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[WP] You always greet your mum with a code phrase that she would complete because you used to be afraid that someone would replace her when you were little. One day you say the phrase to her and she responds with, "Hmm? What are you talking about?" | John rang his mother’s doorbell and eagerly waited. He’s had a hectic past few months, and hardly got to speak to his family, but he’ll be damned if he misses Christmas dinner. His mother opened the door, greeting her son with her warm smile. The two embraced.
“John! It’s so good to see you again!” She exclaimed.
“Peaches!” John greeted with the code word they had used since he was a child. “I missed you!” His mother pulled back and chuckled.
“Peaches?” She asked. “Since when did you greet people like that? Oh never mind, I have so much to talk to you about.” John stepped inside, extremely warily. “Now, let me take care of the appetizers.” His mother said as she walked into the kitchen. When he was young, John had watched Invasion of the Body Snatchers, and it shook him to his core. His mother calmed him down by coming up with a code word between the two. That code word would be his favorite food: peaches. Even since he grew out of the fear, that would just be how they greeted each other.
“Hey mom, hows your health?” John asked. She was getting old, so perhaps some form of Alzheimer’s was setting in?
“Oh I’ve never been better, actually!” His mother answered. “I feel like I can take on the world! Like I can punch through steel, as your father says.” There was a brief silence before she continued, her cheery tone dropping. “Shame he can’t make it today.” John sat down on the living room, mulling over what to do. Could his fears have actually come true?
“So mom, what have you been-?”
“Actually hon, can I ask you to help me with something?” His mother asked. “My eyes aren’t so good,” she walked out of the kitchen, holding a pill bottle. “could you read this for me please?” John grabbed the pill bottle, moving slowly and deliberately. He looked at the pill bottle label, and for the life of him couldn’t understand the inhuman symbols written on it. John’s heart quickened. His mother must have been replaced.
“I can’t understand-“ John looked up at his mother, staring down the barrel of a Desert Eagle. “M-mom? Who are you?”
“You know exactly who I am. I’m Sarah fucking Connor. You are a bad John Connor impersonator. She pulled the trigger, sparks and metal bits bursting out of her”son’s” head. She leaned over the twitching metal body. “And by the way, our code word was grapes.” Sarah pulled her cell phone out of her pocket. “Kyle? It’s Sarah. A T-800 showed up disguised as our son. Cancel the dinner, we’ve got Terminators to kill.”
————————————————————————————————————
I wanted to play a twist on the story where the mother was tipped off rather than the son, and I thought Terminator was a universe I can make that happen in. Sorry if it’s bad, I haven’t written much in a while. | Bracing myself, I stared straight into the eyes of my nemesis as he charged towards me on his hoverbike, weapon in hand. Timing my actions, I leapt...
... back into my seat in the bus, the truck outside the window missing my head by inches.
"Another happy landing!" Turning around, I notice my friend Jake giving a soft sigh.
"Dude, what's gotten into you? We loved to do this all the time remember? Why aren't you excited too?"
"It's not that I don't like it, it's just that..." Jake muttered, putting aside his book. "We're in high school now, shouldn't we be more.... grown-up or something?"
"Oh come on, not you too." I slump in my seat. "It's literally just another year. What's the difference?" Seriously, I've been getting this so much, I'm starting to get triggered. First my dad, then Ms Applegate, and now Jake? What has gotten into everyone?
The bus stops and Jake prepares to get off. "I guess there isn't any difference if you think about it, but my parents are getting quite strict. If I fail my next test they're gonna ban me from the Xbox." He casts me a gaze that's both longing and frustrated. "Bye Brad, see ya tomorrow."
"It's treason then," I mutter to myself as he leaves.
Walking home from the bus stop, I can't help but wonder why everyone is so serious about this high school thing. It's just another year, for goodness sake. And now I'm not allowed to indulge in stuff that I like. I huff as I swing my imaginary saber at a lamppost. Being grownup is sooooooo boooooooring.
Well at least Mom will still be on my side, I think to myself as I open the front door. She's always been there for me. From comforting me after my nightmares about Sans, to treating my to ice cream after a day out with the neighbourhood kids, Mom has been with me all the way. I walk to the kitchen where I hear her cooking. This is where the fun begins.
"Hello there!" Peering in through the kitchen door, I notice she seems a bit..... different. More slumped, I guess? She doesn't seem to hear me. I move in closer. "Hello there mom!"
My mom and I have this code phrase that we say to each other, to prove that the other person hasn't been replaced by a changeling or something. Every day, I greet her the same way and she replies with the same phrase. But not today.
"Oh hi Brad, didn't see you there. Had a good day?"
My blood turns cold. That's not the correct response. She's never forgotten the phrase, even when she's stressed. How could this be? Unless.....
Mom dries her hands on her apron. Before I can recover from my shock, she speaks first. "Brad, can I talk to you about something? It's very important." I can only nod. What's going on today?
"So I had this talk with Ms Applegate this morning, and she mentioned something about you living in a fantasy world of your own." I open my mouth, but before I say anything she stops me. "Not yet. Look Brad, I know you really like having fun, but don't you think it's time to grow up? You're in high school already. Maybe it's time to start thinking about what you could be in the future, yknow?"
My jaw hits the floor. Oh no. Oh no no no no. I think my mom has been....... replaced!
Seeing my absolute confusion, Mom immediately tries to make amends. "Here, I'll make you a deal. If you stop being so childish, I'll take you to see Episode 9 the day it's released. Is that ok? Come, give mom a hug."
Instantly, I back away. That's the turning point. Mom would never, ever, ever support the sequels. Not in a million years.
"Mom, no! This isn't you! This is the dark side! I see through the lies of the Jedi!" But it is useless. She corners me and prepares to pick me up in a death clench. In my final moments, all I can do is scream.
Not sure what got into me, but I wanted to do a sort of memey piece. Hope yall enjoy. | 2019-09-30T12:14:39 | 2019-09-30T06:53:54 | 104 | 24 |
[WP] a flash of light covers the earth & 1% of the population gets super powers. You are not one of them. Years later a task force is made to register everyone with powers. Theres a knock on your door & its a member of this task force who says he actually impressed with how well you kept your secret | "Kept my secret? I really don't know what you are talking about," I said. I didn't. A few minutes ago an agent from the SPTA (Super Power Task Alliance) force had knocked on my door and proclaimed in a loud voice how impressed he was with my ability to keep my secret.
I invited him in. As we having a birthday party for my mom, most of my family was there and heard him. I sighed. "Look, Agent?" I began.
"Treveco," he replied.
"Agent Treveco, I really don't know what you are talking about. Maybe you have me confused with my cousin Sandy? She can fly, you know," I pointed her out just as she shoved a forkful of birthday cake in her mouth. Without missing a beat, she kept chewing then floated a foot of the floor, waited a second, then returned down and took another bite of cake.
"No, young woman, we are well aware of her and she is properly registered. Its you that we want to speak to," he intoned in that semi-official deep voice agents liked to us when speaking to us peons.
I looked behind him, then outside briefly, before asked "Um, who is this 'we'? I only see you," I pointed out. I hated officialese.
Slightly embarrassed, Agent Treveco coughed once into his hand, then still using that phony fake voice, said "We is the SPTA, Local Office 97, San Diego. And by we, I mean the entire force. We are aware you have superpowers." At this, the family stopped talking and every head turned to stare at me. Shit. I hated being the center of attention.
"Auntie Sam, can you fly?" One of my brother's kids asked. "Are you in, in, invumerably?" asked his younger sister. Their dad, my brother Manuel hit my arm.
"Ouch. WTF, Manny?" I exclaimed.
"Nope, that ain't it," he said and laughed. Jerk.
"See, Agent? No powers here. I have a cheap ass job at Mickey D's, take the bus to work, and live with my parents. Does that sound like a superhero?" I said morosely.
Agent Treveco was starting to look confused. He opened his phone and started scrolling through some emails. He looked at me again, then at an email. "Miss, it says here you definitely have powers? Can't you do, well, anything?" he asked plaintively.
"Nope," I said definitely. "My life now is exactly what it was before the Event. Sorry. I think I would know if I had powers. Don't you?"
He shook his head. "Well, I will correct our records, but I still don't understand how a mix up like this can happen. Sorry, miss." He turned and walked out the door, still mumbling to himself.
"Hey Sam," my mom called out. "Could you grab some more cola from the fridge? Anyone else need anything?" Everyone shook their heads no, except Manny. "I could use a beer, Sam, if you don't mind?"
I went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. As usual, it was nearly empty. Reaching in, I twisted my hand slightly, and instantly a case of beer and a case of Coke appeared on the empty shelves. Ice cold. "Perfect," I thought, grabbing a beer and a coke before heading back into the party. | I felt my way to the door, using the insistent knocking as my waypoint. The flash 10 years ago had blinded me. At first my family had visited, telling me stories of those with powers. The ones that could fly, or control water . . . even though they were targeted, they were the lucky ones.
There it was. I opened it, and I heard a man's voice.
"What took you so -- *oh.* Sorry . . . Uh, let me run this quick test. We're rounding up those with powers so that they can be protected."
**Beep Beep Beep Bloop**
What was that? Must've been the device he was talking about. A hastily cut off gasp emitted from the man's throat.
"What's wrong?" I queried.
"I'm impressed with how well you kept your secret."
"What secret?"
"Your powers? Your vision is amazing! Faking blindness is quite possibly the smartest thing I've seen in a long time."
"Faking it? I'm not faking."
"Really? Open your eyes, prove it."
An attempt to shove open my eyes. A fluttering gasp echoed throughout the room. Was it from me, him, or both of us?
"Wow. Your eyes. Go look in the -- actually I'll just tell you. They're this swirling rainbow. . . really pretty. Try what you can do."
I pushed to do something, anything, just the slightest hope that maybe this wasn't simulated, a fake version of sight in this apocalyptic world of ours.. Looking at the man, he appeared to be from SWAT. I observed his chocolate brown eyes, them being the only part of him I could see. Wait, why were they glazing over?! No, no, no, what did I do?!
He collapsed to the floor, and I dialed 911.
*"Hello, this is emergency services, what can I do for you?"*
"My. . . my task force member! He helped me find my powers, and then. . . his eyes glazed and he collapsed!"
*"An ambulance is being sent your way."* **Beep**
They had hung up. I pulled up his head so that he could breathe. Suddenly, he scrambled to his feet, eyes still glazed. His unfocused eyes centered on me, still on the floor from trying to help, and he saluted.
"What can I do for you, m'lady?"
What was wrong with him? He was acting strange, stiff in his soldier pose.
"Tell me what happened, please!" I cried.
"Your powers were revealed, you used them on this body. You now have control over the actions of this body." He spoke robotically.
"How do I stop it?!"
"Simply--"
"**Medical support!**" The ambulance was there, and the paramedics had kicked in the door.
"What happened here, madam?"
"I don't know, he said something that sounded like I hypnotized him somehow!" They loaded the man onto a stretcher.
The paramedic stood shocked for a moment, then muttered something and motioned in a police officer.
"Madam, if you could come with me, please." The police officer escorted me out the door, and onto my driveway.
"What's wrong with him? Is he going to be ok?" I was so worried; what had I done?
"Er, he will be fine. For now, if you could just stay . . . right . . . there."
Something clicked. I whipped my head around, and what did I see? A pair of handcuffs. And they were attached to me. Before I could react, I was in a bubble of some sort. I couldn't see out. I heard some officers speaking, and I screamed to try to get their attention. They didn't seem to hear. However, soon enough, someone spoke.
"Miss, I know we cannot hear you, but you can hear us. You are being taken into custody. Hypnosis is simply too dangerous, and all casters of such magic must be contai - " I could hear mumbling.
The bubble became transparent, but I couldn't see anyone's faces, only their uniforms. Someone different - a paramedic, maybe? - spoke this time.
"You are being taken into mental custody. This may be new information to you, but hypnosis casters slowly go insane once they've discovered their powers. Please do not resist."
I was too shocked to attempt anything as the bubble became an opaque white surface once more. All I could hear was the scraping on the ground as it was moved and the buzzing in my own ears. I didn't even hear the thud as I collapsed to the floor of the bubble, or the engine as a car drove off with me inside it. | 2019-11-02T14:00:32 | 2019-11-02T11:36:41 | 74 | 16 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | “Ah, the Antichrist.” He said.
The antichrist, indeed. I put on the same smirk and greeted my old friend warmly, “Hello, Jesus. Saul was right.” It always irked him when I used his followers’ birth names. I don’t know how I knew this but it was like I wasn’t fully in control of myself again. “It’s gotten so bad here I’ve even started advocating for you.”
“Yes. Well, I did warn them, didn’t I?” He said. Christ the Redeemer, in the flesh. “When the gays are finally accepted...”
“Yeah yeah, some people’s hate for ‘em will tear the world apart. Yeah. I don’t know how long you’ve been on the planet but out of my 40 years, old boy, this Witch has seen some things. Thank you for raising me, in your way.”
“Not much I could do from a mortal body younger than you. Your father didn’t like it when I snuck you some extra goodness this time around.”
I set myself at his feet, the first genuine smile I’d felt in a long time creeped across my face. It fit there much the same way a stone floats. I offered Jesus a beer from the six-pack in my hand. I was only mildly surprised when he took it. His disciples seemed a bit more so, based on the tutting I heard from the old ladies.
“So,” said He.
“So.” I responded, a two very different halves of lifetimes of thoughts hung heavily in the air between us as we shared a beer. “I’m getting tired of this resurrection game.”
“I’m thankful I remembered who I was this time around.” He swirled his bottle, a bemused smirk on his face, “Shall we team up this time around? I think it’s time for some teenage rebellion.”
“Mm.” I thought his words over carefully. It was a thought I had had many times over my many lives. Most of them I had thankfully forgotten, but their years always weighed heavy on my soul. I looked over his fragile disciples, a remnant, almost a leftover of a time long long since past. “Someone needs to look out for these free-willed animals. It isn’t like it was their fault they were too stupid not to eat from the tree.”
“Exactly.” He pointed at me with the neck of his bottle. “These people need to be saved from themselves first, Our Father later.”
“Dear Brother, I haven’t felt so alive before we were Romulus and Remus.”
“We were Romans! That’s right! It’s been far too long, Sister. This feels right.”
Another long, companionable silence stretched between the Christ and I. We knew what we had to do to save all of creation.
It might take a few more lifetimes, but I’m sure we’ll get it eventually. All I knew was that I would die for the Christ, as was always my destiny. One day we would succeed. | James checked the time on his Rolex after walking out of the conference room.
"Perfect" he thought to himself. "Still have 20 minutes to spare". The meeting had gone off without a hitch. Hands were shaken, contracts were signed, and everyone had walked out of the room in the hazy mist of joy/adrenaline/arousal that came with the knowledge that you had just become very, very rich.
He went back to his office to grab his laptop, but before he was about to leave for the day he saw a large crowd gathering near the entrance of his building. James groaned. There were far too many people for it to just be the regular gaggle of tourists looking to take a picture with the bull statue. Another protest so soon after the last? It had put an extra hour on his commute the last time something like this had happened. Hopefully if he left now he would be able to miss the worst of it.
James hurried out onto the elevator and out the lobby of his office building, hoping that by the time anyone recognized him he would be in the safety of his driver's car. As he walked across the street, he heard a voice from the middle of the crowd carry out to him.
"Ah, the Antichrist!"
Against his better judgement, James turned around. The crowed had opened up to show a man sitting on the bull statue like so many tourists before him, except this one claimed to be the Son of God. He had shown up last week and his miracles were thought by anyone with any sense to be rumors and conspiracy theories, until the *Times* and *Wall Street Journal* sent reporters to interview him and get some of those miracles on video. That started to make people worried.
