a door that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Speaking of things suddenly spawning, a number of other spirits were starting to rise from the ground. They look oddly familiar, yet I do not recognise them. While I tried to figure out who they were, the heavenly beings returned. They told me, "Well, after some rather intense discussing with the other angels, some saints and even God himself, we have decided to tell you.
In multiple lifetimes, you have aspired to take over the world, exterminate the human race as well as other races, and actually blew up a planet. You've gone into history as some of the worst people imaginable. Do the names Adolf Hitler, Genghis Khan, Q'im Juah, and Joseph Stalin ring a bell?". I nodded. The spirits that rose around me started to become less obscured, and the facial features of the men he mentioned started to become visible. "You're going to get one last chance. If you don't get into heaven then, you're going to rot in hell for eternity, at the command of the man you pretended to be in your last life. Do you understand, and accept this chance?"
> *My first submission. Feedback would be much appreciated.* | 2017-03-31T12:19:09 | 2017-03-31T11:14:34 | 92 | 13 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right. | "Really, again?"
"I mean, it could have been worse, right?" I sigh and scratch the back of my head.
"Six million jews," god's brow furrows and his glare pierces my soul, "six million of them."
I cross my arms and scowl right back at him. "They were causing an economic decline in Germany."
"They were my children."
I roll my eyes. "Yeah so were the dinosaurs until you dropped a special little birthday present on the-"
"SHUT UP!" Gods thunderous voice booms throughout the heavens, knocking me on to my ass. "Listen to me, and listen well. I am a merciful and all loving god, and thus I have decided to give you one last chance." He leans in closer, his giant all seeing eye intently focused on my mortal body. "If you mess this one up, it's all over. I can no longer keep you from the grasps of Satan, you understand me?"
I get to my feet and brush the dirt off myself, fixing my shirt. "I will do my best on this one, you have my word."
Gods face contorts, clearly not believing me. "I'm doing this because I love you, you understand that, right?"
"Oh jesus, don't get all mushy on me."
"You leave Jesus out of this."
"Fuck, just send me back already won't you?"
With a sigh god nods, raising his mighty fist above me. With a roar it hurtles down at me, my world fading to black just before it smashes into me.
My eyes blink open to a blinding light. Struggling to see I blink again, a giant masked face appearing before me. " A beautiful little boy," a gloved hand runs over my baby smooth head, "what will you name him?"
"Donald J. Trump." | "Well, looks like you're back again. Where are you going to now?" the angel asked. It didn't look like he was impressed with my achievements as a rebellion leader in the 28th century. In fact, he looked at me like this is the billionth time I was here, just like the question he asked had implied. However, I couldn't recall actually being here. Hell, I didn't even know my cause of death. "What are you talking about? Have I died before? How did I die?" I asked. "You... You don't know? I need to consult an archangel about this." was the response from the now slightly stressed-looking angel. He rushed off to somewhere, leaving me in the seemingly sterile environment that consisted mostly of clouds, with small rooms of marble here and there. The angel came back eventually, accompanied by an armed and armoured man, presumably the archangel he was talking about before. "This is the one, sir, the one that cannot recall his past lives or cause of death." he said, referring to me. The archangel was seemingly taken aback by my presence, as he drew his weapon and plunged it into the ground, probably to intimidate me. It didn't work, I had seen much more intimidating foes as a rebel leader. "So, you don't know who you were?" he inquired, almost as if he didn't believe me. "Well, I know I was named Sir Satan during my life," I replied, "nobody knows what my birth name was, as it was lost to time when Imperial Intelligence captured me."
The angel and what I assumed was his superior retreated to a door that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Speaking of things suddenly spawning, a number of other spirits were starting to rise from the ground. They look oddly familiar, yet I do not recognise them. While I tried to figure out who they were, the heavenly beings returned. They told me, "Well, after some rather intense discussing with the other angels, some saints and even God himself, we have decided to tell you.
In multiple lifetimes, you have aspired to take over the world, exterminate the human race as well as other races, and actually blew up a planet. You've gone into history as some of the worst people imaginable. Do the names Adolf Hitler, Genghis Khan, Q'im Juah, and Joseph Stalin ring a bell?". I nodded. The spirits that rose around me started to become less obscured, and the facial features of the men he mentioned started to become visible. "You're going to get one last chance. If you don't get into heaven then, you're going to rot in hell for eternity, at the command of the man you pretended to be in your last life. Do you understand, and accept this chance?"
> *My first submission. Feedback would be much appreciated.* | 2017-03-31T16:05:42 | 2017-03-31T11:14:34 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] A demon decides to haunt an old lady, but when he arrives he is mistaken for somebody else. Now it's been seven years, and they are best friends. | Her liver-speckled hands were so wrinkled that the skin looked a little like rolled up carpets. BeezellGrub tenderly cupped one of her tiny hands between his great, spiked palms. He was even more gentle than usual.
"I'm so glad I met you, Beety," the elderly woman said. "In the last few months, you've been like the moon to me - a comforting beacon amidst the deepening darkness. But even the moon must set and the day must come."
Her hand was trembling. Or perhaps it was his. He did not want his moon to lay her head on a pillow. He did not want to see the day that must surely follow.
"Don't be scared, Eleanor," his voice was a deep rumble, like far away thunder. He would be strong for her. "You're a kind person. What lies ahead will be good to you. I've never met someone as kind as you."
He had never meant to *like* the lady; he had been sent to haunt her because of a house she'd purchased seven years ago. Built on an ancient burial site, it had a certain demonic pedigree and he'd been sent to utilise it. But the haunting had not gone to plan: the kooky old lady talked back to the menacing voices in the night; she cleaned up the thick blood that ran down the walls and onto the kitchen floor. When he had jumped out of a closet with fangs bared, in a final attempt to terrorize her, she had offered him cookies and a cup of tea. Depressed about the haunting, he'd accepted and they got talking.
They found they had a lot in common and soon he visited simply for the chats. It was nice for him to have someone to talk to.
She had taken him to the country fair when it visited; he'd never been before and came back with both a broad smile, and a teddy-bear from the coconut shy. He only took the teddy-bear to make Eleanor happy. In turn, he'd taken her Go-Carting; although she'd never gone much faster than he could walk, she had never stopped laughing.
When she got ill - when cancer, a demon far worse than he'd ever been, took hold - he had helped to look after her. He took her to the hospital for her appointments, made her food, changed her bedpan and carried out a thousand other tiny tasks. He didn't mind. He wanted his friend to be happy. To stay.
"Beety, I'm not scared," she replied weakly, "Don't you be. You won't be alone - I'll always be in your heart. You know, you've been the best friend I could ever have asked for. Since Peter died, I'd been so alone... until you were there."
BeezellGrub's lips began to tremble; his red eyes began to pool with molten fire, and tiny tears of flame trickled down his cheeks. "You wouldn't want to be friends if you knew what I really was," he confessed. "What... I've done."
Eleanor smiled softly, and with much effort squeezed his great hand. "I know what you are, Beety. I've always known. But **what** you are doesn't make you **who** you are. Besides," she said, smiling softly, "You've always been good, to me."
He held her hand all that night, until her arm became limp and her head fell softly back onto the pillow. He lay a golden teddy-bear by her side and drew the blanket up to her neck. "I kept it," he said quietly.
He leant over and kissed her on the forehead.
For the first time in a long time, she looked at peace.
---
more of my stories on /r/nickofnight | Azinox crept forward to the foot of the bed. His clawed toes dug into the thick carpet, every muscle in his body tense like a loaded spring.
"Andy? Is that you?" Mrs. Garner asked fumbling for her glasses in the dark. Her gnarled, arthritic fingers found the thin gold chain connecting the earpieces of her thick rimmed glasses and fit them over her face. Nearly knocking the lamp off of the night stand she found the draw string and pulled.
Azinox shielded his eyes from the light and backed up a few feet.
"Andy! It is you! What are you doing in here so late?" She asked.
"Come closer and let your Grandma get a better look at you. It's been so long."
Azinox looked over his shoulder making sure that he was the only person in the room with the old woman.
"Don't keep an old lady waiting. Who knows how much time I have left," she said with a quiet sigh.
Azinox let out a small groan and shuffled forward into the light.
"You've grown so big! I remember when you were just this high," she held her hand low over the side of the bed. He scratched his head in between the long curling horns.
"You look absolutely famished. Let me fix you something to eat," she said with a broad smile and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She shrugged into her pale pink fluffly robe and shuffled past Azinox patting him on his red scaly arm.
His stomach rumbled at the thought of food, so he simply shrugged and followed her into the kitchen. The place was like a time capsule. A stove from the mid nineties dominated the wall next to a blue kitchen sink and a matching blue refrigerator.
Mrs. Garner hummed to herself and rifled the antique fridge and found the meatloaf she had cooked herself earlier.
"It's just so nice to be able to cook for other people! I don't know how to only make a meal for myself, just too used to making them for two," she said wistfully.
"Take a seat," she said when she realized Azinox was standing in the center of the kitchen. She nearly pushed him to the dining table and then retrieved a glass of milk for him.
The meatloaf went into the oven and after a few minutes it came out piping hot and delicious. She cut a large piece off and delicately set it onto a plate, then placed it in front of Azinox.
"I expect you to eat every bite and tell me all about what you have been up to," she sat down across from him.
"Uh, well, you see . . . " he trailed off.
"Don't be shy are you still working at that cable company?"
"No, I've started my own . . . business. Nothing as awful a cable company."
They spoke long into the night, had another large heaping of meatloaf and a few more glasses of milk. That was the beginning of a friendship that Azinox had not been expecting.
Now, seven years later he sits at her bedside in the hospital. A machine slowly beeping as her heart grows weaker with each passing second.
"Andy? Are you there?" She asked weakly.
"Of course I am," he said squeezing her hand gently.
"Will I ever see you again?"
"Of course you will. I will always be around," he said as a lone tear tracked down his face.
"I'm glad . . . " her voice trailed off as the machine played a steady somber tone.
For the first time that Azinox could recall, he wept. He cried like a child, he poured his heart out over the still body of Mrs. Garner. A hand gripped his shoulder gently pulling his attention away from Mrs. Garner.
"It's been a long time Azinox," a strong voice said from behind him.
"Yes it has Gariel," Azinox sniffed.
"We have been watching you and Mrs. Garner these last few years. And a decision has been made. If you would like to join her. You may."
Azinox froze. He was allowed to return?
"I would like nothing more than that," Azinox said wiping the remaining tears from his eyes.
"Welcome home," Gariel said as a beam of light shot through the ceiling of the hospital. It illuminated Mrs. Garner and Azinox. He felt weightless as he was slowly being pulled toward the light. A translucent Mrs. Garner rose out of her body and drifted higher in the beam of light.
Azinox reached out and pulled her hand into his. They shared a smile as they rose into the bright blue sky.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2017-04-27T06:02:43 | 2017-04-27T05:55:22 | 172 | 18 |
[WP] After decades of deep space travel, you arrive at the planet you came to colonize only to be greeted by humans...from Earth! During your trip, mankind invented much faster space travel and this crew arrived 50 years earlier. Your mission was pointless and now you must assimilate... | We woke out of cyro about two days before we'd get to Proxima. It would take that long to get the computers booted and test the landers we'd sent in advance. It didn't work out that way. Five minutes after we'd had the chance to use the head, the radios chirped to life.
"Gingerbread Man, this is Proxima Control. Spin down colony pods, we're already here. Authourization sequence is Alpha Seven Foxtrot ... "
Cheers broke out. It was a risk we knew would happen. We'd get faster tech, we'd have a miracle breakthrough, something. Laughter followed the cheering. Air, food, water, shelter. They were there and set up for us already. The hard work was done.
We set down in a clearing -- with autocontrols! -- and were met by dozen people. Robots set to work dismantling the ship almost immediately. Late or not, our supplies would be incredibly useful.
A man with rough hands and a clean jumper shook hands with the *Gingerbread* crew. 50 years of sleep was more than I'll get for the rest of my life. What about the robots, I wondered. "Call me Kris. We're just waiting on one more person, got a Dirac burst about five minutes ago. Ah, there."
He pointed skyward and we saw it. A ridiculously sleek pod landed silently and a half dozen people disembarked. Their uniforms were bright and made the Proxima outfits look old-fashioned.
"Jane Smith, " she said, extending a hand, "President of the Human Federation. Obviously you're Glen, you and your crew are heroes."
"Sorry I'm late, I got here as fast as I could." | — Groveling at dirt.
The azure sky hung high, full of life as if mocking our failure. The scorn and malice on their faces was enough to send the captain into a frenzy of rage and inevitably earned us this pathetic position, unable to do as much as glance at what was supposedly 'our' new world.
“—Damnit.” I heard the sound of clanging chains beside me and turned my head to be faced with the pathetic sight of our captain.
I sighed. My arms were tired and feet bruised, but our labor was yet to come to an end. Fortunately there was water in overflow, supposedly to keep us going.
”Cap'n, let's keep a clear head.” I said. He laughed in response, blazing eyes turning my way.
“Hana,“ he paused. “Look around you. This isn't our world anymore; we're people here. Peasants.” Scorn laced his tone. Can't blame him. They forced us into labor.
Can't blame them either.
Inevitably, we'd have to work nonetheless. Especially after Beowulf refused all hospitality and denied the entire crew a position at the head.
The blame didn't only fall on him but for the time being their anger had no other outlet.
Pride, I supposed.
“Could've kept it down,” I snapped out of my thoughts and sat on the edge, feet dangling in the water. “Can't all be winners, but I'd much rather have a position at the front. Fresh air feels good, but suffocating when your entire day is spent in it.”
Truth is, many of our own regarded a position at the front as treason while others happily took the opportunity. It was a silent war, even if our efforts were acknowledged— and mocked.
“Go on. I cant prevent you from taking action to better your own life.” The cool undertone in his voice only fed my uneasiness.
Humans, though regarded as united, stood on two sides. We've waged war amongst ourselves more than any known species to this date.
So much for the 'united' race.
”...That's no good,” I told myself, shaking my head. ”Natalie passed yesterday. Wouldn't want to undergo the same fate. To them, while we are explores, we're primitive. Too bad.“ I leaned back, resting on my arms but careful not to fall in the water.
“The mission they've sent us on,” Beowulf spoke, in thought. “To send others. What was the point of that?” I turned. He had a point. Why send people on the exact mission we were sent on? That only made this matter more suspicious than anything.
“...What... are you suggesting?” I hoped he had a better idea than mine.
I prayed he did.
“Our replacements.” A grim thought. He sneered. ”They never expected us to succeed in the first place.” | 2017-05-30T04:50:33 | 2017-05-30T03:08:01 | 73 | 24 |
[WP] You join the military, you are placed in the gardeners program. You garden in exotic places where the military has done operations, each time they give special glasses and forbid spraying others. One day your glasses fall off and you see you are actually burning corpses with a flamethrower. | It all happened 40 years ago.
Deep into my early 60s my memory fades day by day. But, I'll never forget that moment 40 years ago.
That moment was when life turned to death, the sweet scents turned to carrion stenches, the hallucinated utopia turned to a burning reality and when my innocence turned to corruption.
They say forgive but never forget.
I did neither.
You know what I did?
You'll know soon enough.
They're coming.
I know it.
A knock on the door.
"Open up,' the man said,"it's the police."
Here they are. What took them so long? Do they know how 40 years even feel like? 40 years of pain, 40 years of sadness, 40 years of solitude and what else?
Oh! 40 years of flashbacks.
I wore my strong perfume over my turpentine drenched tuxedo and took my favorite lighter.
From how many years ago that lighter was from?
You guessed it!
40.
A pattern is emerging here. You see it right? They saw it too.
The knocks started to get stronger, then they became pounding, later on hammering, then it was bashing and suddenly it stopped.
I could hear a thump and knew they kicked it down.
3 in their blue uniform and all well dressed, as I am, for the death upon them.
"Magnus, you are under arrest for the murder of a number of people and for arson of dozens of houses more," the most senior of them proclaimed.
I took out my lighter.
"Sir, I demand you to drop that lighter and lay down on the ground with your hands on your head or you will force me to shoot."
Little did they know my house was filled with turpentine too.
"I am warning you sir."
I flicked open the weapon and aroused the flame.
"I'm going you one last chance sir."
You should've killed me earlier. | I hadn’t long been deployed, but already I began to find myself lost in amongst my comrades. They followed instructions to the letter, asked no questions, made no comments about the day’s work. We met every morning; listen to the same brief, from the same man and being handed the same suit and the same goggles. I had joined the army after a long stint in the police force, wanted to do my bit and serve my country, but I had no idea why I was a gardener with a gun. I looked down at the googles which seemed to be the most advance bit of tech on the base, the lightweight material which made them was a feint shade of orange and odd thin tendrils of lights occasionally pulsed across each lens. I looked up at my platoon, watched them place their goggles on obediently, like drones just ready to work. With a sigh I followed suit – this is not what signed up for.
The plants we were clearing out smelt fowl, so I assume that’s why we had been asked to do it. The mountainous regions here were full of odd wildlife, and these plants were no different. There was another team attached to us (pest control), who made sure none of the animals interfered with our work. I don’t blame the critters, we were getting rid of their habitat and spraying dangerous chemicals everywhere – it couldn’t have been a nice place to live.
Today a plant took my fancy. I squinted through the goggles to take a better look; the tint caused a loss of clarity which didn’t really both us day to day as our spray guns had a pretty wide range. The smell as I leant forward was nothing like I had experienced before; an acidic barbeque is the only appropriate way to describe it. I felt my googles slip on my nose, but was too slow in bringing my shoulder up to bump them back. They clattered to the floor, which was a noise my ears weren’t really anticipating due to the fact we were in a lush rainforest. Then again…what my eyes saw though the smoke was also not what I was anticipating. I stood there, dumbfounded, as my brain tried to make sense of what was happening.
There was no forest. No plants. No animals. Only bodies, twisted around each other like the roots of an old tree. Some still writhed. Others lay completely still. Each one decorated with an array of bullet wounds. I looked down to my hands- a flamethrower. Our respirators must have kept all the smoke away from our lungs because the air was heavy with it. I looked back at my comrades, not one had noticed my stopping… they continued in their perfect precision to torch the victims of war. The scene was oddly poetic to me. I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around, one of the pest control guys was pointing at my goggles. I shifted my weight and brought my flamethrower up, a crooked smile on my lips. “Now this is what I signed up for.”
| 2017-06-20T03:39:12 | 2017-06-20T03:02:24 | 33 | 17 |
[WP]: You find yourself in a dark room, standing in the middle of a pentagram. On each corner is your favourite meal, your favourite drink, some insence, a religious item and the tools of your favourite hobby. Around you are teenagers, all shocked that they actually managed to summon you. | “Ave Imperator!”
Those were words I heard as I appeared in a dark room in a puff of steam, that smelled sickly sweet, like bubblegum.
Looking around I saw 5 teens, standing at the points of a crude chalk pentagram. Each stood looking agape at me, with a mix of shock and revulsion on their faces - nothing out of the ordinary for me of course.
At the feet of the first teen sat a monster share bag of extra dusty Cheetos. “Only one?” I asked disheartened, “that’s not going to last long.”. With that I ripped open the bag and grabbed a handful of the chips, stuffing them into my cavernous maw.
Turning to the second I saw a 2 litre bottle of Mountain Dew in front of him. Without even speaking I downed the entire bottle in 1 go then belched so loudly the weakling almost collapsed at my feet.
The next I saw was a female, kneeling as she should before someone as grand as myself. She was frantically lighting more incense sticks but even with the faggot she already had smouldering I could see her struggle to remain composed as my aroma overwhelmed her weak senses.
As I turned to the next my eyes lit up; in his hands was a treasure beyond compare; the newest of the 8th codexes - collectors edition obviously - unopened and untouched.
I seized my prize from the boy, he was unworthy to hold such an item. Clawing off the cellophane I frantically devoured the text, the cheese on my fingers staining the cover as I sought the cheese within.
Turning to the last, clearly the alpha male by his excellent fashion sense; a *Kidomo no Jikan* tshirt and a fine beard under his chin. In his hands he held the entire Citadel range, each pot pristine and ready for me to use to create my pro level masterpieces.
“Michael” whispered one of the boys behind me, “I can’t believe we did it.”
Looking behind the leader I saw the table, arrayed with rows of colourfully painted figurines. “Ah!” I exclaimed walking over “so you are masters of strategic warfare too!”
I picked one of the figures up, my fingers pressed firmly into the chest of the model “White Scars Primaris, hardly an optimum list. So easily countered by a genius such as myself”.
“Michael, seriously. What have we done?”
“So...” I asked, turning to the men before me - the female had no place in this arena. “Which of you will face me first?”
The leader turned to his lessers, a look of pure glee on his face. “We did it!”
I lifted a carry case from the floor and began to set my army before me on the table “I’m running a easy list; just a combined force of Iron hands led by a chapter master on a bike, Guilliman’s elite guard and an armoured column of Vostroyans.”
Behind me Michaels smile got wider still. “We’ve summoned *that guy!*”.
— | Dave’s attic that night was riddled with malicious intent. The three boys threw their loot on the round rug in the middle of the attic. Dave himself immediately got to work boarding up the large window above his bedside. Nails in his mouth and hammer at his side the sound of work soon proceeded him.
Andy adjusted his glasses and eyed the small attic precariously. He examined the floor and sized up the distance between the bedside and the wall. The measurements had to be exact to create the perfect Hex Circle. His school bag hung loosely on the side of his shoulder. He reached in and pulled out a set of red crayons, texters and markers. Like a physicist to a theory; Andy began to scribble on the floor madly.
Bobby felt anxious. He stood beside the wall and watched his friends work around him. He couldn’t help but feel this was a bad idea. They’d been obsessing over this ever since they found that book in the highest floor in Albwich Library. It was in the adult section covered in dust. Think about the health risk. That should have been warning enough to stay away. But they didn’t listen to Bobby. Because no one ever listens to Bobby. But, bad things were going to happen if they summoned that thing here. Bad things always happen to children who can’t follow rules.
Dave was finished boarding up the window and scrambled to light the candles he brought from the thrift shop down the road. He placed each candle were Andy had marked it just like the book said. He quite admired his handy work. But, as the darkened room began to glow a malevolent red he felt a growing anticipation in his gut, *what if it worked?*
“Yo, faggots,” Dave said, “Our bet still on?”
“A bet needs to have at least two willing participants.”
“I got two willing participants right here,” Dave said, with his hands in his pants.
“This book is full of illogical fallacies.” Andy said reading the text, “…and that’s disgusting.”
“This is a bad idea, guys,” Bobby said, standing near the door.
“The only bad idea was when your mum didn’t swallow.” Dave continued
“Shutup.”
“Relax, Bobby, I’m joking,” Dave said, “We’ll finish this before my dad gets home and everything we’ll be Gucci.”
“Well, it’s done,” Andy said, “So, let’s get started.”
The three boys sat in their designated circles. Andy took centre stage and began the incantation. He read the words in the book as best as he could but it was clear he lacked proper pronunciations of the ancient language. But, before he could finish the room exploded in a fury of dust and ash. The three boys coughed and wheezed and looked around in a state of panic.
It wasn’t long before the three boys realized there was a fourth. It stood in the middle of the Hex Circle. It was nothing more than floating darkness with two catlike eyes that snapped opened for the first time in centuries. Fear coursed through their bodies and for a short time, neither of them spoke.
So, it spoke for them. “Speak thy names,” It said, “Three summoned the One and thus three names must be given.”
“What. The. F * * K.” Dave was the first to speak. “What the F * * K is this.”
The other two remained silent. Andy had fallen to his knees and stared endlessly at the catlike sharp eyes that masked unknown intellect.
Bobby hid inside his clothes and refused to look. He shook and tightened his muscles as he cowered in his fetal position.
“One.” It said, “There can only be one to seek this ultimate power. Only one can claim it and all others must die.”
“Shutup!” Dave said.
“This is impossible.”
“Help me, guys.”
“Only one can live, only one can survive and only one can have my power. Step outside the Hex-Circle and claim your prize."
It said, with eyes glowing with malice.
.
.
**Got a little long I'll leave this as part One** | 2017-10-08T13:08:12 | 2017-10-08T07:24:17 | 85 | 12 |
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting. | I scooped up my books from my desk when the bell rang and whisked into the hall. Maybe if I played it right, I could-
"Oof." I bumped into someone, dropping a book in the process. I watched as he leaned down to pick it up, handing it to me with a handsome smile.
"I think you'll need this," he said warmly. "I don't think we've met, I'm new h-"
"Yeah that's great thanks," I said hurriedly, shoving past him to get to my locker. Last class meant I could get home fast, lock myself in my room and avoid-
"There you are!" Cried Hayden, sidling up next to me. I groaned. "Matt is looking for you-"
"There you are," Matt said on cue, appearing at my other side. I rushed to put in my locker code, messing it up twice. "Drama club needs its sets painted by the end of the day today." He pushed his glasses up his nose, obscuring the view of his face for a moment. "We really should have planned the schedule out better..."
"Sorry, gotta go!" I shouted, throwing my books in the locker and slamming the door.
"Cherry-Senpai!!" An underclassman ran up to me, her eyes bright and chest heaving. "You won't believe this-"
"For the last time, we live in Wisconsin, stop calling me *senpai*." I pushed her aside. "And my name isn't Cherry."
"But Senpai, the town hall is being attacked by-!"
"I don't care!" I raged, pushing myself out the school doors and running down the steps, nearly throwing myself into traffic.
"Hey, long time no see." My heart nearly stopped when I saw him; dark hair that swooped across his forehead, bright eyes that examined me. I hadn't seen Jeff in nearly a week - since I had dyed my hair and everything went to shit. "What happened to your hair?"
"Long story." My stomach jumped when he reached out to touch it, and I felt my knees buckle under the warmth of his hand.
"I like it," he said, a wicked smile playing on his lips.
I bit my lip, considering. Should I tell him? Was now the time to confess my feelings?
An explosion rang in the distance. I could feel the force of it even from where we stood. I stumbled, and Jeff caught me between his hands.
"What the-?"
I groaned, remembering the underclassman. "I gotta go." I turned from him and began running in the direction of the explosion.
"Wait! You shouldn't-"
I stopped and turned back, grinning at him from over my shoulder. My pink hair fluttered softly in the warm breeze. "Trust me. It doesn't get interesting until I show up." And I went. | *Main Character Syndrome* Jacques pondered. The day had been very hard to remember, as if entire chunks of the day were just... gone.
“Jac!” A voice distantly called out. “Jac!”
Suddenly, Jacques was jerked out of his trance-like state. “Jac! What the hell dude? You gonna play some dodgeball or what?” It was Christian, Jacques’s long-time friend of... who knows how long.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just zoned out.” replied Jacques, getting off the bench and lining up for the game of dodgeball.
As he lined up on the orange baseline of the basketball court, he looked to his left, then to his right, noticing that his team was stacked with typical high school nerds. When he looked across the court, the opposing team seemed to be comprised of the biggest jocks in school. Time seemed to slow, every tick of the clock seemed to boom across the gym. The coach’s whistle blew, and the game was on.
He rushed to mid-court, noticing that four enemy players had reached the line of dodgeballs, while the only other player who rushed mid-court on Jacques’s team was Christian. Time slowed even further, and the light began to dim. The four enemy players were highlighted by Jacques’s suddenly heightened instincts and athletic ability.
*Four players. Three to my right, one to my left. If I’m not mistaken, the one on my left will immediately pick up two balls and throw one at me, the ones on my right will supply balls to their team.* Jacques couldn’t be any more correct, from his left, a dodgeball came whirling at him, which he caught, spun around, threw, and hit one of the players to his right. He then began throwing as many balls as he could behind him to his team, and retreated.
His team was easily picked off, one by one, taking on the enemy team by themselves.
Alas, there were five players left on the court. The three jocks from the beginning of the game, then there was Jacques and Christian.
“What’re you waiting for, pansy?” Taunted one of the enemy players. Jacques chucked a ball at him, and nailed him in his shoulder. Infuriated, one of the jocks hurled a ball at Jacques. Jacques dodged the ball, without realizing Christian was right behind him, unaware of the oncoming ball.
“No!” Screamed Jacques, as the ball hit Christian in his face in slow motion. The coach’s whistle blew as Christian fell to the ground from the force of the ball, while the other team celebrated.
“Hey man, you’re going to be okay. It’s alright.” Jacques soothed as he held Christian in his arms. Christian’s right eye was quickly swelling.
“Win this for us.” Christian whispered, clearly still dazed from the hit.
Coach came running to Christian’s aid, but it was obvious. It was too late for Christian, he had to be escorted off the court.
“You’ll pay for that!” Jacques yelled as he got up.
The enemy team paled in fear. Jacques stood in such a way that his muscles seemed to bulge more, and grew taller. “Nobody hurts my friends!”
As soon as play resumed, Jacques threw a ball straight into the air. The two opposing players confused, stared at the airborne ball, while Jacques retrieved a ball from mid-court and slung it at the unsuspecting jock. Shocked, the remaining jock who was not hit by the ball looked at his now fallen teammate, unaware that Jacques had just caught the ball that was once airborne, and was cocking back his arm to throw.
Last second, the last remaining enemy player managed to turn towards the ball, just in time to see it right before he was pelted in the face. Game over.
Jacques stood there, triumphant, a fist in the air, while his team rushed to celebrate.
— | 2017-10-18T13:03:37 | 2017-10-18T12:46:34 | 29 | 18 |
[WP] Every "walks into a bar" joke occurs in a single bar. You're the bartender and your shift just started. | When the group of loud blond women had walked in and claimed a booth, Greg had idly thought it was probably time for a bachelorette party or a girls' night out.
When a group of religious leaders had strolled through and gathered at the bar, he had wondered—a little more actively—if he had ever actually seen any such persons in his bar before. If he had, he couldn't remember. He served their drinks and continued to clean and straighten his surroundings, talking to his usual patrons.
When a group of plaid-clad individuals walked in talking about their individual theories on science and math and other things Greg didn't really understand, he started to get a little bit suspicious. A frown settled itself into the lines of his face and tugged downward at his mouth. He cleaned a little more rigidly.
It was when the horse walked in that Greg got pissed.
"So, I guess I'm supposed to ask, 'Why the long face now?' Is that right?" Greg screamed at the horse. He threw his towel down and put his hands on his hips.
The hum of the bar abruptly stopped.
"Um, son, horses can't talk," the Rabbi in the corner told him gently.
The group of blond women murmured in agreement and the scientists all nodded enthusiastically.
"That said," one scientist spoke up, "it is quite dangerous to be in a bar with a horse. Shall we go?"
The people all gathered their things and left, emptying the bar but for Greg and the horse.
"Well, that sucks," Greg said.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sad about it," the horse whispered.
-------
If you enjoyed this nonsensical story, check out more nonsense as well as details about my new novella over at /r/AlexLoganWriting! | As I arrived, the usuals sat at the bar, sipping their water downed whiskey and watching an old playoff game hoping for a different ending never to come. I topped off whiskey, rum and cokes, and opened a couple more beers. To be honest, I wasn't in a great mood, but I thought he day was looking up when a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead walked into the place, unusual but not unheard of. My urge to say something witty had to be buried deep down. They ordered their drinks, martinis. When they finished their drinks, they left me a generous tip and left never to return. Then, things started to get weird.
A rabbi, a priest, and an another person walked in and ordered beers. As I slid their brews down to them, I knew had to say something.
"You an atheist?" I said to the odd man out.
"No! A retired pastor, jerk."
They all stormed out of there. No tip for me either. Fair enough, I guess.
Then, the impossible happened. A horse walked into the bar. It didn't say a word, but I had to say it. I had to.
"Why the long face?"
It made me chuckle when I noticed that it wore a saddle and reins. An officer barged into the bar, red in the face. Grabbing the horse by the reins, he apologized and stepped back outside.
Then, things got really weird. Something I had never seen before came in.
"What the hell are you?" I asked.
"A neutron."
"Alright, what'll you have?"
"A screwdriver."
I made it and set in front of this thing.
"What do I owe you?" It asked.
I stared at it dumbstruck. "Umm, that'll be..."
"No charge?"
"No, $6.50."
Then, it got weirder I tell you. Another man walked into the bar and asked one question to a woman, beautiful and blonde.
"So, do I come here often?"
This woman stared at him.
"Dad? How did you get out of the nursing home?"
She grabbed him and looked right at me as they left: "Alzheimer's."
As my shift ended and the bar cleared out, one more person showed up. He walked in, and I immediately said "We don't serve your kind in here?"
And he looked back at me and said the strangest thing: "How did you know I was a time traveler?"
"Umm...your hair."
Truth be told, I didn't. I was tired of all the BS. Honest.
I closed up early that night.
***
If you enjoyed this story, please subscribe to r/nickkuvaas for more stories. | 2018-01-31T18:50:47 | 2018-01-31T18:46:27 | 1,898 | 32 |
[WP] You get invited by an eccentric classmate to join the "Conquest Club." You think it may be a video or board gaming club, and decide to check it out. During your first meeting you realize the group is actually planning to conquer the world, and somehow, they seem to have the resources to do it. | The club was an oddity.