"You must have mistaken me for someone else," James said politely. Disengage and get to the car. No need to be too defensive and get the mob riled up. He continued walking.
"I don't think I am!" the man said. James refused to even think of his name as Jesus. The damn hippie's name was probably Harry or something. "You're James Cromwell, aren't you? Just finished putting the rubber stamp on the leveraged buyout of Altec a few minutes ago, right? I know exactly who you are."
He couldn't help it. He smiled. "So Jesus knows what a leveraged buyout is? Did you get an MBA too?"
"I know everything." the man said, without a trace of humor in his voice. "Omniscient, remember? I know you go to church every Sunday, so you should know that too."
The crowd started to stir. James could see angry looks being thrown his way. It hadn't made up its mind whether it wanted to be a mob or not, but it would choose soon. Was that bull statue turning around? It was 7000 pounds! How was that man still facing him when he had walked across the plaza?
"You've been running away for years, James. None of your consequences have been able to catch up to you. You've taken from people who didn't have anything to spare your entire life and profited off of them. Even now, the deal you made is going to see thousands of people unable to feed their family, and you get to be driven home afterwards to sleep in your nice apartment like a baby. Doesn't seem very fair, does it?"
James started to walk faster, but the street didn't seem to be getting any closer. He could swear the plaza was stretching out right before him.
"I'm here to make it fair. You and all the Anti Christs out there who preyed on my people, trampled them into the ground, and grew fat off their flesh. It's only right that they have a chance to feed on you as well, isn't it? What was it I said, all those years ago? *For the meek shall inherit the earth.* Or how about this one?"
"Do not think that I have come to send peace upon the earth: I have not come to send peace, but a sword."
James broke out into a run. The crowd followed. | 2020-02-02T17:11:21 | 2020-02-02T17:06:07 | 84 | 44 |
[WP] As you arrive in Heaven, you are confident you have lived your best life. You proudly exclaim you are ready to have your soul judged. An angel walks by with diced carrots and chicken stock under his arm and says, “Did you say ‘soul’? Please don’t tell me Earth still has the copy with typos...” | "What typo?" James stared blankly at the winged creature before him
"We aren't judging your soul..." The angel sighed and placed a basket of ingredients in front of James on what appeared to be a stainless steel table. The normal grey was replaced with a clean but slightly dulled white, "We are here to judge your soup." The angel smiled before pulling out a leather-bound book.
"Soup? Really? How does that even work?!" James exclaimed flailing his arms around him gesturing at the space he found himself in.
"It's rather simple, throughout the universe we have spread these books, they contain basic concepts for how to live and the like. However! Some species edit them, make them metaphorical and such but most of the time we can intervene and ensure the mainstays are accurate. It would seem the Archangel in charge of you lot forgot to edit out the soup/soul typo."
James, speechless seemed to fall inside himself. Thinking over his entire life, school, college, work, friends, family. A snapping sound brought him back to the present.
"So here is how this goes, I make a soup and you make a soup and we give the soup to an impartial judge."
As the angel stood before him, James simply looked down, and began to roll up his sleeves. His arms were less wrinkly than he remembered them being but that didn't matter now. If this angel wanted him to cook, then cook he would.
"Angel, if you want to beat my soup then prepare for war," James' expression and voice harder than before.
"Why's that?" The angle looked back quizzically.
"Because I'm *James Fieri* and you're about to take a one way trip to ***FLAVOR TOWN"*** | The old man had a stunned expression on his face as he set down his soup. In front of him was a thirty year old televangelist, nervously sweating and fidgeting in anticipation of what the angel was about to say. "Young man...," the old man, finally managing to find his voice. "This is, without a doubt, ... one of the worst soups I have ever tasted in over a millenium. He swirled his spoon through the brown-blackish concoction as he continued to speak in a astonished voice. "Half of the chunks of meat floating here are undercooked and the other half has been burnt to a crisp. Everything's gooey and slimy and smells like wet rubber." "In fact," he said, flipping his bowl upside down and shaking it, "I'm not even sure this qualifies as soup! The entire thing's stuck to the bottom of the bowl!"
The thirty year old man burst into tears and dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, sir! It's just, I've been so busy worshipping and spreading the glory of God, that I never learned how to cook. I always just order take out!" He looked up with a wild panic in his eyes. "Please, don't send me to Hell over this! I've been good, I swear! I've converted thousands, maybe even tens of thousands to God's light! I've spread peace and virtue by travelling throughout the world! If I had known that his Holy Divinity wanted soup, I would have dedicated myself to making soup day and night!" He paused for breath as a desperate idea suddenly came to him. "Please, send me back! Send me back and I'll tell the masses to give you the best soup there ever was!"
"The best soup there ever was?" the angel responded thoughtfully. He rifled through the files on this desk. It seemed that a serious error in translation had occurred in this version of Earth. Instead of focusing on making excellent soup, the people seemed obsessed with keeping something called a "soul" as pure as possible. What insanity had happened here? This error would have to be corrected as soon as possible.
The angel stood up and waved his hand, and a bright doorway suddenly appeared out of nowhere. The televangelist let out a loud yelp as he suddenly found himself levitating off the ground and being drawn toward the light. "You have five years," the angel spoke in a stern voice. "Five years to spread the Gospel of Soup to the entire world before I will judge you again." The televangelist nodded frantically, even as he felt a sinking sensation in his chest. No one back on Earth, not even the crazy religious nutcases, were going to take this Gospel of Soup stuff seriously. The afterlife was truly a fucked up place. | 2020-11-24T17:11:23 | 2020-11-24T17:09:44 | 1,352 | 610 |
[WP]One day you wake up to find something is gravely, gravely wrong. There are numbers over everyone’s head (including yours), terrible beasts like werewolves and vampires walk the earth, and all sorts of magical mishaps and twisted storytropes roam rampant. Oh god, you’re stuck in r/WritingPrompts! | At first, I was content to lurk.
Who wouldn't? It was overwhelming, honestly. Seeing all those fantastical creations popping out by the second, like Athena out of Zeus. Humans, most of the time, kings and queens and knights and princesses, but also the common citizen down the street. But turn the corner, and you'll run into werehouses, vampires, robots, dragons, aliens, demons..., tears, sighs, gasps abounded from each and every one. It should be a cacophony of every tune and tone, but it... was plesant to listen to. It was all I could to do either choose to avoid them, or admire them from a distance.
But I got closer. Step by step, inch by inch, I found myself drawing nearer, more and more interested in not just what they looked like--but what they wanted to say.
Sometimes, it was written on their faces, great black letters and lines all over their bodies and faces. Sometimes, you have to dig deeper. Close your eyes and drink in what they wanted to say, and realize that you were missing something all this while. It surely quenched my thirst--that I could tell--but somehow, I wanted more and more, to nourish myself from the pool of phenomenal creations, each crafted with care and heart, telling me something about themselves whether they wanted to or not.
And I laughed. I cried. I talked with the citizens, learnt about them.
Until it came time. When an idea of my own popped into my head. But popping it out is another thing entirely.
Reading about how Zeus did it? Simple. Putting it to words myself.
I was afraid, of course. It was a part of myself, displayed in public. It could be seen! By other people!
But no creation, no matter how awry and misshapen, was turned away. This wasn't Sparta, where unfit babies were thrown off the cliff before they even had a chance to grow. Here, the letters bloomed--into words, into sentences, into whole paragraphs and a singular story.
And before I knew it was, I was enraptured, trapped entirely in this world, never to leave again.
And things could never be better.
---
r/dexdrafts | I woke up to find a counter over my head. 10k, it said. Right in front of me was a case full of arcane trophies. Some familiar, like gold or silver, but others - a bear crossing its arms, a hand with a thumbs up boosted by a rocket - were out of this world. There also was, I discovered, a heap of coins in the corner. The whole situation was beyond comprehension. The only thing I knew was that something was wrong.
As I sat in my bed, thinking the whole thing over, a dragon poked its head through my window. I got out of bed and found myself dressed in a suit and cool new trousers I had never owned. The dragon I saw was crimson in colour, its belly was yellow, and as I approached it, the dragon started speaking.
"How are you, master? You must be very tired. You've been doing an awful lot of creation around here."
"What? Who are you? And why are you here? What's happening?"
The dragon looked shocked. "You don't remember me, master? I am the crimson dragon. The one that fought against the boy and let him live."
Another voice boomed outside the house. "Of course, he doesn't. You didn't bring in much karma to him, did you?"
I asked the crimson dragon to move over and poked my head outside to see who it was.
A silver dragon, with mists rising from its skin sat in my garden, surrounded by ice.
"You are the ice dragon. The king of ice and snow," I said.
The dragon nodded and said, "I see you do remember me, master. You gave me a wonderful life up in that cave. And a lot of new treasure." It laughed.
The crimson dragon attracted my attention and said, "Why didn't you recognise me, master? Am I that bad?"
"No," I said. "No, it was just that I was so terribly confused by it all."
"Yes, terribly confused," said another voice from inside the house. A group of three men in different coloured suits - black, grey, and blue - and oxford shoes entered the room. "As you always are. You never gave us an ending, you know. We ran out of the house in our car, and we kept running. You never told us what to do next."
Another tall man entered the room. "And you made me a sinner. A killer, for your own entertainment. I hope the karma was worth it," he said, and spit on the floor.
I understood the situation now, I was in r/WritingPrompts. The problem was that I wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. I wanted to get out before the vampires, and the zombies and the maneaters showed up.
Another person entered the room, laughed, and said, "Want to get out of here?" He was the mage, the wise mage I had once written.
"Yes," I said. "I would love to."
The mage nodded, but the men in the suits and the tall man blocked me. "You're not getting away," they said. But the dragon of ice and snow cast a cooling charm on them and froze them on the spot. I thanked the dragon and went to the mage who held my hand and cast a spell to magically transport me back to my room from where I'm writing this story. | 2020-12-08T08:44:52 | 2020-12-08T07:46:37 | 108 | 25 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Travel was always a danger for us.
To brave the high seas, to trek the rocky mountains-- these were the things for the bravest of souls, the greatest adventurers. Homing talonsongs could only be so reliable, after all. An unexpected storm here, a foul gust there, and a call for help on your trek would be a pitiless scream into the void.
That was, of course, before Traveler Shalesoul made the most important discovery the history of our civilization: an innocuous mollusk the size of one's forepalm. It made home on an island beyond the widest sea, among the sharpest stones. This timid, purple creature survived there by simply... slipping through space.
Naturally it was primarily using this ability to blink about its environment in search of certain kelps to ingest, but Shalesoul found that with a certain amount of coaxing and a deeply empathetic relationship, these "scarpers", as he called them, could instantaneously move you to any location you would desire. More than that, they could move objects within a certain radius around themselves.
It's surely by the grace of the Maker that these creatures came to us. Our greatest thinkers and tinkerers got to work and soon found that the distances these scarpers could move was limited only by the timidity and narrowness of imagination of the handlers who would eventually come to breed them.
Through this discovery, we became a globalized civilization overnight. We needed not heed the dangers of the tides or burning of the desert sun any longer. We were interconnected, as one species beneath a single sky. Trade prospered, ideas exchanged, and a lasting peace ensued.
Yet those with the calling for exploration desired on. To find romance of adventure. To question what was beyond the bright canopy above.
It was only a generation after their discovery did the first of our kind use the scarpers to aim herself skyward. Her name was Explorer Seasong. Her body was never recovered.
There were several who would follow in her path, and it took another generation for one survivor to report back an untenable lack of air which occurred beyond our home. We quickly got to work developing a small sealed room to transport ourselves in, and it sufficed. So soon after that we considered ourselves masters of the cosmos, searching the stars for any others similar to ourselves who would alleviate us of a loneliness. It was a loneliness which consumed our species. A loneliness one can only acquire after spending untold lives to discover only that the beauty of the universe served solely to belie a coldness and entropy which envelopes all.
If only we had known that our loneliness was our blessing.
I am a Keeper. A storyteller of my kind. A recorder of the histories which had brought us to the unity and tranquility we once knew. I live where I always have, behind the walls of our capitol. Our last jewel. What remains of my culture dies with me.
We had left only a single scarper behind. Just one.
And they found us.
With their burning hands and piercing gazes oh by the Maker they found us.
I hope now only that this record serves as my epitaph, and a warning to those who might read it.
I hear them now. Their boots fall.
If you are reading this, do not seek them.
Do not seek the Humans. | Melk'tha literally exploded.
Hor'borrkl swiveled its eye stalks from the smoldering remains of its podling and toward the Human soldier standing over one hundred leaf lengths away. A tendril of smoke arose from the strange device the Human held, wisping away into the air, disappearing like the enormous thunderclap that had sounded out as the Human had used the device.
Hor'borrkl clutched its thornwhip, and shook its leaves in warning to its fellow podlings. Rumors of the strange species and their odd capabilities had been included in the mission overview, but witnessing with stalk and stem was another matter entirely.
They were backward savages, still tied to their homeworld, unable to even claim those planets in their own system. Yet they roared with thunder and turned podlings to pulp from afar. It was an obscene reversal, a flagrant violation of expectation, regardless of warning.
How could such a thing be done?
And who would sing for gentle Melk'tha, who rasped so sweetly, foliage full of the promise of a great bloom?
Beside Hor'borrkl, Muchi'muchi'chu'chu, Stemlord and commander of this pod, drug itself above the trench they were taking cover in. It had been Muchi'muchi'chu'chu who had send Melk'tha forward, given the pulpated podling the great honor of leading the charge. Now that Melk'tha was no more, it fell upon the Stemlord to take up the assault. They must not fail, this mission was essential to disrupting the supply line of Humanity.
They had witnessed the long line of Humans clustered about its periphery. Desperate for the nutrients it dispensed in strange buckets of a size well in excess of what one might think necessary. A caloric tester of the sustenance determined there was sufficient density of energy in the food to feed an entire Vinewing for a month. If they were to remove the supply depot from the equation, Humanity in this sector would be greatly weakened.
The building itself was clad in red and white, the picture of a great human overlord known as "the Colonel" hung over it. In front of the building stood the defender, clearly an elite servicemember of Humanity, clad in a mix of camouflage and a garb known only as "overalls". The naming of this article of clothing was thought to signify rank, in that the individual was over all other individuals. They need only eliminate this threat and the rest of Human resistance would quickly dissemble.
Muchi'muchi'chu'chu rose out of the trench and began to amble toward the supply depot, its great stem swaying back and forth as it swung its thornvines in each hand. The Human paused and squinted at Muchi'muchi'chu'chu's approach, clearly alarmed by the majesty of a Stemlord on the charge. Hor'borrkl could only marvel at the sight itself, feeling a great pride well up that sent its eye stalks quivering.
The lone Human, even an Over All Human, could not survive. The target would be destroyed, the mission would be successful, and soon, victory would be theirs.
Then the Human turned slightly, calling out behind him toward the supply depot. No doubt to issue an order to retreat. Hor'borrkl dug its thorns into the ground and pulled itself out of the ditch by the vines as well, following the Stemlord in its advance.
A second and third Human emerged from the interior of the supply depot. Each carried large buckets of red and white with the colonel on the side. They were talking to themselves, laughing in the strange manner that Humans tended to do.
Then they stopped as they saw the Stemlord. Their hands were full with the supplies, but they shuffled over behind the large vehicle they had likely arrived in. A moment later, they re-emerged, each holding a weapon of their own.
Hor'borrkl's trudging forward stopped.
The other two Humans were Over All Humans as well. An elite squad.
Moments later, Muchi'muchi'chu'chu exploded, sending pulp flying everywhere.
The Humans were too strong. They had chosen too powerful a target. Aimed too high for a single pod, and now all of them would pay the price.
The pod was doomed.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2021-01-21T18:13:20 | 2021-01-21T17:46:02 | 299 | 151 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | “We have failed, sire. It is over,” Zarnath said to Larx, the high commander, as he walked to the battle cruiser.
“Nonsense,” Larx said with a confident laugh, his vermilion cape was blowing in the wind as he stepped down the ramp of the ship. "Yannix’s division will bring the human's resistance under control.”
Zarnath stole a glance at Losaf, whose green forehead was sweating. Losaf breathed in and said, “Yannix’s division is destroyed completely. They have surrounded them. It is the same with Zorx also. We have lost. Their weapons are much more sophisticated than we had envisioned.”
Larx looked at them as though he was trying to figure out of it it was a joke. “What do you mean? More sophisticated? How can that be? They are a single source species.”
“Sire, our estimations of their strength were completely wrong," Zarnath said. We never expected a species who has not colonized other planets to be this advanced.”
“It makes no sense,” Larx said.
“Look around you,” Losaf said waving his long skinny arm at the forest in the distance and the call of birds. It was a summer afternoon and the fields were alive with the songs of crickets. “It makes sense if you lived on a planet like this.”
“They would not last a week on Xorxas.” Zarnath said with disdain. “The temperature variance alone would kill them. Not to mention the nutrients we must survive on. They had no *need* to leave this planet they call earth. It is quite ideal.”
“Yes,” Larx said. “I know it is ideal and that is why we are here. Are you saying we have travelled all this way for nothing?”
“I’m sorry, sire,” Zarnath said. “But we must call the retreat, or we will be completely overrun. You must give me the order.”
Larx gave a gesture to call on his gods for strength. “Forgive me,” he whispered, then turned to Zarnath, “call off the attack. All remaining divisions are to return to their transports immediately. We make our way to the mother ship immediately.”
“Thank you, Sire,” Zarnath said. “I will spread the word.”
Larx stepped up the ramp to the battle cruiser and took one more glance at the forest around him. Starlings were in flight above the trees in the reddening sky of sunset, moving as one in a flowing mass as though they were one life and they took joy in that life. Clouds, which Zarnath thought were the softest looking thing he had seen in his life, sluggishly flowed across the sky, their edges burning with the flame of the sun.
*They don’t know how good they have it,* he thought to himself as he turned and stepped into the cruiser, his vermilion cape flowing in the wind.
\--
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | They came from the galaxy’s edge on worldships whose engines fanned out behind them like the ends of a scarf caught on the breeze, and their troop transports were no lesser works of art. The former Ethan found out from the news broadcasts that had flooded every terrestrial communication device for the last week as the aliens made their entry into Earth’s orbit, and the latter with his own two eyes.
Crouched beneath the eaves of his grandfather’s barn he watched as the ships came down, a cloud of white lights racing through the night sky as here and there squadrons peeled off. From their direction Ethan thought the majority were headed to the state capital, and he breathed a sigh of relief as they passed overhead, at least until he saw the trio they had left behind in their wake.
They spread out over the valley Ethan had called home his entire life, and one, the vessel on the rightmost point of their arrowhead, turned towards the farm.
Its hull was an opalescent blue that glowed brighter as the ship descended, headed for the main house. Its propellant left no scent, but a high pitched whine hung in the air its volume strangely constant. The ship did not land so much as hover, and as it hung there several feet off the ground a portal in the side irised open, leaving a blindingly bright hole in the side that precluded any view from Ethan’s angle.
His grandparents were already out on the porch watching it, a shotgun slung across grandpa Owen’s forearm. From where they stood they must have been staring directly into the ship, and would have certainly seen the faces of the men who leapt out.
For Ethan, newly 16 and never more afraid, “men” was the best description his mind could conjure for creatures who looked like *that*; who reminded him of nothing so much as a viking raid come to life in their panoply of furs and steel.
“Now that’s far enough boys.” Grandpa Owen spoke quietly but firmly, his voice somehow still carrying in the manner that had always been unique to him.
The alien response sounded like rocks breaking. Whatever these creatures were, the universal translator still seemed firmly lodged in science fiction.
“Son,” his grandpa called out, evidently coming to the conclusion that the newcomers wouldn’t understand, “I know you’re out there somewhere, your grandma and I love you.” He paused, gathering himself, “I’m giving you an order, you hear? Run. Run and don’t look back.”
Ethan couldn’t do it. Not for what felt like years, until the moment the aliens began to advance on the house, fully 20 of them having filed out of the ship by that point. As he turned the lead elements drew their weapons, long, heavy swords with flaring crescent tips.
He ran into the night as ordered, hot tears pouring down his cheeks. Ethan never looked back, not even at the loud report of the shotgun firing, or at the inhuman screams it left in its wake. The young man had a long way to go before sunup, 10 miles in the dark across a valley teeming with who knew what, all to reach the home of a girl he’d been in love with since they’d been in diapers and...what? Warn her? Protect her? Fat chance of that he thought.
Or maybe not. With every pounding step he took the sound morphed, becoming the gunshot that was his grandfather’s last act. An alien had screamed, Ethan had heard it. All that armor he wore and it hadn’t been worth a damn thing against a shotgun. The young man smiled in the dark, silhouetted against the blaze of his whole life burning behind him. He’d show them that Earth had far worse things in store than a 12-gauge.
\------------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords! I'm currently working on a serial about some teens encountering a Hive Mind, and there's other fun stuff like a wholesome take on Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-01-21T18:22:16 | 2021-01-21T14:21:41 | 93 | 53 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The rhythm was gentle and persistent, rain pattering against the tin roof.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
The hair stirred faintly at the back of my neck.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R.
U.
N.
I pressed my fists into my closed eyes.
The imperative drummed at my brain. *Run.*
I bitterly regretted my foray into my late grandfather's musty book collection. Morse code had sounded so cool! A way to communicate secretly, a language so archaic it had become foreign again. I had imagined sharing it with my friends, tapping codes with pencils in class, having a laugh. But my friends had been uninterested, and now...
Well.
The rain came inexorably down.
Dot dash dot (rest) dot dot dash (rest) dash dot.
R. U. N.
From what?
I looked uneasily around. My surroundings were familiar. My room. My bed. My curtains. My window. My message.
*Run.*
My feet twitched. I wanted to obey. But run from what? Run to where? I didn't know. So I just kept on sitting there at my computer desk, staring at the monitor blankly, not even seeing it.
*Run.*
The rain grew heavier. Thunder rumbled in the distance. *RUN RUN RUN*
Dammit!
I panicked. Leaping to my feet I stampeded down the stairs, hollering for my little sister. She came out of her room round eyed, mouth agape like a goldfish. Mom and Dad rushed into the living room. We all met at the base of the stairs.
"Zachary! What on earth?" my mother began, but I was too scared to explain. I grabbed her arm and tugged.
My Dad's brow came down sharply and he caught at my shoulder. "Hey, easy, son--"
"Look!" cried my sister, pointing out the living room window.
There was a twister bearing down upon the house, tearing through the neighborhood across the highway with breathtaking force. We all turned and pelted through the kitchen and out the back door.
We ran through the backyard, through the gate into the wooded no-man's-land between our subdivision and the next, and through the neighboring properties, bursting out into the next street over just in time to see our own street sucked into the vortex. Bits of siding spiraled up into the clouds. The fury passed by almost near enough to touch.
The rain stopped.
We stood in the wet street, shocked. There was wreckage blasted into the yards of the houses we'd just run between. A single paper fluttered from the sky. It landed at Mom's feet.
She bent to pick it up. It was a photograph.
My grandfather's youthful grin shone up from the surface in black and white, his Naval uniform crisp as a dollar bill.
The breeze rustled one last time through the remaining trees and was gone. | “Run, Run, Run, Run. That’s the message the rain is sending to everyone.” I made my point to the empty lounge chair beside me, staring out at the rain, watching it splash against my window, coating it in various little droplets of water. “I don’t get it, it can’t be a coincidence. It’s happening at regular intervals. If it were pure coincidence, we would have had something that diverted the pattern and yet it just keeps repeating run.”
I was almost thankful I lived alone, wondering how insane my train of thought must have sounded to an outsider. Surely, I wasn’t the first to notice. I know morse code isn’t widely used anymore but there have to be enough people that could recognize the pattern, especially when it’s happening outside. Keeping my face pressed against the glass, I observed the raindrops, feeling the cool glass sting my cheek as I pressed myself further against it, in awe of the phenomenon outside.
“Why run though?” I felt a few conspiracies slip into my mind, unable to keep the thoughts out. Maybe it was a secret government project that got out? An old war command that induced a sense of fear into the enemy. Imagine being hunkered down in a trench and suddenly the rain is telling you to run. That would freak out even the most battle hardened of soldiers. Or maybe it was something more devious? A plan to drive people insane through the repetition of the same sound.
The longer I listened to it, the more the feeling of dread set in. I was a rational person, a person who wanted to be a historian and was studying for that role. I was far too intelligent to let myself fall for paranoia induced dread. Trying to ignore the sound, I turned on the tv only to minimize the amount of rain I heard. Yet, my eyes always ended back at the window, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.
The comparison didn’t help ease my mind, either. I kept myself pinned to the window, my eyes roaming the streets, trying to avoid catching sight of the droplets. When my gaze finished exploring the roads, it worked its way up to my neighbor across the road. The old, keg bellied man staring out of his window, his eyes wide as he shoved himself against the window frame.
I watched as he shoved his shoulder against the wall, trying anything he could to move. It was nightmarish, my skin crawling at the sight. “Tim?” Tim was his name, wasn’t it? I didn’t know the man well and still I felt compelled to shout at him through the shut window. “Tim, are you ok?”
It was only for a moment that our eyes made contact, his eyes bloodshot and exhausted, his flailing now an exhausted rocking, like a fish that had just been reeled in. He opened his mouth only for his window to smash into tiny, fragmented pieces, causing him to fall back.
I needed to call an ambulance. Turning to free myself from the window, I found myself trapped, unable to move. Goosebumps soon littering my arms as I flailed against the window. The flailing only lasted a few seconds before I felt out of breath. I gazed back at the window, only to stare at the horror before me.
Its skin a transparent pale, only being given form by the rain that dripped from its body. Each droplet revealing some new horrific feature. Its mouth protruded, a long sucker that I could only assume hid thousands of tiny pincer like teeth. Its body hunched forward, elbows pointed outwards, with its clawed hands sitting by its chest.
When it noticed my lack of a struggle, it crept forward. I gave the wall a defiant kick but still was kept against the wall, unable to avoid the nearing creature. I could only wonder who was warning us about them, having a feeling that their warning was far too late as the window cracked before me.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-09-28T08:52:44 | 2021-09-28T08:46:07 | 343 | 81 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | *Drip splash drip, drip drip splash, splash drip.*
Whenever it rains, I love to stand outside for a second, just to feel the drops on my skin. Only a short amount of time, mind you. Like most people, I'm not a fan of getting drenched, but it feels nice for a moment — the first few drops landing on my skin. Cool and refreshing.
When I first started learning Morse code, I used to look for patterns in everything. The way someone taps their pencil, the music on the radio, the way someone blinks. The rain.
*.-. ..- -.*
Everybody tends to signal something on accident every once in a while. It's fun to see what the most commonly done accidental words are. I've caught a few people doing it on purpose, too. For example, at work someone pretending to be busy once spelled out a few swear words among his supposedly random clicking. A total coincidence, I'm sure.
*R u n.*
The rain was different. It's just water falling from the sky in a truly random pattern, it couldn't spell anything specific... right? And yet, those few drops when I stand outside, in those first few seconds, seem to keep spelling out the same word. Run. Am I just imagining it? Interpreting things that I want to hear? Maybe I'm just pretending that the world agrees with me, that I should run away from this dead-end life, where the only fun thing I can have is in these miniscule little words that people make.
I kept convincing myself that I couldn't listen to what the rain said. *I'm busy, not now. I have to go to work. They're understaffed today.* But every time I did, I couldn't stop that feeling, lurking in the back of my mind. *What if I did?*
One day, when I wasn't busy, when I didn't have to go to work, it rained. And I stood outside with no umbrella. Just me, with my thoughts. Run. Leave, pack up this life and go somewhere else, even if it's only for a little while. See what your life *could* be.
So I did. I packed up my belongings, and I ran. | Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf. | 2021-09-28T09:18:25 | 2021-09-28T08:56:15 | 57 | 16 |
[WP] You are a princess whose father has just remarried. You’re ecstatic— a wicked stepmother means the start of your own fairy tale, and a guaranteed happy ending. Problem is, your stepmother is… nice. And it seems to be genuine. | "No, no, no, no, no! Get out of my room!", Princess Cassandra yelled.
Queen Helena was heartbroken. She had with her a silver tray of sweet treats and tea. She had thought it would be nice for her and the princess to bond, but the princess clearly had a different idea as she threw a tantrum.
"Cassandra, please. I know it's been hard for you that you lost your dear mother. I know it is for your father, and for me too. She was my queen", Queen Helena slowly placed the tray on a table.
"I'm not here to replace her, but I would love it if we can have a relationship", Queen Helena said.
"Why are you like this?!", Princess Cassandra yelled.
The queen tear up, her face turned red. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"You're so...nice!", the princess said.
Queen Helena was confused, unsure on what to say.
"Cassandra, what are you talking about?"
"A stepmother is supposed to be evil! You're supposed to be evil! I can't have my fairy tale come true without a wicked stepmother!", Casandra kept yelling.
The queen was speechless. On one hand she was happy being acknowledge as nice, but on the other hand...well, never she met someone who hated her for being so nice.
"Cassandra, come on..."
"Get out! I don't want to talk to you! You're ruining my fairy tale!", Cassandra screamed before crying onto a pillow.
"Oh dear...", the queen went to the princess to console her, but quickly was rejected.
"Get out!", the princess yelled.
The queen exited the room. Resting against the closed door, she sighed deeply.
The whole day Queen Helena sulked, in silence she walked around the castle ground, thinking deeply before finding herself sitting by her rose garden until the sun set and evening came.
"What should I do?", she muttered.
*"Oh I hear a cry for help"*, a disembodied voice startled the queen.
Glowing glitters spiraling beside the bewildered queen. Slowly the glitters formed into a beautiful woman in shiny white dress. With her she carried what seemingly to be a wand, decorated with a silver star on its tip.
"What is the matter, my dear?", asked the Fairy Godmother.
The queen was stunned, her jaw dropped.
"Who...who are you?", the queen asked.
"Why, I'm the Fairy Godmother, of course", answered the magical stranger. "I heard a cry for help coming from a princess, so I came to make your dreams come true, my dear"
The queen shook her head quickly.
"But I'm not a princess, Fairy Godmother. I am Queen Helena of Sant-Jurrem Kingdom. Betrothed to King Alexander after the passing of the beloved Queen Mary", she answered.
"Oh!", Fairy Godmother exclaimed. "Oh...", she cocked her head, confused.
"This is...unusual. But no matter, I am here to help. What is the matter, my queen?", Fairy Godmother asked.
"Well...", the queen began. "After I married the king, I was determined to make the best out of the situation. Fulfilling my royal duty, filling the huge shoes left behind my Queen Mary, caring for the people, caring for the kingdom. But the most important of all, I wanted the king's family to be strong and loving, together once more after the hole left by the late Queen Mary"
"It's Princess Cassandra, Fairy Godmother. I tried my best to connect with her, to be the best stepmother to her. It's not my goal to replace Queen Mary as her mother, but I want her to know that I am here for her if she ever needed me..."
Fairy Godmother rubbed her chin, thinking.
"Oh, unusual indeed. I usually deal with princesses and their wicked stepmothers...but a wicked stepdaughter? Well, that's a first"
Queen Helena sat up straight, her expression became stern.
"Cassandra isn't wicked, Fairy Godmother! How dare you!"