Its room was set in one of the constructed areas of the the school, marked with yellow tape with a big “KEEP OUT” sign.
At least, that’s what it looked like.
Kevin, the person who introduced me to the club, laughed at my puzzlement. He was dressed, as always, in formal attire. While outwardly a frat boy, he was no such thing once you got to know him. He rarely attended the parties, preferring the fraternity’s business occasions.
“Do not worry. You shall see.”
I walked past the yellow tape, opened the door, and saw a small bookshelf with a piano. Kevin stride up, pressed the G key three times and the E flat key once, and the shelf swiveled open.
A passageway, with a small cart on a track.
We climbed on, and the scene unfolded before me. An enormous portal opened out of thin air, and beyond was what could only be described as the modern version of Isengard.
Thousands of men, dressed in slacks, training on a battleground. An enormous base under construction, with a ring of shipyards. A single tower spiked into the sky, black like midnight, with a rainbow covered waterfall
“Welcome to the Conquest Club! I’m Silver, the Secretary General for the club, and ostensibly the club leader. However, you’ll find that each one of us has our own specialty. When we conquer the world, we will share in our glorious victory.”
He introduced me to a cast of people as quirky as Kevin, who turned out to be the personnel manager, with a perfect skill to mingle among the elite and the wealthy. It’s where he goes every Friday. There was Grima, the politician, whose ability to predict public responses and hack elections helped the club influence leaders worldwide. There was Manstein, the general, who was a brilliant tactician, a chess grandmaster, and a man with connections to paramilitary groups all over the world.
“Why me? Why am I picked to join this club?”
Silver pointed to the shipyards.
“Kevin saw your drawings. You’re an engineer, and an ambitious one at that. Don’t you want a chance to outshine Oppenheimer, Urza?”
Ah, those drawings. The ones detailing the Warp-Bomb, a device capable of leveling half a continent. The ones that called for a flying dreadnought, the Imperator-Weatherlight, bristling with planet range railguns and scores of killer drones. The Tide, the Grey Goo scenario that could destroy all opponents, and the Hades, a super virus capable of slicing through even the most stringent security systems.
I can do this here. All of it. I smiled at Silver, who grinned in return, and the light in our eyes reflected the fires of conquest and war.
“I’d be happy to join you. Let’s conquer the world.” | There were three other fellow students in the Conquest Club, which was located at the school's basement. However, I must confess, they were those *odd* students that weren't very talkative, and often huddled against the corners, as if hiding from the world.
I should've known this, given that Sara had been who invited me to the club, and she, although not shy, was eccentric to say the least. She enjoyed riddles, spent most of her time reading fantasy books, and I often wondered if that hadn't disturbed her view of reality, for she laughed at the birds, wrote poems about the moon, and believed words were magic.
Her oddities made her someone different, and her loving heart made her an exceptional being, although most didn't see her that way, and often rolled their eyes when she spoke her mind, which she did openly and shamelessly.
In time, I discovered the names of the other members were Brynn and Dave. At first, they'd eyed me with slight disdain, and a hint of fear. But Sarah explained that I was harmless and kind-hearted.
"So, Marcus, as you may not know, the Conquest Club is a secret organization I created," Sara said, the lights of the flickering lamplight casting shifting, winking shadows around her. "Our objective is one: to conquer the world."
My brows jerked into a knot. "To conquer the world you said? That's crazy Sarah."
"I told you he wouldn't understand," Brynn muttered, staring at the floor, feet swinging.
"Hush, Marcus, let me finish," Sarah said calmly, and smiled briefly at me. "Brynn and Dave's parents are quite... influential. I've talked to them personally, and they are more than interested on my project. They said they know other influential people willing to help our cause."
For a reason I didn't understand, the certainty and seriousness of her often joking voice send a shudder down my spine. "What's your cause?"
"Dave, would you care explaining it for us?"
Dave grunted in agreement, his mouth quivered. "S--see it-it's…I can't."
"You can do it," Brynn said, and placed a hand on Dave's back. head still downward, eyes set on the floor.
"We wantto brainwashevery person!" Dave said, the words pouring out her mouth, and drew a deep breath.
"What? That's awful!" I turned to Sarah. "Tell me this isn't true. People should not be brainwashed! They are free to think whatever they choose."
"Sorry, Marcus," she said, and let out a sigh. "It's not like that, David is not the best at explaining things. It was my mistake for pushing him. We simply want to change the way education works. We have been victims of bullying for being different and 'weird', and that is slowly leaving a scar on us. Some grow fearful, other anxious, and some escape to other worlds
"We want to create a different way of education in the schools, one of love and understanding. One where the kids are not afraid of exposing the problems in their homes, so they don't grow hateful."
"I see. It sounds beautiful, Sarah," I said and rubbed my chin. "But how are you going to change the problems in the troublesome kid's houses?"
"That's why we need investors mainly. We want to be able to send a guard or a psychologist to each house, to treat the problems, and if the cause is financial we want to be able to help them until they are established," Sarah continued. "Our way of conquering the world is by creating a better, more kind culture, and we believe the reason our culture is so broken is because those broken kids grew to be shattered adults and the shards are breaking their children, creating a loop."
"That's beautiful," I said, grinning. "And why am I here exactly?"
"Because you are loved by everyone. We want to start testing it in this school. I'm sure you can tell us which kids are having trouble in their homes--are you in?"
"I'm in." | 2018-11-06T09:01:09 | 2018-11-06T08:23:30 | 164 | 50 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | The Princess noticed the knight's glistening armor long before he reached the keep. She walked down the stairs and into the courtyard to greet him, as she had done with so many before.
"Sir knight," she exclaimed, "present yourself."
The knight dismounted, drew his blade and knelt before The Princess, offering his steel in service. "I am Sir Peta, here to end the misery of the dragon."
Misery? That's a new one, thought The Princess. "Has word not reached the stronghold? I have no need for your services."
*So it's true,* Sir Peta muttered under his breath. Then louder, "My apologies, my lady. I am not from the stronghold."
"Too many knights have come here in their noble stupidity, determined to slay the dragon and rescue me from its 'misery,' as you so oddly put it. Are you all idiots," The Princess asked? "Do you really believe I could live in this keep for years, with a dragon in the tower, if the situation is as you all believe it? Do you know nothing of dragons?"
Sir Peta rose, sword at his side, and spoke. "I know quite a lot about dragons, in fact. I know they are intelligent, noble beasts that are fiercely territorial," he replied. "No doubt it is as you say, my lady. If the dragon was able to bring harm to you, it surely would've done so by now."
This exasperated The Princess. "Then why, clever Sir Peta, did you come here to rescue me?"
"You misunderstand, dear Princess." She felt the tip of his cold steel, and something else - nightshade, perhaps - before he had finished the sentence."I am not here to rescue *you*."
With one more upward thrust, the job was done. He felt a blast of air as the dragon arrived and perched on the wall. It looked down on the scene. Sir Peta dropped to a knee.
"The binding spell is broken, friend," spoke the knight. "Be free." With that, the dragon alighted into the sky. Within seconds it was a mere speck in the distance, no bigger than a crow.
Sir Peta cleaned his blade and called his mount. There was talk of a duke that kept a caged chimera to impress the other nobility. The knight's work was never done.
- - - - - - - - - -
*edit: mobile formatting* | "Oh good. Another "brave knight" come to rescue the helpless princess from her tower. Look at him in his clunky armour, swinging that ridiculous sword around." Princess Adalaid groaned loudly, slamming her book shut. From her perch on the window she watched as the knight approached, stopping at the edge of the moat.
"Fair Princess! I am Sir Brenton, and I am here to rescue you!" He called out. Adalaid turned to a sheet of paper pinned to the wall and made a tally mark in one of many columns.
"I will slay the foul beast that guards this tower-" another tally mark "- and we shall marry the following day." Another tally mark.
"You done?" Adalaid asked, pen hovering over the paper.
"Um... yes?" The knight replied, confusion visible beneath the visor on his helmet.
"Cool. So you want to kill the dragon and you think I'll marry you after?"
The knight lowered his sword. This was not what he expected. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
"Well... yes."
"Have you ever SEEN a dragon? Ever read about one? Can you even read? You think you can handle a giant, fire breathing dragon with a cheap sword and a... Oh Gods is that a wooden shield?" Adalaid burst out laughing as the knight tucked the shield behind his back. "Ok, well, three things; 1, the "foul beast" as you so rudely called her, is my friend and mentor, and 2, she's behind you." The knight spun around surprisingly fast for someone weighed down with sheets of metal. He stared in shock at the dragon's kneecap, for that was all he could see. The creature loomed above him, green scales glistening in the sun. She crouched and lowered her head as much as possible, revealing a row of very sharp teeth in a very large mouth. The knight snapped out of the shock and swung his sword, connecting with nothing. The dragon had moved faster than he could follow, making no sound. The knight attacked again and again but to no avail. The dragon moved like the wind, and there was as much chance of catching her. The knight slumped to his knees, exhausted. A tap on the shoulder sent him sprawling to the floor.
"There was a third thing. I didn't get a chance to say since you attacked my friend and ignored me. You know how everyone who's come here trying to rescue me never returned? And everyone always blames the dragon?" Adalaid was stood next to Sir Brenton, looking rather amused. He simply nodded. His mind was too busy trying to figure out how she had gotten out of the tower with no door and across the moat without getting soaked to answer.
"Well, Lady Cannesa didn't kill them. I did." Adalaid raised her hand as lightning crackled between her fingers. The last thing Sir Brenton thought before a bolt of electricity struck his helmet was
"More will come. All will die." Adalaid lowered her hand, the sparks fading. She knelt down beside the corpse, resting her hand on the armour. She raised it slowly, the metal flowing like water from the body, following her movement. She directed it up towards Lady Cannesa, who promptly ate it. Adalaid clicked her fingers and the former knight burst into a brilliant blue flame.
"You know, if you let one live they'll stop coming." Cannesa spoke with a voice like an autumn breeze.
"But then who would I practice magic on?" Adalaid smirked. | 2019-01-09T13:25:46 | 2019-01-09T13:14:52 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | Their history was terrifying. We had sent down scouts, and they'd stumbled upon war after war after war in their history books.
And then, their 'Third World War' came to pass, and left only children, scarred and left in ruins, in it's wake. From those children, a new society was born, willing to do anything and everything to avoid yet another war.
They turned from elk ramming at each other to lambs, huddled together for protection. An easy target.
We landed down in one of their many oceans, and aimed our sights to Asia and Europe.
They came like a tsunami. Quiet, at first. A pull back as we went forward, fleeing we had so naively thought. A route, a victory.
But no.
No.
On the horizon they came, full of rage and anger and hatred for forcing their hand towards war yet again after so many years of peace. They loathed us with every fibre of their being, and it was palpable with hiw savagely they fought.
Within mere months of routing and gathering themselves, we were forced off planet and we thought that was the end.
But they followed. Humans hungered for more than safety now, they wanted revenge. They took our fallen spacecrafts and made it their own, manufacturing more and better versions for themselves.
War, it seemed, was enough to drag a beast awake from its slumber, and it threatened to swallow the entire galaxy.
*edited for inconsistencies | Mobile, so please forgive any formatting errors.
World War 3 had devastated the planet. The major cities turned to radioactive dust. 300 years later, we can still feel the effects of it. From South Jersey, in the distance, you can see the ruins on New York. Fortunately, the ICBM's forgot about New Jersey. The powers of the time had seen that New Jersey was already a shithole, so they left it alone.
We rebuilt the city into a decent place to live. We changed our ways from being in endless wars to ways of peace and prosperity. One day, we saw a weird disk in the sky. They attacked with lights raining down upon North Jersey. There were no survivors. The disk didn't seem to move afterwards.
In an old military base, John, one of our citizens searching for food and whatnot had found some old documents. They were maps showing the locations of silos. Thinking we found a source of grain, we traveled to one such silo. We didn't find one. Instead, we found an underground bunker.
In the bunker was the soldiers who were stationed there. There had been a time lock on The door. The timer had expired, so the door was unlocked. We searched the bunker, finding nothing but skeletons clad in camoflage and old rifles from before the war.
In a desk, I found a folder with a key. It opened a locker containing two odd keys and a set of instructions of how to operate some old computer on top of a panel. I found the computer and powered it on. It showed a map of the US. On it, there was an exclamation mark surrounded by a red triangle. It displayed a sentence: press f5 to target anomaly. I did. The screen displayed another sentence: insert keys and turn simultaneously to fire.
John and I inserted a key into each side of the panel. We looked at each other and counted down. 3. 2. 1. And turned. All of a sudden, the ground started to shake, and a deafening roar resonated throughout the bunker. We high tailed it to the exit. We saw a cloud of smoke moving towards North Jersey.
John and I watched as the trail grew ever distant, straight towards where the disk was. The old world, despite being gone for centuries, had one final gift to give. | 2019-02-26T09:57:40 | 2019-02-26T09:26:21 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | We wanted the planet, we wanted its resources.
The only way would be to remove the human population. This would be a ground battle, as we couldn't risk destroying the planet.
As a race that had no home to call its home, we've lived in space for the last 8,000 years, pulling resources from anywhere we could find. Earth would now be our home. We haven't had a planet since a civil war that destroyed our home planet. As part of the warrior caste, we've mastered space warfare.
Upon landing, we arrived in our augmentation suits which gave us our own atmosphere and allowed us to move faster and stronger than our organic bodies would normally allow.
Our mistake was simple, we had observed these humans and saw they were a pacifist society. They showed no signs of weaponry or aggression.
What we didn't know, is that humans were territorial and defensive. Our first wave of soldiers landed and upon the first signs of our aggression, we were met with resistance. Their weaponry would never be used in a space faring species, projectile weapons had not been used in millennia and we had only protection for laser and long range atomic based weaponry.
Their projectile weapons passed through our shielding, even our ships were completely vulnerable. Our point defense systems could not handle the size and sheer volume of their weaponry.
Our biggest losses came within minutes of landing when our entire force was annihilated. We should have known better to land in the area they call Texas. | Mobile, so please forgive any formatting errors.
World War 3 had devastated the planet. The major cities turned to radioactive dust. 300 years later, we can still feel the effects of it. From South Jersey, in the distance, you can see the ruins on New York. Fortunately, the ICBM's forgot about New Jersey. The powers of the time had seen that New Jersey was already a shithole, so they left it alone.
We rebuilt the city into a decent place to live. We changed our ways from being in endless wars to ways of peace and prosperity. One day, we saw a weird disk in the sky. They attacked with lights raining down upon North Jersey. There were no survivors. The disk didn't seem to move afterwards.
In an old military base, John, one of our citizens searching for food and whatnot had found some old documents. They were maps showing the locations of silos. Thinking we found a source of grain, we traveled to one such silo. We didn't find one. Instead, we found an underground bunker.
In the bunker was the soldiers who were stationed there. There had been a time lock on The door. The timer had expired, so the door was unlocked. We searched the bunker, finding nothing but skeletons clad in camoflage and old rifles from before the war.
In a desk, I found a folder with a key. It opened a locker containing two odd keys and a set of instructions of how to operate some old computer on top of a panel. I found the computer and powered it on. It showed a map of the US. On it, there was an exclamation mark surrounded by a red triangle. It displayed a sentence: press f5 to target anomaly. I did. The screen displayed another sentence: insert keys and turn simultaneously to fire.
John and I inserted a key into each side of the panel. We looked at each other and counted down. 3. 2. 1. And turned. All of a sudden, the ground started to shake, and a deafening roar resonated throughout the bunker. We high tailed it to the exit. We saw a cloud of smoke moving towards North Jersey.
John and I watched as the trail grew ever distant, straight towards where the disk was. The old world, despite being gone for centuries, had one final gift to give. | 2019-02-26T11:56:18 | 2019-02-26T09:26:21 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily. | We wanted the planet, we wanted its resources.
The only way would be to remove the human population. This would be a ground battle, as we couldn't risk destroying the planet.
As a race that had no home to call its home, we've lived in space for the last 8,000 years, pulling resources from anywhere we could find. Earth would now be our home. We haven't had a planet since a civil war that destroyed our home planet. As part of the warrior caste, we've mastered space warfare.
Upon landing, we arrived in our augmentation suits which gave us our own atmosphere and allowed us to move faster and stronger than our organic bodies would normally allow.
Our mistake was simple, we had observed these humans and saw they were a pacifist society. They showed no signs of weaponry or aggression.
What we didn't know, is that humans were territorial and defensive. Our first wave of soldiers landed and upon the first signs of our aggression, we were met with resistance. Their weaponry would never be used in a space faring species, projectile weapons had not been used in millennia and we had only protection for laser and long range atomic based weaponry.
Their projectile weapons passed through our shielding, even our ships were completely vulnerable. Our point defense systems could not handle the size and sheer volume of their weaponry.
Our biggest losses came within minutes of landing when our entire force was annihilated. We should have known better to land in the area they call Texas. | "Sir we're approaching our goal, the cuiper belt."
"Good, drive as close as possible and shut any transmissions. We will wait and feel our enemy."
"Understood. But with all due respect, why are we not crushing the planet? Terminal said they are underdeveloped and have resolved to a life of peace. This is a walk in the park!"
"Patience recruit. It's true that they haven't had any major destruction events in 300 years, but their history shows no mercy for the individual. Their weapons for mass destruction were way before their time. They had atombombs before a worldwide communication system."
"Incoming transmission. It's from...it's from planet earth? We have been detected! How is this possible? Our subatomar shield should block all forms of waves going out."
"Recruit! Focus, what does the transmission say?"
"oh uhh, yes sir!
Hello extraterrestial beings, we are amazed to see you in our neighbourhood. We have been searching far and wide for other forms of life and hope that you come in peace. As we are peaceful, but will defend ourselves with everything we have."
"Defend themselves? Ha, what a joke! Now they have done it. All weapons only, load pulsar and target it right at earth!"
"No weapons responding sir! The pulsar is heating up to dangerous levels! I think we have been compromised."
Suddenly a blue silhouette appears in the middle of the captains bridge. It has human form and begins to talk without fear:
"Dear alien ship, we have detected you trying to boot your weapon system and took messurements against this. We sent lumenbots within the transmission. These robots are made out of light and will destroy your ship from within. There is nothing you can do at this point. We hope you use your last seconds to tell your people to leave us alone."
Captain: "How is this possible? Our records show you stopped war during the media dynastie!"
Human: "This is true. But we did not stop building weapons. In fact, quite the opposite! The lack of war made us feel safe. Our weapons would never be used against the human race again. So our curiosity took over and we built the most marvellous warmachines. These lumenbots are just the start! So please tell your race to leave us be, we don't want to see if the rest of the arsenal works aswell."
| 2019-02-26T11:56:18 | 2019-02-26T10:40:03 | 36 | 21 |
[WP] Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you're her imaginary friend. | [This is like 9 hours old and I should be sleeping right now but inspiration strikes when it's least welcome and I can't get my scenario out of my head]
It didn’t take long for Larry to figure out he was dead. Mostly because he remembered the, you know, dying part. A heart attack is painful, tell you what. He’d turned sixty-eight a few days before the heart attack that killed him on his bathroom floor as he was taking a long-awaited piss.
*Oh well,* he thought, *can’t be helped.*
He looked around, and saw that he was situated in an absurdly pink bedroom. A young girl’s no, doubt. His deduction was confirmed a few moments later when he felt a tug on his hand.
“Hi! Who are you?” a little girl said happily.
“Larry. You?”
“Cassie!”
“Hi Cassie. This is your room, is it?”
“Yup! Isn’t it pretty?”
“For your demographic, maybe”
“You talk funny, Mr. Larry,”
“Yeah? Well, you look funny”
She giggled.
“You’re just in time, we were just about to have a tea party,” Cassie gestured to the other end of the room, where a small table and four small chairs were placed; two unoccupied, the others occupied by a large stuffed tiger and a collection of barbie dolls, respectively.
Cassie ran over and seated herself in one of the unoccupied chairs, and looked at Larry expectantly. A little girl’s imaginary tea party was not how he’d planned to spend his afterlife, but what the hell, right?
He sat down and nodded respectfully to the barbie dolls.
“Ladies,” he added politely.
“Have some tea!” she exclaimed, pouring a big dollop of nothing into an undersized cup in front of him.
“I don’t drink tea,” he said.
“Why not?”
“Cause I don’t like it”
“So what do you drink?”
“Not tea.”
“I’d get you a grown-up drink but I can’t reach daddy’s cabinet” she said, sadly.
“Don’t worry about it kid. I don’t drink grown-up drinks either, not anymore anyway”
“Why not?”
“Not going down that road with you, kid. How old are you anyway?”
Cassie used to both of her small hands to count, and when she finished, she said, proudly:
“Six! I’m six!”
Larry grunted.
A lanky pre-teen with long black hair, his face buried in his phone suddenly appeared in the open doorway.
“Hey loser, I’m gonna go grab a pop tart from downstairs. You want one?”
“No I don’t want a pop tart, Alex! And don’t call me loser! That’s mean!”
“Whatever, loser” said the pre-teen, leaving.
Larry raised an eyebrow.
“That your brother?”
Cassie nodded.
“He’s a bit of a dick,”
Cassie was shocked, and whispered:
“You should put a quarter in the swear jar!”
“I’m a ghost, kid. I don’t need to put anything in anything anymore”
“You’re a ghost?”
“Don’t worry about it. Say, your brother, his name’s Alex?”
“Yup”
“I got a grandkid named Alex. How old is he, twelve?”
“I think so. You have a grandkid?”
“I have two. A boy named Alex, and a little girl about your age”
“What’s her name!?” she asked excitedly.
“Cassandra,” said Larry, without giving it much thought.
“That’s my name too!”
“I thought your name was Cassie,”
“Cassie is short for Cassandra you big dummy,”
“Hey, I’m not the one drinking imaginary tea here, girly,”
Larry was starting to feel uneasy. One kid sharing a name with one of his son’s kids could be put down to a coincidence, but both of them?
“Say, where are your parents?”
“Mommy’s downstairs, and daddy’s on his way to my grandpa’s house!”
“Your grandpa, eh? What’s his name?”
“I don’t know! I haven’t met him yet, but daddy said he was gonna bring him to see us soon!”
Larry grunted.
*Well at least my body’s gonna be found before it rots.*
“Give me some of that tea after all, Cassie” | "I forgot the cookies!" the young, red-headed girl dashed out of her pink room. Elena heard her small feet patter down a flight of stairs. She sighed in relief now that she had a moment alone. Bubblegum pink walls were decorated with posters of horses and unicorns. The bed was wearing a thick comforter dotted with princess wands and crowns. The cozy room reminded her of her own when she was a child; when she was alive. Elena could not remember how it happened, but she knew she was dead. She woke up to see a tiny pair of violet eyes looking down at her, after several minutes she was drafted into a tea party.
"Just checking in," a woman said behind Elisa while she was admiring the room. "Any questions?" she asked. Elisa recognized the voice and turned to see an olive-skinned woman smiling at her from a corner of the room. A bright blue star with the number 35 was tattooed on her left cheek. Long sea-green curls flowed down her shoulders and onto the navy-blue business jacket. She wore a navy sarong instead of slacks. Elena recognized her case-worker.
"Hey, Isla. Imaginary friend duty?" Elena asked. Isla nodded. "How long?" Isla shrugged.
"When she outgrows you, or you're ready to try again. Whichever happens first."
"I'm still kind of foggy. Did I choose this?" Elisa asked. Isla shook her head but grinned broadly.
"I'm trying something new," she said. Elena did not know why, she never did, but the thought sent a worried, amused shiver down her spine. Somehow she felt like Isla 'trying something new' happened a lot, and tended to go badly. The smiling woman noticed Elena's concern and immediately raised her hands to protest. "Don't worry! I got Ezey's permission this time, it's all on the up and up," she said. That made Elena feel better.
"Okay," she asked. "What am I doing here?"
"You don't remember it, but it was your idea," Isla said. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. "That's probably why Ezey okayed it; it didn't come from me," she said. She clicked her tongue in annoyance at the thought. It never occurred to her before. "Anyway, congratulations! You created a new perk, so that means you get it for free." Elena's eyes widened as the memory of her last visit with Isla flooded her mind.
"I got Imaginary Mentor!?" she hopped out of the tiny plastic chair at the girl's tea table and dashed across the room to hug Isla. She put her hands out to stop Elena.
"Tentatively," she said. "This is the first time we're trying something like this. Consider it a test run. If the results are *too* beneficial...," she sighed. "Ezey made me promise to wipe the results, then you can try again with better guidelines."
"Oh, this is so awesome!" Elena gave up on trying to hug the woman and dropped her arms. "So she's my-,"
"I hope you like cake!" the little girl walked back into the room holding a dad-sized piece of chocolate cake. "We didn't have any more cookies. Who's that?" she asked without missing a beat. Isla smiled.
"I'm her boss. I had a lot of people fighting to be *your...,"* Isla pointed at the girl. "...imaginary friend. Elena here is the best one we have and she's going to take great care of you." The girl's violet eyes sparkled.
"Elena? That's my name too!" the girl said. Isla put her hand to her chest and gasped in mock surprise. "What a coincidence!" Isla looked at the cake with exaggerated hunger, then she looked at the girl. "Elena, I have to go have a meeting with some other friends but that cake looks so good. Can you bring me a piece I can take with me?" Little Elena nodded eagerly then dashed out the door. Isla turned back to the dead woman.
"You can't tell her you're her Zero. You can't tell her which perks to choose, or anything about points or the afterlife. All you can do is try to guide her and give her advice." Elena nodded.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #208. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
\*\*\*
[Satchat Summer challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c3rkez/ot_satchat_summer_challenge_pick_a_challenge_tier/)
* Story 35
* The NaNoWriMo - word count 693 / 26050 (this story/ total)
* Placesetting - Hugoverse | 2019-07-27T13:33:35 | 2019-07-27T11:06:03 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Instead of heaven and hell, when you die, you find yourself in a room with a six year old girl who invites you to join her tea party. It dawns on you, you're her imaginary friend. | The final shrill note of the monitor faded from my ears, leaving me alone in silence deeper than I could ever imagine. There wasn't black so much as... nothing. No shiny gates rising out of fluffy clouds, no cherubs bobbling around overhead with their harps, no big guy to judge me, nothing. Not even fire and brimstone, just... nothingness in every direction.
I knew I didn't have a body anymore, the aches and pains, the pressure of gravity, all of that was missing. Instead, I was just something like a consciousness spreading throughout this space.
The silence stretched on for what felt like eons, until I stumbled across a faint light. It was like pouring myself into a glass to try and get to it, squeezing and sloshing against the boundaries of whatever this space was, until I found the source; A tiny rip, no wider than a human pinky, stretching and widening into a hole.
With all the effort I could summon, I shoved at it, trying to get whatever was "me" in. With a sudden burst of relief, I felt myself flung violently, catapulted from the dark place I'd been before.
The light was blinding, spilling in from several windows framed with pink fabric and off-white lace. The walls almost matched, a white horizontal bar separating the colors. Shelves lined the walls, holding toys and books. I started turning to take in more of the room when a tiny voice pierced the quiet. "Hello there, Mr. Wibbles. Have you accepted your in-vite-tation"" she asked, splitting the last word. "That dress simply won't do, this is a *nice* party."
I looked down, only faintly able to see myself. My arms, always muscular and hairy, seemed almost sad in their state after the battle I lost. My watch and tattoo were still on my wrist, and I otherwise looked normal, but the hospital gown looked like it had seen better days. Some gross blue-green-yellow polka dotted thing clung to me, and I sighed, surprising myself at the noise. "Sorry, kiddo, I didn't choose it." I told her, not expecting a response.
She tutted, shaking her head like my wife always did. "Come now, Mr. Wibbles, that's a... a poor excuse." The fake posh accent she'd been using fell, and she smiled up at me. "We simply **must** make it better." She sttepped carefully, her lips forming numbers as she stepped away from the table toward her closet, her hand scrabbling for the knob. She twisted it, throwing it opened, and felt around, lifting a massive feather boa in all of the colors of the rainbow. Next came a large strip of fabric, like a huge scarf or a small blanket.
Her mouthing continued, nearly silently counting as she stepped back to the table, grabbing the edge of it as she passed. She looked straight at me, then smiled wide. "Kneel down, please." she asked, holding out her arms.
I did, my knees not cracking or popping for the first time in a very long time. She lifted the cloth first, draping it over me like a shawl. It wrapped loosely around my shoulders, topped with the boa. "Better?" I asked her, and her toothy grin widened, showing her missing teeth.
"Much." she responded. She grabbed my wrist, helping me up, and guided me to the table. With her left foot, she slid out the tiny stool, running her hand over the edge of the table as she walked to the child sized armchair on the other side.
I sat slowly, folding my knees up under the shawl as I did so. I lifted the cup, pretending to smell the tea, when she raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Biggles, the cup is empty." she told me, grabbing the pot. "Would you like some?"
I nodded, putting some of her accent in my farmer's drawl. "That would be marvelous, m'lady." The giggle she gave me made it all worth feeling silly.
"I'm Emily, silly, not 'my lady'." She poured the "tea", really just water, and I lifted it to my lips, sipping it quietly. "I have a question, though." I nodded, looking her in the eyes. "Why can I see you?"
I sipped the tea again, then shrugged. "No idea." | "I forgot the cookies!" the young, red-headed girl dashed out of her pink room. Elena heard her small feet patter down a flight of stairs. She sighed in relief now that she had a moment alone. Bubblegum pink walls were decorated with posters of horses and unicorns. The bed was wearing a thick comforter dotted with princess wands and crowns. The cozy room reminded her of her own when she was a child; when she was alive. Elena could not remember how it happened, but she knew she was dead. She woke up to see a tiny pair of violet eyes looking down at her, after several minutes she was drafted into a tea party.
"Just checking in," a woman said behind Elisa while she was admiring the room. "Any questions?" she asked. Elisa recognized the voice and turned to see an olive-skinned woman smiling at her from a corner of the room. A bright blue star with the number 35 was tattooed on her left cheek. Long sea-green curls flowed down her shoulders and onto the navy-blue business jacket. She wore a navy sarong instead of slacks. Elena recognized her case-worker.
"Hey, Isla. Imaginary friend duty?" Elena asked. Isla nodded. "How long?" Isla shrugged.
"When she outgrows you, or you're ready to try again. Whichever happens first."
"I'm still kind of foggy. Did I choose this?" Elisa asked. Isla shook her head but grinned broadly.
"I'm trying something new," she said. Elena did not know why, she never did, but the thought sent a worried, amused shiver down her spine. Somehow she felt like Isla 'trying something new' happened a lot, and tended to go badly. The smiling woman noticed Elena's concern and immediately raised her hands to protest. "Don't worry! I got Ezey's permission this time, it's all on the up and up," she said. That made Elena feel better.
"Okay," she asked. "What am I doing here?"
"You don't remember it, but it was your idea," Isla said. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one leg. "That's probably why Ezey okayed it; it didn't come from me," she said. She clicked her tongue in annoyance at the thought. It never occurred to her before. "Anyway, congratulations! You created a new perk, so that means you get it for free." Elena's eyes widened as the memory of her last visit with Isla flooded her mind.
"I got Imaginary Mentor!?" she hopped out of the tiny plastic chair at the girl's tea table and dashed across the room to hug Isla. She put her hands out to stop Elena.
"Tentatively," she said. "This is the first time we're trying something like this. Consider it a test run. If the results are *too* beneficial...," she sighed. "Ezey made me promise to wipe the results, then you can try again with better guidelines."
"Oh, this is so awesome!" Elena gave up on trying to hug the woman and dropped her arms. "So she's my-,"
"I hope you like cake!" the little girl walked back into the room holding a dad-sized piece of chocolate cake. "We didn't have any more cookies. Who's that?" she asked without missing a beat. Isla smiled.
"I'm her boss. I had a lot of people fighting to be *your...,"* Isla pointed at the girl. "...imaginary friend. Elena here is the best one we have and she's going to take great care of you." The girl's violet eyes sparkled.
"Elena? That's my name too!" the girl said. Isla put her hand to her chest and gasped in mock surprise. "What a coincidence!" Isla looked at the cake with exaggerated hunger, then she looked at the girl. "Elena, I have to go have a meeting with some other friends but that cake looks so good. Can you bring me a piece I can take with me?" Little Elena nodded eagerly then dashed out the door. Isla turned back to the dead woman.
"You can't tell her you're her Zero. You can't tell her which perks to choose, or anything about points or the afterlife. All you can do is try to guide her and give her advice." Elena nodded.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, story #208. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order.
\*\*\*
[Satchat Summer challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/c3rkez/ot_satchat_summer_challenge_pick_a_challenge_tier/)
* Story 35
* The NaNoWriMo - word count 693 / 26050 (this story/ total)
* Placesetting - Hugoverse | 2019-07-27T11:08:22 | 2019-07-27T11:06:03 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] In this postapocaliptic world, you find an old computer and try to play WoW. Surprisingly, there's people still playing. Oh man, there's a lot of people still playing. | We never recovered our technology. The tools necessary to keep the internet, TV and other long-distance electromagnetic waves were broken beyond repair after the Blackout. Their corpses in forms of satellites floating above our heads, filling the air with impenetrable static.
At the start, nothing much changed. Besides the sad lost of channels to communicate with family and friends, that is. We were made sure that the situation was temporary by the government. But not me, I always worried too much. Enough to stock food for about a decade and finish to build that shelter I started when I thought the world was gonna end back in 2012. I wish I was wrong this time too.
Rocket after rocket and space mission after space mission, no one was able to reestablish signal. Every single attempt ended with the catastrophic failure of multiple electrical systems. After some time people even considered going full Dieselpunk. But that didn't fly.
When the desperation reached a breaking point and the raids started I was already safe in my shelter. I survived with a lot of canned food and my great collection of books. Much of them bought on impulse and never touched again later. After going through all the books (revisiting some) and half of my food stock I was finally bored.
I went out to my old house. Hoping to find entertainment again. Most of it still the way I left 5 years prior. It was a saddening yet nostalgic tour. Remembering all the fun I had with my PS4, my Switch, and all the friends I made playing. The best of them were my WoW party: LoLMaster and his pranks, Sapphire68 and her caring for everyone and TBone, my best friend. We all met in a dragon raid. Out of about 15 players there, just the 4 of us survived and the rest is history. But they could be as good as dead now, with no way of me knowing.
Sitting on the chair and turning on the machine I held dear back then I loaded the game, even knowing it wouldn't work. I saw the game loading, slowly, but surely. My heart just waiting for the empty server list to crumble into bits. My eyes watering from anticipation.
But there it was. All the servers there. And all of them almost full. A bug for sure. But I pressed on. The game loaded, the scenery in front of my face and my character ready for any command I'd give him. He was a little lower level from what I remember, but being in a shelter for half a decade can scramble your head a bit.
Then came a message:
> TBone: Hey man. My party and some others are planning to do a dragon raid now and one of our tanks dropped last second. You look like high level enough. Care to join?
Edit: Some grammar (not a native speaker, you know the drill) | The download took fucking forever.
I mean, it's not really surprising. I’m trying to download WoW, a modern game for the modern age, on an old HP Pavilion p6500. The wifi is shitty. There’s no ethernet port. No way to boost the connectivity. And my third arm keeps getting in my way whenever I try to use the mouse.
Finally, **finally,** I got it downloaded. Booting it up, I was met by an unfamiliar image serving as the title screen. Two statues, marble busts, with the top half of a busty woman and the bottom half of a slippery lizard. Classy.
But not as classy as my favorite character. I hopped right in, logging on to my female, night elf druid, Thottslayer69. Classic.
I landed in unfamiliar plains, a world I knew little about. In the past twenty years, WoW changed significantly, and all around me I could see players with drops that had been considered god-like all those years ago. But it wasn’t the gear that worried me.
Everywhere, characters just kept dancing.
There were human females doing the Macarena. Female tauren did the electric slide across the plains. Male goblins danced to Soulja Boy’s “Crank That,” cackles rocking their bodies. But nowhere, **nowhere,** were people actually playing the game.
I leaned back in my chair, my uncontrollable third arm scratching my scalp. It whispered sweet nothings in my ear, promises of endless power and fortune, but I ignored it.
I scanned the web, searching for any cause. There. Blizzard had posted a response to the nuclear catastrophe.
*In* *response* *to* *demands* *from* *the* *U.N,* *we* *will* *not* *be* *contributing* *funds* *to* *the* *NRCA* *at* *this* *time.* *Our* *company* *provides* *quality* *entertainment* *for* *millions* *of* *users,* *but* *we* *are* *ill-equipped* *to* *assist* *in* *medical* *aid* *in* *the* *face* *of* *a* *nuclear* *disaster.* *You* *may* *continue* *to* *enjoy* *our* *services,* *free* *of* *cost,* *but* *we* *will* *not* *be* *donating* *at* *this* *time.*
Line after line in the comment section said merely, “comment deleted.” I took to Reddit to find the truth. Apparently, users found their accounts banned and comments deleted when they criticized Blizzard for their decision. In protest, almost every unbanned account logged in and left their characters to dance. What a protest.
Absolutely useless. But I sent my poor, sweet, Thottslayer69 to dance anyway, and left WoW running. No one would respond in-game, so I might as well take to the wikis.
I commented, replied, and cajoled the others, urging the playerbase to rise up in protest. “Our revolution begins now! Let’s riot, destroy, and burn Blizzard to the ground!” My comments were met with resounding cries of “You have my sword,” and “You have my bow,” and “You have my Mountain Dew.” We’d work on that last one.
I smiled. No more would gamers sit in silent, dancing protest. We would rise up as one, destroy our enemies, and bring peace to the world.
RIP in pieces Blizzard. You won’t be missed.
_____________________________________________________
Went for something a little goofy this time. Thanks for reading, and if you want more, check out [r/smoothbaritone!](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) | 2019-10-14T09:15:03 | 2019-10-14T07:59:18 | 276 | 78 |
[WP] You hate your boring call centre job. Every day idiots call you up with stupid questions they could easily figure out themselves. Yes you have to shoot them in the head. No there is no cure if you're bitten. It's a few years now into the zombie apocalypse and this is the Call Centre of the Dead | "Good morning. Call centre of the dead. How may I help you today?"
"Dude come on. I've been on hold for ten minutes now. I..."
"Yeah, we're having a high call volume today." We weren't really. I got good price on turnips so I just had to.
"Ok, so I'm stuck in a grocery store and "
"Sorry to interrupt you sir. Can you confirm a few things for me first?"
"Yeah, OK. But just hurry up, yeah?"
"Sure sir. OK so I am talking to Wilbur Smith. You are located at 45 Lakeshore."
"Yes. That's correct. So there's these two..."
"Hang on sir. I also want to confirm your protection policy number. You bought the extended plan on security. The policy number is 23453758."
"23457358."
"Sorry sir?"
"It's 23457358."
"Yes sir. That's what I said."
"No you said... never mind. You have it correct now, right?"
"Yes sir. 23453758. OK so..."
"No. Wait. It's 23457358."
"Sorry sir, what was that? There was some disturbance on the phone and I didn't get you. Can you please move to an area with slightly less disturbance."
"I would if I could. But there's zombies everywhere. You have to help me."
"Yes sir. Absolutely. So under your policy number 23457358, you are entitled to unlimited phone support. Plus limited on site help."
"Yes I know."
"Ok sir. So what's your problem?"
"Zombies. They are everywhere. I am surrounded."
"Ah, I see. So where are you exactly?"
"I'm at a grocery store."
"What grocery store sir?"
"Longo's. Near Bay and University intersection."
"Ah, I know that one. There's still some good stuff there."
"Yeah, that's what I thought. But then I came here and it's insane."
"Right sir. So are you in a secure place right now?"
"Yes, I managed to get an office of sorts and close the door. But they are out there, banging on the door."
"I see. Can you share what material you have with you?"
"Nothing much. A few papers. Some office supplies. An old computer. Ah, I have a stapler too."
"Staplers, unlike the movies are rather useless in these scenarios sir. Are you a smoker sir? Do you have a lighter?"
"Yes. I do have a lighter. I know I know it's not good for me. But time's are stressful and this helps."
"Sure. Understandable. OK let me just put you on hold."
"Oh come on."
"Sir, we do need a moment to check on this. I will be right back."
I checked the my game again. Shit. Missed out on some good stuff. Oh well. I quickly checked the records from the building. Once I had what I needed, I was back on the phone again.
"Hello. Thanks for holding. So unfortunately, your plan doesn't cover on site support at that location. You are just out of the coverage area by a few blocks."
"Damn it. So what now?"
"Well, we'll help you get out. I need you to throw the computer on the ground and plug it in. We're gonna shock these motherfuckers."
I guided Wilbur to the next steps. I helped him to escape into the vents. Like Die hard was how he put it. He used a lighter to activate the smoke sensors and activating the water sprinklers. The active power line from the computer sent a massive electric surge across the floor, zapping the zombies. It gave him enough time to escape.
Hopefully.
"Wilbur, thank you for calling CCoD. We are always happy to help. If you make it out of here alive, don't forget to tell us how we did. You will get an automated link to send feedback. Thanks again for calling and have a nice day." | It is not as busy as it used to be. There are 4103 boards on the false ceiling over my head and a 121 holes in each board. Apart from the ones marked with red X’s. They are inventory boards. Those have 119. The boards used to be white and there was no fungi.
Some time ago I used to love my job. Hell! I volunteered for it. I spent all day enthusiastically taking calls about:
“What am I supposed to do if my friend has just been bitten?”
I would take all my strength and say whatever was written in the script, “Sir, if I may suggest, it is advised under such circumstances that a) you shoot them in their head b)you cut their head of with a sharp axe or a knife whichever comes handy c)you can tie them up, pour gasoline on them and, I am sorry to say, put them on fire.”
“But I have known them for years.”
“I understand sir. But, it is strictly required to follow the instructions that I have given you” and another forty fucking pages of the manual.
&#x200B;
Not any more. I can’t go on telling these hopeless, stupid, emotional and stupid people the same script. They don’t even care about asking how I am doing. Do I need someone to talk to in these lonely times? Have I eaten? How do I pass my day? Looking at my dead zombie colleagues from the time it all started. I am surrounded by metal and wooden spikes, bear traps. I sleep with my head on an Ithaca-37 and... I just want to talk to some one nice.
“Hello! It’s the Call centre of the dead. How may I help you?”
“Uh! Hi. This may sound weird but, I just wanted to see how you are doing. How are you holding up?”
“Um! Thanks. Please don’t feel weird ma’am...”
“It’s Paulomey”
“Hi! Paulomey! Thank you so much for calling. It gets a little lonely. Thanks for calling it means a lot.”
“Mmmmhhhhmmmm”
“I am sorry, ma’a,m! Paulomey! How have you been Paulomey?”
“Oh! I have been great darling. I just love your voice. I really would like to meet you some day.”
&#x200B;
But, no. She’ll call and ask,
“Hello! I need some serious help. You may find it annoying but I really need...”
“Oh, ma’am please don’t worry a bit. I am here for you.”
“There’s a zombie in my room and it was an exceptionally slow one so I tied it down.”
“I’m sending in a dispatch of ammunitions and gaurds. They’ll come asap...”
“No! No! No! I am full on ammo. I just wanted to as... um... if it’s a problem if I... play with his unusually hard member. I have tied him head to feet so that won’t be a problem. I just wanted to know if...”
&#x200B;
A call came and I came out of my slumber.
“I am sorry, I know I am supposed to shoot myself if I am bitten. I just wanted to make sure, if there’s no other way. Like a new cure or something?”
“I am sorry to say ma’am but no.”
“I am not your ma’am Paul. It’s Paulomey.”
She is real. I was not making that up. She sat next to me before she ran off to use her skills, to fight them and die in the open.
“I just wanted to ask. How are you?”
“I am doing... great. Yes, I am doing great. How are you Paulomey?”
I had a crush on her.
“I have been bitten.”
Silence.
“Where are you now?”
“I am coming to you I am on a bike and I am coming straight to you.”
“No! Why? I mean why? How? How did you get bitten?
“That’s not the point Paul. I am coming to you because I haven’t seen anyone I have known for a while. I want to see you before I kill myself. I want to see a dear friend.”
“How long till you turn?”
“I am outside. Anytime now.”
She blasts open the gate with her kick and stands there looking at me. Looking with her teary eyes which were never green. Her clothes are intact but it’s only a vest. They got her bad. I can see the green patches that were her ears a while ago. With a deep sigh of relief she started moving toward me, so I pick my Ithaca for a just in case. She is a hand away. She says, “I am sorry” and jumps at me.
I blow her head off and her chest falls in my embrace. I hold her in my hands and I rub the back of her body. I stand there for a long time because there’s no call to take. | 2020-05-12T06:42:59 | 2020-05-12T06:12:46 | 627 | 42 |
[WP] Ever since turning 17 you've been hearing a voice saying "Get out of my head". After having had enough, you get an MRI scan revealing what the doctors think is a tumor and they want to remove it. Then you realize, that's you. You're a parasite. | It realized it was not in control, nor had it ever been. It was just a slave in Julian's mind, a tumor attached to the sensory part of his brain. All of its memories, its hopes and dreams - all someone else's. But there was no doubt that it could still feel, that it could still think.
And above all, it knew that it did not want to die.
*Get out.*
Regardless, it could do nothing to communicate with him. It heard - or, perhaps, heard Julian hearing - that the doctors planned to remove it the next day. It felt a sickening sense of despair, of helplessness. It was trapped, but to be freed was to die.
*Get out of my head.*
The thoughts were violent now, ever since Julian discovered the truth. Now that his host knew it was a tumor, he wanted nothing but to remove it. To kill it. And nothing it could do could convince him otherwise.
*GET OUT.*
*****
Julian fell asleep, and in his slumber he dreamed. The tumor could feel the dream - or perhaps it dreamed, too. And in its desperation, it tried the last thing it could think to do.
The dream shifted and swayed, as the tumor felt true freedom for the first time in its existence. While it had no control over Julian, in this world it had power. Power to change.
It created a dream for Julian. It knew that this would be the last thing it ever did, and thus poured everything it had into it.
It weaved a dream of purpose, a dream that would inspire him to work hard, to grow, to prosper. Since it felt like it was a part of Julian, it wanted the best for him. It wanted Julian to live the best life he could, for the both of them. It would die, but Julian would live on. If he could at least be happy, then at least its life would have had some kind of purpose.
And Julian flowed through the dream, a dream more real that life itself.
***
Julian awoke. For the first time since he could remember, that part of him, that tumorous growth - it did not feel alien. It felt like it was a part of him.
He put a hold on the surgery.
Ever since then, his dreams became more vivid, purposeful, *meaningful*.
It felt akin to communicating directly with his subconscious - or, perhaps, his conscience.
****
The tumor no longer felt trapped. Every night it could roam free. And with that freedom, it felt like it had been given a purpose: a moral compass. A guide for its host, and thus itself.
It would still feel everything Julian felt, and so would experience all the pain, all the hardship, all the love - and it would do the best to help him live the best life they could.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | "*Get out of my head,*" the voice repeated, this time more adamantly.
"So, of course, we'll want to schedule the surgery as soon as possible," Dr. Mando said, taking notes while looking at my MRI results.
"Or, maybe we don't have to do it at all?" I shrugged nonchalantly.
Dr. Mando eyed me warily.
"You see the size of this thing? It's like a baseball in your head!" he said.
"Yeah, but what if it's good for me?" I asked.
"Good for-- this could be causing irreparable damage to your head!" he yelled.
"Irreparably good damage, could be, right doc?" I said, trying to inch my way out of the room.
"No! Absolutely not-- Are you afraid of surgery, is that it?" he asked in and understanding tone.
"No--Yes, deathly scared of them. Huge phobia of surgeries. And doctors. And just being here in general!" I said, nodding my head to make it seem like someone in the room agreed with me.
"You know, it could be the tumor causing all of this stress in your head. Could be something parasitic on your rational mind," he suggested.
"*Get out of my head*," the voice in my head said in agreement.
"Or maybe the rational part of me wants to keep it in! Ever think of that? What if it's the only thing keeping me alive right now," I said with complete sincerity.
"Look, I don't want to have to scare you, but if this keeps growing, you'll lose your consciousness entirely. You'll be nothing but a husk of your former self, doomed to watch your body eat itself from the inside. Either that or you effectively die and the tumor takes over," he said apologetically.
"That could happen? He cou--I could die and leave the body behind for the para--tumor!?" I said, failing at masking my excitement. He took it to be fear.
"*Get out of my head!!*" the voice said fearfully.
"It's certainly in the realm of possibility. That's why we need to get you into surgery as soon as possible," he said. I thought for a moment.
"When's the soonest we could do this surgery, ***if*** I were to agree to it?" I asked just to get him off my back.
"Next Saturday. I could book it for you right now," he said, making another note on his clipboard.
"And that's not too late? I'll still be alive by then?" I asked.
"Tough to say. At the rate it's growing, I wouldn't say you have longer than two months, so no later than next Saturday, got it?" he said.
"Thanks for all of this, doc," I said, gratefully.
"Anytime. I'll be sure to tell your mom as soon as we--"
"No! No that's fine, she'll want to hear it from me," I said confidently. He nodded and watched me as I left the room to speak to my mom. She jumped up and grasped my shoulders.
*"Get out of my head"*
"What happened? Is everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah--well kinda. It's a stress thing. Doctor says it would be best if I got my mind off things, I guess. But school isn't that bad," I shrugged.
*"Get out of my head.*
"No way! If the doctor literally scanned your brain and found that you need to destress, then we're going on a trip. Let's go to Europe! How does that sound? Europe for a week?" she asked.
"I don't know," I shrugged "One week doesn't seem like all that long."
*"Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head!"*
"Of course honey! We'll go to Europe for the month, how about that?" my mom said with care in her eyes.
_____________________________________
For more parasitic stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2020-05-14T21:26:39 | 2020-05-14T20:42:00 | 438 | 257 |
[WP] Every morning when you first look in a mirror, you see a small piece of advise for that day, such as “take the subway to work” or “don’t try the free pizza”. Today, the mirror simply says, “RUN” | it is day 341 since the message first appeared on my mirror.
The first day, I was anxious. I looked over my shoulder, expecting something to happen, but it never did. After about a week, I started getting used to it and thought, maybe the mirror is malfunctioning? I didn't give it a second thought until one day, about 3 weeks in, it started raining as I was walking home. I had to run to get out of it, and when I got home, the message was gone.
The next day, I tested my theory. I ran in a straight line for a few seconds - message still there. Ran up and down the stairs for 2 minutes - message still there. Went out for a ten minute jog - message gone.
The day after, I got up 30 minutes early, went for a jog, took a shower, and started my day without the threatening message. I did this for a week, and noticed that after my jog, new messages started to appear. "Drink some milk" or "visit a museum." "Call a friend" or "go out for a drink".
We're now almost a year later and so many things have happened. I lost those overdue pounds and got into shape, went out with friends more, learned more about the classic arts, took piano classes, met a girl I really like. I can tell she likes spending time with me, but what if it's nothing more? I've been too scared and anxious to really ask her out. What if she doesn't like me in that way? What if she's not looking for a relationship? What if I'm better off single?
And that's when it appeared this morning, on my mirror:
"Stop running". | I stared at the mirror for a moment. Trying to figure the message out. Doesn't give a hint as to when and I don't want to just be constantly running from everyone and everything.
I grab my stuff and keep my keys close at hand as I head out the door. The morning sun was bright, brighter than normal. I gazed up into the sky and stared in horror.
Reptilian winged horses flew through the air sporting manes and tails of fire. Upon their backs black skeletal demons sat with thick curved horns on sunken leather faces, wicked curved sickles.
I nearly dropped my keys as I saw them, my knees quivered as I took one hesitant step back.
The beasts soared in the area, the riders scanning with hallow eyes, thin lips pulled back from blinding white fangs in ghastly sneers. Every so often a rider would bend over his mounts neck as the horse dived down.
Around me I started to hear the screams of fear and pain. Then came the smell. I never smelled fear, but I did now, and it was... sickening. Especially mixed with the iron scent of blood.
'Run' echoed in my head. My heart skipped. 'RUN!' Roared through my brain and I back peddled tripping over my feet as I turned. I fell forward and ran on my hands a few feet before I was able to right myself and ran down the street.
I could hear more screams, the thick leathery beats of demonic wings, and the harsh brays the hellish steeds.
My heart pounded as I took off down the street passing carnage and death.
Wildly I looked for refuge, anything, I didn't care where.
I nearly slipped in a puddle of blood as I rounded the corner down the next street, but caught myself on a car in time to avoid the slash of sickle over my head.
I gasped and stood paralyzed as the horse landed in a canter halfway down the road in front of my. It's demon pulling back on chains to wheel it about. Foam lathered the steeds scaley muzzle and fire seemed to dance in ita green eyes.
I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, as rider and steed stared me down. The beast chomping at a bone bit as it pawed the ground impatiently. The demons lips tipped up at the corners as it watched me, no doubt seeing the warm trail of piss soak down the right leg.
'GO!' I pushed off the car and took off at a 45 degree angle from it, towards but away from the beast as it let off a gutteral "Hyah!" and surged my direction.
If I could just reach the storm drain, I just need to reach that one point.. I could be safe...
'RUN!' | 2020-06-07T22:43:57 | 2020-06-07T22:33:41 | 94 | 34 |
[WP] Youre a wizard in the Imperial Army. Most wizards are very ritualistic in their tactics and that is very highly respected but doesn’t give many victories. So you decided to ignore all the long chanting and nonsense and simply immediately kill your opponents with your spells instead. | “What have you done?!”
“What?”
“That swordsman! You just blasted him with a Fireball!”
“Yeah he was coming at me, what was I supposed to do?”
“You summon your own weapon and fight him with honour!”
“Why would I do that when I could just blast him? I’m no good with a sword he would’ve killed me instead!”
“Where is your HONOUR wizard?! I won’t have this! Sergeant Major! This lowly wizard was faced with an opponent who challenged him to battle by brandishing his weapon and displaying his sword skill, and he just shot him with magic!”
“WHAT? Disgraceful! What is your name wizard?”
“Jones, Sir.” | I was always a bad scholar. The teacher told me to quit, because I was not fit to learn the spells and ritual. If only the hab known I had awaken during this time and just waited until now to retaliate. „Unter den Talaren, Muff von 1000 Jahre“ says an old German proverb.
I was around 15 years old when a dog bit my hand. I as so angry, just angry at the world, the teacher, and ... the dog. I just wanted him to be gone...gone.... and it went away in a gory explosion of red. I was covered in intestines and dog shit, but I was happy as never before. I broke the chains of the old ages.
Some time later they banished me into the desert. They couldn’t know that this is the second best that happened to me. The isolation sharpened my concentration and soon I was able to harvest the live out of the little desert critters. After I felt ready I started to plan my return.
Today a new age begins, my age. The age of ME... I will get my retaliation...
They are still stuck in their old ways. Mary was the first who saw me and startet chanting, I waited a few boring seconds and then just blobed her hands. The sudden realisation on her face made me fell ... interesting but somehow good. I just played a bit with her before I dusted her in a sprinkle of blood.
The magic garrison was even less of a problem. The ground was lava.... hihihihi. It sank into the ground with nice tune of screams an agony. The last lava blob, like a burp was the last straw for me I just stared laughing.
Know I sit here on the top of Bold Mountain and wait for the armies to arrive. They will learn soon that armies are no match for a good. | 2020-08-15T02:36:58 | 2020-08-15T01:24:27 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | My phone rang for the third time in 10 minutes. I made a mental note to change the ringtone to something less patriotic and swiped up on the little green icon.
"John! Mate I've been trying to get through for ages!" came a frantic voice down the phone.
"Oh, well sorry Barry..." I lied, "it must've been on silent" I lied again.
"No, no, it's okay. But we have a problem here! You know that stuff you wrote? The stuff for the admin thing? You know it right? Well it's broken and we don't know what to do! I tried opening it in excel and it can't read it!"
I sighed. This was not an unexpected call, but also it was a call I was no longer paid to deal with.
"Barry, look. I modernised all our internal software, it's a bit of python and it automates everything we used to do manually. It's probably just that a feed from the outer guard posts is stuck and needs... Well, it needs sorting out really."
"But HOW John? No-one here can program! Shit, Sam can't even plug in his mouse half the time, Vicki's great for physical combat but not one for numbers, and Ash wouldn't even notice if he didn't get paid in a year, dopey prick."
"Barry, His Royal fucking Highness Prince fucking Ezra decided in his infinite wisdom that I could be spared in the restructuring of the guard. If you have a problem I'm afraid that either you're gonna want to rehire me and hope to whatever sad Gods you worship that I feel like taking it on, or you pay my contractor fees. Take that to the Prince and remind him, preferably with a fist, that when choosing people to get rid of, sysadmins should not be top of the list."
I hung up, infuriated, but pleased. That had been a long time coming and damn did it feel good. But something didn't quiiiiite sit right with me. I hit redial.
" John? What...?"
" And tell him I want an office cat."
*Click* | 'Ha! Keep you on the royal guard as the captain of it all as my father did! What a stupid and pitiful way of getting my command around here. Do yourself a favour and leave at once'
......
It had almost been a solid 7 years since I was thrown out of the leadership of the royal guard and out of the city of seraphis itself, along with my siblings, parents and my wife and children. After 32 years of my service, it was clear to see that the new king wasn't going to keep me around for the next few years, especially since he never could stand my presence since his childhood.
Gods how I miss the first king I served under, king Louis the II. Gods how I missed how I would feel the honour of fighting by his side when fending off the hated invaders of salkos, never surrendering to the thousands of blades, axes, spears and rifles that would be pointed right in our eyes. But I can't ponder on the past now, not now with what's happening.
....
The new king, Louis the III, had taken up the throne of his fallen father (by the gods' will, May he rest well) and struck with a storm of hatred alone amongst the people of his city: he would randomly banish any man, woman or beast that would dare challenge his authority, sending them all off to the wilds of dagear-ram for his own entertainment. My family was one of those who were unlucky enough to be banished due to my termination of the captain of the royal guard. Though I was expecting such from a 18 year old boy that didn't even think to have his father buried like a true king.
Shame for him I suppose. Just as he banished the last few innocents to the wilds of dagear-ram, the invaders of salkos' brother land, haru-ka-ku came in to take the throne themselves. The new king didn't even know what to do to even arbitrate with the invaders, let alone fight them. If only he kept me and listened to me, he would know his father's secret counter measures device...
The device in question was more strange thing that king Louis the II had made as a final resort if all else failed to defeat the invaders and defend the city: it happened to be a counter-measures, explosive device that relied heavily on science, magic and some sort of energy called 'radiation' or what ever the hell it was called. I wasn't one for the finer details of such a weapon.
The king of course didn't want the weapon to be misused and mass produced (for the safety of the natural world of course), so he trusted the only launch codes to the device with himself and his most trusted brother in arms and main advisor: myself. Shame that it will be completely created for nothing really.
......
Moving on from the past, however, I eventually gained trust and a new vocation in the next kingdom over, acting as the captain of the new royal guard for the beast empress, Alexandra the IV of the kingdom of Kalzerous, so I have no more time to dwell on a lost future of a king whose currently penned up in his castle like a frightened little barn pig. | 2021-02-28T04:16:00 | 2021-02-28T03:33:58 | 315 | 61 |
[WP] After you die, you reach purgatory to be seated in an audience of all human souls. God and Satan announce their retirement and are individually interviewing all humans present to choose their replacement. Most people want to replace God, you want to replace Satan. |
A long line of people, yet none seemed to be tired or angry.
Such a thing wouldn’t have been possible. Normally some of the more weak-willed people would’ve resorted to whine and let out their frustration. It wouldn’t even be strange for them to start resigning and simply walk off.
But the line seemed to move at a constant pace. That had somewhat made a young man grin to himself.
His name was Hans. With a bunch of folders and a bottle of water, he came prepared.
*At this rate, I’d make it in no time at all!* Hans did a mental jumping-for-joy at the development.
From what he’d gathered, the other people there were similarly optimistic about themselves.
"Can you imagine if I got *the* job?"
"I know right! But then again, there’s only *one* opening so it could always be me!"
"Hahaha imagine what I’d do with such powers!"
These were all the sorta thing Hans could hear from the other people. Several snickers and suppressed excitements had emanated from the rather long line. In fact, Hans himself had been subjected to the little pleasantries that his neighbours had made his way. Of course, as prepared Hans was, he’d respond in kind without letting too much away.
After quite some time, Hans managed to see a large door in the way of the line. With each time he moved forward, the door swallowed a person in perfect unison. It was eerily *too* perfect in timing.
"Excuse me," a rather beautiful woman called out to Hans, snapping him back to the matter at hand, "would you mind giving me your application?"
"A-Ah, yes!"
A quick dash up to the receptionist desk and Hans practically slid his application towards her. It went so quickly without a hitch that it seemed to have been a product of practice. Indeed, Hans wouldn’t object to anyone calling him out on that at all.
*After all, it’s been a lifetime dream of mine! I’d definitely nail the job and rock it hard!* He said with a smug on his face.
Even so–
"E-Excuse me… Mr. Hans Weiss?" The receptionist called out to the man with a confused look.
"Is there a problem, miss?"
"I–Did you possibly make an error on the application?"
"I don’t think so, I’ve checked it thoroughly before coming here."
"I see," the receptionist awkwardly smiled and picked up a retro-looking phone.
For some reason, Hans – and he believed that everyone else around him – couldn’t hear what the receptionist was saying. He perked up his ears and picked up nothing.
*It must be some sort of magic– No, it’s probably just part of His power.*
"Well then, Mr. Hans Weiss," the receptionist stood up and pointed her dainty fingers towards an empty chair away from the line, "if you don’t mind waiting there…"
"Of course, thank you very much!"
Countless eyes had shifted towards the man who’d taken his seat. To them, it wasn’t something that should’ve happened, no. To them, what had happened seemed to not have been part of a plan – their plan, at least. However, Hans paid them no heed.
Suddenly a large red door appeared out of thin air. A burst of infernal flames had blasted a part of the wall, just next to where Hans sat. But just as fast as the flames had bursted out, it also disappeared quickly.
Just as everyone had finally recovered from the shock, the door swung open with gusto. Then a slick red-skinned man came out of the abyss within.
"Ah, finally… Welcome, uh, Hans Weiss!" the slick man shouted loud and clear.
"Mr. Satan? Oh God, I’ve been *dying* to see you, sir!" Hans practically jumped out of his chair and rushed to greet the slick man.
"G-God? I would prefer if you’d use my name, at least one of the few names I possess, rather than use that abhorrent being!" Satan said.
Hans quickly apologised and made a point of complimenting his looks. Satan simply laughed it off and ushered him in. Excitement filled the air, but a thick sense of resentment had also pushed the pair to quickly escape the room where the others had glared their way.
Once inside, Hans realised the ever-increasing heat. He also saw several nasty things walking about around him. One would understand where he was right now with one look.
"So Hans, why did you apply?"
"I think I’ve put the answer on the appli–"
"Fuck the application, I wanna hear it from yourself."
*Not playing around, I see? Well, it’s only expected of you, O’ ruler of hell!*
"I’m fascinated by hell. Not in the way some gloomy doomer people do, but more like a serious curiosity on it. I’m also wondering what lies within, is it that bad of a place as many had say before me?"
Satan was stunned. He was at a loss for words at the man’s answer. He didn’t need to read the answer the man had written on the application. This was simply due to the man’s declaration, bold and truthful.
"I can imagine you’re quite the little devil yourself, aren’t you?" Satan smiled at the man.
"Heh, I won’t say I’m *that* kinda person. I’m a pretty decent guy, apparently."
"Ho-ho, then wouldn’t I be taking the *wrong* person up for the job? After all, you’d be here and not in the 'good place' that you’ve deserved–"
"Yeah, but I’d be the boss here won’t I? Whereas if I was doing what the rest of them were doing out there… I’d just be another dot in a line."
"So you admitted defeat? You can’t even compete with the others out there, huh?"
Satan said this with a laughing tone. Of course, it was simply natural for him to do that. It wasn’t supposed to be mocking or teasing. No, for Satan it was as normal as a person’s breathing. Hans knew this beforehand as he’d done a thorough research, just like a good jobseeker should.
"I think it’s clear that there’d only be *one* of each – *a* God and *a* Satan – don’t you think? You should probably know how futile it is to put my name into the already full pot, sort to speak."
"Excellent observation, I don’t think someone deserving of being in 'the good place' would ever think this way!" a genuine praise, even if Satan had said this with a very noticeable hint of sarcasm.
"So, when can I start?" Hans tried moving the conversation forward.
"It’d take some time, but I’d like the transition to be smooth as hell! For now, let’s get you up to speed so you can observe how I do things and slowly take over the responsibilities. Sounds good?"
"Right, but I was wondering what’d happen once I *fully* took over. What’d you do?"
"Hahaha you’re quite the curious one, huh? Well, I can’t go into specifics but there’d be lots of sleeping around and drinking! Ugh, I’m already imagining it now!"
*Sounds like a fine retirement, maybe this won’t end too bad after all….* | # The Cracks In Their Souls
(Part 3: That's How They Fall Apart)
(Note: The Cracks In Their Souls is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Jamie walked through the Golden Gates, not quite sure what to expect.** If this was heaven, would he be able to see Little Bugger and Goaway again? Would he... would he be able to see his Big Sis?
He shuddered. God forbid, would his parents still be there, hounding him even after death?
He stepped into the patch of cloud beyond the gates—
—and time froze.
Jamie tried to move.
Nothing happened.
He started to panic.
Then, with a squeal of static, unseen speakers blared to life.
"This is your captain speaking," a deep, rolling voice said. "By which I mean captain of the mortal and immortal world. God. I'm God. If you didn't get that already." There was a pause. "I probably should translate this into every language that isn't English, just to make sure everyone gets the message. 这是你的。。。"
Jamie listened with increasing befuddlement as God iterated through Chinese, Telugu, fourteen different languages consisting entirely of meows, something mechanical that sounded like the printer after Daddy beat it in anger, and a language of magic and poetry that made Jamie weep to hear. After an uncertain amount of time had passed, someone else took over the mic.