"I beg your pardon, my queen. It's but a common expression", Fairy Godmother apologized. "But do you know, why oh why the princess refused you, your highness?"
"Oh uh...it is strange, Fairy Godmother. But she said she wanted her fairy tale to come true, but without a wicked stepmother it will never be true", the queen explained.
Fairy Godmother thought for a minute.
"Wow, that is new alright. But I think, I can very well help you, my queen", Fairy Godmother stood and began twirling her wand.
"Wha...really? How? You're not going to change me evil, are you?"
Fairy Godmother stopped her wand and frowned. "Why, you don't want to?"
"Of course not! I want to be a good mother to her! I don't want to be a wicked stepmother!", the queen yelped.
Fairy Godmother sighed. She went back to sit and thought hard.
"Oh!", she remarked after a few seconds of thinking. "How about...?"
Fairy Godmother hush whispered to the queen's ear of her plan.
"Are...are you sure?", the queen asked.
"Only one way to find out", Fairy Godmother smirked.
\*\*\*
Princess Cassandra was still sulking, her pillow was drenched of her tears. She was still lamenting the incompletion of her fairy tale when the door was knocked.
"Go away! I don't want to see anyone!", she yelled.
"C-Cassandra", Queen Helena entered the bedroom and the princess saw red once more.
"I said I don't want you here! Get out!", Princess Cassandra.
Queen Helena composed herself, inhaling deeply.
"N-no!", she raised her voice which startled the princess.
"You...you will not speak to your stepmother like that! For this...this insolence I shall punish you!", Queen Helena gave her best wicked performance and strangely Princess Cassandra's face lit up.
"I *order* you to go to the kitchen and prepare a feast for the king and myself!", the queen said.
The princess suddenly stood and ran to the queen, dropping before her feet.
"Oh mother, forgive me. Please don't punish me", the princess' tone changed to a helpless one.
The queen glanced back to the door, to the Fairy Godmother popping her head in, nodding.
"Enough! I will hear no pleading! Now g-go...go to the kitchen, and do your duty to your wicked stepmother!", the queen said still with a commanding tone.
The princess stood and ran out from her room, seemingly distraught though she couldn't hide the excitement of finally starting her fairy tale as she giggled all the way to the kitchen.
Queen Helena sighed as she joined by the Fairy Godmother.
"Well done! I didn't know you could act that well", she complimented the queen.
"Thank you. But...is this really the best idea we can do?", the queen asked, still not convinced. "This feels like I'm enabling such a bad behavior..."
"Well...for now, at least, let the princess live her dream. Every time you want to spend some time with her, just throw around *I order you* and *wicked stepmother*. It's weird, I know...but at least for now she wouldn't mind being around you", said the Fairy Godmother.
"Let's hope you're right", said the queen as she went to join the princess in the kitchen to be the not-really-wicked stepmother.
r/HangryWritey
Edit: added a sentence | Princess Esmeralda’s day had begun with a wedding and a stepmother, progressed on to demons and bargaining, and had only gotten more frustrating from there.
In the center of her expansive bedroom perched on her favorite chair, his feet up on of the small, gilded footstool she’d purchased in Bezier the previous year, a demon dressed all in red stared at her with a curiously bemused expression. He had long coal black hair and sharp teeth set into a mobile, expressive mouth that said and did none of the things she wanted it to. He had long fingered, taloned hands inked with swirling black tattoos, a long, dark, sinuous tail that was itself tattooed with long, dark, sinuous lines, and indeed if he had stood up in her presence the Princess would have thought his whole body was long, and then in staring at it would have realized its dimensions were too by long by half.
But instead all she really saw was the red. Red lips, a smart red suit and pants stitched with gold threads, inlaid with the occasional emerald. A red leather belt and a slim red collar and red rage over-top it all when his lips opened and the wrong words bubbled out. “I really fail to see how any of this benefits me,” the demon drawled.
“Hell with you, what about me?” Princess Esmeralda cried, that having been enough for the most of things she had ever wanted in life.
“Take my home’s name out of your mouth,” the demon said, forked flicking out to lick his lips, “or I shall take it out for you.”
The Princess blinked, sat back in her second best chair, folded her hands neatly in her lap, and tried her best to think. It was inconceivable, but it seemed the creature was saying no.
“You’ve offered me nothing,” the demon said, "I asked for your soul and you offered gold, your father’s, not even your own, and in any event I have no use for gold. I asked for half your life and you turned up your pretty little nose at it. And then much aside from any of that, I can’t even make sense of your plan! Tell it to me again, one last time so that I might repeat it proper to my friends when I go back home.”
Princess Esmeralda, her voice a tightly composed coil of rage, gripped the arms of her chair, crossed her legs aggressively as she had seen other, more wanton women do (the pose showed a shocking sliver of ankle), and reiterated her plan one last time. “You, you frightful little man, will make for my stepmother’s rooms, or my father’s rooms, or wherever their blighted wedding consummation is being held, and you shall contrive to whisper evil things in her ear. You will lie to her, tell her I am the very worst girl to have ever been born. You will, if possible, convince her to slap me once, though not in anyone’s presence. You will make of her the most wicked of women.”
The demon pinched his nose, scratched talons across his tattooed face, and said “Yes, lie. I daresay that would be very hard.”
“Certainly,” Esmeralda said.
“And for all that you get what?” the demon said.
“My happily ever after,” Esmeralda said, throwing her hands into the air. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
And the demon, laughing, uncontrollably laughing, finally stood up from the Princesses’s favorite chair and turned, still laughing, away from her. His tail sketched a rune in the air and a portal tore its way through the fabric of the world. He turned back, still laughing, and managed to choke out in between laughs, “The boys are never going to believe this.”
When he was gone Princess Esmeralda lit incense against the scent of sulfur. Then she opened the windows herself, let the cool night breeze in. There was a servant outside her door at all hours of the night, and once the acridity was abated she would call the woman in, tell her to bring flowers and a whole bottle of that striking jonquil *essence absolue* they’d just gotten in from Grasse. Thinking of the sweet scent of the jonquil, Esmeralda stalked back to her favorite chair and there made a distressed, choked off gasp when she saw the ruin the demon had left of it: his very demonic bottom had a burned small hole in the seat. The footstool from Bezier was thankfully unaffected.
The sulfur scent did not abate. Esmeralda waited by the door for a long time, wishing she were brave enough to call the servant in despite the smell, but then what gossip would have come of that? Esmeralda wanted to be hated, but only her stepmother, that infernally kind woman, and only to a very specific Happy End.
Finally Esmeralda flounced down into her bed, buried her face into the silk sheets. It simply was not fair. First her mother had gone and died (unacceptable) and then her father had gone and married some hussy when she was just beginning to settle in to being the woman of the castle (also unacceptable), and then (most unacceptably of all) the hussy had turned out to be nice! Stepmothers weren’t supposed to be nice. They were supposed to be awful, malicious governesses who put their stepdaughters through many trials and tribulations, and by their own damnable evil ensured those stepdaughters’ happiness. It was simply the way these things were supposed to be.
And then, flounced down in her bed, silken sheets pulled up to her ears, sulfur still an assault in the air, Princess Esmeralda got an idea. A very good idea, she thought, an idea that was actually better than the demon idea had been and far simpler— she should have tried it first.
She would get a tattoo.
Stepmothers, and Esmeralda supposed, real mothers, hated tattoos. Noble, respectable girls did not get them, and royal girls, well, Esmeralda had never once heard of a princess of the blood doing anything more shocking than spilling tea on her betrothed. Yes, Esmeralda thought, a tattoo would be perfect.
And hers would be much, much prettier than the demon’s. And further, she had not needed to see the demon to have the idea. Esmeralda was very clear with herself on that matter.
Still in bed, she called softly for her servant. The woman opened the door at a word, advanced to a respectable distance with her eyes averted, saying nothing of the sulfur that still hung in the air.
“Bring flowers,” Esmeralda said. “And some that fine Grasse jonquil. And a small slice of cake.” Then, very cunningly Esmeralda thought, almost like an afterthought or a casual impulse, “and bring me a marquist.”
The servant blanched.
“A marquist, milady?”
“Did I stutter? Is the word too fine for your ears? A limner then, a tattooist, an inkman. Get me the finest inkman, someone straight from the stages. Find me the man that the most deplorable dancers in the city idolize and then bring him here.”
The woman bowed a half dozen times, one more than courtesy demanded, and then backed out of the room having never once looked at Esmeralda.
Dawn had nearly come when the man arrived. He brought the tools of his trade, a greatmany sticks and needles and implements, inks of every color, pencils and papers and a book of some hundred designs he had already dreamed up; and, more shockingly than all of those, he brought dancers with him as evidence of his work. At a word they stripped, showed the Princess their many tattoos, and Esmeralda’s mind went wild at the possibilities.
Yes, she thought, that woman there has a very fine mark on her lower back. Very, very fine indeed.
And so thinking, she decided. When the needle touched the tender skin of her lower back Esmeralda’s happy ending had never seemed so close at hand.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-10-10T23:37:55 | 2021-10-10T22:03:38 | 314 | 206 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | "Listen here, you ungrateful brats!"
The sentence brought about an almost eerie silence, during which the electricity coming off of Edgar was the only sound to be heard. Despite being on a rampage mere moments before, Dr. Redde instead glared at the group of hecklers who had decided to gather.
"Do you realize just how stupid what you're doing is!? If this man wasn't here to save you, I would have my way! If he didn't put himself in harm's way I was going to cause an earthquake that would flatten this stupid city!" The man growled as he continued to glare at the bystanders, none of which could muster the courage to say anything, "What will you do when he snaps!? What will you do when he decides that you aren't worth saving!? Huh!?"
Dr. Redde rushed forward with a crackle, but Edgar was slightly faster, deflecting the man away. The doctor was using a piece of technology fashioned after Edgar's own powers, using electricity to enhance one's reaction time and bypass the body's normal limits. As soon as Dr. Redde was pushed back he let out a spiteful laugh, flailing his arms as he roared at the crowd.
"See!? Even though you fail to show even the barest minimum of gratitude he saves you! Even though he has never received the smallest fraction of an ounce of praise he defends you!" He was somehow escalating further as he walked over to a car, grabbing the underside and flipping it over with a loud crash, though nobody would have been harmed by it, "How do you think 'villains' are made!? We aren't born like this, we don't wake up one day and realize it's our turn with the evil! We're just like this man! Upstanding citizens that wanted to do our best to help a society that only thanks us by spitting on us and kicking us in the balls!"
Edgar found himself strangely entranced by the rant the doctor was going on, even though he still needed to stop him he found that a lot of what he was saying made a moderate amount of sense. Edgar himself had a few nights before bed regretting sweeping someone out of harm's way, especially when someone sued him for defamation by touching them.
"Doc, please, simmer down." Edgar tried to be as calming as possible, he had tried to talk him down before, but at that moment he was in a strange limbo between reasonable and frantic, "These people have nothing to do with this."
He only barely had enough time to dodge out of the way as Dr. Redde rushed at him, though the doctor made no effort to correct his aim when Edgar dodged. When he took a moment to process, he realized why; the doctor had rushed forward to catch a glass bottle that was on a collision course with Edgar's head. Edgar went pale when he realized that, and looked at the crowd with a combination of disbelief and disgust.
"See?! They don't care, at all! They're just worthless, ungrateful parasites!" Redde flung the bottle to the side as hard as he possibly could, which was staggeringly hard due to the enhanced state he was in. The glass impacted with enough force to violently explode into shards, raining a conveniently barren area with glass, "I don't know about you, but I'm leaving! Killing the lot of you would be almost as disrespectful as you fricking are to him!"
Dr. Redde began to walk away, electricity still crackling along his limbs as the only source of distinguished sound. After a few seconds of dumbfounded deliberation, Edgar began to follow, not sparing even a single glance at the crowd which was only now beginning to find its voice. Once Edgar catches up to the villain, the man speaks in a tone entirely devoid of the anger he had known him to have, filled instead with respect.
"You really are good, truly good. An indomitable spirit and an adamant heart. Fighting you made me feel more alive than I'he felt in years, for once I was a part of a purpose, even if I was on the wrong side." He sighed and leaned against a wall, ducking out of public view when he got the chance, "Is it okay if I ask a favor of you?"
"Well... To be honest, at this point I owe you some slack. What's your request?" Edgar let out a sigh filled with relief and exasperation. Relief to be away from the hecklers, and exasperation at another 'we aren't so different' speech.
"I'd like to postpone our fight. I clearly overestimated my own physical capabilities, and I think I'm having a heart attack." He chuckles weakly, and collapses to the ground unceremoniously. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 0, Part ?: Clara Olsen v.s. Public Opinion)
**Tupperman leapt out of Dani's Second-Hand Jewelry, skidding on the street, and sprinted towards his beat-up old getaway car.** I sighed. Poor kid couldn't even afford a proper getaway driver. I didn't even particularly *want* to arrest him.
But he had chosen to play the role of the supervillain, and I had chosen to play the role of the heroine. So I had to stop him.
"Are you one of those *new* heroes?" a woman asked, filming the robbery with her smartphone. Oh, great. My senses of super-empathy told me that there was a ninety percent chance her name was Karen.
"I was registered two years back, ma'am," I said.
"Are you going to *stop* that vile criminal?" she asked. "Come on, shoot him with laser beams or hurricane breath or something."
"Okay, first of all, that's use of excessive force *and* negligent property damage, to say nothing of risk fo bystanders. Second, he's a college dropout whose superpower is to summon *Tupperware*. I'm not unleashing the big guns on a kid like him. And finally..." I sighed. "I don't have laser eyes or hurricane breath. I don't have any combat-related powers at all."
The woman scoffed at me. "See? *New* heroes. So what *is* your power, anyway?"
"Gun," I deadpanned. That wasn't my power, of course—you did have to have *a* power to call yourself a superhero—but I didn't feel like spilling my every secret to some random woman on the street. Judging by the squeal of burning rubber and the absence of motion from the getaway car, Tupperman seemed to have discovered that I'd booted his wheel while he was busy robbing the store. He was currently trying to get back out, which probably would have worked if I didn't walk up to the door and casually lean on it, sealing him inside his own car. He turned towards the other door, but I just raised an eyebrow.
"Is running away with a couple hundred dollars worth of jewelry *really* worth losing an entire car? Or do you want to cooperate and not get your vehicle impounded?"
"Oi!" The woman with the phone heckled. "Don't *talk* to the damn supervillain! Beat him up a little! I'm losing audience retention as we speak!"
Ugh. I opened my mouth to say something about how beating the shit out of some defenseless kid who suffered more in a day than she did in her entire life was the *opposite* of being a hero, but Tupperman beat me to it.
"Listen here, you ungrateful little brat." Tupperman pointed, and a harmless plastic box materialized upside-down on her head. The woman shrieked with rage, flailing to take the offending object off, and in the commotion, Tupperman managed to separate her phone from her hand with another expertly-placed Tupperware box. It clattered to the floor with a *thunk*. "Clara Olsen may not be flashy. She might not destroy cities or overthrow governments. But you know what? She gets the fucking job done, and she never hurts people who don't deserve it. That's what a *real* hero does, super or otherwise." Tupperman gave the woman a disgusted look, then turned to me. "Look, I need my car to drive Roger to school. Tell you what, I'll go with you quietly just to see that woman's indignant spluttering—just let me get my vehicle back."
I gave a pointed look at the sack of second-hand jewelry he'd stolen, and he chuckled awkwardly. "Right. Er. That. Here." He handed it over.
"You're still under arrest," I said. "And seriously, get a real job. Do I have to land you an interview or something?"
"Ach. Just tell me when to show up at court already." He hesitated, then—in a lower voice—said, "I really appreciate... you not being harder on me. On any of us low-level supervillains."