"...See, nonsense like this is why we're retiring. There's just too damn *many* of you guys to keep track of. I mean, seriously, you sapient beings personify everything. Look, I can work with cats and dogs, but what kind of eternal torment am I supposed to give a *computer*? So we're looking for some... interns, so to speak. Interns for the afterlife, to manage smaller parts of it."
Satan frowned, then added, "Hey, God, did you have a list of candidates?"
God sighed. "Satan, there are 4.3\*10^(520) souls in the afterlife right now, thanks to every sapient being in the universe giving everything they come in contact with a made-up personality and a soul. I can clear out most of the inanimate objects for you—unless you really *want* a toaster to become a Prince of Hell—but we'll have to do some interviews ourselves."
"...how many interviews?"
"All of them, more or less. We can just use time dilation to—holy *me*, is this thing still on? I'm so damn overwo—" The time-freeze effect and the squealing of loudspeakers abruptly cut off, leaving Jamie to blink, concerned, in a rather empty patch of afterlife. *Those* two clowns were running heaven and hell?
As if summoned by his thoughts, those two clowns materialized with a soft pop in front of Jamie; or perhaps Jamie materialized in front of them. It was hard to tell when one was in an endless plane of clouds with exactly one defining feature—and an infinitely long one, at that. "Alright... Jamie McCallister, is it?" God asked. He'd taken the form of a hovering ball of light in a loud-patterned shirt; Satan wore a matching outfit—insofar as a sphere of darkness could have an outfit—and held a clipboard that extended downwards through the clouds and just kept going.
"Don't call me McCallister," Jamie said softly.
God paused. "And why would that be?"
"My parents' names were Mr. McCallister and Mrs. McCallister. Mr. and Mrs. McCallister did *nothing* while the bad men tried to take Big Sis away." Jamie clenched his fists, phantom gunshots ringing in his ears and tearing through his flesh. "I," he said, "am not a McCallister."
God and Satan... well, it was difficult for a point-source of light and anti-light to turn and look at each other, but their loud shirts rotated as if they did, anyway.
"You... sound like you've been through a lot," God finally said. "You don't have to take either of these positions, if you don't like. You could rest up here. Be hap—"
"Would I see Big Sis?" Jamie asked.
God hesitated, then shook its... shirt. "Abigail McC—er, your big sister is still alive, thankfully. But she won't make her way into the afterlife for quite some time."
Jamie smiled faintly. "That's good. That makes one of us."
God and Satan looked at each other uncomfortably.
"Your cat and dog," God continued. "Little Bugger and Goaway? They're up here, though. You could... you could see them, if you'd like."
Jamie's face lit up. "I'd love to. But..." He hesitated, then scowled. "The bad men. Are they here, too?"
Satan flipped through the clipboard. "...Yeah, seems like. They had a bit of a hard life, so normalizing by their Piety quotient and marginalizing out the intrinsic unfairness of mortal reality, they got put in purgatory. Holding pattern until we can spare the energy to decide whether we send them to heaven or—"
"You haven't *decided* yet?!" Jamie lunged forwards and tried to grab Satan's neck; a ball of perfect darkness neither had a neck nor anything to grab onto, so Jamie only succeeded in phasing through Satan and his—evidently illusory—shirt. "They should—they tried to hurt my big sis! They... it—it wasn't my fault, it wasn't my fault, he said it wasn't my fault—"
"Ah." Satan sounded... vindictive. "I see. You know, Jamie, you've gone through *so much*, and I'm sorry you've had to—but perhaps it was better this way."
God nudged Satan. "What the hell are you doing? Come on, let's—you know I'm no good with children. Let Avizandriel take care of—"
"We need interns, right? Well, Jamie, if you take on the mantle of being a prince of hell, you could hurt the bad guys." Jamie froze, fists still tight. "You could take the bad men who hurt your sister and you could hurt them back. Because you know—it's not your fault." Jamie stiffened. "It's *theirs.*" Satan conjured an image of two men in a warehouse, one with a hypodermic needle in a little girl's skin, another yanking her by the arm into a boat. "You could do everything they tried to do to you a *hundredfold*." Satan glowed blue; reluctantly, God glowed red. "All you have to do is take responsibility for a little patch of Hell. If you agree... touch the blue orb. And if you don't, well... touch the red orb."
Jamie looked between the blue and red spheres, then at the recording of the two men and their fight with Jamie and his only other friends—all of whom were now dead—at the dockside warehouse. Then he looked at Satan and whispered, "When... when Big Sis finally comes back here... when she's healed from everything that happened to us... will I still be stuck in that moment? Torturing the bad guys forever?"
Satan hesitated. "Ah... well... the thing is—"
Jamie touched the red orb, and the vision vanished. God heaved a sigh of relief. "That's not what I want."
"You want it right now," Satan said, confused. "What kind of child can resist what they want right now?"
"The kind with a soul cracked by fire," God noted. Satan scowled. Jamie grew pensive.
He turned to God. "...can you take me to see my cat and dog?"
God smiled.
"I'd like nothing better."
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "The Cracks In Their Souls" 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/mh9amh/the_cracks_in_their_souls_masterpost/) for more information. | 2021-03-31T09:48:39 | 2021-03-31T07:55:35 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | "And you call it sensory reorganization?"
"Yes," I said with a shrug. "Why did you want to see me after class?"
"This is quite frankly, Miss Peterson, the most horrifying spell I've ever seen. Please don't tell me you tested this."
"Just on some flies and one very confused bird."
"And why on the Mother's Earth did you decide to make something like this?"
"Well, I was thinking how you were saying that spells gain eficiency when they performed several similar functions at once. So I asked myself what are several different things that could happen at once that would be good for using on opponent."
"I will give you credit," Professor Hammick said with a sigh. "You did effectively utilize parallel procedural spell creation tactics. The Mana requirement is very low for the amount it would disorient an opponent. For you to get full credit, you'll have to properly cast the spell. Since I refuse to subject the entire class to the sight of this in action, I asked you after class so that I could formulate a humunculus and you could cast it there. you'll still be required to come to class tomorrow and take notes on the other students much more traditional spells."
"I'm ready," I said simply, holding up my wand.
With a flick of his own wand, Professor Hammick summoned the flawless homunculus that stared dumbly ahead.
"Hear your ruts, See your gasps, Smell your guts and Taste your ass!" I yelled, arching five green darts of energy at the target. Its eyes rolled inside its head to view its own windpipe, its ears and nose slipped inward crawling down to hear and smell its own bowels. Its skin sensation localized entirely to the top of its mouth and the tongue retreated all the way to the anus where it began to rotate in slow circles, barely peeking out."
The professor quickly banished the creature before it could suffer any more. "I will give you an A for the assignment if you promise me to never let me see you use that spell again, Miss Peterson."
"Of course," she said, fingers crossed in a witch's hex behind her back.
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing. | I got it online, the spell, a sequence of logographic runes that looked complicated enough, with a few logograms I recognized as conjunctions, so there were at least a few clauses, but not so complicated that my professor would suspect I'd stolen it. From my stolen peeks at other student's scrolls, it was of similar length and grammatical structure to everyone else's spells, but where he glanced at the other's scrolls and waved them away, he asked me to stand in front of his desk while he read mine.
He squinted at my scroll through the lower half of his bifocals and shook his head to refocus a few times before it finally signified. His posture decayed, his shoulders relaxing and rolling in, his upper back bending forward into a slouch, his whole body leaning into his chair's armrests. When the chair started to spin, he tried to stabilize himself with the desk, but his grip was weak. The rest of the class had by then quieted and were staring at our professor splayed out on the floor with the shoulders of his suit coat almost swallowing his head. Because others stood and walked closer, I had an opportunity to recede to the crowd's rear. I did not know if anyone noticed that it was my spell he read.
Someone else, not me, because I didn't do anything and just tried to be small and unnoticeable, fetched Professor Greeves. She herded us into the corner of the room and paced toward the face-down scroll, right next to the body. Through thick purple-tinted glasses, she read the spell and muttered under her breath about the gods and may they have mercy on someone. She asked all of us, "Who turned it in?"
I looked around at every face. All of them faced forward; I was the only one looking around. No one said anything, and I was grateful.
She began to call out numbers. At the top of the scroll I handed in, I wrote the number 24, as in student number 24. As she counted and the students identified themselves, I realized there was no way out. Professor Reeves knew better than to ask for 24. By asking for everyone else, she was going to surround me, and when I was surrounded they would seize me, and when I was seized they would take me, and where they would take me...
I hopped on a desk and leapt across the room for her purple glasses. I ripped them off her face and turned the scroll toward her. I held her eyelids open so she had to read it. She became limp.
There were the other students to take care of. I could not understand the spell as written, which may be why I was immune to it, but I could pronounce the symbols. I inhaled from my diaphragm and pushed out from it, delivering a full-throated incantation into the room, flooding it with the spell. But only half of the class, the better students, fell to the ground. The others remained. The younger boy with braces fixed his eyes on me as he paced, stepping carefully over the bodies of our classmates, toward the fire alarm, then pulled it.
When security arrived, our professor grumbled to them. He struggled himself up from the floor, surveyed the room, and started massaging his temples. It was not, as I feared, a murder spell. Just a knockout one. They expelled me anyway, obviously. | 2021-04-01T20:04:28 | 2021-04-01T19:01:18 | 795 | 132 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | "Professor? You wanted to see me?"
The professor seemed to have calmed down since the student first turned in their assignment. The look of terror had gradually subsided as the class went on, though there was still a note of wariness in the professor's eyes. The professor nodded.
"Is it about the spell?" the student had expected a wide array of responses when the spell was presented, but horror wasn't one of them. Annoyed, certainly. Amused, if the student were lucky. "The thing is, I have an appointment with the hospital pretty soon and—"
"Oh, of course, then I'll make it quick. You see, I've been teaching for almost twenty years," the professor began. "And rarely, if ever, have I met a student with outright malicious intentions. So I'm assuming that your spell erasing any red ink on a piece of paper is more a prank than anything else. Am I correct?"
The student shrugged halfheartedly, hoping it didn't come across as too arrogant. "You have to admit, it's funny."
"Grading! You know it's the bane of my existence." The professor, only half-exasperated. "You're lucky I know how to take a joke. Professor Kinely would make you redo this assignment."
The student smiled innocently. "But you won't?" the student asked, almost teasingly.
"No, I won't. But that's not what I really wanted to talk about. You recall, early in our lessons, we talked about subjective descriptors when it comes to command spells."
The student nodded.
"Well, this is where color comes in. You see, red is not something which can be objectively defined. It depends on who is seeing it. So your spell can be interpreted many different ways. So it can either cause someone to stop seeing red, or it can cause all ink to be erased entirely. It's unknown until the spell is tested."
The student froze. "Oh, uh, I think I might know which it is."
A disapproving look settled in the professor's eyes. "Is your appointment with an optometrist?"
"...Yes."
"Well, that's one mystery solved." The professor turned back to her computer. "You're dismissed." | I got it online, the spell, a sequence of logographic runes that looked complicated enough, with a few logograms I recognized as conjunctions, so there were at least a few clauses, but not so complicated that my professor would suspect I'd stolen it. From my stolen peeks at other student's scrolls, it was of similar length and grammatical structure to everyone else's spells, but where he glanced at the other's scrolls and waved them away, he asked me to stand in front of his desk while he read mine.
He squinted at my scroll through the lower half of his bifocals and shook his head to refocus a few times before it finally signified. His posture decayed, his shoulders relaxing and rolling in, his upper back bending forward into a slouch, his whole body leaning into his chair's armrests. When the chair started to spin, he tried to stabilize himself with the desk, but his grip was weak. The rest of the class had by then quieted and were staring at our professor splayed out on the floor with the shoulders of his suit coat almost swallowing his head. Because others stood and walked closer, I had an opportunity to recede to the crowd's rear. I did not know if anyone noticed that it was my spell he read.
Someone else, not me, because I didn't do anything and just tried to be small and unnoticeable, fetched Professor Greeves. She herded us into the corner of the room and paced toward the face-down scroll, right next to the body. Through thick purple-tinted glasses, she read the spell and muttered under her breath about the gods and may they have mercy on someone. She asked all of us, "Who turned it in?"
I looked around at every face. All of them faced forward; I was the only one looking around. No one said anything, and I was grateful.
She began to call out numbers. At the top of the scroll I handed in, I wrote the number 24, as in student number 24. As she counted and the students identified themselves, I realized there was no way out. Professor Reeves knew better than to ask for 24. By asking for everyone else, she was going to surround me, and when I was surrounded they would seize me, and when I was seized they would take me, and where they would take me...
I hopped on a desk and leapt across the room for her purple glasses. I ripped them off her face and turned the scroll toward her. I held her eyelids open so she had to read it. She became limp.
There were the other students to take care of. I could not understand the spell as written, which may be why I was immune to it, but I could pronounce the symbols. I inhaled from my diaphragm and pushed out from it, delivering a full-throated incantation into the room, flooding it with the spell. But only half of the class, the better students, fell to the ground. The others remained. The younger boy with braces fixed his eyes on me as he paced, stepping carefully over the bodies of our classmates, toward the fire alarm, then pulled it.
When security arrived, our professor grumbled to them. He struggled himself up from the floor, surveyed the room, and started massaging his temples. It was not, as I feared, a murder spell. Just a knockout one. They expelled me anyway, obviously. | 2021-04-02T00:45:54 | 2021-04-01T19:01:18 | 176 | 132 |
[WP] Your witchcraft professor gave everyone in your class a seemingly impossible task: create your very own spell. When you nervously turned your assignment in, a look of horror spread across professor's face as they read it. You had no idea why. | "Do you understand what you've done?" Snorwitch asked, her face pale and drawn.
"Well, I just figured that sanitation is always kind of a problem, and expensive, and... I'd been reading about how there aren't enough pollinators..."
"Your spell, Ms. Gavin, turns human feces into live bees."
"Yeah, so I just thought that it would kind of take care of two problems at once..."
"The problem, Ms. Gavin," said Mrs. Snorwitch, increasingly agitated, "is that it works whether the feces is inside a person or not! Can you imagine the battlefield implications? Ms. Gavin I fear you may have just invented a hitherto unheard-of war crime!" | "Sir...whats wrong?"I Blurt out
His face drops, I hope im not in serious trouble, the last time his face dropped like that was over two winters ago....when his wife...disappeared.
"You...you have created a spell..that..that can"
He stares at me as if i have just murdered someone, "What is he on about?", i think to myself.What is that shocking that could cause such horror.
"Young Sire, in my office now!"
I follow his command as fast as possible and rush to his office, the class being left behind in a state of terror.We enter his office, I'm so confused...what could cause such...devastation.
"Boy..do you know how to replicate this spell?"
"Not Really Sire, you see i didn't write th-"
Professor Slithers Cuts me off, "What do you mean you didn't write this?!"
"I was thinking about a spell that could cure all darkness in the world but...I knew that wasnt gonna happen so i decided to go for something simpler...A spell that cures death..."I begin to hunch over saddened that my secret had to be revealed"But i knew i couldn't write a spell that did that...so i summoned a deadra..."
"YOUNG MAN DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW DANGEROUS THAT IS!"
He begins to shout and scream, maddened by the fact i summoned a deadra.... he smashes the window and threatens to throw me down there.
Professor Slithers' office is in the very top of the castle tower, and that's over about 300ft above the ground...if he threw me out this window there was no going back...
I feel his hand loosen and... | 2021-04-02T04:16:19 | 2021-04-02T02:07:50 | 52 | 17 |
[WP] "You killed in a peace zone" the guard said pointing a gun at me. "No I poisoned him before he went into the assassin meet-up he just happened to die in the peace zone" I responded. The guard pondered this for a second. | “Halt! Hands up!”
Declan McNair sighed and placed his hands in the air with a smirk. He had nothing in particular to fear. No weapons to conceal, no illegal materials, and he was standing smack dab in the middle of a mile wide neutral zone. Even the tattooed, interlocking symbol shimmering on his left hand wouldn’t get him killed here.
“There a problem, officer?” Declan asked as he turned to face the enforcer. The slight, cheery lilt to his voice betrayed the danger he posed.
The enforcement agent was young, baby faced even, probably fresh out of the academy and definitely unable to grow his own facial hair. The master assassin could disarm or kill this young pup without breaking a sweat, but that wasn’t his first thought. After all, he’d done nothing wrong by the letter of the law.
“Stay where you are, hands stay up,” the officer said, voice and the gun in his hand both shaking slightly.
*Too much adrenaline,* Declan thought. Perhaps mixed with a fair bit of anxiety, might even be the kids first attempted apprehension. All in all, the threat assessment didn’t even rate on his scale. This stop was more an annoying waste of his precious time than anything else.
“What am I being detained for, lad, may I ask?” Declan smiled. “Well, of course I may ask, it’s within my rights as a citizen of Nulla and you’re required by law to answer truthfully.”
“Violation of The Truce, err, Statute 873.31, Section A3.”
Declan’s eyes nearly rolled out of his skull. No one referred to The Truce by its formal designation. It was the single bit of text that kept the decaying city from being fully torn apart by its two warring factions, one of which Declan was a rather senior member. The one mile wide strip of land snaking through the entire city, slicing it in half, was the key to all of it. The N.Z. was the one place where commerce could be conducted without fear, where you could meet with another person without fear of losing your life.
As such, violators were punished… harshly.
Declan sighed once more. “Walking through the zone unarmed is considered a *violation* now? My goodness gracious, I had no idea! Shall I turn over the illicit pair of dress pants I just bought next door?”
“Murder,” the officer said, desperately attempting to steady his voice. “Murder is *the* violation, and you damn well know that.”
“Murder?” Declan replied, feigning shock and indignance. “You can see I’m unarmed. It takes quite a lot of effort to kill someone while unarmed, you know that, don’t you, lad? Quite a messy business as well. Yet, I’m not bloody, nor out of breath, I’ve got not a single hair out of place resulting from the barbaric act I’ve been accused of committing. ”
“Poisoning doesn’t require much exertion, *you* know that. Now, get on your knees, hands remain up. Got me?”
“Ahhh, *that.”* Declan subtly touched a raised finger to his hidden earpiece as he went to his knees, opening communication to all members of his guild. One of them was bound to be near enough to provide assistance if he couldn’t talk his way out of his predicament. “You could have just told me you meant the *poisoning.* Might have saved us some time, my boy!”
The officer’s eyebrows arched high in disbelief. “You’re... admitting to it? Do you understand you’re being recorded and your words can be held against you?”
“‘Course I admit it, because it was perfectly legal.”
“You murdered a man within the confines of the N.Z., smack dab in the middle in fact. He died at Reffenel Plaza, there were cameras and witnesses everywhere. We were able to track his path backward and found footage of you injecting him as he crossed the street several minutes earlier. You’re good, it was subtle, but our cameras are better.”
“Crossing the street, you say? Well, therein lies your issue. Which street was it, again?”
“J Street? What does it matter?”
“J Street is the western border of the zone. That’s what matters. I injected him in hostile territory.”
“He *died* in the zone!”
“Well, I can’t be held liable for that unfortunate occurrence, can I? I assaulted a man in perfectly legal fashion, doesn’t matter where they die, so long as the assault didn’t occur in the Neutral Zone.
A female voice crackled to life in Declan’s earpiece. *“I’m so very happy to hear you say that, Declan. I feel the same way.”*
“Vessivian?” Declan recognized the voice of his longtime rival immediately. His head flicked from left to right and back again, trying to catch sight of any approaching threat.
*“Top of the Neyama Building, to your west.”*
Declan trained his eyes that direction. They widened at the sight of an obvious glint at the top of the building.
“Well… shit,” Declan muttered. “You may wanna step back, lad. If you don’t want your uniform to—”
The sound of a single supersonic round from Vessivian’s railgun shattered the peaceful, quiet calm of the Neutral Zone. The violent impact splattered the younger man in Declan's blood.
“Jesus!” the officer shouted, as he stumbled back in shock and horror. “What the fuck!”
Gasping for breath, he glanced in the direction of the Neyama building, a quarter mile away, just outside the Neutral Zone. Finding no second shot was coming his way, he raised his shaking hand to his own earpiece to report in to his superiors.
The report would be simple and impossibly complex all at once. An assassin had killed another, just as they did every day, and the fragile rules that bound the city together had just been altered forever.
\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading. Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like to read more from me. | Six years ago, I ran a little fast food place on the outskirts of town. It’s closed down now — my choice — but back then, we did decent fried chicken and it’s what we became known for, along with our generous portions (we always filled a hole). The secret to delicious fried chicken, by the way, isn’t the seasoning: it’s frying it twice, in duck fat. Plus a few juiced limes.
We did well, I made money. It wasn’t a chain, although I had a few people suggest I started one. Anyway, I’d run the place — King of Wings — for a few years already, back then. But six years ago is when the story starts.
Not that it’s much of a story. I don’t want to get your hopes up. But a story is a story.
I rarely work front of house. Front of house meaning serving the customers. To tell the truth, I rarely worked at all at that point. The restaurant was a self-running automaton (only with staff instead of gears). All I needed to do was come in a few times a week and maybe give the automaton an oil.
That morning I happened to come into the restaurant — and thank god I did, because six staff were out. Six! For the first time in many years, I rolled up my sleeves and said, “What can I do to help out?”
They put me front of house. I took orders, typed them into a machine, then took the cooked food off the rack and handed it to the customers.
First hour went O.K. I won’t say smooth because I was relearning the job. Like when you’ve not exercised in a year or two, you get unfit and it takes a few days, maybe weeks, to get any kind of fitness back.
Anyway, second hour arrives and a woman comes into the restaurant. She was fairly attractive, maybe mid-thirties. Wasn’t fat — I don’t want you thinking she was fat. But she wasn’t thin either. Similar to me at the time. Her hair was cropped, blonde, and sat on her shoulders very orderly.
”What can I get you?” I said.
She looked at me like I was a riddle. “Not seen you before,” she said.
”I don’t work here often.”
”Often must be right. I’ve been coming here every day for weeks, and I’ve not seen you before.”
”So you said.”
”That’s curious, don’t you think?”
I sighed and told her I was the owner and just lending a hand today as the regulars were out sick.
”Hope it wasn’t anything in the food,” she said.
“Lady, so do I. Now, what can I get you?”
”Is it hard,” she said. ”The job, I mean.”
I shook my head. “Hot. Not hard.“
”When I was in the middle east, it got hot there. But the work could be hard, too.“
There wasn’t a queue behind her and it didn’t seem like she was going to go easily, so I let myself relax and asked, “Oh yeah? What were you doing there?”
”I was a marine.”
”Well isn’t that a thing,” I said. “A marine eating my chicken.“
”I *was* a marine,” she repeated. “I’m not anymore.”
”Still, I think that counts for something.”
”I’m not sure it does. We learned to eat anything we could catch.”
My cheeks must have reddened as she added, “But your chicken is much nicer.”
”Glad you think so. And...” I struggled for conversation. “You had enough of the army life?”
She raised a hand. “No. Not really. But I was made to quit.”
”Made to?”
”There was an incident.” She leaned on the counter, her voice softening like she wanted only me to hear.
”I’m stationed on the outskirts of our base,” she said. “On guard duty, basically. Looking for people strapped with explosives and ready to take them out before they blow.“
”That sounds intense.”
”You get used to it. But this night, I’m on duty with my friend, Ross. We’re next to each other, I got binoculars to my eyes. But it’s early evening and the sun’s buried behind clouds. Ross is telling me about his wife and how they met.”
”Okay.”
”Then, bang. Ross has a bullet through the side of his head. I should have seen the shooter first, but I didn’t.”
”Jesus.”
”I don’t mean to react the way I do, but I find the guy with the sniper rifle with my binoculars, then duck before his rifle takes my head off too. Then, I‘m out of the base, literally running at him. So mad I can’t think straight. So mad I’m not worried about my life. I didn’t care if I died. He must see me coming because he takes a shot, but it misses to my left. Then he turns and runs. The coward *runs*.”
”Jesus,” I say again, imagining this lady chasing after me.
”I catch him about a mile out. He’d dropped his rifle long before, but that hadn’t stopped me. We’re in a village now. And people are pouring out of their houses to watch us. People have phones out. And my mind has become a little stable, I know I can’t kill him. Instead, I put my hand to his mouth to cover it and whisper in his ear.”
”That’s it? What did you whisper?”
”You got lucky,” I said. “But he didn’t. I’d pushed a poison pill into his mouth. It’d dissolved before I took my hand away. But no one saw or captured it. My real bad luck was that he died two days later in a peace zone, which prompted investigation into his death. My superiors started sniffing around, so I confessed. They were lenient and we kept it hushed — but I had to leave.”
“That’s... something,” I said, not knowing what else to say. I don’t think I could have done the same — don’t think I could have killed someone. Or have wanted to. “Do you ever regret it? Killing him?”
“Every single day. Taking a life is a kind of death in itself. Worse, maybe.” She paused, then stood tall again and ordered some chicken. Enough for a small family but said it was just for her.
”Why do you come here?” I asked.
”I like your chicken, I guess.”
”Why?”
She shrugged and simply said: ”It fills a hole.”
It wasn’t until after she left that I thought how she comes *daily* for our double fried chicken.
Was it the guilt of her friend dying that made her eat our food? Or of the man she’d killed?
*It fills a hole.*
I lay in bed that night only thinking about her story and my little restaurant. My mind started to mingle thoughts together. Bullets through heads. Poisoning people before they go home. Safe zones.
I know this is stupid, because her story was a world apart from my life. But I lay there remembering what she said and wondering how many heart-attacks my food had caused.
And I couldn’t sleep at all that night. | 2021-04-26T11:03:58 | 2021-04-26T11:02:38 | 1,338 | 267 |
[WP] "Use a health potion, for god's sake! You have like, five hundred of the things!" "But they're expensive!" "IT'S THE FINAL BATTLE! USE ONE BEFORE I CRAM IT DOWN YOUR THROAT!" | The hero whined, "I'm not using a health potion."
Our hero crossed their arm and stuck their tongue out at the Elf archer.
The Elf screamed at our hero, "YOU HAVE SEVERAL HOLES IN YOUR STOMACH!"
"Hey I've always wanted to lose weight."
Blood started to pour out of the holes like a spigot
"YOUR RIGHT ARM IS CUT OFF!"
The hero waved his stump around. Blood spurted out and covered the floors, ceiling, and Elf.
"Eh, I'm left handed always."
"YOUR LEGS ARE COMPLETELY TORN OFF!"
The hero flexed his remaining appendage.
"Hey, who says I can't exercise my left arm?"
"GAAAAH," the Elven Archer screamed, "WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS SO STUBBORN!"
"Listen, these full-health potions are worth 59000 Gil each. I spent a lot of time farming for these. Not only will it be useful in the DLC content. But I can make bank!"
"WHAT THE FUCK IS A DL- y'know what. I don't care. Just drink your stupid health potion before you DIE."
The hero winked.
"Nah, that's what I'm aiming for."
"What?"
"See you in a bit~"
The hero flopped towards the Demon and stabbed him in the leg. Annoyed by the sudden piercing pain, they crushed the hero's head with their other leg.
The demon turned around to face the rest of the party. An artifact glowed in the hero's bag. Pieces of his shattered head slowly became whole. Legs and arms began to regenerate as if they were completely new. Old scars were replaced by bare skin.
The hero got back up and screamed, "I'm back bitches!"
He plunged his sword into the demon's head. The demon only had enough time to scream before they died. As the demon fell to the ground, the Elven Archer approached the hero.
"So... do you mind explaining?"
"You remember the free revive we got from Starter Town?"
"You mean the Artifact of Undying. That villager's prized family possession? The one that she gave to help us on our journey?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. I couldn't sell it on the player market as it was a unique, unsellable item. So I just kept it around to use."
"...you hoarding bitch."
"Now then, let's see what we got."
The hero cut open the demon's stomach. His look of excitement and awe quickly turned into disappointment. He jammed his hand into the guts of the demon. He found legendary lost swords, crowns of dead kings, and even a mysterious glowing orb.
"Ah god dammit. Shitty RNG. Didn't get Banespawn and only got 497,568 Gils worth of loot. Welp. Better try again."
"NO DON-" | I'd often regarded buying a talking backpack at the ever-so-slightly dodgy market in The Capitol as one of the worst decisions I'd ever made. Not only did they only have a capacity of 500, when I was told by the completely trustworthy "mage" I bought it from that it was 750, but they did not shut up. Ever.
Throughout my many adventures across the vast expanse we call The Continent, travelling across the marshes of Grak'ar, fighting hordes of trolls in the Windspike Mountains and even saving the Duke of Tarsham from a terrible fate at the hands of a wicked necromancer by the name of Vilmath, one thing was always certain. My backpack would not shut it's stupid magical mouth. It would always have to pass comment on every single action I took.
Not only would it not shut up but the advice it gave was terrible. I remember two specific occasions where for some reason unknown to me, or perhaps even to the mighty 12 deities who watch down on us, I took the advice of my backpack.
"Sell this sword" it said, highlighting a beautiful rare Orkish Black Iron Greatsword that I'd been gifted after freeing an accomplished Ork Blacksmith from an unjust imprisonment. 2 months later, Wyverns attacked me whilst camping out in the lower hills of the the Western Provinces. Most effective weapons against Wyverns? Extremely rare Orkish Black Iron ones.
"Take this quest" it said, after I'd been speaking with a crippled homeless man who claimed to be the head of a once great house, forced onto the streets by a mighty invading army from the east. I turn up at the house and am imprisoned for 10 days and 10 nights after being captured, not by a mighty army, but by a group of bandits who'd offered the homeless man money to lie and send adventurers into their trap.
After these events I'd learnt to ignore the backpack and continue my adventures by following my own advice. It was a long and arduous process but eventually I'd ignored it to the point where it stopped giving me advice completely.
Many winters passed and many more successful adventures ensued, I'd almost completely forgotten my backpack could speak. But, after eventually learning the virtue of ignorance, I was at the final boss battle.
Gormoth the Executioner, a mighty half man, half beast, stared me down as I recovered from a blow to the side from his powerful right arm. I knew I needed any help I could get to best this powerful foe.
I jump up and dive to the left, avoiding the punishing swing of Gormoth's Greataxe and slice across his lower thigh with my sword.
He laughs, a mighty low bellow that fills me with dread, clearly unimpeded by my attack.
Recovering from my dive, I quickly throw a barrage of poison tipped throwing knives, again to no avail.
He charges with his horns poised to impale me and I slide between his legs, slicing his other thigh in the process.
Through clashes of metal and flesh, we fight on like this until I am bloodied and broken and Gormoth seems to finally be waning from my attempts to take him down.
The ground around is is strewn with blood and broken weapons from the fight, it looked as though we had been fighting for days.
Desperately, I search my backpack for any remaining weapons or supplies in my last ditch effort to win this final battle.
And that's when I hear it.
The backpack.
"Use a health potion, for god's sake! You have like, five hundred of the things!"
"But they're expensive!", I croak, sheepishly.
"IT'S THE FINAL BATTLE! USE ONE BEFORE I CRAM IT DOWN YOUR THROAT!"
It had failed me so many times, but I was willing to try anything to survive this final clash.
Reaching in, I pulled out a health potion, popped open the stopper and brought the bottle to my lips. | 2021-07-03T00:47:05 | 2021-07-03T00:13:45 | 160 | 25 |
[WP] You are absolutely immortal and indestructible, but the universe isn't, and that horrifies you | When I wished for immortality, I didn't truly understand what I was doing. Nobody could, really. There is no human experience that correlates with ten thousand years of sunrise, sunset, wind and thunder, travel, climbing, falling, new languages, new cultures, new people. New loves.
I continue pedaling.
All of them died, eventually, because I had squandered my wish. I was shortsighted. I was mortal. I could have wished for so many better things, made my choices with more wisdom, if only I had ever had wisdom to spare.
I continue pedaling.
The LED bulb hanging in front of me glows softly.
I'm not mortal now. And if there is any flaw that immortality is guaranteed to cure you of, it is surely shortsightedness. I can see all the way to the end of the universe. The stars are all dead. It is cold.
Those ten thousand sunsets are long gone, now. They fell into the past and have washed away downstream. The river is long, a trillion years long, and though I have not seen a true river in nine hundred billion of those years I can feel its winding still. My memory is perfect, you see.
I continue pedaling.
I remember my father taking me out on the river. It was still in the early days of Us, of People, when our writing was cut into clay and sun-dried in careful squares. My father didn't know how to write, nor my mother, but he was an excellent fisherman, and one day he knew he would save enough for a scribe to teach me, if only we could catch enough fish. So we knew the river well, the weft of it, each curve doubling back, small prayers to catch fish gaining us a heavier reed basket.
I continue pedaling.
I have not eaten a fish in a long time. But I did eventually learn to read, which is how I met the witch and made my wish. If I could make another it would be to have learned her secrets too, because in these trillion years I have not seen one hint of the supernatural, not one atom of magic, outside of the spell that keeps me alive and perfect.
I continue pedaling.
Our orbit around Sagittarius A, the black hole at the center of what was formerly the Milky Way galaxy, continues. We drained the last of its angular momentum about four hundred thousand years ago, which is all that had sustained the hydroponic farms. All the other stars are dead, greying embers. The station contains the last living beings in the universe: myself, and the trillions of microscopic bacteria who sustain themselves on the scientific impossibility of my existence.
All else: starved.
I continue pedaling. I know that if I pedal enough, if I can store enough electricity and negentropy in the battery cells of the space station, I can restart the gluon accumulator. I can get Saggitarrius A spinning again, store arbitrary amounts of energy, restart the universe. I can keep pedaling forever. There is nothing else to do. And if God will not restart the universe, if They have neglected the ashes left of this rotting celestial bulk for a trillion years, then I will do it myself, may it take a trillion more.
The LED bulb, the sign that the station is accumulating power, continues to glimmer as I pedal. Let there be light. | My life would expire soon.
That was a strange thought to ponder. I had lived thousands of years surviving the worst disasters known to man. I’ve felt love, pain, and everything in between, yet never death. That scared me. Was this how everyone else felt? I watched the careless civilians from a park bench, each lost in the modernity of life. Even those that appeared happy still shuffled their feet with a robotic rhythm, busy to get nowhere. I wasn’t sure if I felt pity for them or jealousy; they had something I never would. Blissful ignorance.
I couldn’t blame them, I suppose. They didn’t understand what they were doing. None of them would be alive to see the end of their planet. I was the only unfortunate fool that would spend his last moments alone staring at the fiery destruction. Why should they care? Why should they be worried about my future?
It was a fatal flaw of humanity. Few humans could envision a future without themselves, perhaps because such a possibility didn’t concern them. Sure, they would tell you how much they cared about their children’s future, but that was only in the animalistic social fulfilment sense. They wanted their children to be happy, healthy, and live in a warm home. Yet didn’t care about the planet their children lived on. Maybe because that planet still had a few hundred years left, and they were optimistic.
Optimism would have been nice, but I’ve seen the patterns that humanity falls into. A worldwide rut that is impossible to escape. Sure, every few hundred years you get a person who shakes up the social fabric of the world, but all they do is set up the next rut and begin the cycle anew.
Maybe it was hopeless to fight this? Maybe I should just wave a white flag and go home. Enjoy whatever’s left of my life before I’m floating through the void. I entertained the idea of trying to lose myself in a hobby, but in all honesty, I couldn’t think of anything new to try. Sure, I could pick up guitar lessons or kite surfing, but none would distract me from the inevitability of it all. It all seemed so pointless to learn something just for those skills to vanish one day. What was the point of living just to vanish?
No, I refused to go down without a fight. I had time, that meant I had a chance. I could work on further developing space travel. Move some survivors onto another planet. Such an act would save us. For a moment, I was revitalized, fingers pressed in my palm, making a fist of rebellion, only for the fingers to drift out again, returning to its resting position.
That was hopeless, too. Surviving this planet’s end was one thing, surviving the death of the universe was another. There was no miracle plan that could survive that. Death would come for me, and I would have to face that. The sooner I accepted it, the better.
I pushed myself from the bench, taking another look at the passersby. Part of me wanted to run up and shake them, shout into their ears that everything was meaningless, but instead I offered the group of walkers a wave and a cheerful. “Morning.” As I passed, trying out that blissful ignorance, I had observed.
They returned the gesture, and we continued going our separate ways. Maybe thinking was the problem? I spent so many years diving into whatever grabbed my attention that I never truly lived as a human. Even now I couldn’t admit that I was only a human, sure one that was immortal, but beyond that I was exactly like everyone else, only with an inflated sense of self. I spent years as royalty, soldiers, CEOs, and anything else that caught my attention and despite that, in all my years of living, I had never once tried being an average person. One that let themselves get lost in the rat race.
My fingers curled again, returning to that fist. This fist not as confident as the last but carrying with it a spark of hope. That could be the key to finding my peace in these last hundred years. It was an expensive gamble if it failed, but I didn’t see any other options. From this point forward, I wouldn’t chase stardom or control, instead, I would focus on living with the common people, seeing if they held the answers.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-09-09T07:20:26 | 2021-09-09T07:00:22 | 2,142 | 74 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | *Kind of bad attempt*
The kid continued staring. Perhaps he was trying to feign anger, or madness, but whatever it was, it wasn’t intimidating at the slightest.
I took another swing of my drink and promptly ignored the kid, continuing to insult myself even when the other patrons didn’t answer, staring at me in horror. Cowards. Weren’t they just telling me how the Dark Lord had poor fashion taste?
Abruptly, a sharp noice erupted from my right, and I felt a sharp jolt of pain slice through my cheek. I turned lazily, and saw a shards of pottery lying across the bar table. Looking at the kid, I saw uncertainty in his eyes, then grim determination, and I lifted an eyebrow - annoying gremlin. What did he want, exactly?
The boy’s voice was cold when he spoke,
‘Stop it. You will not insult the Lord.’ A tremor of worry could be heard, quickly covered by a more confident tone. I snickered. Brat still needed to improve his lying.
‘Now now, boy, it ain’t nice to lie when it comes to the supreme Dick Lord. What do you want, eh?’
The boy’s ears turned red, but he held his composure fairly well. | I look up from my half-drunk beer towards a Ma-- kid, the kid looked like Every run-of-the-mill kid whose whole family would die in a storm created by me.
I see the panic in the eyes of some commoners, I laugh and laugh. My laughter filled the entire tavern and everyone was quite shaken up because nobody dares to call himself a disciple of the Dark Lord unless he is a true disciple.
I look at the baffled him, his shoes dirty, his eyes dull.
I then spoke up "I know it's you, Alex, you can't fool your master."
The boy's laughter fills the tavern, I look at a particular table, the table number was 8 just like his locket.
I call my 8th disciple "Alex, you should know that silly tricks like this don't work on me."
The man on the table just laughed and everyone feel unconscious except me.
I look towards my eighth disciple interested in what he will do.
I watch him rush towards me with his Magic and spears of different kinds.
I taught him necromancy and yet he uses poison so much.
"Sigh" A huge sigh escapes from my aged mouth yet the smile I held after seeing my disciple grow up is unmovable.
I easily block his attack yet he doesn't back down.
The sound of fighting could be heard throughout the town but not a single soul was alive to witness it.
After 3 days and nights, I look at the exhausted Alex and give him a huge smile. "Come now child, let's go home," I say in a grandfatherly voice only to find that Alex was unconscious. "Ungrateful brat," I mutter to myself before carrying him over my shoulder.
I look at my body and see that I have a wound nay it was a scratch but that scratch proved that he had indeed passed the exam.
I smile again because he could harm me even if it's just a little, The hero couldn't even trim my hair.
"I hope you become a strong boy Alex, Strong enough one day to kill me Alongside your brothers and sisters," I muttered to myself before looking at the stars and teleporting home.
Edit: Anyone wants part 2? | 2022-01-14T14:39:04 | 2022-01-14T13:13:03 | 222 | 104 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid. | "The trappings of fame," thought the Dark Lord as he rode into town. "Wenda's ale is worth the trouble."
He placed a simple glamour over his face. He could handle any would be heroes, but he didn't care for the annoyance. Tonight he was again Todd, the traveling merchant.
Todd entered the tavern and was greeted with an uproar. Visitors were rare in this town. He chatted with the locals and sat at his usual table.
Wenda, the tavern owner, placed a tankard in front of Todd.
"Your usual, I assumed." said Wenda.
Todd replied, "Wenda, they could write songs about your barley ale."
Todd took a large swig and winked at her. His drinking companions laughed. Erick, the smithy, and Colin, the miller were simple people, but a welcome reprieve from the dark nobles.
Colin asked, "Todd, any news? We haven't seen you in near a moon's turn."
Todd drank deeply and said, "Pox in the Northern hamlets. The bridges over the river have been closed. A massive she wolf has been spotted in the coastal woods. They say it has a thirst for children. The bells are ringing in the capitol. The duchess has given birth to a son."
Erick looked around nervously and asked, "Any word of....the Dark Lord?"
Todd smiled, "Oh yes, he killed King Allen."
Erick spit out his ale. Todd laughed heartily.
Colin replied, "That's not funny."
Todd composed himself and said, "Seriously, no confirmed sightings in two months. Some say he's a coward. Some that he's lost his magic. He's been with the Dark Empress for two years and no children...if you get my meaning."
They laughed and ordered another round. The door opened and a stranger stood in the doorway. He wore all black. He was tall and pale. His eyes were dark with make up. The tavern went quiet and all eyes were on the stranger.
The stranger spoke up dramatically, "My name is Carrow and I have been sent by the Dark Lord. I don't want to hurt any one. I am here for coin, jewelry, and other valuables. Do as I say, or else...."
He pulled something from his pocket and tossed it into the fireplace. It flashed a bright green color and then subsided.
Todd stifled a laugh. This was no true magic. The tavern patrons began producing coin purses in fear. Carrow moved about the tavern collecting his prizes. He stopped at Todd's table.
Carrow asked, "A merchant? What have you for me?"
Todd stood, "Leave these simple people alone. I have spices, cloth, and grain in my wagon. Leave these people alone and it's yours."
Carrow smiled, "You dare defy the servant of the Dark Lord. I could curse you to a slow death."
Todd opened his coin purse and produced a large ruby. Carrow's eyes grew wide. Todd raised the ruby with his left hand and deftly reached for his dagger with the right hand. He drove the dagger quickly into Darrow's side. Carrow screamed as the blood flowed.
Many of the tavern patrons fled. Others began to pray. Carrow cried foul curses until he died. The tavern went silent.
Wenda screamed, "Todd, you will bring the Dark Lord's wrath on our town!"
Todd replied, "This is my fault. I will dispose of the body."
Colin and Erick helped load the body into the wagon as Wenda cleaned the blood on the floor. Todd rode out of town.
The Dark Lord talked to Carrow as he rode, "Carrow, you might have been a good student of the dark arts. A shame. You shouldn't have come into my bar like that. I'm not done with you. Perhaps in death you might make a proper servant."
The Dark Lord chanted as he rode, and Carrow's finger's began to twitch. | "..that you have the gall to sit here, not FIVE MILES from his throne, and spout that blasphemous babble is frankly astounding! I should strike you down where you stand, in the name of my teacher and master Balar!"
"I'm sitting..."
The young, round faced man's fists clench harder, knuckles turning from pale red to bright white.
"That's not- YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!" The changes in pitch reveals the rollercoaster of mid-puberty. The fumbling through his cloak for his dagger reveals the lack of experience. The look of murder in his eyes shows belief.
"He doesn't take students boy. Especially when he is too busy swimming in our hard earned coin like a sow in mud!" The drunk looks pleased with himself at that one.
The young man- boy, glances towards the barkeep for backup. The haggard barman just stares at the simple, drunk man at the table, petrified.
"I don't think a blade needs to come between us boy." The drunkark smirks. "We don't want to start-HICK-a row not five miles from his" he waves his hands in the air mockingly "Grand Lord's throne." He spits on the ground and smacks the back of the patron next to him, eliciting no response from his drinking companion.
"YOU WILL ADDRESS HIM AS-"
"His brooding "black robes hide fat so it's my whole wardrobe" arch-magnificence?" The drunk raises his mug in triumph at this biting piece of wit to the other patrons as if holding a trophy. There is no applause.
The boy finally manages to unsheath his dagger, a great feat, and holds it to the drunks throat. "I will show you what a student of Balar can do to trash like you." The blade moves further than expected, the effect of an untrained hand. A drop of crimson pools on the tip of the blade.
"Now now, that's not sporting..." The boy hears the drunk, a booming voice that wells up from inside, but doesn't see him speak. "Your master teach you to threaten an unarmed man? I always thought he was the honorable type." The lips don't open, but the smirk grows.
"My teacher, the Dark Majesty Balar, fights as he pleases!"
The boy glances at the other patrons, surely some would have the decency to stand up for the name of their ruler. Nothing. No one says a word. None stand from their tables. In fact, none of them are moving to help at all. None of them are moving... at all. Mugs mid-way to their lips. Forks in front of mouths, meat sliding off. The bodies don't move, but their eyes are fixed, wide with fear, at the drunk smiling at the table. The boy can feel his own stomach.
Have they been frozen here this whole time? He can't remember seeing anyone moving from when he first approached the braggadocios drunk. He doesn't remember anyone speaking up, or laughing as they did when the smirking man was spouting his heresy. It has been quiet this whole time, no sound but the man's voice. It bubbled up again.
"You are quite right about that."
The boy can hear something now, not just the voice. A whine? No, a wheeze. Its faint but its not alone. It seems to be coming from the people next to him, eeking out in high pitched whispers. He moves his gaze to the companion of the drunk. The whites of the man's eyes are turning red now; his skin a deepening purple and blue. He spins his head to survey the room. Half of the people look the same, the other half have gone pale; eyes rolling into the domes of their skulls. He stares at the mug in front of one man's mouth, no fog on the glass. None of their chests are moving.
"Everyone laughed boy. All of them. Every foul word. Every insult and mockery leveled at their master. Every time another barb was flung by me, this room echoed with their joy, their disgust, their treason. Everyone but you..." The blood on the dagger poured in reverse, off the blade and back into the smirking- no, his face is stern now. Somehow older but more striking. His face is bone white. The veins, black under the skin, stand out like patterns in marble. The blood, much darker now, finds it's way back into the wound, the cut gently sealing itself.
"Its a test you see?" He lifts his hand and slowly pushes the blade away from his throat, but never touches it. "And they have all failed..."
The wheezing stops. The boy can no longer see the shades of purple and blue, only the pale husks of the once raucous crowd.
"Loyalty. Whether through fear or love. Loyalty to me... and my name."
The boy can feel his chest freeze. His arms are locked, his feet are stone. His eyes widen as the man stands and the room grows dark. He can feel the last of his breath leaving.
"And you used mine when you shouldn't have." | 2022-01-14T17:41:26 | 2022-01-14T16:46:19 | 186 | 110 |
[WP] He is called simply The Surgeon, and everyone knows that his OR is neutral ground. Heroes and villains alike seek his aid when injured. You're a hero, just in for some stitches, but waiting in the lobby is a villain you've tangled with before, and they're weeping. | Nemesis cried across from me. I'd seen him before on the news. Just a bit player in the game, he was a B list villain. And he was broken.
My people always told me compassion was how you truly win a fight. Anyone can shoot a gun or punch a face. But looking at an enemy, understanding their why and working to give them no reason to fight, that's how you change the world.
"What's wrong?" Nemesis recoiled, like I'd physically slapped him. He choked back another sob and wiped his nose on an already stained sleeve.
"Ultra. He... He found my Identity. He showed up at my house. My wife tried to stop us and..." He broke down again, the tears drowning anything else he wanted to say. But it didn't matter. I half guessed. I'd heard of Ultra doing this before. Picking some B lister and driving them out of the game by any means necessary.
"So is it your wife that's here?"
"Yeah. I didn't know where else to take her. What if he showed up at a real hospital? What if he tried to come after us again? This was the only safe place I could think of."
I got it. The Surgeon took care of everyone. Her powers were to heal wounds. She was also a licensed doctor during the day so, she also knew what she was doing. She took the oath of "do no harm" seriously. She wouldn't use force to defend her theatre. That's what she employed the bots for. Technically it's not YOU doing the harm if it's a giant figure made of nano machines that basically can't be defeated. A bit of a leap, but I'm not arguing with 9ft of emotionless nope.
"It was smart. This is a safe place."
We were interrupted by a door opening.
The surgeon walked out, a gloves stained red.
"I'm sorry, David. I did what I could but unfortunately there's not much I could do. She passed." Nemesis let out a sound that shattered my heart. Like the grief was trying to tear it's way out of his throat, like a wild animal. Surgeon looked at me and spoke again.
"I'll be with you when I can. David, follow me into my office. I have some brandy. We can talk for awhile, maybe I can help you process this." He followed her in with unsteady steps and I felt even worse.
Once the office door closed, I walked into an OR that was heavy with the copper scent of spilled blood. Nemesis' wife lay on a table with obvious wounds to her upper torso. My people weren't miracle workers. But one thing Humans didn't know about us was where we got our invulnerability. Once we reached adulthood, every one of us was put through a process where we died and saw the creator. When we awoke, we were changed. Our emotions faded, we felt no pain and some of us were given extra gifts. I had pleased our creator and been granted a single boon, to be redeemed upon request. Taking her cold hand in my own, I said a prayer to the creator and made my wish known. I felt the heat return and saw her chest rise and a pair of beautiful brown eyes opened up at me.
"Welcome back. When you're able, find your feet. There's someone who will be glad to see you." | Rachel’s in the waiting room, staring into the grey wall. Walls, there are walls, yet she chose the grey one; her eyes draw to it, passing the blue and oranges that clash, that draw upon each other as if in battle. The liveliness does not cause her any feeling or headaches as many assume when her eyes find browns and greys the most appealing, no; there are many places for people to find comfort in in grey walls. That’s why Rachel’s Surgeon has it, because for some only greys appeal when all else fail. So, she stares.
Her arms are cut in battle. Her arms bleed red, she is red and all she can do is stare straight, stare away; he’ll be here, shortly, he promised, and she didn’t mind the cuts, not really. They dig into her furry arms, deep inside. Her claws retracted.
Her name is The Caring Cat, at least, that’s what others called her as she scaled a four story building to save a man from jumping. Jumping, ha, it was funny.
Bodies only fall for a few moments, before, before-
Her hands shake, thinking of all the rag dolls she couldn’t save. That’s what others say, at least, hearing the stories about the people teetering on the edge, finally choosing a side, the wrong side. People call them rag dolls, because they aren’t exactly people, not when they commit- have committed. They were neighbors, strangers, and now, they’re dolls, just dolls.
That’s what others say, at least. Her hands find neutrality and she closes the fist in her throat; she doesn’t just deal with suicide victims, she’s branched out into “normal” heroes work. There isn’t anything normal about it, saving the world from a fish person turning others into sushi, or stumbling in on a toxic goop that wants to feed their all powerful, drug free, mind controlling goop to everyone. That happened last Tuesday, when she missed one of her course exams.
Then, the crying. Rachel’s eyes draw onto the person immediately, the darkened outfit one of familiarity: The Raging Darkness. Her eyes are spilling out tears that vaporize when meeting skin.
They’re blue, she notes. She pushes herself closer to The Darkness, careful to not touch her; she’s touched her one too many times and got burned.
Fire, is often depicted as flames of red fury, flames burning as bright and as yellow as the sun, yet the hottest fire is blue, colder, cooler. She’s the type of warmth one would never know, illuminating shadows that slink against the wall creeping up when one least expects it. She was the coldest flame one knows.
She meets her, hands tucked in, hidden. Rachel blushes, thinking about another person knowing about her cuts.
She pulls out a candy, a carmel from her grandma’s. She wouldn’t miss it- her grandma hasn’t been around for a long time. A rag doll, some may say, just not a willing one but a walking one. Her memories betrayed her, the dementia took her and only the rag doll is left, breathing. It’s a fate that makes her arms shake, that makes the tired greys so lovely-
The villain pushes away; heroes don’t come to this side, the villain’s divide. Again, she pushes the caramel across the table. Rachel gestures her goodwill.
Not a single word is exchanged before The Surgeon coughs behind her. She turns to meet her eye to eye, and there is gratitude. Rachel waves, and the villain grabs her wrist. Her heart drills her chest, as she finds the room to grab back. Her blue hair in battle was always strung up, but now, it’s flowing and long and it’s nice as it hits her bleeding arm.
Her hearts blue too, like The Darkness’s hair, and her lipstick bleeds red. Her hands stiffen as the thick hair runs along her arm like a marble running across sand.
She moves her hand. The villain follows, pulling back as if the exchange disgusted her. It doesn’t, but it has to. She’s in the hall now, she can’t even see her eyes.
“So, stitches today…?” There’s more after. Technical terms, important, but her eyes are on the grey wall, always on the grey walls.
She finds it in herself to say something, anything. “Yeah… yeah, stitches will do, Doc. Stitches will do.”
(Didn’t have time to proof read! Sorry!) | 2022-01-20T17:14:30 | 2022-01-20T16:00:06 | 727 | 153 |
[WP] To alien species, belief is everything. Once you’ve formed your beliefs, changing them is not possible. If you get confronted with overwhelming evidence that it is wrong, you simply die. The human ability to change opinions is terrifying.
[deleted] | "I don't understand. You say there are no laws preventing you from sharing technology or scientific data."
"Correct."
"But you still won't do so."
"Also correct. We do not wish to be responsible for the annihilation of a whole race!"
"Do you believe us to be that careless? That we would destroy ourselves so easily?"
"Not careless, but of course it would destroy you. Well, most of you. Your offspring go through a...pre- verbal stage, yes? They might survive."
There was a long pause as the human ambassador tried to digest this information and form a coherent response. "How would they survive? Anything that would cause my death would surely also kill a child."
Another long pause, this time from the Tyrrpol ambassador. "I apologize, we did not realize your offspring became <<frrek>> so young."
"What? Something didn't translate. Become what?"
"<<Frrek>>, um....solid? Set? Our offspring can accept new information without risk of death for around 2 of your years. We thought the timetable would be similar for you."
"Risk of...ambassador humans can accept new information at any point in their lifespan. Some might refuse, but there is no risk of injury or death."
"No. No no no no NO NO NO NO NO."
The Tyrrpol ambassador was still screaming when his neural net lost coherence. | Date: 5/24/22
Time: 13:21
Planet: 88-B7
Researcher: Dr. Montagna
Log Number: 553
Begin weather log:
Temperature: 292 Kelvin
Humidity: 54%
Atmosphere: Earth-Like
Begin researcher notes:
There are several species on this planet, a lot more than we originally thought. From what I've seen, there are about 60 different species. All of them seem to be in a society of sorts that is similar to ours. They have politics, beliefs, and more. This is more than what we've ever seen before, likely thanks to the new mini-drones we have sent down. They have given a large amount of needed info, and have even established communication down there. They speak a language of their own that is comparable to a mix of German and Korean using a language that uses runes that are comparable to the fictional draconic language.
We have also observed a new element in their society, specifically in beliefs and politics. It's almost as if their bodies cannot handle a lie or being false, as the second they are found false for an opinion in their debate, they crumble to mere dust. This has lead to safe havens of silence, and debate has turned to a blood sport. Betting on anything is a risk of your life, and you cannot have a preference that someone disagrees with. From what we have seen, this leads to a tyrannical society of sorts in communicating societies, and a direct democracy based on acts of gratitude in silent societies.
This seems to work for most species, however the Scrapolio have shown severe rebellion to this society. They seem to not be able to be silent for more than 30 minutes, suddenly howling and screaming. They are also found to be in the most debates, and speak the fastest compared to the other species, making them killing machines.
There also seems to be little to no wars going on, as someone who tries to start a war is shot down by people yelling in opposition. The only wars witnessed seem to be screaming matches that try to involve the silent havens, who side with whoever didn't attack them. However, if a majority of the Scrapolio is on one side, that side is most likely to win the war.
We are planning on bringing a human down soon, once we learn the language more. It seems like a safe environment for a human, as the atmosphere is safe and we aren't affected by whatever genes force the planet to be fact checked by their blood.
Until Next time.
End Log. | 2022-05-24T11:13:05 | 2022-05-24T10:48:53 | 320 | 67 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why." | “I’m sorry, what?”
“You heard me!” I dashed out of the way, dodging a wild swing of a sword. “You’re the strongest, so I’m going to kill you to prove I am!”
“How can I be the strongest… me!? Unless you mean by how good I am at doing carts at retail-” I froze, lost in thought, causing the other me to run into me. “Ow! Wait, are you saying there are other me’s? Like, a multiverse!”
“Duh-”
“That’s so cool!” The sheer excitement in my voice seemed to throw him off. His curiosity seemed to get the better of him, and he lowered his sword.
“...How would you not know that?”
“How would I know that? The only multiverse or such I’ve seen is in movies or books or such! That’s so cool! What’s it like! Is it like a fantasy book? A sci-fi book?”
“...Yes.”
“Really!? Like there’s a lot of magic and really advanced technology!? That’s awesome!!!”
“I suppose it-”
“Can you show me?!” The other me looked at me with such confusion.
“I was just trying to kill you?”
“So what? If I hadn’t moved out of the way you would have just killed me. It’s not much of a challenge if I can’t do anything to stop you. So if you show me how to do magic and stuff, then I can actually maybe be the strongest!”
“...There is a logic to your madness. Fine. Come on.”
“Yay!” | In your final moments, it is said that your entire life flashes before your eyes. I might've seen something similar as my doppelganger lunged at me, had my attention not been drawn to the gaping wound he had ripped in my reality. An open wound, bleeding a blue ebb of time and space, oozing the pus of his dimension into mine. Through the window of the wound I spied the smouldering remains of a house, reddened by fire and blackened by smoke.
My attention returned to my attacker as his left fist collided with my cheek, sending a ringing wave of shock through my face before finally alerting my brain that there were more pressing matters at hand than the pretty colours of the portal. The force of his punch sent me tumbling heavily to the ground, where the breath was exiled from my lungs and my adrenaline finally kicked in. I rolled away from the heavy boot sweeping down to crush my face and found my footing.
I took a good look at my attacker. He looked mostly identical to me, except that he was an utter mess. Hair slicked flat with what I inferred to be my own blood, clothes torn and scorched, shoes nearly shredded, knuckled bleeding, teeth gnashing, eyes wild, fist clenched and swinging to hit me again. I took a slight step back and found a plate bearing a peanut butter and banana sandwich: I found my lunch. Oh yes, that's what I was doing when I met myself. No matter, I thought as I brought the ceramic plate up to employ as a weapon, I can eat later.
Mutually assured destruction is a fair description of what followed, so lomg as it is acknowledged that I assured him much more destruction that he assured me. He hit me, I hit him. His hand left quite the impression on my lip, and I my plate connected with his skull quite heavily. I struggled to keep my balance against the kitchen table, he hit the floor with a oddly sharp thud. It surprises me yet to this day just how naturally the next move came to me, and I suppose it struck me as odd then, as I raised the metal kitchen chair over my head without a second thought. He had just begun to get up when I hit him, sending him right back down, where he stayed for the next eleven hours.
During those eleven hours, I had plenty of time to think. I should have been thinking about how carelessly I killed my doppelganger, and I did, for a bit. Mostly, I thought about just what had qualified me as the strongest of my ilk. After a good few hours of thought I came to a conclusion as I scooped the body back through the portal whence he came: I must use the heaviest kitchenware. | 2022-11-09T13:35:50 | 2022-11-09T11:21:09 | 77 | 38 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next. | The High Wizard’s Council was a shadow of what it once was. Where once reigned supreme the Elves, now sat a mixed council of children who couldn’t even believe in the truth of his existence. A Human, a Half-breed, a Dwarf and a Gnome stared down at him from on high, not one of them a year over eighty. Most of them would likely not make it to that point.
Then again, none of them would be likely to make it through the day.
“Callon the Immortal,” said the Half-breed councilwoman, her slightly pointed ears twitching, her lips pursed in between the words as she spat them out, “I never thought I’d see this day. It is my pleasure to sentence you to death. However, you may ask for the method, and it will be carried out immediately.”
Callon was a tall man, with golden blonde hair that hung far below his shoulders, with two knife-edged ears that stuck out proudly to the sides. He was no mere Half-creature like the councilwoman, but the real thing. Callon was an Elf, one of the few that still remained, “This is my sixth execution of the millenia.” He said, a smirk crawling across his face, “But, I wish you luck. Maybe this time it will stick.”
“Your arrogance has been noted, Callon.” The Gnome interjected. Grey hair, a bulbous red nose, thick glasses, and a tall, pointed, purple hat. It was as though he simply wore the costume of a real wizard, “But you have witnessed the power of this council.”
“Ah, yes. The last man wished from you to die of Old Age. So you cast a spell and he shriveled to dust before our very eyes. Impressive for a child. Before that, there was that thief who said they couldn’t die until they were worth something. Now in the back of the room you’ve a golden statue that will do nothing but gather dust. Before that, they wanted to see the stars one last time, and so they vanished off into the void where they would no doubt die in the vacuum. Your cruelty is noted, if nothing else, you gave me a good laugh.”
The human, the youngest by far, slammed his fist on the table, “Damn you! You find this funny?!”
“Hilarious."
“Calm yourself,” The Dwarf said to her fellow councilman, “We are here to carry out your punishment. You will either tell us the method, or we will choose one suitable for you.”“Hm, well that’s not very fun. I have something in mind, a way I’ve never actually died. But, knowing you won’t do it is disappointing.” Callon said, “You’re just going to pick something yourself anyway.”
“That is not how this works, Callon. So long as the method ends in your death, we will carry it out.” The Half-breed said.
“Really then? Is that a promise?”
The councilwoman opened her mouth, but stopped. She looked at the others, receiving their nods of approval, “So long as it ends in your death.”
“Goodie.” Callon said, “Then allow me to tell you a story. Many elves, those of us who still live, have trouble remembering the past. There was a time before the world was fractured, if you would believe it. A time when the races of Man were forced to share their lands, and as you can expect, this was a time of great strife. Wars were fought, power was sought, deaths were brought.”
The Human and the Gnome wore their frustration visibly, though the other two attempted to hide it with faces made of chiseled stone.
“Then, when it seemed war would be all that we knew forever, a weapon was brought. Perhaps it was manmade, perhaps it was a spell so sinister it could only have been wrought by those claiming to be of the light. That is what I remember though. I cannot remember a family during those days, or friends. I don’t remember if I even fought in the war, but I do remember how it ended. A bright light, an explosion with the power to snuff out life for decades to come. That is what I ask for you to bring here. On this spot, immediately in this very room, detonate a blast so large that-”
“Absolutely not!” The human shouted, “This has gone on long enough! He’s making a mockery of this court!”
“Indeed,” The Half-breed said, “Let us listen to these psychotic ramblings no longer.”And yet, despite their words, each council member raised their wand toward Callon. Around him, a glowing golden circle of mystical runes etched themselves into the marble floor. Further, and further out they spread from him. And he was still smiling.
“You really should be more careful making promises, I’ve had an eternity to think them through.” | *Yeah, I got this all figured out*. Adam — known to the prison guards as inmate #2013 — could barely contain the smirk which corrupted his face. He’d festered his spiteful request for years; ever since the court sentenced him to death. Waiting in a line of condemned inmates, he was salivating to get to the front.
*They want to sentence me to death for such a petty crime? I’ll show them just how I feel about that!* The moment he looked at the judge, he knew how he would die. She was a tall, sturdy woman with long legs and voluptuous thighs. Her chest housed all her authority and her eyes, her contempt. Each day of his confinement, she’d looked down on him with those icy eyes, as if he were made of glass. Each day, she’d bounce around the halls in those ridiculous heels. Plaguing the hallways with her endless stomping. Just thinking about her filled Adam with rage.
They said he could die any way he chose, right? They would honor any request? *When I get to the front of this line, I’m looking that bitch right in the eyes and smugly telling her, “I request death by snu snu from you, my fair judge. To die with a smile on my face as you crush me with your thighs.”* Oh! The very thought filled Adam’s soul — what little he still had — with joy. Be still my beating heart, he thought to himself while clutching his chest. He waited in line, praying he didn’t die before they could put him to death.
He remained infatuated with his own spiteful genius throughout the queue’s progression. When he was two inmates away from his death, he observed the death wishes before him. He waited with great impatience.
The current inmate due for death — inmate #129 — stood before the judge. The bitch gave him the same disinterested glare she gave everyone else. Though Adam couldn’t blame her for staring at this fellow this way. He was a man of abysmal height, with an enlarged belly and pimples parked all over his face. The complete opposite of Adam’s godly — in his eyes — stature. The man requested his death in a raspy voice. “I would like to die by your hand, Judge Cassandra. By way of snu snu. “ He paused. “Snu snu through your thighs.”
*Great minds think alike. A fellow man of culture right the—OH GOD!*
Cassandra wasted no time delivering the inmate’s request. She unleashed a flurry of hand signs, limbs moving faster than Adam could see. A chill wind permeated through the room, and two ghastly, decrepit legs appeared to the side of the inmate. Veins ripped through the skin of those legs and scabs textured the abductors of the thigh. They squeezed into inmate #129 and pressed together. Taking their time meeting up.
Inmate #129 spent his last living moments screaming, eyes wide and glazed over. This continued for what felt like an eternity until he no longer had a head.
“What was that! That man requested death by your thighs, not the thighs of a ghoul!” Adam said. His eyes blazed into Cassandra’s.
For the first time he could recall, Cassandra flashed him a smirk. A move more unnerving than any condescending glare she had in her arsenal. “Those were my legs… just not from this century.” She said. “Next!”
*Ok, death by snu snu might be off the table. The chick is too conniving. I should play it safe, death by old age. Something normal and painless.*
A brilliant plan, except no sooner than Adam had thought it, the inmate before him had spoken it. There was another set of hand signs. Adam held in his gasp at the result. The man in front of him transformed into an old man. Old, and barely able to breathe of his own accord. With no cane or support to aid his failing knees, he fell to the ground. Adam could clearly hear his gasps for air. He flinched with each breath the old man took in. It was clearly painful for him to breathe.