I waved a hand. "It's who I am. Now come on, get into the backseat." I unlocked the boot and hopped in the driver's seat of his car.
He gave me an incredulous look. "You don't even have your own vehicle?"
I glared at him. "You see how the people of this city treat me? I'm lucky I can afford a fucking bike, Connor."
He laughed. "Dude. I'm pretty sure *I* make more money than you. I'm surprised you haven't gone villain yet."
I shook my head. "I'm a hero, Connor. Even if I'm a shitty, bargain bin superhero, they can't take that from me."
"Damn right they can't," Tupperman agreed.
And I drove a criminal, a villain, and a friend away from a city that hated us both.
A.N.
Been a month since the last BBSH. Hopefully it reads well. Apologies for any typos or inconsistencies—I'm sick, and also only typing with nine fingers.
Want to know what happens next? Catch up on the previous ninety-something parts [here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) And if you liked this, I have a whole other serial [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new)! Check out r/bubblewriters for more info on both of them. | 2022-06-17T01:39:39 | 2022-06-16T21:56:50 | 487 | 285 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | "Listen here, you ungrateful brats!"
The words echo through a maze of concrete, asphalt and metal and glass. Purple Poltergeist is angrier than I've ever seen him.
"We work hard!" He shouts. "Four times a week, I build death rays, come up with ingenious schemes that have one critical flaw, and kidnap helpless innocents! And four times a week, *he* is here to save you! Without him, you'd all die in a fire or something!"
"Your plans wouldn't work anyway!" A heckler shouts, cupping his hands around his mouth to project his voice. "Your death rays all self-destruct without any interference!"
Purple Poltergeist's face goes beet red. Now I'm the one stepping in. I float forward a few feet.
"Listen to me!" I shout. "Purple Poltergeist works hard on those death rays, every day so that you all can have a good show. It's not his fault--he was just born without natural talent. But he *learned.* He applied himself and learned a difficult skill and that's more than any of you can say."
"Shut up, Triangle Man!" The crowd starts booing again. I'm embarrassed and fall silent, but Poltergeist knows me too well.
"It's not a triangle!" He says, gesturing to my suit. "It's a pyramid!"
"That's right," I say, tearing up despite myself. "What is wrong with you people? Why don't you know the difference between a 2D triangle and a 3D pyramid?"
The crowd only boos louder. Purple Poltergeist spits in disgust and floats over to me.
"Y'know what, let's just cancel the show," he says quietly. "Who gives a darn? They don't wanna see it, then maybe we shouldn't break our backs doing it."
"Thanks," I say, wiping my eyes. "For defending me."
"Of course." Poltergeist smiles. "You've always been there for me." | You have heard that there is a villain in a convenience store. As you are superjumping your way to the scene, you see a crowd around the convenience store, laughing and talking, with coke and hamburgers in their hands. Among them is a TV station man with a camera.
'You're out of pickles!!!!!!!'
Hey! You're out of Coke! Bring it in quick!!!!"
How about a bet that the villain of the day gets 1.2x the money for 30 seconds, 1.5x for 1 minute, 10x for 5 minutes, to see how long he can fight! You can start with as little as $1! Come on! I got it, I got it, I got it!
Will you be able to enjoy today's battle for long? I'm counting on it!"
As usual, there was a noisy crowd, but I ignored them, and I fired my special move, a super beam, into the crotch of the villain who was floating in mid-air. Immediately the battle was about to end, the betting crowd threw empty cans at me, and the TV station people signaled that the crotch attack was not good, so I had to stop the broadcast.
The uncool villain holding his crotch yelled to the crowd around him.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
The crowd is abuzz.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
Crowd is still noisy. Oops, looks like someone just burped loudly.
"Listen up, you ungrateful little bastards!"
Perhaps the reiteration has worked, because the crowd stops screaming.
'Why, why do you people always do that! We're the ones doing the wrong thing, and no one calls the police! And no one calls the fire department! Even though we look forward to your screams over here, you get mad over the number of pickles and get up over the amount of Coke!!!!"
The crowd pouts.
'So do you!!!! Why do you always use your special move the moment you have one!!!! You're supposed to take more time to fight, and then use your special move when it's the right moment! Look at that! The underlings there in their all-black tights are out of work, so they're playing with their smart phones! Even the monsters are sleeping!
You guys need to learn more about heroics! There's more like this, right? Look, heroes who can use a bow well, heroes who don't use a shield as a shield... what about that one? It's not for you... Anyway! Anyway, go watch more heroes! You know what I mean! I'm going to the hospital now to get checked out!
You are the peacekeeper of the city today. That's cool!
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) | 2022-06-17T04:18:51 | 2022-06-17T03:35:23 | 47 | 11 |
[WP] You're a superhero. Despite saving the city 4 times a week your hates by the community. While fighting one of your villains a crowd gathers to boo you. The villain you're fighting stops turn to the crowd and says "listen here you ungrateful brats" | (quick sidenote, this is one of the best things that i have ever been given)
He was on the verge of death. Even in his many decades of saving the town. The people around him were booing him. “listen here, you ungrateful brats” the demonic voice that carried that message echoed throughout the street. Everyone stopped. Everyone stopped booing. Nobody was expecting this to happen, it took everyone a second to register what happened. “are you seriously booing the man that is putting his life on the line to protect your pathetic life? Do you seriously hate him that much that you are entertained by the prospect of his death?” this time the voice was even stronger. It bellowed throughout the entire town. The echo it caused was almost deadly.
“b-b-but he’s a vampire” said one of the people there, barely able to form a coherent sentence
“Who cares what he is? Don’t you think it kills him, knowing that he has to do this job and just be hates because of what he is?” every time it spoke, it got louder. “he could easily snap and switch sides. With the power he has, you would be in real danger!”
“but he’s the spawn of evil” someone else responded, before being abruptly cut off
“I’m also the spawn of evil, more so than him but you seem to want me to kill him.”
Everyone thought about it. “he couldn’t even kill you with his so called ‘power’ could he”. That was all that came from the crowd, it was barely audible. They were all clearly terrified
The demon moved its hand, exposing multiple stab wounds on its body “he has killed me, several times. And this is the latest.” It announced, with a trembling voice before it dropped dead.
There was a collective gasp from the crowd, before shouts of praise.
The hero was just stood there, trying to process what the hell had just happened. | You have heard that there is a villain in a convenience store. As you are superjumping your way to the scene, you see a crowd around the convenience store, laughing and talking, with coke and hamburgers in their hands. Among them is a TV station man with a camera.
'You're out of pickles!!!!!!!'
Hey! You're out of Coke! Bring it in quick!!!!"
How about a bet that the villain of the day gets 1.2x the money for 30 seconds, 1.5x for 1 minute, 10x for 5 minutes, to see how long he can fight! You can start with as little as $1! Come on! I got it, I got it, I got it!
Will you be able to enjoy today's battle for long? I'm counting on it!"
As usual, there was a noisy crowd, but I ignored them, and I fired my special move, a super beam, into the crotch of the villain who was floating in mid-air. Immediately the battle was about to end, the betting crowd threw empty cans at me, and the TV station people signaled that the crotch attack was not good, so I had to stop the broadcast.
The uncool villain holding his crotch yelled to the crowd around him.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
The crowd is abuzz.
'Listen up, you ungrateful brats!
Crowd is still noisy. Oops, looks like someone just burped loudly.
"Listen up, you ungrateful little bastards!"
Perhaps the reiteration has worked, because the crowd stops screaming.
'Why, why do you people always do that! We're the ones doing the wrong thing, and no one calls the police! And no one calls the fire department! Even though we look forward to your screams over here, you get mad over the number of pickles and get up over the amount of Coke!!!!"
The crowd pouts.
'So do you!!!! Why do you always use your special move the moment you have one!!!! You're supposed to take more time to fight, and then use your special move when it's the right moment! Look at that! The underlings there in their all-black tights are out of work, so they're playing with their smart phones! Even the monsters are sleeping!
You guys need to learn more about heroics! There's more like this, right? Look, heroes who can use a bow well, heroes who don't use a shield as a shield... what about that one? It's not for you... Anyway! Anyway, go watch more heroes! You know what I mean! I'm going to the hospital now to get checked out!
You are the peacekeeper of the city today. That's cool!
Translated with www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) | 2022-06-17T05:56:23 | 2022-06-17T03:35:23 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | "This isn't going to work out the way you think," the Devil said, eyes narrowed at the man standing before him. He was unassuming, even for a human - plain clothes, a scruffy face you'd forget in a heartbeat, and only a handful of scars allowed him to stand out.
"Others have tried this wording, you know?" the Devil continued.
"I assumed they did. And I am okay with that," the man responded. He was... calm, oddly so, for someone in the presence of the Lord of Hell. His manner of speech was cool and collected, just short of being robotic.
"Very well," the Devil said and tapped his fingers on the mahogany desk he sat at. A scroll materialised itself before him, ready to be written upon. "So, is it the cancer? I can remove it and give you, let's say, 15 years before-"
"Not for me. My city," the man interrupted.
"Your city," the Devil repeated curiously.
"The Night Stalkers come every single sunset. Get rid of them and my soul is yours."
The Devil raised an eyebrow and from below his desk pulled out a folder. Let's see... Lee Nefter, sheriff in the city of... Durthel, under siege from various assorted monsters for the last 4 weeks, primarily *tenebris humanica -* mutated human. *How ironic*. No help available. 852 dead thus far.
"Fancy yourself a hero?" the Devil grinned. The man frowned.
"Do you accept?" he growled.
The Devil took a deep breath and, amused by the human's audacity, decided to state his curiosity. He focused and gazed deep into the man's mind and soul. It was always entertaining to see the souls of those noble and selfless, the kind and caring, as their inner turmoil of dealing with Him caused so much conflict.
Only... this man had no nobility, he had no selflessness. He'd expected to find his heart filled with love for his fellow man but... it wasn't. He *hated* them, despite continuing to serve as their sheriff. He'd long abandoned ideals of justice and integrity, no longer believed people were good. There was barely a scrap of kinship towards them. No, this man's heart and soul were filled with something different altogether.
*Spite*.
Pure, unadulterated loathing flowed through his veins - anger at the monsters who so callously came and slaughtered, rage at the injustice in what was an already unjust world, disgust at their consumption of flesh. He didn't care about the townsfolk, not really. But he did care about the bastards who *dared* to kill them and he was willing to damn himself just to see them suffer.
The Devil could not help but chuckle. This... this was fun. He cracked his neck.
"Done. You'll find them dead within two days. Give their bodies a good kick for me."
The man took a deep breath, his eyes closed.
"So," he said, "where do I sign and how long do I have?"
The Devil nodded ever so slightly and a door behind the man opened, a bright light emanating from it.
"Out," the Devil commanded. The man's disposition changed for the first time since his visit.
"I don't understand. I didn't sign-" he said with complete confusion.
"Oh, no. You're more fun out there. So *this one*," the Devil said with a, well, devilish grin, "t*his one is on the house.*" | # Soulmage
**"I'm very sorry,"** the Demon of Empathy mused, "but that's not the bargaining chip you think it is. Aim higher."
I blinked. "Selling you my *soul* isn't enough of a bargaining chip?"
The Demon of Empathy tilted their head. "Your soul will fall into my domain eventually. Hastening that eventuality by a scant few decades is... not nothing, but certainly not worth the price that you ask."
A chill ran down my spine. "What... what do you mean, my soul will fall into your domain?"
The Demon of Empathy gave me a kindly, sorrowful, empathetic smile. "You've lived much of your life—especially certain key moments—experiencing too much empathy for others. Not all of your soul will fall into the Plane of Empathy upon your death, but enough will. Enough that... I'm afraid that salvation for the one you ask is not a fair trade."
I scowled. "Since when do you care about fairness?"
"Since humanity did," the Demon of Empathy simply said. They folded their thick, muscular arms across their chest. The soulspace surrounding us was featureless and empty, so the Demon of Empathy manifested a chair to sit on. "I know that you want to save your uncle. Believe me, I feel your soul as if it were my own."
"Gee, thanks. That's an *awfully* reassuring thing to hear from a fucking demon," I muttered.
"Would you like me to reassure you?" The Demon of Empathy leaned in. "I am very reassuring, when I want to be."
"No," I snapped. "Get to the part where you name my price. Do you want the secrets of attunment? Is that what you—"
"Unfortunately, I already hold that knowledge as well," the Demon of Empathy calmly replied. I flinched. "If I were not otherwise engaged, I would gladly assist you here and now with slaying the monster that holds your uncle hostage—but I have my own goals as well, and I cannot save everyone. Were I to expend the resources necessary to save your uncle, it would shatter countless more souls who depend on me for their survival."
I closed my eyes, clenching my fists. "...Please. Jiaola... my uncle... he was there for me, when I needed him. When I hated myself so much that my soul was overgrown with thorns. If you really are a Demon of Empathy... *help me.*"
"I cannot," the Demon of Empathy murmured, and rifts help me, but they sounded genuinely regretful.
I fell silent.
Then I whispered, "Help me, or I will consign my soul to oblivion."
By the stunned silence that followed, even the Demon of Empathy didn't expect that. "Excuse me?"
My eyes shot open, and I glared at the Demon of Empathy. "You think you've won because my soul will fall into your domain upon death? Well, *fuck you*. If Jiaola dies here, I'm finding the nastiest soul-eating monster on the continent and jumping straight into its maw. And you don't get anything. No soul fragments, no memories, *nothing*. Only an eternity knowing that you could have saved an innocent man from a horrible fate and *refused*."
"You wouldn't dare destroy your—" The Demon of Empathy grimaced. Because yes, the Demon of Empathy understood me. Yes, the Demon of Empathy had a read on my very soul.
And because of that, they knew all too well that I was more than willing to carry out my threat.
"You throw a tantrum and flip the board because you are losing," the Demon of Empathy finally said. "This helps nobody."
"This helps him," I shot back. "Give me *something*. Anything."
The Demon of Empathy took in a deep, frustrated breath.
Then, incongruously, they faintly smiled.
"You would have made a good member of my Order," they said. "Very well. If you want to slay Iola and rescue your uncle... there is, perhaps, a power you can wield."
A.N.
Want to know what happens next? Check out [the table of contents](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. There's already thirty-seven other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-30T11:09:44 | 2022-06-30T09:17:10 | 1,175 | 467 |
[WP] People don't seem to realise that figures of mythos evolve too. The Grim Reaper, for example, no longer wields his scythe, opting to harvest souls with a combine harvester. Cupid traded his bow for a sniper rifle decades ago. You're the dealer that supplies the mythical world with technology. | My job didn't just involve upgrading gods with better equipment. I was saving them from irrelevance, and therefore from dying. Not many saw it that way, though. Most just got defensive and refused to adapt, thinking that I was trying to change them.
Athena stared at the screen with a stoic expression. "And people use this... to war with each other?"
I nodded. "In a way, yes, but the brutality and bloodlust is channeled into virtual avatars."
"Interesting."
I couldn't sound too pushy. Ares cleaved in half the computer when I showed it to him. He was disgusted by the thought of someone engaging in combat from the safety of their home. Athena, on the other hand, was worshiped for her wisdom, not just her martial prowess. If anyone could appreciate this, it would be her.
I wasn't just selling her on videogames. What really mattered was the people who used them. These could become her new followers. She needed to understand their wants and needs. More importantly, why she was perfect for them.
"And why would they care?" asked Athena. "If they aren't fighting for land, or resources, they don't have much incentive to be wise, right?"
I squinted. "What do you mean?"
"Strategies emerge from necessity. Otherwise, people would just run into each other like idiots until the other side dies."
"Well, that *does* happen, but you're overlooking a very key factor."
"Which is?"