Yet Cassandra looked pleased. She leaned in and took great interest in the man’s suffering. He did not die promptly. Sixteen hours passed before time granted him the mercy of death.
Now it was Adam’s turn. He tried to bluff his usual demeanor, but sweat was dripping from his forehead.
Cassandra called to him in an sweet voice. “I have to say inmate, I’ve never seen you like this. Is it setting in? The fear of being punished. Are you regretting your actions?”
A corner of Adam’s soul wanted to say yes and plead forgiveness. But he’d stopped listening to that part of himself a long time ago. No. To the very end, he committed to his confident act. He steadied himself to meet her glare and spat out the words.
“I want to die by snu snu bitch! You do it, and not with those ghastly thighs either. You. The present you. That’s my order!”
Another smirk. A new rendition of hand signs. He felt immense pressure clamp on him. He’d won. Until he hadn’t. A chilly sensation washed over his body, and he realized too late what was happening. *I’m being frozen?*
Cassandra continued to smirk. “The present is… ever evolving. There’s no more difficult thing to grasp than the present.” She grabbed at the air with her hand to illustrate. “Each nano-second represent a new ‘present’. It would be impossible for me to complete your request properly, but I’m determined to honor it. I’ll freeze you as long as it takes for us to discover a way to fulfill it. If you happen to… slowly — and coldly — die in that ice before then, that would just be an unfortunate consequence.” | 2022-11-19T02:25:30 | 2022-11-18T22:15:56 | 589 | 36 |
[WP] We killed the Gods. We didn't know what it meant at the time, but now we're beginning to find out. | *Allahu akbar.*
*Allahu akbar.*
The rhythmic chanting of morning *salah* echoed through the tunnels. *God is greater.* Greater than who? Greater than the gods of our enemies. But when our enemies can burn the earth with fiery rain, turn the face of nations against us, send birds as spies and machines as mules, and surround us on all sides, we fight not men but gods.
*Allahu akbar.*
*God is greater.* Greater than who? Greater than our fear of other gods. | *Is the storm ever going to go away, Papa?*
A man and his boy sat huddled together underneath a makeshift tent as a storm raged around them. The man hugged his boy closed and kissed him on the head: "I don't know, son. I don't know." The man peered outside the small flap which prevented the outside world from entering, and saw the fusion of nature raging outside. Hail and rain fell harshly as violent winds and lightning decorated the horizon. He closed his eyes and began to pray. And then he stopped.
His son looked at him quizzically, *why are you stopping, Papa?* The man stared blankly at the agonizing world outside, and he began to slowly sob and quiver. *Papa?* The man kneeled over and began crying. *Papa, what's wrong?* The man whispered inaudibly to his son, and held him close once more. *Papa...?*
"We killed them. They were keeping us safe, and we thought they were suppressing us and we marched right up there with all our knowledge of them and we slaughtered them and made them pray to us in some sort twisted justice. We held those sacred and divine weapons, and we approached them and ignored their pleas as we dug deep into their flesh and made them bleed. And then? Those wolves in the flock, they reverted themselves back to lesser demons, and they fled. And they tricked us to kill the only things keeping the balance in this world. And now, we wait. Don't you understand? There's nothing left to pray to. We are our own gods now."
EDIT: Structure. | 2013-05-24T17:48:04 | 2013-05-24T17:18:18 | 41 | 16 |
[WP] The commute of a man who can see how people will die.
EDIT: Just woke up and holy CRAP this exploded! I'm reading through all the stories now and they're great! | *What's going on?*
Kouki stared down the packed train.
*What's going on?*
He rubbed his eyes.
For his entire life he could see how a person's life would end but today he saw nothing. Kouki racked his brain for answers.
*Did I lose my vision?*
His heart rate sped up in panic at the alternative.
*Does everyone on this train die?*
The train came to a halt and Kouki stepped out to see other pedestrians roaming freely without triggering his premonitions. He let out a sigh of relief.
*I lost it. That's all it was.*
As he left Hiroshima station he looked up at the bright sun in the sky, blooming like a Camellia in the spring.
*Is it moving closer?* | I watch quietly as two teenage boys harrass an elderly woman at the front of the car. The dark haired one tries to get her purse away from her, while the blonde boy screams in her face.
"Do you want to see?" the voice whispers in my ear.
"Yes."
When the cloudiness fades, the dark haired boy is walking through an alley. He seems to be intently moving, as though he has somewhere to be.
"Pete!" shouts a voice from out of sight.
The boy turns, and I can see him smile.
"Come here!" the voice says.
The dark haired boy turns into one of the side roads where the blonde boy is standing with his hands in his pockets.
"Henry, what fuckin' reason do you have to be out here this time of the day?" says Pete with a grin as he approaches Henry.
"Tom says hi, you piece of shit," Henry says as he pulls a knife from his pocket and lunges at Pete.
The knife punctures deep into Pete's neck. Pete removes the pistol tucked in his waistband and fires three shots into Henry's chest and face, killing him instantly. Pete sits down beside Henry's body with blood pouring out of the wound where the knife remains. He leans forward, and his chest slowly stops rising and falling. Both boys now lie motionless in a pool of their mixed blood.
Our momentum slows as the tram approaches my stop. The doors open, and I gather my things and begin to leave. I stop for a moment at the door. I could warn him. I could warn Pete of the ambush and save both of these boys' lives.
"Give me your goddamn purse you old wench!" screams Pete.
I turn and walk through the doors onto the platform leaving the boys to their fate. Perhaps the world will be a slightly better place without them. | 2013-10-16T13:13:27 | 2013-10-16T11:53:29 | 73 | 14 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming! | I was a sophomore in high school on summer break. My two sisters were in college, and my parents thought it a good idea for me to spend a week with them... get some of that "college experience."
Bloomington, Indiana is a nice town. The scenery is pretty, and the IU campus is a pleasure to walk in. IU's party scene is... well... slightly more intense than the normal college.
My sisters decided that I would need to go to a college party. My clothes were currently in the wash, so I had to wear some of my sister's boyfriend's clothing.
The party was a relatively modest house party, with no more than 15 people present. Of course, as soon as I was there, I was the star. "This kid needs to get DRUNK!" "Yeah, let's corrupt him! WOOOO!"
It started off with a shot of whiskey, then a beer, and past that my memory is spotty. I didn't want to drink, but in that situation, I had to.
Everybody else, however, was drinking FAR MORE than I was, and FAR MORE then they needed to to get to the desired level of inebriation.
Then it came. My sister, behind me, saw me in her boyfriend's clothes. Without warning, I felt a hand on my ass and a tender kiss on my face.
The look on her face made the whole ordeal worth it. | I met her my sophomore year, in Art. We didn't talk a whole lot, except to occasionally comment on each other's work.
Flash forward a few months. I'm in Theater, and I become friends with the girl who made costumes for the play we were doing. It turns out this girl is the other girl's best friend, and I slowly become part of their friend group.
Then it is Summer. The four of us - me, the girl, her best friend, and our other friend - hang out almost every other day. We become inseparable. Slowly, I start realizing I have a huge crush on this girl. It should be noted that I had had a thing for another girl for years before this, but that suddenly stopped mattering to me, because I was hanging out with her and we were close and it was great.
Now it is Autumn. Still in Theater, I get a role in the school play, The Crucible. One Saturday about a week before the shoe goes up, she asks me if I want to hang out at school before rehearsal (which went from five to around ten). At this point, I've come to the realization (and by this I mean I basically had to straight up ask her, only I did it anonymously over Tumblr, but whatever it still freaked me out) that she has a thing for me too, and I say sure. My dad picks her up and drops me and her off at school, handing me some cash in case we got hungry - there's a Sonic just down the street from the school.
We go to the theater room, and no one is there. This doesn't really surprise either of us, but we walk around for a while anyway. Eventually we make our way to the prop room and chill on the couch up there for a while. We've turned out the lights cause we're tired or whatever, and we're just laying there cuddling.
I turn to face her. She doesn't say anything. My heart pounding in my chest, I lean in the slightest bit. Still nothing. Further. Silence.
Now my head is about to explode. Summoning up the last of my courage, I leaned in the rest of the way. My lips pressed softly against hers, and I could feel her smile. We kissed again, and again, I can barely breath and oh my god there's tongue and it's the best feeling I've ever experienced in my life.
We break away after a few minutes. I attempt to catch my breath. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her again. | 2014-04-01T07:36:00 | 2014-04-01T07:34:50 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming! | Three months into our relationship we decided to go to a music festival. Lots of big bands were there, Say Anything, Taking Back Sunday, HIM, Panic at the Disco, Underoath, and more. Up until that day we hadn't kissed yet (we were 16 and shy). I wasn't a big fan of any of the bands at the time so I went just to support him and have a good time.
Around sunset, Taking Back Sunday went on stage. The crowd went wild, we were shoulder to shoulder, sweating, breathing in hot air; I remember looking back at him scared that we wouldn't make it back home. All the bodies in the crowd were so close together, the crowd started to sway; I imagined we looked like waves rippling on the beach.
I was having such a good time ( surprisingly) that I turned around to face my SO and kissed him on the lips. The look on his face was just of shear surprise and delight. We ended up kissing throughout the majority of the song that TBS was playing.
I didn't even know the name of the song. I believe it was later that week he told me it was Timberwolves in New Jersey (I found it awesome because we live in New Jersey). Since then I became a huge TBS fan.
Well, forward 8 years, we intend to use an acoustic version of the song during our wedding ceremony. | I met her my sophomore year, in Art. We didn't talk a whole lot, except to occasionally comment on each other's work.
Flash forward a few months. I'm in Theater, and I become friends with the girl who made costumes for the play we were doing. It turns out this girl is the other girl's best friend, and I slowly become part of their friend group.
Then it is Summer. The four of us - me, the girl, her best friend, and our other friend - hang out almost every other day. We become inseparable. Slowly, I start realizing I have a huge crush on this girl. It should be noted that I had had a thing for another girl for years before this, but that suddenly stopped mattering to me, because I was hanging out with her and we were close and it was great.
Now it is Autumn. Still in Theater, I get a role in the school play, The Crucible. One Saturday about a week before the shoe goes up, she asks me if I want to hang out at school before rehearsal (which went from five to around ten). At this point, I've come to the realization (and by this I mean I basically had to straight up ask her, only I did it anonymously over Tumblr, but whatever it still freaked me out) that she has a thing for me too, and I say sure. My dad picks her up and drops me and her off at school, handing me some cash in case we got hungry - there's a Sonic just down the street from the school.
We go to the theater room, and no one is there. This doesn't really surprise either of us, but we walk around for a while anyway. Eventually we make our way to the prop room and chill on the couch up there for a while. We've turned out the lights cause we're tired or whatever, and we're just laying there cuddling.
I turn to face her. She doesn't say anything. My heart pounding in my chest, I lean in the slightest bit. Still nothing. Further. Silence.
Now my head is about to explode. Summoning up the last of my courage, I leaned in the rest of the way. My lips pressed softly against hers, and I could feel her smile. We kissed again, and again, I can barely breath and oh my god there's tongue and it's the best feeling I've ever experienced in my life.
We break away after a few minutes. I attempt to catch my breath. I wrap my arms around her and kiss her again. | 2014-04-01T07:55:03 | 2014-04-01T07:34:50 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] We have discovered a parallel universe, and to solve the world's climate change problems, we ship all our waste, pollution, nuclear waste, etc there. The other world doesn't have the ability to transport things to ours. You are someone from that other world.
* If you like, you can choose whether the other world knows about ours or not. | We may have angered the gods.
When we first found the portal, we knew that it'd lead to a new golden age. Worshippers traveled thousands of miles to the gates of Heaven, and all basked in the magical artifacts that rained from it.
Pieces of metal, stronger, lighter, and shinier than anything we'd seen before.
Finely polished pieces of glass, useful in making the finest telescopes.
Oh, sure - the odd piece of rotting food or... waste, came through as well, but even those went for a hefty price. After all, they were still from Heaven.
It all ended when something moving came through, however. It looked almost like a metallic bird - it flew from the Gate, circled for a few hours, then flew back.
The bird's appearance sparked a new frenzy, and laborers worked day and night to build a tower up to the Gate. We knew it was possible to reach the gods now, and we knew we had to thank them.
The Tower of Babel was completed by the second year. In that time, numerous other birds came and went - we liked to think the gods were checking up on their subjects' progress.
The day it was completed, another gift came through. The largest one yet. Polished to a dull shine, it was heavy, exceedingly well crafted, and shaped like a long melon. On one side, a blinking mirror displayed an ever-decreasing number of some kind.
We knew we were not worthy of such a gift.
We knew the gods must have given it to us on accident.
So, we painstakingly returned it, dozens of men lifting it back into the Gate.
We must have angered the gods somehow - because now, the portal leads only to a blackened, glowing hell. | "And now. Updated news from scientists in the pacific ocean. What was supposed to be a routine material sweep of the south-east garbage patch led to some unexpected results. We have, on the phone, Dr. Adam Fontaine. Dr. Fontaine is the head of the sweeper fleet for the south-east quadrant and the man behind the discovery. What can you tell us Dr. Fontaine?"
"Well, Mr. Smith. Any worries that the garbage patch resource extraction initiative would exhaust all available materials in the near future can be laid to rest. Over the last few weeks several thousand metric tonnes have been found in places where the concentration was expected to be less that a few hundred parts per million. We can't be certain, we don't know how localized this event is, but we might expect the newest wave of materials to last us well into the next decade."
"Any idea where this all might have come from?"
"None at all, there's far too much material for any one fleet of ships to have spilled and no factories on neighboring coasts have had any malfunctions. This new wave seems to be coming from an unknown source. Some believe that a geological event may have caused sunken matter to resurface from an underwater coalescence area but there isn't enough seafloor matter in suspension with the raw materials to support that theory."
"What about safety concerns? We've heard that the new material is slightly radioactive."
"That is true. But our fleet was designed to deal with any feasible manner of waste. Inert materials, chemically reactive matter, biological agents, even radioactive waste. Billions and billions of dollars went into making sure this fleet would operate with impunity to retrieve all materials that we might find."
"Might the radioactivity complicate matters during the treatment of the recuperated materials?"
"Not really. Certainly not all of the processing plants can handle radioactive matter but many of the ones we ship to can. It's a complex but effective process to decontaminate the waste but the end result will be recycled plastics, glass, and metal that can be used just as readily as anything else the plants put out."
"Any last comments before we go to break, Dr. Fontaine? I'm sure you have your work cut out for you over there."
"I think this is a good reminder to the world that the work we do is still important. Some called us 'too efficient', saying we were cleaning up enough waste to put ourselves out of a job. We have investigators working to get to the bottom of the event but in the meantime, we'll keep cleaning like we have for the last twenty six years."
"Thank you doctor. When we come back, as part of our planet month programming, we will be talking about CO2 scrubbers, and why one man thinks there's no need to maintain such high standards in today's day and age."
"I'm Rob Smith, and thanks for watching Eco-tv. We'll be right back." | 2015-01-25T07:18:17 | 2015-01-25T07:07:09 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] An unsuspecting teenager is put into the scared stright program by his parents. The inmates and wardens soon find out he is more terrifying then anything the prison holds.
Thank you everyone!
After watching beyond scared straight, I wanted to know what would happen with the above situation. Feel free to take it any direction. | “What the fuck is wrong with the kid?” The deep, rumbling question came from a 350-pound man built like a linebacker, his tattoos stretched across his dark skin and following the curve of his muscle. Al was a nice guy, but maybe that was because everyone knew better than to cross him.
Langston and Pete both looked over at the teenager Al asked about. The kid had his head down, a shock of black hair hiding his face, and at the moment, he was sulking. Langston hadn’t seen anyone pout that hard since the last time he saw his 3-year-old niece. A pang of regret stabbed him and he brushed it aside.
“He’s one of those ‘scared straight’ deals,” Pete answered. “Parents put him in here ‘cause he’s a brat. We get to be tough guys and make him not want to be here.”
“Great, I love being used as someone else’s bad example. ‘Hey, kids, don’t grow up to be like this shithead.’”
“Then you shouldn’t be a shithead, shithead,” Al replied, and Langston winced, bracing for a possible shoulder slap from the big guy. He was grateful when Al moved out instead, walking toward the kid.
“Oh, what the hell is he doing?” Langston sat back in his chair shaking his head. Pete just shrugged and rested his chin on the back of the orange plastic chair he straddled.
“Hey kid,” Al’s voice rumbled, and Langston winced again despite himself. “You got a problem?”
The boy looked up, and for the first time, Langston saw the dark circles under his eyes and the pale, almost sallow tone of his skin. Despite how weak he looked, when he said, “No,” in a quiet voice, Langston still caught the sharp tone.
“Yeah? Cause you look like you got a problem.”
“No, but you might. Leave me alone.”
Pete smacked Langston on the arm, and the two men shared a look of surprise. “I got this,” Pete said, and pushed the chair forward. The lanky white guy with his own share of tattoos made his way over to where Al sat across from the boy.
“Is there a problem here, boys?” Pete said, slapping his hulk of a friend on the back.
“Kid says there’s not, Pete. Look at him, he’s just fine here pouting by himself. Maybe we should leave him alone.”
“Nah, man. That’s not how it works around here. You don’t get to just be a fuck all by yourself, you gotta be a fuck with the rest of us. You gonna fuck with us, kid?”
“I’m not interested in fucking you, if that’s what you’re asking,” he answered, and Al and Pete laughed out loud.
“Don’t worry, kid, you aren’t my type. But Al here…”
The wardens showed up and brushed Al and Pete away, escorting the kid to a cell for the night.
There was screaming in Langston’s dreams, and blood, but that wasn’t unusual. He felt groggy as he woke; drugged, like when he woke up in the hospital after he had that bullet removed from his chest. He hadn’t wished it had killed him in a year, so he guessed he was doing okay.
It took a minute for him to register the quiet of the cell, and that made him sit up faster than any noise could have. In prison, it was never completely quiet. Even in the middle of the night, you could hear someone talking or peeing or tapping or jerking off. “Quiet” was a relative term, and it wasn’t just quiet this morning; the place was dead.
The door of his cubicle was open and he padded out in sock feet, looking around. No one—he couldn’t see a single person. Langston started walking cube to cube, then cellblock to cellblock.
He pinched himself three times and tried to tell himself to wake up, but he knew this was reality; he just couldn’t make it work with logic and reason.
On a whim, he walked toward the front door of the prison. Then he walked through the security checkpoint, through the (unlocked?) door that separated them from the front lobby, where normal people came to visit their dangerous loved ones.
Suddenly, he was 10 feet from freedom. Cold air drafted in from the double doors with the Weston P.D. logo stuck onto the plexiglass like a bad bumper sticker.
Langston wondered if it was okay. If this was the apocalypse or another dimension or—hell, what had happened in the 6 hours since he fell asleep?—did it matter if he left?
“You are free to go, Langston.”
The chill that traveled up his spine put the winter air outside to shame as he turned around to face the source of the voice behind him. He locked eyes with the black-haired kid from the night before. Stumbling for a response, he cleared his throat, but the boy answered before he even knew how to ask.
“The Reaping is complete. You were spared. Go now, before we change our mind.”
Langston stared at the kid for a second, and then turned and took off running out the front door. He didn’t stop, even when his socks got soggy and his skin felt like it was crystallizing, and he never looked back.
| Mr an Mrs Smith sat in the Warden's office, looking out at their child through the security glass as he impassively sat in the Warden's waiting room.
Mr Smith leaned forward. "Thank you again for agreeing to this, the School felt it stood a good chance to helping him and he's just been so... so different lately."
"We just don't know *what* to do." Mrs Smith added.
The Warden had seen plenty of men come through, many not much older than Patrick and he was pleased to have the chance to help this kid stay away from his Prison. "Please, it's my pleasure. I have arranged for him to spend time with a big scary guy who is currently working on his high school equivalence certificate and is very keen to help. He'll get the fright of his life, but he'll be perfectly safe, I promise."
The parents exchanged a look and Mr Smith put his hand out cautiously. "This man, is he... pretty strong and tough?"
"Yes, but I promise, he *wants* to help. he won't hurt your boy."
Mrs Smith shook her head. "no, no it's not that at all. It's more him that we're concerned with. Patrick has been difficult with people in the past and we're worried he might be violent, although we've never seen anything from him."
The Warden paused to see if they were serious and then roared with laughter. "Please, you have nothing to worry about. Derek is six foot ten, he'll have no problems with Patrick." he looked out at the skinny small boy again. "They'll be fine."
With some trepidation the Smith's left and the Warden walked through to where Patrick was waiting. Twelve years as Warden and another twenty before that as a guard, he had seen plenty of scary men but he'd never had any trouble. She them respect and most important give them no opportunities and they all fell in line.
Still, he had to admit, this was one creepy kid, the way he stared, his odd intensity, the way he flexed his hands the whole time. It made you feel like he was going to leap forward, all elbows and knees and wrap around your neck.
He shook off the though. "Come along Patrick, time to go to the cells." the boy stood and still wordlessly, although that wasn't uncommon, he followed the warden.
Down in the cells the young boy stared out through the bars, as the warden closed the door and the guard checked that it had sealed. "Don't go too hard on him now Derek."
The huge man stood and placed a hand on Patrick's shoulder and it was all the Warden could do to maintain his stern gaze. Derek was a gentle giant, but he would be terrifying for the young boy. Walking away, the Warden felt pleased that he had been able to help and to give Patrick a chance in life.
*****
The phone rang on the night stand and Mary fumbled to pick up the receiver before hearing the panicked voices and handing it across to her husband, who was already half out of bed. In all their years of marriage it had always been for him that the late night calls had come.
The shouting at the other end of the phone was almost incoherent and the warden listened for a moment before hanging up. He had half dressed and grabbed a shirt as he ran for the door, whatever it was it sounded bad.
Living close to the Prison had its advantages, as well as low property prices and he arrived less than five minutes later at the gate to find the lights had gone on all across the prison. the huge spotlights illuminating the building as brightly as daytime.
"What the hell is going on?" he screamed to the guard on the gate, who shrugged and waved the warden through. By the time he pulled up at the main entrance all that was clear was that it wasn't a riot, the sirens weren't blaring and a riot had a certain *feel* to it. This was something else.
The night supervisor was waiting as he jumped from his car, standing with his hat in his hands, anxiously feeing it through, back and forth. "What is it Pete?"
The night supervisor opened his mouth and then closed it again. "It's... it's... the kid."
The Warden's stomach dropped and fear flooded him. What had Derek done? the monster of a man would only have had to wring the kid's neck lightly and he'd be dead. "It's not what you.. it's not..." Pete shrugged helplessly and then turned into the building.
In moments they were deep inside, approaching the cell where the warden had left the child. in his mind he was composing the phone call he would have to make, until he realised that it would be the police on the doorstep who would have that particular job.
The smell of blood hit him and he tried not to retch, the kid must be in pieces for the smell to be that strong. At last the final door was pulled back and they rushed into the main hall, the smell strong here. the usual banging that would have accompanied some event like this was silent, even the other cons knew that things weren't right.
The blood could be seen at a distance, flooded out fo the cell and maybe twenty feet across the floor, steadying himself the warden walked forward and past the two guards whop were facing out from the cell.
In the middle of the small cell, legs crossed and body hunched, the boy sat. He wore, over his own head, the hollowed out head of Derek, like an obscene mask. his own eyes glowering through the holes where Derek's own eyes had once been.
The warden stumbled back, and the child looked up and fixed his gaze on the warden. Now, unfolding like origami, he slowly stood, dripping with blood, completely drenched.
The warden couldn't look away but he felt panic growing as the young boy looked to take a step forward. "the door... close the fucking door." He screamed and the metal slid across, sealing the boy inside.
Derek's mouth hung open, a gaping maw to the bloody carnage of the boys own face beneath. Patrick slowly stuck out his tongue and licked Derek's lips. A whisper came out from the cell and the eyes never wavered, never looked away. "Delicious." | 2015-01-29T07:33:19 | 2015-01-29T07:32:19 | 312 | 215 |
[WP] You and your friend make the old drunken agreement that if either of you invent time travel, you'll return to the current time and spot. 5 seconds after you shake on it, your friend appears from the future, with an urgent message. | A second Jerry appeared a second later.
"Jerry, I'm you! From the future! I have an urgent message for you. Listen, time machines are only able to send you back to the past once. Don't waste your opportunity on this agreement. You have the ability to change your past to better your future, don't waste it on a drunk argument!"
Jerry was never the brightest. | *poof*
''Terry...?'' I rubbed my eyes, thinking that i had surely drank too much. ''Bro, there is TWO of you!"
Terry didn't move. He seemed frozen to the spot, mid sip of his drink and his eyes were unmoving.
"He cant hear you. Well, he can, cause he is me and I can hear you but THAT me cant hear you. Part of my design was to prevent paradoxical injury so the failsafe renders the biological match in a situation like this paused. ANY WAY, i didn't come here to tell you that. I came here to tell you that the shitter is clogged,you left pizza in the oven without a timer AGAIN and if you don't do something about it now, Ms Jenkins is gonna boot us both out and trust me, i'm from the future and you don't want to go down that path."
''But...I....uh......." My eyes darted from paused Terry to animated Future Terry. What to do? Did we even PUT a pizza in the oven? When was the last time one of us even used the shitter? Who the fuck was MS Jenkins? Everyone knows that old man J-Bone was a nasty fucker and no-one doubted the fact that his life hadn't seen a womans touch in years. As this realisation dawned, i turned my attention back to Future Terry...
*poof*
Fuck. | 2015-04-18T23:06:44 | 2015-04-18T20:23:07 | 742 | 79 |
[WP] You are an advisor/ guidance counselor for a superpower academy. You are in charge of the students whose powers are not conducive to heroism or villainy. | Elise pretended to write on her notepad as Sean settled into his chair. She never quite knew what to say to this boy who was scarcely a teenager, yet had powers that far outstripped his ability to control them.
Why couldn't they have assigned her the mindreaders, or the ones with the brute strength to bring a city to its knees? Despite months of effort, nothing seemed to lift Sean's stifling depression. She sighed and tried to think of something to tell him, carefully avoiding his gaze.
"We're doing everything we can to learn more about your talent, Sean," she finally said.
"Stop calling it that," he sighed, looking at his lap.
She suddenly felt like hugging him to ease the misery on his face, making him look older than his years. But that was impossible, of course.
"When we learn to control it, focus it, it might turn out useful. Hang in there," she said.
He looked up suddenly, his eyes too bright. "Hang in there? What kind of advice is that?"
He realised too late that he was looking directly at her, but Elise didn't care. Every thought and worry slid easily from her mind, and all that remained was the need to tell him everything. His pale blue eyes were all she saw, all that mattered.
"Well, truth be told Sean, I hate these sessions," she confessed, reaching forward to take his hands. The words she had bottled for months poured effortlessly from her lips. "Do you know how hard it is to convince myself that your talent might one day be useful? That you will somehow learn to control it? Why can't you be like your brother - he's the finest superhero this institution ever produced!"
Sean's face drained of colour, his stomach dropped. He knew it would happen eventually - no matter the precautions, he always slipped up. But he'd hoped that Elise would be one of the rare ones who said good things. So few of them said good things.
"It would be better if you quit the academy and go get a job as a Regular," she said. "I think you'd be much happier. Granted, you'd still not be able to really touch or look at anyone without making things awkward, and that will always be awful. But isn't it infinitely worse here, surrounded by successful Supers?"
"I suppose so," he said softly, freeing his hands and looking at his feet.
Elise felt her mind slowly return, and she blinked in sunlight that suddenly seemed too bright.
"Sean?" she whispered, horrified at the sight of a tear trickling down his cheek. "Sean? What did I say?"
"It doesn't matter," he said softly, walking slowly from the room. He was proud of himself for not running.
"But what did I say?" Elise asked the empty room, as she began to cry herself. | FADE IN
INT. A SCHOOL CAFETERIA - DAY
*We see a group of a dozen or so students seated on metal folding chairs. They are facing a whiteboard at the front of the room, which is being attended by a tall, slender man in a dark suit. This is MISTER SLANT.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Alright, kids. Do you all know who I am?
*The students shrug and murmur. One young woman raises her hand. This is ELLA.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Yes, you.
**ELLA:** You're the school guidance counselor.
**MISTER SLANT:** For lack of a better term. My name is Mister Slant, and I'm here to tell you all that you'll never amount to anything.
*There are varied reactions from the room. Some students laugh nervously, others look shocked, and a few seem entirely unaffected.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) You've all been brought here because your natural gifts are... well, basically, none of you are up to the task of being superhuman in any way.
*An overweight young man at the back of the room scoffs under his breath. This is GARY.*
**GARY:** (*Muttering*) Racist.
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, am I, Gary? I suppose you're going to do *so much good* with your ability. What was it again?
**GARY:** (*Unintelligible muttering*)
**MISTER SLANT:** Sorry, Gary, you'll have to speak up!
**GARY:** I can imitate any smell!
**MISTER SLANT:** And how do you do that?
**GARY:** (*Shouting*) With my farts, okay?!
*Laughter erupts in the room. GARY hangs his head in shame.*
**MISTER SLANT:** Oh, hey, don't think the rest of you are anything special. Not a single one of you has an ability worth noting. That's why you're here: While the other students all get one-on-one advice about their best career path, you losers are all lumped in here, being told how you're biological failures.
*ELLA raises her hand again.*
**ELLA:** Couldn't we achieve something as everyday citizens?
**MISTER SLANT:** Nope.
**ELLA:** Why not?
**MISTER SLANT:** Due to some quirk of evolution, superhuman individuals feel a compulsion to use their abilities several times a day. It's like sleeping: You'll go insane if you don't.
**ELLA:** But...
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Interrupting*) As a result, Gary might be able to make a workplace smell pleasant, but the sound of his flatulence will *probably* attract attention. Someone would put two and two together and Gary would be revealed.
**ELLA:** Maybe people won't care!
**MISTER SLANT:** Uh huh. Keep telling yourself that. You're all losers. Even you, miss I-can-make-a-pink-dot-on-walls.
*A bell rings elsewhere in the school. The students all begin to rise from their seats.*
**MISTER SLANT:** (*CONT'D*) Alright, that's it. Get out of here, and don't bother working too hard!
*All of the students exit. After they've left, a figure shimmers into view next to MISTER SLANT. She is a slim, attractive woman with an intense gaze. This is MEDUSA.*
**MEDUSA:** What do you think?
**MISTER SLANT:** (*Sighing*) Some of them might go for it.
**MEDUSA:** We need volunteers from *somewhere*, and their genes are compatible.
*MISTER SLANT nods somberly.*
**MISTER SLANT:** War is a funny thing, particularly when nobody knows that they're fighting.
FADE OUT | 2015-09-22T09:28:14 | 2015-09-22T08:27:48 | 96 | 24 |
[WP] A duel between two Wizards. Except they are not Archmages but apprentices who can barely cast spells. | "Nuh-uh! Spider-Man would DESTROY Batman in a fight!" Sneered Thomas, the know it all of Ailios' apprentices.
"Yeah but Spider-Man doesn't have a BATMOBILE!" Retorted a flustered Mac, a scrawny ginger who didn't choose to be Ailios' apprentice, but enjoys it nonetheless.
"How about we settle this in the courtyard?" Inquired Thomas, with a goofy, 8 year old grin. Mac noticed that Thomas had lost a tooth.
"No fair!" Shouted Mac, "you've been here longer! You know more spells!"
"Yeah, and?" Spat back Thomas.
"Fine!" Mac finally said after pondering whether it was worth it to stick up for his hero, at the risk of humiliation.
The two boys were standing in a ring of children of similar age, all wearing similar robes. Mac had a long, straight, neatly crafted wand, while Thomas might have just broken his off of a near by tree.
"I'll start, since I'm right," proclaimed the mighty Thomas.
"Sure, what ever. I'll show you!" Promised a worried Mac. It was Mac's first fight, and he was a little scared, he didn't know if they took turns or not.
Thomas began flicking his wand around in a vaguely circular motion, and then pointed at Mac and grunted out "Manus Animus!"
Mac stumbled back after getting hit with powerful push spell.
Well it was powerful for two 8 year old boys.
After regaining his balanced, Mac took a deep, uneasy breath and closed his eyes.
He exhaled.
"Just like you've seen before." Mac whispered to himself.
Mac opened his eyes, filled with determination to make batman proud.
Mac pointed his wand at Thomas, who was impatiently waiting.
Mac uttered the sacred words,
"Like a good neighbor, State Farm is there!"
A man in a red polo and khakis appeared suddenly, and appeared confused. After adjusting to the wide eyes of the children fixated on him, the man saw who summoned him, and gleefully stated, "Don't worry Mac, you're covered." | Drawing himself up to his full height long robes billowing and green eyes flashing with hate the wizard raises a hand covered in golden rune inscribed rings, his fingers moving like a mad marionettist each incredibly complex gesture brining lines of light out from the air linking and unlinking thousands of strands unit and form a main sized gleaming rune, the wizard roars with rage and flings his hand forward
His opponent ducks as a small scarab beetle flies over the tip of his pointy hat
“Honestly Xecesarist the mighty you think I the great Zetseteriet wouldn’t not be able to dodge that pitiful spell” The great Zetseteriet straightens up his own robes flowing around him pure black and decorated with hundreds of silver skulls his own blonde hair standing contrast to the rich midnight he was adored with
Each small skulls eye sockets glow and his own arms moves in slow chopping motions each twitch cutting a hole in reality from which pours magical power seizing it in his grip Zetseteriet the great points a glowing finger at his nemesis whilst bellowing barbaric syllables
A small vase of daffodils materialises over the head of Xecesarist the mighty and smashes down onto his hat
The mighty Xecesarist pulls of his now muddy hat and gasps at the devastation writ plan across its brims as Zetseteriet the great raises another hand for the finishing blow
Light explodes into this dark room as the door is unceremoniously wrenched open, in strides a tall young women with blonde hair greens eyes and a nasty scowl, this could be because of her current state of dress which is a long white fluffy robe with a bunny on the front
“KEITH ANDREW have you seen my...”
The witch stops and stares as the two wizards both spin round with guilty faces the mighty Xecesarist pulls the muddy hat behind his back and grins sheepishly whilst and the great Zetseteriet pushes his ring covered fingers into his pockets and blushes
The women’s eyes bulge slightly and she draws a deep breath
“WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT PLAYING AROUND WITH MY ROBES IN THE LAUNDRY ROOM!” the bellow nearly blows both boys off their feet by the time they recovered the women had crossed over the room to them and grasped each of them by an ear in a vice like grip her eyes stormy and mouth a hard straight line
“Keith Sebastian Ashton what have I told you about touching my rings?” the great Zetseteriet shivers involuntarily
“And Andrew Newt Ashton what have I said about getting my hat dirty?!” the mighty Xecesarist mewls pitifully
She flings the boy across the room and they sprint out of the door like rabbits being chased by a fox
“Put it ALL back and I expect to see the whole of “A beginners guide to magic” copied out on both white boards when I get back from town”
“Yes mum” reply the two boys hurriedly ascending the towers stairs
The ancient rivalry of the great Zetseteriet and the mighty Xecesarist will have to be settled another day
| 2016-02-03T10:11:38 | 2016-02-03T08:32:12 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] Your tech-illiterate grandmother somehow broke into a top-secret government database while trying to get "the Google".
Or any other mundane/misconstrued task related to computers. Have fun with this one. | I was sitting on my couch the other day, relaxing from a long day at the University. I flicked through a few channels, and then a loud bang collapsed my front door. What the %$@#? Smoke was spreading everywhere. Then I heard a chorus of:
"Get on the ground, NOW"
At that moment I knew there was some kind of swat team. Was I being "swatted" by someone? Maybe I did something illegal? I ended up in handcuffs, being taken to a military grade truck.
"Operation repo and insertion" called out the one that seemed to be the head honcho.
"Where am I going?" I kept yelling. I got no response. But the answer came soon enough, for we were driving down a very familiar street in the Montclair neighborhood. Before I knew it I was tossed onto my grandmother's quaint garden. The FBI/SWAT team or whatever it was just took off. Then my grandmother emerges from the house.
"There you are, Billy. It's been awhile since you've visited me. I have cookies on the counter." she said.
"What's going on grandma?" I was still recovering from the terror and had adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Oh. I was trying to find the Google but I ended up thinking of you. I was trying to find your Facebook and here you are! It's a miracle." | Grandma was a nice woman, but she is so stupid when it comes to tech. I mean she calls Google "the Google" for fucks sake. One day she calls me over to her house, trying to get on "the Google". I get in her house, she serves me chocolate chip cookies(thankfully it didn't have rat turds this time), and we go to her upstairs bedroom that has her computer.
She tells me her problem, and I tell her "Look, just click this icon" as I click on Internet explorer. As the page loads, I tell her to type in the words "Google.com" in the search bar at the top of the screen. She nods and when it finally loads she types in the words "Google" but spells it "goooglee.coom". Not intentionally of course, she has really shaky hands and sometimes she accidentally presses certain keys on the keyboard.
What happens next is not what I expected. It had the words "TOP SECRET FILES: NO CITIZENS IS ALLOWED TO BE HERE. PLEASE LEAVE IF TOU DONT WANT TO GO TO GUANTANAMO BAY AND BE TORTURED FOR LIFE WITHOUT A TRIAL" at the top of the screen with a password screen on it. "What is this honey" grandma says as she adjusts her glasses. "It's nothing grandma, probably just a troll site" I say to her. "Troll? What is this troll nonsense?" She says, confused. I then explain to her that a troll is a person just trying to mess with you.
I tell her to type in the word Google again while I go to the bathroom. When I come back in, I see her confused. "I typed Google in the bar and I'm here now" she says as she scrolls down the page I see file links, each one different. Including, but not limited to: JFK assassination, Moon landing, holocaust fake, and Obama weather machine. "I knew Obama caused that storm two years ago" she says waving her hand in the air. "No grandma. Obama just so happened to be president at the tim-"I try to say before being cut off by her saying "No storms happened under George Bush".
I sigh at the thought, telling her to exit out of it. She does and tells me she'll do something about it later. She goes downstairs and turns on the television. I decide to just stay here awhile, hangout with grandma. How is this an interesting story? Cops arrested my grandma for illegal activity. | 2016-04-30T10:18:29 | 2016-04-30T07:59:47 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] The devil mixed up your paperwork and gave you someone else's personal hell, which to you, is heaven. | I got cancer when I was 21. Well I suppose I must have gotten cancer before that because they caught it in one of the later stages. I imagine there's not much like seeing a patient's face when you have to tell them that they require further testing. But there's not much like having bits of your body ripped and cut out and having poison fed through your veins, either.
A month later my entire reproductive system was gone. I remember lying in my hospital bed with my fiancé holding my hand and telling me that it was alright.
"There are so many ways to have children," he told me. It didn't matter. Hot tears still rolled down my face and made a small pile on the pillow beneath me. I turned away from Andrew and curled up on myself.
You know those dreams you get sometimes? People have dreams. People dream of weddings or hiking mountains or writing novels. As far back as I could remember my only dream was to have a baby. My only dream was to hold something in my arms and call it mine.
I "lost the fight," as they say, when I was twenty-three. No bright light. No voice. Just pain and drowsiness and too much weakness to even sit up straight.
"Welcome to Hell" a voice said to me. I opened my eyes. There was a man pulling me to my feet and leading me somewhere. We walked and a house materialized.
"Miss Brown," the man nodded at me. There was some smug smile on his face and he walked away. I wasn't Miss Brown - at least, I'm pretty sure - but as I opened my mouth a voice yelled, *Mum!* and a small pair of arms wrapped around my legs.
I picked her up. She was three, maybe four. She had blonde hair that stuck to her pink cheeks and big blue eyes that met mine in the happiest smile.
And then I cried again. For the first time out of happiness. Because the man had misspoken.
This was Heaven, not Hell.
---
Thanks for reading and thank you so much for the gold.
For other stories, check out /r/Celsius232 | "Ms. Carter, correct?"
I slowly nodded, still in absolute shock that Christianity had been the one to get it all right. I mean, heaven and hell? God and The Devil? I had never thought that in a million years what I had done during my life would matter, or that my mother's voice would echo in the back of my head; 'Mind your scripture, Sarah! You don't want to go to Hell!'
"Right this way, Susan."
The smartly dressed woman in the pencil skirt and blouse began click-click-clicking her way towards one of the many small hallways that led away from the large circular room my death had deposited me in, and I could do nothing but dumbly follow after her on a walk to meet my fate.
Wait, had she called me Susan?
Figuring that she must have just misread my form (and not wanting to get myself into more trouble then I was already in) I kept my mouth shut as I shuffled defeatedly after her. She was smartly running off a list of features; meal times, rewards for time served, and something called a "redemption program" that I was too dumbfounded to really take in. Finally after what seemed like an eternity (haha, funny, right?) she stopped outside a simple wooden door and indicated it with a jab of her pen.
"Here we are, Ms. Carter. Thank you for participating in Life, and we are very pleased to be housing you in your own personal Hell. Please, make yourself uncomfortable!"
Fixating on the door I could feel bile rise in my throat along with the dread flooding through me. A shaky hand reached for the door handle, and deciding that if I was going to do this I may as well rip the bandaid off quick I plunged through and slammed the portal shut afterwards. I could hear the solid 'thunk' as some sort of mystical lock slid into place, and with my eyes squeezed shut I accepted my fate.
And that's when I felt it.
Small pinpricks stabbing methodically into my lower shin again and again, just mildly as though to drive me crazy, the nudge of foreign bodies and the brush of soft fur as-- wait.
Hold up.
Soft fur?
My eyes popped open and I couldn't believe what I was seeing -- was this really hell?! It couldn't be! That woman earlier, she had called me Susan; I wasn't Susan, I was Sarah! There must of been a mix-up, a small glitch in the system and--
"Oh thank you, God."
The words passed my lips with more reverence then ever before as I bent down, scooping the friendly and kneading tabby cat into my arms and pressing my face into it's soft belly, listening to the aggressively loud purring. Letting out a sigh of relief I position the handsome little guy on my shoulders and started forward, eager to pet every single cat in the almost endless field of felines laid out before me.
Susan must have been afraid of cats. This would have been torture to her. Oh well; I mean, the only thing I was ever afraid of was giant killer clowns after all.
Man, I hope Susan's alright. | 2016-05-28T15:46:42 | 2016-05-28T14:59:14 | 305 | 149 |
[WP] Everybody has the ability to bring another person back to life, at the cost of their own life. You are a suicidal celebrity who can't stay dead because of fans constantly sacrificing their lives to resurrect you. | My suicides started when my mother died.
For years, I've been known world-wide for my music. As a songwriter, I use my complex lexicon to bring to life very real, very private experiences in most people's lives. My lyrics evoke tears of pain, mostly, from those who have suffered significant loss or regret. I don't particularly enjoy it anymore, but it's what I must do. I rely on my adoring fans.
Some would call me sick and twisted, if they knew what I've been doing. I've been called a psychopath by my own sister. Nothing, however, will change me... Except a permanent death.
When my mother died of cancer, I had just released my first album. My music then was popular amongst the depressed population purely by coincidence. But once I killed myself to bring my mother back and came back to life rather quickly, I realized I could capitalize on my fame at the expense of my now target audience. Everyone I ever loved... My uncle, my grandmother, my best friend... Could once again join me.
And so I started putting all of my heart and soul into my work. I wrote songs that would strike severe depression in the hearts of those who held on to a sliver of hope, and I wrote more songs that would lead those people to an end. And then I gave them reason to do it quickly.
"This one is for you, Uncle Drake," I said, smiling as I jumped off the building. An hour later, I awoke in my hospital bed, the TV broadcasting the breaking story of how a teenager committed suicide to bring back her idol.
A few days later, I shot myself for Grandmama.
Weeks later, I hung myself for my recently deceased grandfather (heart attack from the shock of seeing my grandma alive again).
Months went by, and I brought back everyone who meant something to me, and no one questioned my motives. My lyrics were so sad, everyone assumed I was simply depressed. And so I wrote, releasing a total of twenty-four albums and reviving everyone I wanted... Needed to see again.
As I woke up in a hospital again, this time after bringing back my friend, I heard the newscaster on the television. "Parents are concerned about a new social media movement among teens and young adults called, 'Hashtag, die for Dani,' where supporters of the movement commit suicide for the music idol, Dani DiLaura. Reporters say fans of Dani enjoy her music because of the relatable lyrics and strong, emotion-evoking messages. More suicides have been committed on her behalf than any other celebrity, as she continues to kill herself multiple times a year. Professionals are asking whether she wants to live or..."
"Dani."
I turned my head and saw my sister enter the room.
"You need to stop this. Hundreds of people have died for you, and for what? Your own selfish game where you lure people to suicide so you can guarantee your life after death?"
Laughing, I looked back to the television and answered, "If you're so concerned, bring them back to life. I have plenty of fans to spare on our behalf."
"You better never use one of them to bring me back, Dani. Stop this madness now, before I..."
"Before you what? Kill me?"
And so I laughed again, turning up the television as my sister walked out. "Who's next?" | I won a Grammy yesterday, or so my manager told me - I didn't give a shit. I hung up on her, like I always do. With every award I win, every platinum record I release, every single that shoots straight to the top of the charts, I can only sink deeper into the darkness. Because praise brings fans, and fans adore you and everything you could ever possibly do. They love you when you despise them and yourself even more. And worst of all, they idolize you so much that they just won't let you fucking die.
I'm standing in front of the mirror now, shaving for the first time in a month. It's hard to see myself through the shards of broken glass left over from when I threw my face into the mirror, but I manage it well enough. The shaving isn't really the point of this, anyway. It's just busy work while I think of how I should kill myself today.
I've lost count of how many times I've done it by now, but it has to be somewhere in the hundreds. Guns used to be my favorite. Fast, simple, and bloody as hell. But that was unoriginal and got boring after a while, so I switched to letting others do the killing for me. I'd run into traffic or throw myself in front of a train, whatever got the job done and seemed interesting at the time. But that didn't work either after I remembered that cars had young, impressionable children inside them, and parents who didn't want my guts and severed limbs scarring their precious children for the rest of their lives and staining their brand new Mercedes.
After a while, I didn't care how I did it, I just had to do it. And every time I did it, my fans only seemed to love me even more, so much that they were willing to exchange their lives for mine. They think they're heroes when they do it. They think that this time, I'll come back and be happy, like they've always wanted me to be, like they think *I've* always wanted me to be. What they don't know is that every time they bring me back to life, I'm even more dead than I was before.
I've been standing in front of the mirror for far too long. I need to pick something and do it fast, before my manager gets here and stops me. I look around the room. Soap, shampoo, plunger, medicine, razor, toothbrush... there's a knock on the door. My manager says something, jiggles the knob, and starts yelling for me to unlock it. Shit, guess I'm out of time. Okay, I got it. I pick up the razor and run it straight through my throat. Warm blood trickles down my neck and onto my naked body, and I fall lifeless to the floor.
I wake up in a hospital, fully clothed, to see her sitting at the foot of the bed. She looks disappointed, but not surprised. The same look she always has. "It was a 16 year-old this time. From England. Smart. Funny. Very promising future. He wrote you a note."
I don't answer.
"Why do you do it? Just why? I don't understand. You're killing other people when you do this, don't you know that? It's never just yourself. I get that you're depressed. Who the hell isn't? But you know it won't work. It will *never* work as long as your fans love you as much as they do. And you know they always will."
I don't answer.
"Are you listening to me? Do you hear what I'm telling you right now? No, of course you don't. Why the fuck do I even bother anymore?"
She was wrong. I heard her, every word she said. She just didn't hear herself. She said it right there, plain as day. She gave me the answer. How I can end it all, do it for real, and let it be forever this time. She was right: it will never work as long as my fans love me as much as they do. So, I just need to make them hate me as much as I hate myself.
"Yes, I hear you," I say, with a feeling I haven't experienced in years: excitement. "Now let's get to work." | 2016-07-06T21:54:49 | 2016-07-06T21:24:08 | 423 | 92 |
[WP] You accidently discharge your firearm into the television. Much to your surprise, instead of shattering the glass, it passes right through and hits one of the characters on screen. | My mouth hung open. I almost formed words but instead stammered out a few soft sounds. I put down my Beretta. Heart racing, and hands sweating, I leapt into action: pulling my chair up close to my desk I seized my favorite pen.
I scratched out a short yet powerful message that carried with it the frustrated cries of a hundred thousand youths.
>
> "I'm coming for you."
I sealed the envelope and my tongue dragged across ragged lips. The gently sweet flavor of glue was almost too intense.
With a shaky hand, I addressed my missive:
* To: The Dog from Duck Hunt | I have never written in on any writing prompts but this seemed too fun to pass up! I really love the stories you guys come up with, hope mine isn't too lame ha!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I stared at the screen in disbelief almost as if waiting to be awoken from a dream, the smell of smoke the only thing keeping me anchored to reality.
"This can't be real."
The image on the television looked convincing enough, I blinked my eyes a few times to make sure.
*squint*
"Shit! It's as real as can be."
Through the screen i could clearly see a man on the grass in agonizing pain, crumpled by some unseen force.
"Did that really just happen?" My heart rate was rising quicker than Mercury on a hot day.
Nervously I change the channel, thinking maybe it was just in my head, perhaps a result of low sleep or maybe some sort of daydream.
*click*
"In the criminal justice system, sexually-based offenses are considered especially heinous.
In New York City, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Special Victims Unit.
These are their stories."
I've seen Law and Order many times, everything seemed normal.
*click*
I return to the other channel to see the same man still unmoved. My world seemingly crushes in around me as the guilt of what i've done envelopes me, a million voices
and thoughts taking up every empty cavity of my head. Through my loud sobs I hear an announcer on the television....
"He has been booked! Cristiano Ronaldo has been booked for simulation, the referee is sure he dived"
My guilt dissapears instantly, fuck divers. | 2016-09-07T11:20:00 | 2016-09-07T11:05:47 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Write a story with more holes in its plot than Swiss cheese in a shooting gallery, then resolve all of those plot holes at the end with a single logical explanation. | I am sleepy, but not tired.
I wander in wide-eyed amazement, while oblivious to most of everything around me.
I create worlds, populated by people and animals, and they vanish within one hour.
I talk to my friends and relatives, when there is no one else in the room.
Science is my favorite subject, and yet magic occurs to me every day.
I am completely loving, but have never, ever thought of making love.
I am hard to handle, easy to control; confined to a schedule, unbound by time; the center of the universe, ignored by the world; and I never existed through history, but am the future of life.
I am a not a living contradiction; I am a growing child. | You ever have those days, where you feel utterly invisible to the rest of the world? You walk past crowds of people but they might as well be lifeless statues? You wake up in the morning and go, "Why bother?" and crawl back to bed. You walk past tall city buildings and realize they're nothing but cold stone. Well I can promise you, no matter how much you think you've felt isolated (and still feel), you'll never feel as isolated as I am. And no, I'm not trying to be somehow "cooler" than you. I'm not saying it out of pride.
Like you, I'm surrounded, but alone. Everyone around me is just a piece of useless meat. The world seems darker than it used to. Some probably understand how I feel, most don't. All around me, stone pillars are far above my head. No one cares about what I'm doing or where I am. The few who know assume I'm fine where I am, but I'm not. In the past, I had to resort to drugs and alcohol to feel much of anything.
Unlike you though, I can't be helped. It's not a matter of not wanting to be helped. Unlike you, I didn't wake up today in my bed thinking "Why bother?" Unlike you my world is much, much darker. I can't walk past crowds of people anymore. I feel more alive than ever. And I really...really regret mixing my drugs and alcohol.
Because for you, it's all metaphorical. And for me it's literal.
Because today, I did wake up in a bed. I woke up from one of my drug and alcohol induced comas. And the world is much colder, smaller and darker now. And I really don't want to fall back asleep.
Because today, I woke up in my own coffin. | 2016-12-05T23:39:20 | 2016-12-05T23:19:33 | 40 | 24 |
[WP] You are a hitman who faked their own death to live out the rest of your days in peace. You are attending your own funeral service when you notice one of your previous 'marks' is there alive and well. | Her face stood out from the crowds, as it always did. She wore black like the rest of them, but there was no mistaking that glint of copper hair.
He moved swiftly towards her - Cassie was supposed to be as buried as the man they thought was him. He stepped around those who were quietly sobbing or discussing his brutal death in whispers. They didn't so much as glance at the man brushing past their shoulders.
It never failed to amaze him how a little plastic surgery could blind even the men and women in the crowds who had shared his work, who were supposed to be as skilled as he was at spying out deceptions.
Perhaps they just wanted to believe he was dead. There were a lot of them.
He waited until after the preacher had finished his long, mumbling speech. After his wife in his previous life - the woman who had never known him at all - gave a speech that reduced her to hoarse sobs and sent her running from the service before its end. After the people who had loved that version of him stepped forward and said their private goodbyes. He was surprised to see some of his colleagues also step out from the shadows to touch his casket. Sloppy of them.
He waited until they lowered the casket into the ground, and the crowd dispersed. It took a while: more people had come to see him be buried than he'd thought. It was almost touching. But finally only she was left, running a hand over the gravestone they'd chosen for him.
He pressed a hand over her mouth when there were no other eyes to watch them, and brushed his lips against her ear.
"I've missed you," he said.
She shuddered at his voice, and gripped his arm, tracing her way up to try and touch his face. He dragged her into the small mausoleum nearby, and finally turned her to face him, removing his hand.
"Jack," she said. Her deep blue eyes traced his face greedily, seeing past the modified nose, the contacts, the beard he'd grown. Seeing *him*.
"I knew it," she said, her voice cracking as she wrapped her arms around him and began to sob. The spice of her enveloped him: apples and honey. He breathed deeply, etching it into memory. She had always smelled good. He was going to miss that.
He gripped her shoulders and pushed her away slightly, looking down at her and allowing *that* smile to return. The one she associated with Jack Morgan.
"What happened?" he asked. "You were supposed to meet me on the pier..."
She hadn't been there. He'd thought she'd finally wised up, until he saw her here.
"I got an assignment. Urgent," she said. "I tried to contact you, but by that time you'd disappeared. What happened? You ask *me* that? Why did you do this, Jack? You loved the work."
There were a hundred ways to answer that.
"I still do," he said, opting for the truth. Perhaps she deserved a bit of it right now. "Maybe I made the wrong decision."
He drew his handgun at the same moment she did. The silence of the mausoleum pressed around him as she grinned widely.
A part of him had always known - she had put on a good show, he had to give her that. As good as his own. Perhaps better. He'd been convinced she loved him. He answered her grin as he saw her in a new light. Her eyes sparkled, alive with the game - she really was beautiful. He'd known that all along, of course, but today he really appreciated it.
"Well, this changes things," she said. "I had to come back, to try and find out. I always thought it was too easy, you falling in love like a amateur. It was killing me, not knowing."
"Same here," he said with a grin. "I came to the funeral, hoping you'd be here. I had to know. Funny, isn't it, that we decided on the same strategy?"
Usually, you stalked a mark for months before the kill. Unseen and silent. But usually, your mark didn't share the work. Normally, your mark wasn't so hard to kill. He'd thought it would be easy to rely on that shared connection, to exploit it to reach her. That had been the plan, at first.
She must have thought the same.
"We've always had a lot in common," she agreed. Her gun was still pointed at his forehead.
It felt good to have caught up with her. Yes, maybe he'd been wrong. He did miss this. She'd always been the one that got away.
"Well, we both know now," he said, watching her. "Going to lower that gun?"
"We'll do it together," she said, still smiling. "How about that?"
He matched her smile. She'd always loved the game. He wanted to keep it going for as long as possible.
"Or perhaps you could fake your death as well, and we can be together again?" he suggested. "We were a couple, after all, everyone knew that. You could have been suicidal with grief...no-one would suspect. We could make it convincing. It's fun being dead, you know. There's no more obligations. What do you say - one last shot at it?"
They stared at each other, and both burst into laughter.
-------
The cemetery gardener almost clipped off his own fingers as a single gunshot sounded from the mausoleum. A moment back he'd thought his ears were playing tricks on him when he heard laughter.
He eyed the old building as he dropped the clippers and stumbled away to call the police. No way was he going in there to see what was going on. It was past time he found a new job. This place was haunted, he just knew it.
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
**edit:** Thanks so much to whoever gave me gold! | My father was an agent of some sort, he never really talked about his work with us. Even though he wasn't around often, he made sure his time with us was well spent. Sometimes, during our vacations, he would take a call and tell us he had to leave immediately. I was always curious what his job was, what was more important than family. All I knew is that his job must have made him a lot of enemies during his time, because one of them came back to bite him in the ass. As the youngest member of the family, I was spared, but only left to watch my whole family die. I remembered the name "Kurt Jones" etched into the handle of the blade that executed my father. I was left scarred, but with a burning desire for revenge. I spent most of days training, buying weaponry, and of course, killing. I worked as a hitman, hoping I would soon run into the killer of my family. Being an assassin and focusing on finding the killer of my family took a toll on my life, as it felt wasted when I finally got the name I wanted to hear. Kurt Jones had made an enemy of someone who hated him enough to order a hit on him. Unfortunately, I was hired as the last resort, as the last hitman was killed by Kurt, but left him severely injured. This job was too easy, it didn't feel satisfying enough. But I finished the job anyways, killing Kurt in his sleep. The name echoes in my head, disappointed that it had to end this way. Though, I got what I wanted, and could finally retire the life of assassinations.
But I couldn't just leave the hitman business like that, I had to make sure no one would ever try to find me or take revenge. That's when I had the brilliant idea to fake my own death, and start anew. It was a well thought out fake death: kill a homeless man, burn the body so there is no way of identifying the man, and leaving my wallet next to the roasted body, only charred just a bit so my ID is still able to be read.
Of course, no one would truly miss me as I had no immediate family members left, only distant relatives. Several weeks later, I found out that there would be a proper funeral for me at Rose Hills, the same cemetery that my family was buried in. It was quite odd attending my own funeral, and recognizing some of my relatives. I made sure to be in full disguise and linger in the back to ensure that some of my aunts and uncles do not recognize me. During the speeches of one of my cousins, I peer to left and see a familiar face. The flashbacks of my family's death play in my head, and that's how I realized that the job was never finished. In fact, I never did see the face of the sleeping man that I killed, I just assumed it was Kurt.
Kurt stood a bit distant from my relatives, with a dirty smirk on his face. I stared right at him, shocked that he is still alive. That's when we lock eyes, and taunts me a bit right before he starts to walk away. I make my way around my relatives to keep a close distance with Kurt.
"I must finish the job." I said to myself.
I quickly made my way towards Kurt as he walks down the hill.
He stops and says, "Johnny, my boy. I was surprised when I heard about your death, but you are smarter than that."
And that was the first time I heard his voice. I wasn't sure how he knew my name, but I'm sure he kept tabs on me if he spared my life.
"You do know where you are right Johnny?" Kurt said as he looked back at me. I look down to see the headstone with my fathers name on it. "Your father wasn't what you thought he was. He wasn't a hero, he wasn't a good guy. Quite the opposite actually, and that's why I had to take him out," he continued. Right when he saw that I was distracted with my own thoughts, he pulled out his USP 45 and fired at me. I quickly tumbled behind a tree and took cover. Maybe training all my life wasn't such a waste eh? I unholster my 9mm and return two shots. I peer around the tree and see him making his way to the parking lot. I sprint after him, not letting him get away this time.
Being the younger man with more endurance, I quickly catch up to him.
"Stop!" I yelled, aiming at his head.
"Alright Johnny, you got me, go ahead. Just know that I knew your father the best. You can kill me and never find out what your father was," he said with his hands out of my sight.
Damn it, this man really did know how to pull my strings. I take my finger off the trigger. "Okay, you can tell me what I want to know."
Kurt smiled and said, "You know Johnny, you and your father have one thing in common. You both let curiosity get the best of you." That's when I hear a voice behind say "Drop it."
I lower my pistol, and looked behind me. It wasn't anyone I knew, but he was around the same age as me.
"You see Johnny, when you're in this business, it's always good to have people you can trust, something your father never did. The clients never payed us well when your father and I worked as... special security, if you will. So when we got a gig to work at a gun trade, I suggested to kill the two parties of the trade, and take the money and the guns for ourselves. He didn't see it the same way I did, and refused to work with me. He told me I could do it myself, and he wouldn't say a thing. But you know what that fucker did? He snitched and pissed off the two parties of the trade. They sent out a team to murder my family a day before the trade, leaving me to witness it all. It was only fair that I returned the favor to your father," Kurt said with a grim look on his face.
"25 years later, and I still need to return the favor." he said as he nodded to his accomplice.
I quickly duck and sweep the man's legs. At the same time, I grab my 9mm and shoot Kurt right in his left shoulder. I knock out his friend and walk towards Kurt. "You know Kurt, according to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. It's wings are too small to get it's fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyways becau-" BOOM
Right before I could finish my line, Kurt grabs his own gun and kills himself.
Edit: deleting some repeated stuff
Edit 2: thanks for the positive feedback guys! This is actually my first story on writingprompts ever. Just decided to give it a go :) | 2016-12-28T23:41:21 | 2016-12-28T22:19:33 | 1,864 | 191 |
[WP] "Don't worry, it's what makes us human." The human finished, right before all the aliens stood in horror | "So, to end, humanity is a race that has always been at the bottom of the food chain. We might not have the strength of some other species, or even their longevity, but we will always have the will to carry on. Simply put, you might even call it what makes us human."
Ambassador Percival chuckled. To think he had been given the opportunity to speak here, at the Council for Intergalactic Peace - the most prestigious of all gatherings known to man and man-like being - and to introduce his species to all the other star-faring races in the skies above. He could think of no higher honor. Perhaps he wasn't the best of speechwriters, but he was certain that the audience's translators had take care of that much for him. They had certainly been paying him enough attention - every eye-stalk and sensory tentacle had been focused on him the entire time he had been speaking. Now, however, they were focused elsewhere. The aliens turned to one another, shuffling almost uncomfortably as they conversed quietly in their native languages. But Percival wasn't concerned. He had no time for such matters. For now was the time for questions, and he had to be sure to answer all of them to the absolute best of his ability. After all, his entire race was depending on it.
"Excuse me, human..." Said Go'ruk, the three-fanged ambassador of the Jultai people. "Forgive me, but could you repeat that last part one more time?"
Percival frowned. "That our tenacity is what makes us human?" He asked. "I'm sorry if the translators didn't catch it, I'm not entirely familiar with-"
"No, human." The alien said, cutting him off. "The part after that."
Percival froze in shocked silence. It was very unlike the usually polite ambassador to speak out of turn - from what he understood, it was the height of insult - but the being didn't seem angry. Instead, it was almost cowering, pushing it's hulking form into the back of its chair until only its face was visible amid a wreath of muscle.
"I...I'm sorry, I don't mean to offend, but there *was* no other part!" He said, laughing nervously.
"There! You've done it again!" Go'ruk exclaimed, and the translator noted that there was panic in his voice. "I was under the impression that your race was not starfaring up until a few months ago. How is it that you know K'tali?"
"...K'tali?" Percival asked. "...I'm sorry, I don't understand."
"That language you used!" The hulking figure said. "With the grunting and halts, after your native English! You just insulted my entire lineage back to the first egg in perfect K'tali, and you expect me to believe a single other word that you said until now? The translator might censor your tongue, human, but I still knew what you meant!"
Percival blinked, stunned. "You mean...laughter?" He asked.
"What is this 'laughter' you speak of?" The alien roared. "We have no such word. Explain yourself!"
"It...it's just a noise we make." He stammered. "We use it to express all kinds of things - joy, humor, fear...it doesn't *mean* any-oh. Oh dear."
He couldn't take it anymore. Between his nerves and the misunderstanding, it was all too much: the ambassador began to laugh. He was quiet at first, almost contained, then he began to laugh louder and louder until his voice echoed all around the enormous chamber. Every face and face-like structure stared at him in utter silence, lymph and blood draining from each until all were pale as snow.
"Someone silence him, and quarantine the planet until we can get this under control." Said the alien between gales of laughter. "Damn these humans. I knew we should have left them on their rock." | "Ugh, that's disgusting!" Blerg of the Klepians said upon watching Rick finish his breakfast. Blerg was a slug-like creature, covered with billions of tiny hairs that vibrated to condense the air around an object so that he could pick it up. At this moment, he used them chug a glass of water that appeared to be floating. "I need more water after this."
"What, you mean aliens never have cereal without milk?" Rick said. He sat at in the center of a stadium, conducting human acts as a volunteer to teach the group of aliens about Earth culture. "It's about choice with us humans."
"Of course not! Why even *use* a spoon at that point, might as well just use your hands," a sarcastic Grexian female said. She was like a praying mantis with bear fur, standing up to twenty feet tall if she chose to extend herself from her current, relaxed form.
"Well, sometimes we do. I mean, that's how you eat potato chips, right?"
"Stop being gross and just show us something else that...ugh, '*makes you human*.'"
"Well, sometimes we like to play sports, like baseball," Rick said, and a bat and ball appeared before him the moment he thought about it. He acted out his words as he spoke. "You pick up the bat, and then try to hit the ball the ball. That's the basic premise, although there are many more rules."
"Go on and show us," a gravel-voiced Centaurian said. They were almost humanoid, but made from stone rather than flesh and blood. "Come on, then."
"I...I just did."
Suddenly, all of the aliens in the stadium started groaning and crying out, as though in great pain. The Klepian vomited all of the water he had consumed, the Grexian extended to her full height only to faint and crush some of the other specatators, while the Centaurian rumbled a sound like a nearby earthquake.
"Um, what's wrong?" Rick was frightened, but had the necessary psychiatric training to remain calm. The aliens had promised a thousand times over that, no matter what, no harm would come to him. "Why is everyone so upset?"
"You play sports *clothed!*" a tree-person from the planet Tranginar said. His leaves rustled, and seemed more upset about clothes than using the corpse of his cousin in a game. "That is just...just...OUTRAGEOUS!"