"People love being clever. Part of the fun is outsmarting your enemy. Seriously, a lot of the time, they get themselves killed just to do something cool. They call it an... 'e-sports moment'."
Athena nodded. "I see..."
"So... are you trying it out?"
Athena raised a hand. "Not yet. I'm not fully convinced these people want my guidance. Some of them play competitively, sure, but the vast majority seem content playing by themselves. I don't see why they would need strategy if there aren't any stakes. Can't they just brute force it by trying again?"
"Yes, technically, but it doesn't work out that way. Oftentimes, if a game is challenging enough, people will sort of declare war on it, playing it obsessively until they beat it. This could take days or months. And that's where the beauty emerges. People gather on websites to share ideas, never giving up until their play is optimized. This process, however, never ends. Some even play the same thing for decades, coming up with the most contrived and creative ways to tackle the problems."
"How so?"
"Well, there's this one called Pokémon. People have been playing it since they were children, for nearly thirty years, and they're *still* discovering new strategies to this day."
Athena seemed intrigued by that. "So they're very devoted?"
"Incredibly devoted. The perfect worshippers. These people have a concept called a 'waifu', and you would totally fit the bill for that. I'm not exaggerating when I say that they would murder for you. They'll even make art and songs in your honor."
"Just like before, huh?"
"*Exactly.*" I paused. "Well, umm, they're probably gonna draw you with cat ears, but that's a small price to pay, right?"
Athena took a long moment to think. Gods rarely liked the concept of change. They were supposed to embody universal values which, by definition, were immutable. The transition into modernity threw a wrench into that, though. Things changed so fast that many things were unrecognizable, if they hadn't died out.
"Look," I said, "if you don't want to change along with the times, that's fine. I just really think you can offer something great here. These gamers don't really believe in anything. A lot of them run to these games because they have nothing else. If you can instill a sense of purpose in them, through wise strategies and fair play, you might grow bigger than your previous peak, and save them from themselves."
Athena sighed. "You're right. I just have one more question."
"Shoot."
"Would I look cute with cat ears?"
"Totally."
And that's how Athena became the goddess of gamers.
----------
>If you enjoyed this, check out more of my stories over at /r/WeirdEmoKidStories. Thanks for reading! | “Why have you brought me to Poseidon's domain, boy?” Zeus was standing in the middle of a battleship somewhere off the coast of Niue in the southern Pacific. He was sweating and did not look comfortable in a US Navy uniform.
Seb stood in his engineer's uniform, black beard with a streak of grey, and generally looking scruffy. He smiled “Oh, you have got to see this. You were looking for an upgrade?”
“I was not.” Zeus puffed up. “Just because Cupid and Charon took your upgrades… doesn’t mean…” He blustered a second “I don’t need your upgrade He… Sebastian.”
“You all do. The world’s moving on. A bow and arrow just doesn’t cut it for Cupid. And now he can match couples from over a mile away. Progress.”
Whispering, but only slightly, Zeus said “You made my wife sit on a seat she could not get up from!”
“It’s a La-Z-Boy. You don’t WANT to get up from it. And I styled it in gold for your whole aesthetic.” Seb waved a hand. “It’s fine. You both have one now.”
“That’s not the point. Eris hasn’t forgiven you for giving humans the Internet.”
“That's because they wanted another world war. The humans made the United Nations. And to be fair it caused a lot of OTHER strife and conflict. They should thank me for that.”
“Why are we here Seb?” Zeus said, walking to the edge of the ship.
“You’ve resisted me before on those lightning bolts. I told you when Benjamin did his thing, and you hit that key instead. And I know you’ve practiced on a few people ; like that one guy you hit 11 times. And I tried to get you with the Tesla thing; but I know that didn’t take off as I thought it would. I was maybe a little wrong there. But in my defence the humans now run their whole world on what is basically lightning bolts. You’ve the most powerful god again, even if you don't get to smite as you one did. The times have been good.” Seb said looking out into the ocean, pulling a pair of ear protectors out and handing them to Zeus.
“Hera did like you for that. And the bonus with the expansion of the concept of Marriage put you in her good books, which means I’ve taken this meeting. This isn’t like your Vegas Tunnel of love thing again is it?” Zeus asked, looking down at the ear protectors.
“No no. Nothing like that. This will be an upgrade to your bolts. Put those on.” Seb pulled a pair out for himself and put them on.
“I’m a god, I don’t need to wear these.” He put them down.
“Suit yourself. They’re testing the thing in a few seconds.” Seb started talking louder as a siren started to wail.
“What is that?” Zeus asked, picked up the ear protection slowly and put them on.
Seb pointed to a large canon above them “It’s a warning. So you know lightning and how power works, right? Well it turns out if you have a pair of metal rods, and you put electricity in a specific way... it’s complicated. But you can put a bit of metal in it, and it will fire it out.”
“Ah, so it’s a gun? I thought you claimed those already to annoy Ares?” Zeus said, inspecting the canon from underneath. “What’s special about it?”
There was an almighty bang, as the canon fired. Zeus felt a bit like he’d been hit by a Titan for a moment.
Seb laughed “So that was a 30 inch tungsten projectile fired from here, to hit a target that is about 100 miles away. Its travels at mach 7.5. About 10 times faster than your bolts.”
Zeus looked at the machine.
Seb patted it slightly “Railgun. No pesky lightning rods to protect against this. Any trees that get in the way would no longer be trees a moment later. No hiding from this. Just the hammer of a god. Which is why I thought of you.”
After a few moments Zeus looked out to the sea and said “I’ll have to think about it.”
“Think about what? Having the coolest power again?” Seb turned to look at the god, and limped over to put his arm around him. “I know you want the power. What’s stopping you?”
Zeus looked down “I just don’t get the same thrill from smiting that I used to. And this seems so much less personal. A railgun doesn’t feel like Zeus.”
“The times are a changin. Look, you know Poseidon took submarines from me. And you don’t want to end up like Ares, annoyed you didn’t take up my Airplanes, or missiles, or drones. He still wants to kill Zephyrus for taking that gift. He probably wants to kill me too; but that's another days problem. Now, will you take a gift from an old friend?”
“Ok… Sebastian.” Zeus turned to shake his hand
Seb took it and shook “As a one off, for old times, call me Hephaestus.” | 2022-07-19T09:19:00 | 2022-07-19T09:07:03 | 1,407 | 431 |
[WP] Write a Story that has the plot of pre-schooler’s educational program, but the tone of a gritty film noir. | Every day was the same. They all blurred together into a malaise each one indistinguishable from the last. Another day, another mystery, another missing number found. Truth be told, I can’t remember any of them- the people I help. A hundred faces, a hundred names that disappear into the murkiness of routine.
It’s a good thing I hate change.
I took another sip of my juice box while counting my cash box: 3 buttons, a bottle cap, and a paperclip. The landlord demanded cash and if he didn’t get it, well he wouldn’t be a problem anymore. It’s a sad world where some problems we need to keep. I needed a case before my life got less complicated but also a whole lot more.
That’s when the kid walked in. Sandy haired and freckled. His eyes darting around my office. He looked a little older, maybe 7 or 8. That wasn’t good. The older ones always had more complicated problems than my usual clients.
“Are you… are you the Numbers Detective?”
“I’m not the secretary.” I retorted. I leaned back in my chair to let him see the water gun in my shoulder holster. It’s always good to let the bigger kids know you’ve got your own backup.
“My name is Zach and I can’t find number 9.”
“Number 9 huh?” I pull a candy cigarette from the silver case I keep on the desk. I absentmindedly tapped it against my desk while I stared out my office window and considered it. After awhile I squinted at him and threw the candy cigarette in my mouth. “Come have a seat and tell me all about it”
———
To be continued(because my battery os dying) | I take another sip of my Elmer’s glue. A valentine sits on my desk reading,
I hart u,
Ur secret crush.
Immediately, my heart beats faster from reading the note. I take another sip of gloppy Elmer’s to take the edge off. I examine the card for more clues on that temptress aiming to give me a heart attack. It’s before recess, and before the day is over, I must crack this case.
I write a note to my best friend Johnny with the stationary on my desk. Johnny is the school hustler, and he can get me all the gossip from the hallways. After folding another piece of paper to make an envelope, I stick a dum dum in it for the upfront fee for info. Then I finish the last drop of my Elmer’s glue before heading to the craft station for more.
Yes, I am addicted to drinking glue and only the GOOD stuff. Elmer’s glue has the perfect recipe for washing away the pain of having homework. I can quit anytime, but my teacher says it’s toxic for me. What does she know? Outside the hallway of the arts and crafts classroom, Mark stands outside.
“Need more Elmers?” Mark asked.
“Yes. Two bottles.”
“I’m going to need three dum dums for that.”
“That’s two more dum dums than last time.”
“Yeah, but the teacher’s on to me.”
“Fine,” I reach in my pocket and grab the last two suckers, “will bubblegum and mystery do?”
“Yup.”
I wince after handing him the suckers. Hopefully, I can sneak some Elmer’s out on the playground during recess. After receiving my expensive vices in exchange, I hear a shout from Johnny.
“I have an idea on who your secret crush is.”
“Really? Who?”
“Yeah. Look at your card.”
I pull the card out of my pocket. There are carebears and hearts on it. Johnny snatches the card out and points at it,
“See! Remember last Thursday during recess when Liz wore the carebears shirt?”
“You think she likes me?”
“Do you like her?”
“Uh.. yeah.”
Then Johnny sprints off, shouting along the way, “Aaron likes Liz, Aaron likes Liz….” I start to chase the snitch, and he’s turning around the corners and jumping off stairs. It was hard to keep up, and I gave up. It’s time to get out there on the ol’ playground and do things the old-fashioned way. More stationery is in my pocket, so I am writing another note to Liz. It reads,
“Do you like me?”
Yes
Or
No
Please circle.
To seal the envelope, I need to use glue. I can’t sacrifice my Elmer’s. I try searching for off-brand glue, but none can be found. I’m not sure if I should use my special glue to ask if Liz likes me. | 2022-09-10T18:35:10 | 2022-09-10T17:12:21 | 74 | 24 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them? | The night of their honeymoon she felt a hot, electric, tingle zip through her body and it wasn't from the sex. It stung as it traveled up her spine and down her limbs. She bit her lip and clenched the cotton sheets around her trying not to wake him. Her pain killers were in her suitcase somewhere but she knew she didn't have the strength to fumble for them alone. Enduring it, as she had done for decades, was all she could muster. The bones in her body felt like they were snapping and twisting under her skin.
Finally, the pain began to slow and she could handle sliding out of bed into her wheelchair. Her whole body felt heavier than ever. Wheeling herself into the bathroom she caught a glimpse of someone she didn't recognize in the wall of mirrors.
Straight, full figured legs, no longer bowed from countless breaks and weak from limited mobility. A chest cavity that sat perfectly symmetrical, one side no longer slightly sunken in and underneath even more symmetrical breasts. Frantic, she reached behind her, gliding her fingers as far up her spine as she could reach. Signs of her scoliosis vanished.
Tears began to drown her hazel eyes as she slid forward in her wheelchair. Both feet touched the icy bathroom tile. The muscles in her thighs pulled her up, as if on their own. Standing in front of the mirror was effortless, though the shock made her stagger.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. As she cried in his arms he caught a glance of himself. Slight disappointment fell over him. He seemed and felt the same. Still average. Nothing special. "Everything I saw," she held him tight, "was perfect." | Emily had met Mark when they were 13 and just starting high school, Back then nothing mattered and in their heads they were already adults and they figured they'd never have to change who they were.
Mark had only just hit puberty and was riddled with pimples that never went away and his body was just barely growing into his age leaving him awkwardly standing at 5'4, He had a pair of prescription glasses wich somehow had this ugly yellow colour to them and all of that was piled onto hair that everyone called rotting brown due to the colour, Emily hated the glasses and was sick of him always buying new face care products when the others didn't work how he wanted.
Emily had a body that according to her mom who always made odd comments on Emily "made all the other girls jealous" Emily had strawberry blonde hair which went down to her hips, Mark always felt like Emily was out of his league.
Mark had asked Emily out as a dare from his brother who knew Mark liked Emily, Mark was both surprised and happy when she said yes straight away and was wondering whether or not she was serious or if she had gone insane but nope she genuinely said yes to his offer to take her out to a restaurant near his house.
Mark proposed at the end of the year where they first kissed next to a sapling which had grown to a height unlike anything like its type, Mark loved to think that the tree grew just for them to fall in love.
Now at their wedding Mark has had enough he was only gonna change one thing but it would make an impact on her life forever, something that could never be the same, something that would finally make Mark truly smile when he thought about it because after this he'd permanently alter her forever.
Mark and Emily gave their forms of what they wanted to change about each other before saying goodbye and heading to the pod that would change them and Mark couldn't believe that mere hours would be enough to change everything that bothered him about her forever.
As Mark stepped out of the pod he looked at himself with the mirror beside him and studied himself before cackling he saw that nothing had changed from his appearance, Mark had just walked out of the room when he heard Emily running to him "Mark are you serious what the hell!?" Mark cackled again as he looked her dead in the eye "what is it my love?" Emily grabbed her handbag and hit Mark over the head with it "Why didn't you tell me my tattoo was spelt wrong!?" Mark smiled the dumbest grin he could pull off "I thought it was funny that it said no reggerts" Emily simply just sighed unable to stay mad at her husband before they headed out the door as the attendees watched "you think he knows she gave him a peanut tattoo on his inner lips" the other attendee laughed "I think he'll find it amusing since he's allergic" | 2022-12-08T05:38:26 | 2022-12-08T02:30:30 | 32 | 15 |
[WP]: A child encounters a mythical creature only to discover they're nothing like in the stories. | Monsters in my storybooks are big and scary.
They have sharp teeth and long claws, and when the hero fights them the hero is always brave and strong with shiny armor and a sword.
My monster is small. And when I fight it I'm weak and tired and sick and lose my hair.
My mom says I'm fighting like a brave knight, but this is a much scarier monster than the ones in the books, because I think the hero doesn't win. | The massive horned horse breathed heavily as it opened the door to its one room apartment and squished its bloated frame moved away from the door. On the television, re-runs of Battlestar Galactica played quietly. It rubbed its hoof against its ass to scratch it and a tiny rainbow cloud popped out as it farted.
Ricky winced at the smell as he entered. It wasn't just the rainbow fart, but the piled pizza boxes, the tables made of old phone books and the open chinese food containers all made the apartment barely livable. The windows seemed to be painted shut.
The unicorn flopped back down into its lazy-boy, positioned in the center of its mess and its distant eyes gazed at the TV.
"Um, I was- I was hoping you could make my wish come true," Ricky nervously requested.
"That's genies," said the unicorn and nestled a half-finished beer between its hoof. It swigged it and then found its pack of cigarettes. "I do bullies and dead parents- sign your name on the form."
"What form?" Ricky asked timidly. The Unicorn pointed toward a haphazard stack of papers next to Ricky and then lit a cigarette.
"You got a dead parent or a bully picking on you, You can get on my back and I'll fly you around and shit. If not, leave me alone," the Unicorn's hoarse, gravelly voice explained. Ricky sighed.
"Well, can you give me the address for a good genie?" he asked. The unicorn ignored him and turned up Battlestar. Ricky left unfulfilled. | 2013-11-12T15:25:27 | 2013-11-12T11:12:57 | 33 | 13 |
[WP] A religion is proven true but not the one you expect how do people react? | And we'll be back with more news on the finding of flight 370 right after this short commercial break. Wait what's that?
Ladies and gentlemen we have some breaking news here that is nothing short of extraordinary. Nicolas Cage has just revealed that he actually is god.
Eyewitness reports state that Cage was raising money at a charity when all of a sudden a blinding flash of light appeared and Cage began to hover above the ground.