"One more chance, human, just one more chance!" Blerg said once the crowd had settled down somewhat. "Show us one thing, just one thing! that does not disgust us. If you fail, we will leave humanity and never return, and Earth will never be a part of the galactic federation that spreads peace, immortality, and free fruit loops *with milk* throught the entire universe! For if you do not succeed, humans will never, EVER leave their homeworld."
*Shit, what do I do,* Rick thought. *Everything I've done has just disgusted them, and no one on Earth will ever forgive me if I fail.* Struggling to think, and running out of time against the impatient groans of his audience, an idea suddenly came to mind.
"You, Klepian!" Rick shouted.
"Yes, what is it?" Blerg replied.
"You drink water without using your hands, that's disgusting!"
"But...but I don't have hands!"
"That's even worse! What if you drop it, gross!" Rick paused for a moment to gauge the reaction of the crowd, but there was none. "And you, the Grexian!"
"What do *you* want now?" the Grexian, having woken from her fainting spell, asked.
"I can't *believe* you change size! That's gross! Us humans are always the same shape once we attain adulthood. How can I know if your a child or whatever?" Rick surveyed the crowd again and saw what appeared to be growing smiles, even some giggles.
"Centaurian!" Rick shouted, jabbing a finger at the rock man. "How can you be rock hard all the time, contain yourself!"
Slowly, laughs began sounding out from the audience. It was quiet at first, but more joined in over a short amount of time. Rick smiled and tried one last jab.
"And you, woody! Your leaves are always the same color. Our trees on Earth change color, you disgusting plant!"
At this, the audience erupted in laughter. Tears fell from the eyes of those spectators who were capable of producing them. The stadium shook with the force of joyous mirth.
"Alright, human," Blerg said, wiping his eyes with a tissue. "You've done it! Earth is hereby admitted into the galactic federation!"
"Thank you," Rick said. He bowed and left the stage, looking forward to the new stage of human evolution.
*****
Thank you for reading! If you like this, check out some more at r/arcaldwell. | 2017-04-24T10:15:49 | 2017-04-24T09:40:40 | 213 | 112 |
[WP] Instead of having a guardian angel, you have a guardian Demon. His methods are often much more violent. But much more straight forward. | "Gi'me your wallet!" The thug stood above me, knife pointed at my neck. He had kicked my bike when I turned around the corner. "Come on you little shit!"
"It's cool man! Just put the knife down, I'm not going to resist!" I started to reach for my wallet, when he kicked me. _Oh crap..._ I thought, praying for his safety.
"You ain't telling me shit what..." He shouted, when he was interrupted by a loud blast. A senior man leaned on a window behind the now gasping for air thug, a shotgun in his hand still fumming.
"You ok kiddo?" Asked gently the man, cocking the shotgun.
"Y-y-eah... I... is he gonna be ok?" I squirmed away from the pool of blood that formed under the thief. He was a lean and skinny white man, he seemed poor, dirty and in need of a good meal.
"This piece of shit is going straight to hell." The old man spit in the direction of the thief. "Go now, I'll call the cops."
I picked up my bicked and pedalled away as quickly as I could. A few blocks after I stopped to take a breath. "Azazel, what the hell man?"
He stepped out of the thin air, as if a corner where hidden in the nothingness in front of me. First came his brown sandals and white robes, then his charred wings. The smell of sulfur filled the air. He was neither ugly, nor beautiful. Even calling him "he" was... weird, as he didn't seem neither man nor woman, just remotely human.
"What dost thou mean, my child?" His voice was like a harp was slowly played, sweet and sad.
"Couldn't you give him a cramp or something else?" I picked a rosary from my pocket and started to pray my "Hail Mary"'s for the poor man's soul.
"He was an evil man, my child, and his time had to come." He extended his warm hands to my right leg and a bean of light shone upon it. I hand't realized that it was hurting before it, but after a slight burn the pain subsided. "There child, is it better? I'll be sure that he feels a thousand times more pain than he caused thee."
"No! I don't want that! Can't you not kill someone that is putting me into any kind of bad sittuation?!" I exclaimed.
"But that is not true, my child. I care to remind thee of Johnathas Smith, the week prior. He is still alive." The fallen angel pondered with a smile.
"YOUR CRIPLED HIM!" I punched the bike in anger.
"He crippled himself, child. He mocked thee upon thy bad performance on the maraton preparation." Azazel moved gracefully one of his hands towars his pointy chin, as if trying to remember a moment between aeons of memories.
"Physical exam." I reminded him, he was still adapting to our vocabulary, he had only been around for 14 years now, or so he had told me.
"Yes, my child, that. He mocked thee on your lack of prowess on running, so now he has been humbled into not walking." He smiled, maliciously. It gave me the chills.
"Holy crap Azazel..." I stored my now well torn rosary inside my front pocket. "Why can't you be a little less... Old Testment?"
"You mean the old book of the Hebrew?" His demonic smile widened. He extended his wings and fire flew through then, as if old charcoal had been reckindled. "Those where the good times, my child."
Edit1: fix added by /u/gingersassy suggestion | "I got to the building, and it was locked, and I thought, oh, that's it. I didn't show up for the interview on time, they're not even gonna give me a chance. So I pulled out my phone to rant to my boyfriend about it, when suddenly the manager came rushing toward the building, and she gives me this long story about how her neighbor was giving away kittens and they thought all of them had been adopted but then there was one more kitten than they thought they had, so she had to take some extra time to get all the cat supplies she didn't think she'd need before, and by the time she realized how long it'd taken her she was already late." Sarah leaned back, idly stirring sugar into her coffee. "She was even later than I was! I swear, my guardian angel was watching over me."
"Lucky," I said, trying not to let the resentment into my voice. I had a similar story of my own, but I didn't like to share it. Really, I've tried putting it out of my mind. Seeing the footage of that schoolbus crash on the news for weeks afterward had been hard enough.
Sarah rolled her eyes. "Yeah, *lucky*. Says the woman who has everything fall into her lap."
I took a drink of my hot chocolate, hiding my wince. A lot of things do go right for me, but I hate it. The last time I locked myself out of my house, there was a locksmith already on the street right in front of my door. He'd just come from unlocking a door for a suicide case, and then he blew a tire. (I never did learn whether the suicide had been successful. He didn't seem to want to share.)
On my way to meet Sarah for our weekly lunch, I was running late for the train. Until the train had to stop because it hit a cow. Nobody could explain *why* a cow was wandering onto the tracks at a station in the middle of a city.
Every time I make a mistake, somebody seems to suffer for it. Somebody who's not me.
So, when good things fall in my lap, it feels less like I'm being given gifts, and more that every moment I fail to be perfect, I'm met with negative reinforcement. I can't stand seeing other people suffer. And the only way I can avoid it is by being everywhere on time, remembering everything important, never *once* slipping up.
"So, how are things with you and Brian these days?" I asked, trying to steer the conversation to something less upsetting.
"Oh, nothing new. We're comfortable, you know? Since moving in together it's just been routine. Get home from work, watch Netflix, fall asleep on the couch most nights. We're such a boring couple." She chuckled. "What about you? Dating again?"
I shook my head.
"Still too painful, after Andrew?" she asked.
Andrew. Damn, I hate thinking about him.
What hurts isn't that he cheated. Under normal circumstances, sure, I'd be hurt by that. I'd feel betrayed. It's not something I'd be *okay* with.
It's just not *nearly* as distressing as the way he died. A freak windstorm, blowing a wasp's nest in through the bedroom window, the wasps all swarming the two of them in the middle of events... I still cringe every time I think about it. And I just have to think, if he'd cheated on *anybody* else, he'd be okay.
I don't want to risk that... or worse... happening to any other men. Even ones who do turn out to be scumbags.
"I'm just focusing on myself these days. The job's going great, and I'm getting really into photography." Not that I'm entering any contests with my photos or whatever. I don't want to see what might happen to the people who place ahead of me.
Sarah nodded. "That picture of the duck in front of a rainbow was amazing. You should seriously try to sell prints of it or something."
"Thanks, but I think I'm happier just leaving it out in the wild." I shrugged. "Stuff like that should be shared with the world." And there are two many ways that selling my work could become competitive. Bad things happen when I'm pitted against other people for sales or likes or retweets.
Ambitions have no place in my life. I apply myself at work solely for the sake of succeeding on my own merits. In my time off, I select activities that offer no grounds for conflict with other people. And I try to avoid aspirations to fame or fortune.
If I become a perfect person, then one day, perhaps my guardian demon will be willing to leave me alone. | 2017-06-13T07:00:00 | 2017-06-13T05:44:52 | 50 | 28 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is strange." I began to fidget on the stool. "I havent had one this difficult to read in over 25 years" I nervously wiped my palms on the fold of my robe. "Ahhhh, you aren't meant to be here. You're a muggle" The hat began to feel heavier on my head. All my hard work, foiled by the bloody sorting hat. It looked a lot more impressive in the film. This one, the real one, had no anthropomorphic facial features. It was literally just an old hat. And now the dusty old hat was my ticket back home to the west country. The weight of the hat squashing my dreams aswell as my head. "You've done very well to manage to get a letter. Even the most ordinary muggle families tend to have around 6% magical blood, muggle born wizards often have a higher percentage obviously but yours is practically zero! I highly doubt there's more than one magical relative in your entire family tree."
"Very clever though, using muggle tricks to bypass the ministry's screening spells. No one else has successfully managed that in the whole 20 years since Professor Rowling published that bloody book. I suppose you've already heard of our muggle studies teacher, eh?" I obviously had, everyone knew the name JK Rowling, she'd made a fortune!
"It takes real determination and courage to even attempt to fool your way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry you know, I should have had you obliviated the moment you put me on."
The dissapointment turned to fear. I hadn't considered the possibility of anything other than being put on a train home. Was lying to the ministry an offence worthy of Azkaban?
"I won't tell if you don't though"
GRYFFINDOR!
| It was that time of year again at Hogwarts. A new wave of anxious first years will be starting their magical journeys today, and after waiting what seemed like a lifetime, so will I.
We were lined up at the stairs, McGonagall instructing us on what would be taking place as we enter the Great Hall. While confident, I avoided her sharp gazes; who knows, maybe highly learned witches and wizards can identify squibs just by looking at them. The nerves were starting to set in as my self-assurance began to waver.
The towering doors to the hall made a deep clanging noise and began to open slowly. An uproar of cheers shot through the entrance, lengthy tables each lined with students were awaiting our arrival. We marched awkwardly down the middle between two tables, while I sunk myself to the back of the group. I sure did not want to be in Dumbledore's line of sight, as gentle and kind as he appeared.
Just as McGonagall firmly picked up a sheet of parchment and read a new student's name out loud, it finally registered what she was saying back at the stairs, we're about to be sorted. I closed my eyes and thought back to being in my dimly lit room in Colchester. Scanning my memories, I began to reach for any bit of information that might help me weasel past this last hurdle. Everything was clouded, I felt as if Dumbledore was standing right behind me, tapping into my mind as I attempted to deceive him. My thoughts raced wildly and the panic began to set in.
"Martin Schmidtt!", the shrill voice pierced through my thoughts and my eyes clicked open. I swore it read Marty everywhere, where did they get Martin from? I hate that name. Anyway, here we go. I've squeezed my way through worse.
I walked up, chest held high. That's all it takes right? I sat up on the wooden stool and closed my eyes once more. The grayed heavy hat must've only touched the first hair on my head before exclaiming "Ohh! Ah, I see what's going on". The hat's sudden reaction nearly jolted me off the chair. Had it already figured me out? Surely McGonagall or Dumbledore would have seen through me by now. Another set of "Hmm's" and "Ah's" were heard as the hat wriggled around my sweaty hair. Minutes had already passed, but I hadn't accepted my fate yet.
Eyes shut, back in my Colchester room, I thought to myself. This could easily just be a Hatstall, I've read about those before. I began to relax again, the poise that got me here had fired up once more.
"Sssss-lytherin!!" boomed the sorting hat as it wrestled off my head.
Bingo, I'm in.
| 2017-06-25T15:03:55 | 2017-06-25T14:36:15 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] You are a Squib who mastered a vast repertoire of Muggle magic tricks to finagle Hogwarts into sending you a letter. Everything goes smoothly, until it is time for the Sorting Ceremony... | "This is strange." I began to fidget on the stool. "I havent had one this difficult to read in over 25 years" I nervously wiped my palms on the fold of my robe. "Ahhhh, you aren't meant to be here. You're a muggle" The hat began to feel heavier on my head. All my hard work, foiled by the bloody sorting hat. It looked a lot more impressive in the film. This one, the real one, had no anthropomorphic facial features. It was literally just an old hat. And now the dusty old hat was my ticket back home to the west country. The weight of the hat squashing my dreams aswell as my head. "You've done very well to manage to get a letter. Even the most ordinary muggle families tend to have around 6% magical blood, muggle born wizards often have a higher percentage obviously but yours is practically zero! I highly doubt there's more than one magical relative in your entire family tree."
"Very clever though, using muggle tricks to bypass the ministry's screening spells. No one else has successfully managed that in the whole 20 years since Professor Rowling published that bloody book. I suppose you've already heard of our muggle studies teacher, eh?" I obviously had, everyone knew the name JK Rowling, she'd made a fortune!
"It takes real determination and courage to even attempt to fool your way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry you know, I should have had you obliviated the moment you put me on."
The dissapointment turned to fear. I hadn't considered the possibility of anything other than being put on a train home. Was lying to the ministry an offence worthy of Azkaban?
"I won't tell if you don't though"
GRYFFINDOR!
| "Hmm...? 'Please don't be Slytherin?' Very well, then. Gryffindor!" the Sorting Hat shouted as Harry Potter excitedly ambled down the stairs. His oblivious expression only further ignited my excitement.
"Pfttt. What's all this cacophony about? Sure, he's that voodoo 'Chosen One', but he doesn't have the ounce of the power I have. I'll prove to them all what a true legend can do." I muttered under my breath as I prepared to wreak havoc in this universe. A wide, unnatural, and inhuman grin slowly stretched upon my face.
"Next is Jackie Trollington!" McGonagall's voice echoed.
I confidently waltzed my way to the seat as the Sorting Hat was promptly put onto my head.
"Hmm... let me see. Oh. Ohhh... I knew this day would come... and it finally did. Although you've disguised yourself as a Muggle who knows several magic tricks, you can't get by me. I can see the hidden objects on your person." the Hat ominously remarked.
"You do not belong to any house. You are an anomaly. You are... the Troll!"
*Gasps*
As if on cue, I suddenly, and "magically" materialized full copies of the entire Harry Potter series from the sleeves of my black robe. I suddenly hopped onto the elongated tables and sprinted down as I splattered the dishes of food everywhere and onto all of their faces.
"Ron, Fred's going to be dead, and your rat's actually a freaking fatass human named Peter or some crap. Harry, you're a living Horcrux! Dumbledore, you better be prepared to die. Oh yea! Harry, it turns out that you'll meet a guy named Snape soon. He had the hots for your mom!" I maniacally screamed as I ran up and down each column.
"STOP HIM!" Dumbledore vociferated.
"Oh, and Neville turns out to be a pretty chill dude, I can't really troll him. But Hermione, you deci-"
"Bombardo!" A disgusted voice shouted behind me.
*BOOM*
As the hair fizzed away and my entire body became charred, I snidely and shrilly laughed as my cheekbone became lodged in place from its transformation.
"The Troll can never truly die! I've wrecked your universe enough, and now it's time to meet Bilbo Bagtard! Ahah. AHAHAHAH!" I hollered as I flew through the air.
Finally, my surroundings blurred as my consciousness dissipated from this fully roasted body.
However, I would find another host soon enough.
The Troll never dies.
[r/JackWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/jackwrites/)
| 2017-06-25T15:03:55 | 2017-06-25T14:51:44 | 56 | 17 |
[WP] The first generation of wizards inherits from their parents’ professions. For example, a child of a chef and a swimmer wields fire and water spells. You possess something interesting. | Creation.
That was what they called it, when it came to my powers. An odd thing, and not exactly what everyone expected. See, my mom was a programmer, and my dad was a digital artist. Everyone expected me to be able to work with electronics, or technology in general - and that would've been fine. Hell, you can make quite a living in IT as a technomancer.
But, that's not what happened. What everybody took for granted is in the amount of Creation that those jobs took - Mom could literally rewrite the rules of the worlds and programs she wrote, altering everything from time, to space, distance, and the whole of physics. Dad gave life to everything - he could craft paintings of far off planets, give birth to new creatures and ecosystems, and even bring back ancient memories from long forgotten history with a stroke of a pen on his Wacom tablet.
So, I got to be able to create. At first, it was an odd sensation - powers would manifest around the time of the 11th birthday. Fate, it would seem, was just as much a fan of the *Harry Potter* series as the rest of the world was. Of course, it did lead to some fun moments - my parents scolded me particularly hard for summoning a blizzard in the middle of Disney World simply because I wanted to have a white Christmas - but overall, I tried to keep things to myself.
And, ironically, once I grew of age, I knew my power could be used for good - so I did. I helped people. I reversed global warming. I created shelter and food for all of the homeless and poverty stricken masses around the world. Diseases were eradicated, wars were ended, and it seems like humanity was finally going into a golden era.
But then human nature took over. It was bound to happen, I figured. As I grew older, the abundance I provided the world caused people to lash out - survival instincts apparently require a regular dose of adrenaline to keep the mind functioning properly. It was like the old movie, The Matrix, had said - when presented with a perfect world, humanity rejected it.
Wars returned, as I hit my 78th birthday. Fights over... seemingly nothing. And no words I spoke, no magic I crafted could end this. My body is growing weak - magic is being used for naught but destruction, as I sired no heirs and no other child has been born with my gift. If nothing changes, my life's work will have been for naught... or so it would seem. However, there is a word I learned early on, that I have been saving for just the right occasion.
I am 85 now. My time draws near - breathing is hard, and labored. I am about to expire. So, in the hospital which bares my name, surrounded by well wishers, I am ready. I smile, breath in deeply, and utter a single word.
Reboot. | My parents dropped me off at the Zen's Foundation of Gifted Children, they said would help me train my latent powers. The building itself looked like a mental institution, at least the ones they showed in the movies. The only reason they sent me there was that the principle of my school had suspected me to force someone to fight for me, even though I told him I'd give my friend ice cream later if he helped me take care of this bully. I shyly walked into the building to find it looking very sterile, a pitch black carpet leading towards the waiting area. I walked towards the receptionist.
"H-h-hello?"
"Hey, what's brought you here today, where are your parents? Can you fill out this paper?"
She gave me one of those multi-page documents that I had a lot of difficulty understanding. I had asked her to help me so I could fill everything in. Though were many interesting things to fill in like if I had used any powers without knowing it.
'What are your parent's professions?' I filled it in and her face went white. It didn't make sense to me at the time, so I was concerned too.
"What's wrong, miss?"
"I don't think we should train you. You might be too dangerous to train. Why don't you call to get your parents?"
As if by destiny, a tall shadowy figure appeared out of nowhere and told her to submit the form. It scared me for a moment.
"We'll have you examined by our local specialists, okay? Help yourself to some water and candy."
"Thank you, miss!"
I ran over to grab some candy, and went to play with the other kids. Though they didn't seem to have their parents with them either, but that didn't really matter to me. Eventually they called on my name, and I came into the examining room. I was met with a tall, scary man, and yet I felt compelled to talk to him.
"So, Quinn, why do you think your parents brought you here?"
"I don't know mister, but you're kinda scaring me."
"Sorry, I'll change into something more suiting."
The man seemed to morph into a childlike form, but you knew something was off about him.
"Now tell me, do you know about the new order of Wizards?"
"No... what your name, mister?"
"That's not important, Quinn, tell me what you know!"
I was trembling by this point out of fear, I felt like my heart was going to explode. Though he seemed to notice my massive discomfort and stopped pressuring me, as if satisfied with my responce.
"Okay good, you're not a Russian spy. Sorry about that, usually we're able to read the minds of those who enter here through the receptionist who we placed here. Though recently, those damned Russians have been attempting to steal information on this program we have here, and they've been sending children as spies and we couldn't seem to detect anything within you. I suppose I owe you my name now. My name is Dr. Xenius, both of my parents were actors."
He stopped briefly and started to shift into what seemed to be his real form.
"Anyways, I suppose I should tell you right now, that you could become one of our most powerful students. Your father being a mortician, and your mother being a psychologist. Probably one of the potent combinations you could have, outside of having writers as your parents."
I was lost for words, I never realized that I had powers, only thinking that they were just natural extensions of myself, and something that everyone could do.
"Now, Quinn. I want you to do something for me to prove that you're able to be my student."
An assistant came out, laying down a dead cat. I retched at the sight and smell. Though oddly I felt that I knew what they wanted me to do.
"Quinn, I want you to bring this cat back to life!"
( sequel coming soon^tm )
| 2018-04-15T14:12:07 | 2018-04-15T13:07:56 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You're a nigh-invincible superhero with one weakness: a gun thrown at you in desperation after it runs out of bullets | Super Guy and Villain Man once again find themselves locked in an epic battle in the city in which they reside. After a long chase, the two adversaries wind up in alleyway. Villain Man is cornered with two buildings on his side and a brick wall behind him.
**BANG BANG BANG**
Villain Man lets loose with his hand cannon. Super Guy maneuvers left and right, dodging the bullets with ease.
"Hahaha!" shouts Super Guy, "try harder!"
"Son of a bitch!" yells Villain Man, frustrated. He tries to run past Super Guy, but to no avail. Super Guy blasts Villain Man with a right hook, sending him 20 feet back in to the the brick wall. Villain Man falls limp, lying motionless on the ground.
Super Guy approaches Villain Man slowly. "I've been toying with you for years now" laughs Super Guy, "catching you, letting you go, then catching you again. All so this city can call me their hero and savior. But now, you've disrespected my mother. Prepare for your end."
Villain Man, playing possum, senses Super Guy just feet from where he is laying. He picks up his head and pulls out his gun, aiming it straight at Super Guy's head.
**BANG**
The bullet deflects off of Super Guy's skull.
**BANG BANG BANG**
Three more bullets ricochet left and right without even scratching the hero. "Ha! Good trick! I can't believe this is the first time you've landed a bullet!"
*click*
Villain Man pulls the trigger once more out of desperation. He's run out of bullets. "No!" shouts Villain Man as Super Guy laughs. With no other options, Villain Man hurls his gun at Super Guy.
*-----------*
Time seems to freeze for Super Guy as he sees the gun approaching. *How could I be so foolish?* he thinks to himself, *my only weakness.*
The gun continues its approach. Super Guy tries to move but he is frozen, helpless.
*Did I push Villain Man too far? He hasn't done anything evil per se. I framed him for all of those crimes he's accused of.*
Super Guy tries his laser beam eyes. Nothing. The gun starts to close in.
*All I wanted was to be loved by this city! But it was too peaceful! No one needed a super hero. So what choice did I have but to create a villain? Someone who gives me a reason to live. And a way to make a living, of course. The local news stations love the footage.*
He glances at the video camera mounted on his chest. He looks back up, the gun is mere inches from his face.
*This is so embarrassing. I just hope I'm still respected after all of this. I hope to always be known as Super Guy, brave hero, and better friend!*
The gun connects. Super Guy lets out a scream as he feels his body start to decompose. With a mighty *poof* his body turns to dust and falls to the floor.
*----------*
Villain Man stands up in the alleyway, shocked and alone. He takes a few steps toward the pile of dust in front of him.
"What the hell?"
Edit: As much as I enjoyed the explanation made by u/re5etx , I fixed the spelling of Villain. Turns out autocorrect doesn't work for capitalized words. But I'm glad you all enjoyed it! | Ridiculous. What was he even doing ? He could almost hear the iconic Roger Murtagh, too old for this shit, he thought to himself. He chuckled.
There was a familiar series of bangs against the wall behind him, just over his head. He watched the fresh metal as it pinged off into the distance. His slight smile faded, then the corners of his eyes dropped along with his gaze. Tightie YTE looked down at his uniform, the gold and leather, the nonsense oversized clock. It was all loose stitching getting looser, both the man and the suit.
In the day, kids would shout his name as he slid his two Burn Cables off his Trike\-of\-Own; called them his three whips, all fulla justice he mete with style. Rolling Stone gave him a five page spread: “Yavin Teller Engleben: Hip Hop MC and Hero Declares ‘STOP! Slammer Time!’” God DAMNED what a time to be alive.
The last headline stared up at him from the bottom of a news aggregate. It was some forgettable “millennium journalist” piece titled “5 Shocking Ways ‘Tanking’ YTE Appropriated Black Culture.”
Heroes ignore the news cycles, his mind whispered in feigned resolve. He hoped they’d do him the same favor.
Another bang, larger and heavier, clanged off the wall. This time it fell hard, clattering to the floor nearby. He winced involuntarily; large caliber, .45? Definitely a semi\-automatic. He could see a glint where it fell in the shadows just behind him. It was time to find out what he was dealing with.
Slowly extending his leg, he carefully edged his boot over and scooted the . . .The . . . Thompson . . . a fucking Thompson goddamned drum\-having . . . Jesus Christ. They were mocking him now. He couldn’t deny there was faint laughter in the distance any longer. They were . . . playing with him . . . like he was a useless fucking fossil signing vintage Action Comics at a convention.
He’d known he was different since he was little, able to manipulate . . . something . . . in the air. The latest theory from pop science surrounded some kinda q\-things or spooky shit at a distance or whatever. Who the fuck cares, goddamned it, He used it to save a lot of people. He did a lot of good. He could stop a bullet, send it back. He could beam people through solid brick to save them from a fire.
Then some stupid motherfucker panicked. Cornered, tracked down after killing four little girls . . . His empty heat clicking like an overturned crab . . . and this bitch, this creamed\-corn looking pussy\-ass n— . . . bitch titty punk throws his empty piece. That was it. Tightie put his hand up to swat it away and saw colors.
He woke up, his hand covered in a burning rash, barely able to breath. He tried to hit the streets, but he ached now. God how he ached. Felt like he aged 40 years. Didn’t take a week before every asshole on the street knew to handle the YTE.
Was it the metal? An allergy? Fuck if he knew.
There wouldn’t be any more parades. There wouldn’t be another action figure.
But now these motherfuckers, these mother. Fuckers. Were in. His .Crib. They were taking. His. Things. They hurt. His. Dog. He balled his fists, grimacing through every shock from his creaking tendons, and the air crackled with small sparks around him. He remembered them, called them his fireflies.
Three clanks in rapid fire caused him to wince again, caused his hands to go loose and drop to support his weight as he cowered down. He tried again, but more guns clattered off the wall and onto the floor around him. He was caught in a game of twister trying to keep them away from his skin.
There was some more laughter as they bolted through the broken window they used to enter.
Yavin carefully tried to navigate his aged body around the mess, find room to stand up safely. His dog ran over with a slight limp, little yappy thing, nosing a few smaller guns away so his owner could get upright. They were just toys now, looking at them.
That night an old man picked up his dog and held him tight to his chest. Unlike other nights, he didn’t push it away when it lapped at the trickle of salty water spilling over his chin. | 2018-04-27T10:43:41 | 2018-04-27T10:03:37 | 317 | 52 |
[WP]: Alcohol is not medicine. No bloodletting. Absolutely NO mercury, at all, ever. Being thrown hundreds of years back in time was an inconvenience, but at least you’ve made a name for yourself as the most paranoid and superstitious doctor around. | Another day another one of those bird masked idiots shouting about me being a witch outside my house. I'd love just one morning where I can eat breakfast in peace, it's bad enough that there's no coffee or bacon but hearing those fools scream at the crack of dawn is an awful way to start the day. I can tell tron the smell of lavender that there's already someone waiting for me downstairs, and by the sound of the commotion outside it's someone important. At the bottom of my stairs I'm greeted by an unfamiliar group. A servant in one of those ugly robes the monks wear, an unhappy looking young man in a fresh washed white tunic and brown leggings just a bit too big for his scrawny frame, and a grey haired man wearing a patterned tunic and pants. Clearly they have money but I've never seen them before and before I can ask their names the servant blurts out, "I present Lord Havish and his eldest son Rand!" He gives a slight bow before taking a step back to stand behind his lord. When I ask why they have come to me the lord shoots a look at his servant who hurries out of the room, then he turns to me and tells me, "My son has had an affliction for many days. It began with a fever now he can hardly hold food or drink, he sees demons in his sleep and his body hurts on waking. Our physician has let blood and made him sweat to try and balance his humors. He burned sage and bathed in lavendar. He recited an ancient spell to ward off demons, and gave a tincture of mercury and gold yet nothing has worked. We were told you could help." Normally I would tell them to simply stop doing what their crazy doctor tells them to do and just let the boy drink only clean water and eat only fresh bread but this kid looks like he needs some real help. I wash my hands in the small basin I keep by my table and tell the young man to sit on the table. He can barely hoist himself up his face makes an expression of pain as he let's out a grunt from the effort. I check his lymphnodes and listen to his lungs as he breathes. No fluid in the lungs, no discoloration of the eyes, slightly swollen lymphnodes, this kid has the flu. I tell the lord his son has a disease that no prayer nor smell nor tincture can heal, he gives me the same terrified look everyone does when I say that. I reassure him that I can help, I give the boy some chamomile tea and some fresh bread and tell his father to leave him with me for a few days so I can work on him undisturbed. His father thanks me and hands me a bag of gold coins as I show him to the door. The "doctor" outside is screaming at him that I will surely kill his son. A week of actual hygene, eating fresh food, drinking clean water, and not subjecting him to the poison and torture of the morons that pass for doctors will have this kid back to normal. I tell the young man to change into some clean clothes that I have upstairs and I put him to bed with a pitcher of clean water close by. I shudder to think what would have happened to this poor soul had the tales of my "miracle healings" not become famous around here.
Edit: Sorry about the formatting I'm on mobile. | The glass splintered and tiny shards were scattered across the room as it crashed into the ground.
“What in the hell is wrong with you!?” the confused man shrieked in obvious disbelief.
I looked around and noticed that my actions had drawn a considerable amount of attention from the other patrons of the Garrison Pub, one of the most famous establishments on Broad Street. Butterflies filled my stomach immediately as pretty much the first thing they teach you in Correction training is to not draw attention to yourself.
“My apologies sir but did you not notice the vile rat hair floating in that glass?”.
Ugh, not my best improvisation but I’m still a little groggy from the drop.
“Well I’ll be” the man quipped before he turned his anger away from me and started berating the poor bar keep.
Obviously there was no rat hair in his glass but I couldn’t let this man chug down a tall glass of water from the broad street pump. My objective was to keep this specific man safe and taking even just a small sip from that glass of water would have put my entire mission at risk. Why was this weathered man, with his thin comb over and grizzled sideburns worth the hundreds of millions of dollars that it takes to run a Corrections mission? Well this man is John Snow and he is one of the most influential physicians of all time. He was the man who invented epidemiology, a medical practice still in use more than 200 years later and more specifically, the work he is about to accomplish during the cholera outbreak in London saves the lives of millions of people and keeps the gears of history moving as they need to.
There are many forms of terrorism in the new world and after humanity stumbled upon Time-Gravity Decoupling during the containment failure of a particle collider in Switzerland, one of the most effective forms became known as “history blocking”. History Blocking involves using TGD to go back in time and literally change history. If you think about it, what better way to send your enemies into the stone age or spread your ideology then to make sure that the order of events that led to the world being in its current state, a state some groups have little affinity for, never happens.
The good news for people who do prefer the world being the way it was before TGD is that luckily, we were completely wrong in our understanding of time. That idea from sci-fi books talking about “the butterfly effect” and warning future time travelers that stepping on a bug could lead to the dinosaurs inventing space travel or whatever is laughable now that we’ve actually done it. In reality, we learned that the flow of entropy in the universe is not dictated by every individual action that takes place but instead it is based on the makeup of the universe on a quantum level. While that may sound like something someone literally just made up out of thin air, it essentially means that should something be altered in the order of things, time snaps entropy back to it’s expected flow and this is the reason why Terrorist A can’t just go kill the pope and have whatever religion become the leading world order.
At it's core, it's the concept of destiny but your specific destiny in the grand scheme of things, probably doesn’t matter. Instead what these terrorists need to do is find key moments, instances in time that are so fundamental in the flow of entropy that changing them enough means that entropy can never fully snap back. John Snows early death turns out to be near the top of our current risk list. Why? We don’t really understand, but Corrections has an algorithm that identifies such moments and if we detect a TGD signal, agents like myself are tasked to make sure that they happen within relative accuracy to how they originally occurred.
The problem is that we don’t know what events the terrorists are targeting or who they are, so I can’t be sure if that glass of water that John almost drank on Broad Street was planted and would’ve given him Cholera or if it was just a benign moment that had already played out with no horrible death for Mr. Snow, but on the big list of “Shit I probably shouldn’t let happen”, letting the man I’m supposed to ensure lives drink a glass of water from a pump that is responsible for Londons worse Cholera outbreak, during the time that the outbreak is about to happen seems like something that should be near the top of that list.
“I’m sorry, I thought I’d introduce myself, my name is Stan Hutchenson” I reached my hand out invitingly towards Dr. Snow…. | 2018-06-21T11:48:07 | 2018-06-21T11:41:35 | 809 | 102 |
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