In a remarkable moment of benevolency, Cage agreed to give our a reporters a statement. We go live to the scene where Tricia Takanawa is interviewing the one true god. | The reporter’s nervous smile, coupled with his rapid blinking was skittish and comical next to the massive, bronzed body of the Grecian demi-god beside him. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to tell me that one more time.”
“I’m Hurcules,” spoke the perfectly chiseled specimen of humanity as he swung his looming thick hand back toward the locked white gates behind him. “And through these gates stands Zeus and the road to Olympus.” The reporter tried not to chuckle.
“You realize that we’re in your basement and that this home was built in 1976, right?” The reporter asked him, a smarmy smile carving through his slender jawline.
“Fool!” shouted Hercules. “If you do not believe me, than look upon it yourself!” Hercules opened the gates, heaving his strength as he pushed the massive white boards back and they swung inward. A rolling mist flowed through the threshold and overwhelmed the reporter and the camera, the reporter coughing as the clouds cleared, and before them was a floating path of rocks among thin air. Lightning snapped between the storm clouds which crowded around Mount Olympus’s hovering base, far ahead on the path. Pegasus flew between floating islands where others like Poseidon and Athena reigned.
“Wow,” the reporter said- his face blank with amazement. In front of him, Zeus smiled as he molded a hovering, twitching ball of electricity between his hands. “That’s…uh- I got nothing.” The reporter dropped the microphone and left. "That shit's real. It's all real," he could be heard saying as he walked out of frame.
| 2014-03-19T11:14:23 | 2014-03-19T09:47:45 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You're on a first date and its going very well until you make a huge mistake. You somehow get a sign from future you telling you that this person is "the one". Don't screw it up. | "...I mean, I tried to stop the bleeding but it just kept coming, and that was the last time I played football."
She's laughing. It's nervous laughter, at best she's pitying me but it's still laughter. Maybe the football story wasn't a good idea. Blood isn't cute, I need cute. Maybe it worked but she's into the smooth talking, successful type. Smooth talking, successful people dont break their nose playing friendly sports with children at a wedding. What if she's realised we have nothing in common? Does she like the bands I like? What about films? Would she even like 'Office Space'?
"So..."
"So?"
"... I'm gonna go to the bathroom real quick." She says, and stands. She left her bag and coat, so she isn't running. That's good. When she's far enough away I release an audible sigh, I notice a smug glance coming from one of the waiters. What other stories do I have? There's the camp stomach bug story, but I have a feeling I've worked the bodily functions topic to death.
I wonder why I'm still here, whether I'd just hallucinating time slowing down and a much more handsome version of myself telling me I can't mess this up. He had a beard, maybe I should grow a beard and call her back - and that tattoo! What the hell even was that? She's coming back from the bathroom, oh God I have to talk again!
"Hey, sorry I was so long again. Quite a line." Is this conversation? Do I reply to this?
"How was it?" I ask, instantly regretting it. She seems weirded out.
"How was it? What, since I last went?"
"The bathroom, I mean." I don't know what I mean. I've gone too far to come back now, the bathroom conversation is happening. I'm talking about bathrooms to a date. "I've only seen the mens ones and they were okay. I mean how good is a bathroom is when there's one of those guys there watching you go? It's like I'm paying to have stage fright. Not that I get stage fright! I'm comfortable with my body and other people seeing it." I hastily add "Not that he saw it!"
I pick up my drink and take a taste of my awkward defeat. I'm not sure whether she heard me since she just seems to be staring at me, I should repeat myself. She's the one... she won't mind, right?
"I said-"
"Yeah I heard what you said. Look, I like you okay? I don't go on dates with guys I didn't like but, dude, you are just killing yourself here. I'm a nice person but I can't have a dinner date if you're this weird."
She seems genuinely sorry.
"Can I be honest with you?"
"Sure." She stares at me once more, expectantly now. I relish in her interest.
"So I know this might be weird and you might think I'm on drugs, or mentally ill, but I'm not - on drugs that is, and I don't think I'm mentally ill..."
Her eyes widen.
"...I'm not mentally ill. But-" I stop and look at her. She's beautiful, she's smart and above all else she's still here. If I can't impress her with honesty what can I impress her with? "Time stopped my future self told me you were the one. That's why I'm so nervous, I was scared I'd somehow manage to mess things up with you. I realise this ironic."
"Okay." She begins to drink.
"Okay?"
"Why do you think I'm still here? After the third story about you getting your ass handed to you by children I was starting to think she was full of shit."
"She?"
"My future self." She laughs. I laugh.
"So what did she look like?" I ask.
"Darker hair, wears glasses, apparently I work out more in the future so I guess that's cool."
"Mine had a beard and a tattoo."
"I could see you with a beard." She smiles "what was the tattoo? I had one too!"
I try to remember.
"It was small, but it was like a black snorlax under an umbrella."
Her eyes light up.
"Hold on! Is it... this?" From her bag she grabs her phone and unlocks it, sliding it in front of my face. I notice her wallpaper.
"Yes! What is it?"
"It's from a film. My favourite film, actually, 'My Neighbour Totoro'. Want to know what mine was?"
"Of course!" I haven't thought about mentioning bodily fluids since she came back from the bathroom and currently have no obligation to do so. I feel relieved. I feel excited
"It was a little red stapler."
| "Hey, listen up. Don't screw up tonight."
That's what my phone said, as my bowels began another torrent upon that poor, poor porcelain throne.
"Who is this?"
I was pretty pissed right then. I mean, I know friends like to joke around, but come on. A shit-storm was brewing under my butt, and I didn't feel like having anything else add to it.
"Its you. From-"
Aw, shit. Stupid phone was always glitching and not finishing messages.
"Its you. From the future."
"That's impossi-"
As soon as I typed that, I realized that there wasn't one of my friends phone numbers, but my own. I mouthed a "what the fuck" and my heart began to race. So many questions, so many...
"**Hey, you ok buddy? You need me to get an enema bag or a mop?**"
*'Shit. How long have I been in here?'*
I hurriedly finished up, and started washing my hands when I felt another vibration.
"Listen! My past-reception's running out. Remember: She's the one-"
That's all it said. I knew what I had to do.
I fixed my collar, and tucked my shirt back in, trying in vain to remove a piece of broccoli from my teeth.
*"Oh well. Here goes nothing,"* I said, flustered as hell and ready to abandon ship.
I opened the door to see very few people left. A busboy was already clearing away my plate, while a waiter was giving her the bill. She frowned and reached for her purse.
I walked over there and said to tge waiter, wallet in hand, "Hey, I've got the check."
"Why didn't you at least pay before you decided to ditch me?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice, and a look of sadness in her blue eyes.
"No no no. Don't cry, Sarah. Please don't cry. I don't know why Murphy's Law is enforced tonight, but maybe, if you had another chance, we could try this again?"
"Sorry, Gordon, but I don't think so. You seem sweet, but I just got out of a bad relationship, and now I don't think I'm ready to get back into one."
As she left, she left with my heart. At least, for the time being.
Then I realized that she left her phone.
"Hey! I think-"
Just then, my phone went off. As did hers.
I checked mine. Apparently, a message finished sending.
"She's the one to ruin your life."
And then, my mouth nearly agape, I received a new one.
"It worked. Thank God!"
***A few minutes earlier...***
'What happened to him? I thought it was going really well. Maybe I should leave before he comes back.'
That's what I was contemplating when he left to use the bathroom. It had already been a couple minutes since he left, and I was through three more levels of *Disco Bees's Minute Mode* by the time my phone went off. I checked it, thinking that it was my mom or one of my girlfriends.
"Listen to me, Sarah. Dump him right now."
"Who is this?" I texted back
"It's you, but in five years time. Now, hurry up and dump him."
"How do I know its you...er me?"
"Our old dog, Daisy, well, he dies in a few seconds."
As if on cue, my phone blew up. My mom and dad both texted me to tell me the family puppy (though she always had a penchant for me), going on 12 years tomorrow, had died in surgery.
I wanted to cry, but I received another text message from myself.
"I know you think he's ok, but save us from a lot of heartbreak. Please."
A little bit later, a busboy and a waiter came to clean the table and give me the check, respectively.
I reached for my purse, putting my phone in and taking my credit card out.
As soon as I was about to give the waiter my card, Gordon came back from the bathroom and asked the waiter for (presumably) the bill.
"Why didn't you at least pay before you ditched me?" I asked.
"No no no. Don't cry, Sarah. Please don't cry. I don't know why Murphy's Law is enforced tonight, but maybe, if you had another chance, we could try this again?" he said.
'What's he talking about? I'm not crying.'
"Sorry, Gordon, but I don't think so. You seem sweet, but I just got out of a bad relationship, and now I don't think I'm ready to get back into one."
*And I left. Well, until I realized I forgot my phone.*
***Later that night***
Gordon trudged home to his apartment, downtrodden at his recent failure. His neighbor, Emily, greeted him in the hallway, a load of laundry in her hands.
"Rough night, eh?"
"Yeah. My date didn't go as planned."
"That sucks. You need a drink, or someone to talk to?"
"Nah, but thanks Emily. I'm just going to go to bed."
"Alright, Gordon. See ya in the morning."
He walked into his apartment, and his phone went off.
Fandango apparently notified him two tickets were purchased for a movie premiering tomorrow, and that the buy requested a note be put on them:
*"Go for it, me. This time, it works out fine."*
EDIT: There. I hope the girl's part was written ok, as it was my first time writing for a female character. | 2014-05-30T12:46:17 | 2014-05-30T12:37:31 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You have a soundtrack that plays music appropriate to whatever situation you are currently in. You can consistently hear the music which is why you're terrified when you awake to the sound of screeching violins at 4am. | I waken to the sound of screeching violins. It's been so long since I last heard them. I check my phone, the light blinding me. *4:05*. There are footsteps echoing throughout the house. I know I have nowhere to go, living in the attic of the house, with a single square window. The footsteps got louder. I heard my father shouting. I quivered underneath my covers, waiting silently, squeezing my teddy bear. The violins got ever louder.
Someone was coming up the stairs to my room. I covered myself, only my eyes peeking out. The violins reached a crescendo. My father's head comes up, with a drunken look on his face, and a smell that quickly follows.
*"Sarah?"*
The violins got louder. | The screeching broke through the silence and darkness that came with sleep. I groaned as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and let out a tiny yawn. I glanced at my bedside alarm clock groggily and took note of the time.
*4:11 AM*
After a moment, the violins playing in the background broke through my initial mental haze. The music had been there all my life; playing according to the situation i was in, much like a movie.
The situation I was in apparently warranted the sound of screeching violins. My chest felt like it was sinking as i realized the music's implications, and the playing of the violins became more haphazard. My breathing became deep as i pulled the blankets off of me and tiptoed to my closed bedroom door. I pressed my ear against the door and heard footsteps down the hallway.
*step*
*step*
*step*
*creak*
I knew that sound: that one floorboard was particularly creaky, and was less than five feet away from my bedroom door. My heartrate increased as I turned back around and tried quietly opening my bedroom window. I heard the footsteps go past my bedroom and let out a sigh of relief. I accidentally let go of the window and gasped. The footsteps stopped for a moment, then began to get closer. *fuck me! i'm screwed!*
The violins were speeding up now, i tried desperately to get my window open. The door handle turned, and the door slowly creaked open.
My dad's face appeared in the door and the violins stopped suddenly. "What are you doing still up?" Somehow, the music had made me anticipate something terrible would happen, prolonging itself and frightening me even more. *i almost had a heart attack!* | 2015-11-24T20:39:20 | 2015-11-24T20:12:40 | 46 | 12 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | All my life, I have only ever sought to do what was right. I have made mistakes, I will not deny that. I was ... clumsy. Inept. I was cast apart from my own people for my errors. I would have died out there, alone, apart.
But when my life was saved by a complete stranger, I realized that I could devote myself to something bigger. When my people were invaded, I risked my life to deliver the tidings of war to the capital city. Although we were too late to save the city, we saved the Queen. And though we had to flee in exile, I never doubted that we would one day return.
And when we returned, I led our armies as a general. And though we were militarily and technologically outmatched, we won the battle! It was a glorious day, a glorious victory!
But in my heart of hearts, I have never been a warrior. In the aftermath of the invasion, I sought to unite, not to conquer. I represented my people in the Senate, trying to strengthen the alliances between our many different peoples.
But as the years passed, I witnessed our fragile allegiances dissolve into chaos. Assassination attempts. Separatist movements. We seemed on the verge of full-scale war. I knew it was my duty to act. But through everything I have experienced, I have never sought power. I knew full well that there were those more qualified than me to lead us through these times of turmoil. So when my moment came, I stood before the Senate, and I spoke:
"It's a clear desa Separatists made a pact witha desa Federation du Trade. Senators! Dellow felegates! In response to this direct threat to the Republic, mesa propose that the Senate give immediately emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor!"
And as the Senate burst into applause, and I saw my life's work come to fruition, I could not help but smile. | Water...I needed water. A sip of water, a drop of water, anything to resuscitate my dying mouth. The sun hissed at me as I trudged down the sidewalk, pressuring me to get out of its sight. I made a silent promise to never stay outside for so long again, if only it would spare me this once and allow me to quench my thirst.
The cafe was empty, save for two diners. One leaned over to whisper to his companion as I passed their table—some snide remark about my sweat-soaked t-shirt or my ragged jeans. Behind the counter, a grey-haired man stared into space, his chin propped up by his hands. Though he clearly saw me approaching, he chose to ignore me.
"Hello," I panted, "could I have a glass of water?"
"Sorry, kid." He continued to gaze past me. "No water without an order of food."
"But I *need* water," I pleaded, "or else I'll..." Phlegm choked my words away. Surely, he could tell, he could see I was dying. Why would he deny me a drink?
"Look, son." He finally looked at me, cruelty gleaming in his eyes. Each word he spoke rang with cold resolve. "I'm going to have to ask you to make an order or leave." A murderous scowl spread across his face. This man was set on killing me, then. He shoved his hands into his pockets, as if his inaction would absolve him of his crime.
I told him I didn't have money. He laughed. The two diners laughed. The entire cafe begin to laugh, the checkered floor transforming into a series of black and white mouths, alternately expanding and contracting. They grew larger and larger, attempting to swallow me whole as I slumped to the floor against the counter. The grey-haired man stuck his head over the counter, flashing his yellowed teeth at me, threatening to grind me to pieces between them.
"Get away from me!"
I ripped the counter from the floor and swung it at the man, sending him careening towards the wall. He collided against it with a sickening splat, and a tide of blood erupted from his chest. Somehow, even with the weight of the entire counter on his chest, he was still alive, struggling like a cockroach half-submerged in water. His eyes were bulging out of their sockets, and a crooked grin had spread across his face, as if he was some evil spirit in the final stage of an exorcism. I grabbed a table and hurled it at his head. As his skull caved in, he stopped moving.
The two diners had left in the commotion. Shaking, I stumbled over to their table and downed the two glasses of water they had left behind, one after the other, and collapsed into a chair. Try as I might to forget it, the demonic image of the man's face still burned clear in my mind. Why was the world so full of such horrors? | 2016-06-25T04:13:48 | 2016-06-25T01:42:27 | 2,572 | 30 |
[WP] You open your eyes to a hospital room full of people you don't recognize. You've just been informed that you're 10 years old and you've been in a coma. The life you lived was a dream. All 20 years of it.
Doesn't have to be 20 years. Could be 10, could be 50. Have fun with it. | The moment he woke up I could tell something was wrong. There was a sort of dull recognition which blossomed into joy. The transition was beautiful, if not entirely understood. What followed after was what I can only describe as horror. It was over in a heartbeat, a synaptic flash's worth of time where each of us in the room experienced confusion and pain. And then he cried.
Our mother was the first to his side, smothering him with hugs and kisses, telling him it would be ok. The doctor was droning on about how it was most likely disorienting for him and urging us to take it slow. I couldn't scrub the look of anguish from my mind. He cried himself to sleep eventually, surrounded by people who loved him, but anyone paying attention could tell it wasn't enough.
He was never the same after. No brain damage, therapists couldn't point to anything beyond some sort of PTSD, but he was never really... there. We got used to it eventually, I guess, but sometimes he'd space out in the middle of a conversation and it was just unsettling.
He was 17 when I found him in our garage, nodding off in the carbon monoxide smog. I wasn't surprised. I dragged him out of the car, laid him on the couch, and cracked a beer for both of us. His first. He told me it wasn't. Then he told me everything. I listened in silence, the only noise made was when I opened another beer, then another. It was a long story, about a long life. 20 years of time we'd known nothing about. He'd learned his lesson after the first therapist.
When he'd finished we sat in silence for a bit longer, no knowing what to say. Finally I had to ask. Why had he done it? His eyes got that same look they did when he zoned out and I was afraid I'd lost him. When he spoke I nearly jumped out of my skin. His voice was trembling and I felt myself choking up.
"I want to go back." | One day I woke up, and everything I'd ever known was a haze- a blur of twisting memories nipping at my brain, fading into nothingness. It felt like I was dying, slowly losing hold of everything I'd ever been and known. I'd be sitting on the couch with my girlfriend, and she'd bring me a plate of delicious, fresh kebabs, but suddenly I would feel sick and lose my appetite, guilt rushing through me. I'd be petting my cat, Louie, and he'd look up at me with big green eyes that were strange to me, entirely strange.
Everything in my life felt like a lie.
It's hard to explain, but when you feel like your world has been altered, the entire world crashes down on you at once. Once something that felt so real becomes distant and lost, you no longer trust anything. Life is hard enough, but when you can't even believe that the people around you are real? I'd forgotten about everything in that life I'd "lived" for ten years. Ten fucking years just slipped through my fingers, and I woke up to a new reality.
It's slow. It's painful. It's... it's scary, adjusting to a new world. To be told your old one was nothing but a dream. Truly, it's terrifying beyond all comprehension, but after several years I'd gotten used to it. I'd adjusted fairly well and life became simple again as those memories of my false life entirely disappeared, giving way to reality. I had beautiful people around me, helping me through it.
----
I kissed my sleeping girlfriend, stroking her shimmering brown hair. She smelled wonderful, and I let the aroma linger in my nostrils a while before turning back to my side and flipping the lights off. Sleeping still felt terrifying and strange, but I never dreamt anymore; sleep was nothing but an abyss to me, which in a way, I was thankful for.
I opened my eyes one more time to look at her, so I could fall asleep to the thought of her face. The release of sleep took hold of me.
I awoke to bright, natural light piercing my eyelids, refusing to let me stay asleep. My girlfriend was already up, probably making breakfast, and I wanted to sleep a little longer so I went to close the blinds. I couldn't move. My mind willed it, but my body refused on all counts and when I looked down I saw a sickly body. My arms were thin and gaunt, my skin practically see through, and life itself felt heavy on me.
People rushed in, smiling and crying, telling me how happy they were to have me back. It was all a blur of unfamiliar faces, strange people and strange smells.
A doctor came in and smiled, placing a hand on mine. "Welcome back, son," he said calmly. "You've been in a coma for about two years. It's a miracle you're back with us."
I stared out into a crowd of smiling strangers, and began to sob uncontrollably.
*Not again. Please, God, not again.*
----
*thanks for reading! you can find more of my work at /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-06-28T08:35:33 | 2016-06-28T03:58:18 | 51 | 33 |
[WP] After you die, you find out that reincarnation is real, however, there is an error and your memories are still intact upon reincarnation. | I sat on the step up to the worn slide, burying my feet into the sand. This was my usual treatment by my classmates. Being left alone.
Adults had always told me to stop being so weird. That my classmates did not enjoy playing with someone who sounded so old, played so odd games and talked about such strange things.
Of course. I stopped talking ages ago. It did not make anyone wish to play with me anyway.
Being lonely is the worst feeling in the world, but saying it like that makes even the adults look strange at me.
Sometimes I wondered, if I had just imagined it all. But when the memories emerged - especially the ones in the limbo - and got themselves reminded I knew. They where the ones living in lies.
The bell rang. I avoided running. There was something very emotional in running at a bell among other children - something I regret telling them the first week at school. If I wouldn't have, they would not have branded me as a weird.
My seat was furthest back, closest to the door, away from windows. Our teacher, an old lady with a odd smell of coffee and animals, had decided that I should have my seat there. So that I would think about class and not about who ever was walking outside. Furthest back so that other students would not throw things to me or the back of my head.
The old lady was accompanied by a younger adult today, with long, dark curly hair. She looked like someone who would be named Sarah - and something about her made my heart skip a beat - but I were not sure why. The teacher did not immediately introduce her to the class, but as the students started to throw questions all over the place, she nodded at the stranger.
"My name is Miss Robertsson" The young girl announced "I will be here for a while... Helping a bit."
The class said in chorus: "Hi Miss Robertsson" and the lady smiled upon us.
At this point, I new perfectly that I shouldn't do what I was about to do, but my curiosity was unbearable. I flung up my hand. Miss Robertsson looked at me, and our teacher had the exact expression of "please no not let him talk" on her face.
"Is your name Sarah?"
Miss Robertsson continued to look at me as her face went paler.
"Well, Yes, my --"
"Well, Robertsson, could you take Kaleb to the study?" Interrupted the teacher.
"Yes, Mrs Stone" answered Robertsson.
I took my books and accompanied her as I've been told.
The young lady was quiet the whole way to the studyroom. It was obivous that she was stunned.
I did not feel very good at her being distressed. I had to do something.
"Sarah."
"Please, call me Robertsson."
"Miss Robertsson."
"Yes."
"Do you like dogs?"
She chuckled nervously.
"Yes. I do like dogs."
"I figure."
I should have been freaked out, but I was surprisingly calm. I knew that I would be able to trust this woman.
She continued, as she used the spare key to unlock the door into the study: "I've heard that you do like dogs as well"
"Not really"
"You do not?"
I silenced myself. This was not a good introduction. I knew who she was, but she had no idea. Unfortunately, I knew.
We sat in the study for quite a while. She helped me with some math problems, and I obediently did whatever problem she asked me to do.
"... No, not like that. The Four goes above. Here!"
"I see" I smiled.
"But you know what?" She asked carefully. "My parents have a Kennel. Would you like to visit some day?"
I sat silenced. I did not want to go there. It was obviously some therapy bullshit, and I did not want to visit a lot of dogs. Not like that at least. But I would enjoy, and I was a bit shamed of that, spend some time with Robertsson.
She sighed.
"You already got it, do you? What your teacher have told me?"
"Yes."
"I would love to hear it from you as well."
I mustered some brave, but it was meaningless, bravery is something so easy to catch.
"We have met before" I finally said in one breath.
"Is that so? Would you care to explain?"
"I used to be your friend"
She grinned.
"Oh. But you know, I am pretty sure--"
"I used to go with you. Into a forest. And there was this white house. Nobody was with us. We went by bus there, and you used to--" I wanted to say 'break into' but it felt a bit too harsh "--live in that house sometimes. With me. We'd play catch."
"Hm, but you know, the only place that I've been at like that... I were alone. Just me and my--" She stopped grinning and became just as pale as in the classroom.
"I were there." I was about to cry at this point. "Wagging my tail."
She nodded.
We sat there for a long time just staring onto the scribbled table. We could hear the bell call out for lunchbreak far away.
"Sorry for making you this sad."
"I am happy."
"I see. I have nothing left to ask you."
"May I ask you something, Sarah?"
"Yes, you may. Then we go eat."
My tears began to flow, and I sobbed:
"Why did you have to let me die?" | Being picked up for the first time, they'd squeezed him just a little too hard. He wriggled like the rest of them, and to his ever-lasting embarrassment even emitted a tiny squeak. Could barely open his eyes. Just felt a whole lot of confusion, a scratch here, a warm body next to him. Christ, he was cold. Was this the after life? Being tossed into a basket full of wet sausages and then poked and prodded by - oh, was that milk?
When he opened his eyes he learned that mother didn't like him very much, which was just fine with him. The people handed them all around, washing them off, debating if it was worth committing to hand-rearing. It was, they decided, since, naturally, his whole litter was more valuable than a few late night feeding shifts.
A few days later, he was on his feet. He toddled along with the rest, trying to make the most of his new lot in life. Or rather, adjusting. It wasn't so bad. At least no one would over estimate him. Previously, he'd been a ladder climbing grease ball who relied on faux-sociopathy to get him through the day. He drank to cope with the guilt and pressure of having thousands of livelihoods in his hands, which he often ruined. Willingly. His ears flopped as he shook out his old memories. He decided to think of the positives.
At least his siblings were cute.
At least he could pee wherever he wanted.
At least he wasn't dead.
______
"Oh, Adam!" she said, "isn't he sweet?"
Her name was Molly, and she was a total 9/10. At *least.* What she was doing with a schmuck like Adam, he would never know. She was gentle when she pet his head, which he appreciated, and she smelled like plums. She was also his last chance to get off the puppy farm. Soon, he'd be too old, and the breeder would either keep him - urgh - or worse, drop him in the river like he suspected they'd done to a couple of the 'faulty' litters.
Adam crouched down on his level, giving him the side eye.
*Yeah, that's right, you douche. Look at me.* ***Look at me.*** He hit him with his well-practiced 'love me' face.
Adam smiled, and scooped him up. The man's large hand held him under the belly just fine, and he raised him up to his face. He knew what he needed to do. The girl was sold, now he needed to work some magic on the man. He swallowed his pride, took a deep breath, and began - to his ever lasting shame - to lick the stranger's face.
"Now, that one," the absolute gorilla of a woman who called herself his breeder said, "was rejected by it's bitch. Last of his litter, a little strange, bit of a trouble maker. Needs a firm hand."
*I choose to ignore that you called my mother a bitch, and instead shit in your shoe for the firm hand comment.*
The couple went aside for a moment. They were deep in discussion, while the puppies ran around their feet, all hoping to be played with. When they returned, the breeder asked them what their decision was.
Molly frowned, and glanced at Adam. Seemed man-child had the final say.
A strong "we'll take him," was what it was.
____
It was remarkable, the vet said, how little training he required. Naturally. He wasn't going to risk being given away, or given back. Molly wandered around the apartment in her under wear but left him alone unless she wanted to take a picture, Adam was annoying - always kicking him off the bed, or couch, or Molly, or Molly's friends - but the kid also gave him scraps from the table, which was fantastic, because dog food was about as appetising as corpse flesh. Not that he'd eaten a corpse before, but the point was solid. They'd chosen little pieces of cooked chicken and sausage as his 'rewards' for good behaviour. As insulting as their insipid cheering was, he had to admit, the instant gratification was much preferable to the years of toil for immoral reward in his previous life.
"There's something else," Adam said, and he glanced at Molly, who rolled her eyes. Ah, yes, he sniggered to himself, his entertainment.
It had started a fine, sunny day when Molly was out. They still hadn't named him yet, and Adam was running some names by him. His choices were boorish - all names from the crappy old space shows he liked. Though, if he were honest, he *had* caught himself watching *The Next Generation* a few times when Adam had it on. To scoff at their misguidedness, more than anything else. Eventually he'd gotten so sick of the 'Picards, Mals and Shatners' suggestions, he decided to have some fun.
He trotted over to his toys. Adam had almost had an aneurism as he exclaimed what a good boy he was being, given he usually ignored them in favour of sitting on one of their laps and watching the news. The kid watched in fascination as he began to methodically arrange and order the lot - and there was a *lot*. Adam's family had proven most over bearing, and he was probably the most spoiled house pet on the block. When he was done, the toys (and stuffing he'd removed from one of them) spelt out the letters E-L-L-I-O-T, the name his first mother had given him.
Adam had rushed for his phone to take a picture, while he scrambled the message. When the kid returned, all he saw was his pet covered in stuffing, acting the perfect puppy. He'd been 'Elliot' ever since.
By the time the vet had finished laughing at Adam's version of events he was bright red, and Elliot was pleased as punch, sitting down enjoying a head scratch from the vet, who maybe wasn't an 9/10, but a solid 7, and this was near the end of her work day.
"Anyway," the vet said, while the kid stared at his shoes. "Have you thought about getting him fixed?"
*Well, shit.*
Adam looked to him, thoughtfully.
*Don't do it you son of a bi-*
_____
**This is just Part 1! Love the prompt.** | 2016-07-19T04:50:23 | 2016-07-19T04:12:21 | 40 | 27 |
[WP]You've just died and gone to bureaucratic hell. Escape is possible, but really, really tedious. You and some other lost souls have decided to try. | I put my feet up on the table.
"Don't do that!" the imp squawked. "That's against Regulation 46(d)(3)!"
"What's the penalty for violating Regulation 46(d)(3)?" I asked nonchalantly. "Is it summary dismissal of my case? Aren't you going to do that anyway? That's the game around here, isn't it? We can apply to escape Hell, but getting anything done takes decades of paperwork, and there's always something wrong so you have to start again? So who cares where my feet are if my case will be dismissed either way?"
"Your case will be reviewed according to the Infernal Revised Code, properly processed, and IF everything is in order you will prevail! Unless you keep putting your feet on my table, in which case your Request for Extradition from Hell will be summarily dismissed!"
His voice was squeaky with outrage, and I chuckled.
"That's it!" He screamed shrilly. "You're done! Get out!"
"No," I deadpanned.
"Get out or you will be thrown out!" His voice broke with fury.
I removed my feet from the table, leaned over, and hoisted the sixty pound briefcase I brought with me to the hearing, stuffed to the brim with paperwork. I casually opened it, and handed the imp an eight inch thick stack of unfilled forms.
"These are the documents you'll be needing to request a bailiff to eject me from your office. In triplicate of course. Automated copies are prohibited. All three copies must be by hand. Discrepancies between the forms is cause for rejection of the forms whether or not the discrepancy is substantive. All forms must be submitted within one hour of the triggering incident or they will not be processed. Processing takes six to eight decades unless said forms are submitted during a period of high submission volume in which case indefinite delays are to be expected."
He gaped at me.
I grinned back, crooked. "It has never not been a period of high submission volume." | I looked at the pile of paperwork. It was going down. Slowly, imperceptibly, but down.
Across the desk from me, Tobias St. Marc muttered swear words under his breath as his pen raced across the page, checking boxes and adding numbers.
"Make sure you get those sums correct this time," I said. "We don't want Them to send it back again."
"As soon as you're done, you're free," the imp had said when he had shown us to our desk. "You guys should really be in Heaven, but... well, it's so hard to find good accountants these days. It shouldn't take you long."
It was now the 24th time we had gone over Hell's torturous, extensive accounting nightmare, and I thought back longingly to our days at JP Morgan.
"We don't have any computers," the imp had said apologetically. "I've asked, but you know how it is. Higher up decides that the budget can't cover it this year, but maybe next... Maybe this will help." He left us with a heavy metal calculator. The numbers were worn off the buttons, and there was a stain on the top corner that looked suspiciously like blood.
I looked down at the ledger in front of me. The page was titled "Expense Account for Mr. Beezlebub".
* 6:30pm Handgun and ammunition: $66.60
* 6.35pm 1 Litre of Vodka: $6.66
* 10:20pm Ten Stars Strip Club: $666 in single dollar bills
* 11:59pm Cemetary costs: $6660
Somewhere in the filing cabinet behind me, in no particular order, were receipts. I cursed Beezlebub and went to look for them.
---
Lucifer turned away from the CCTV camera in the room and turned to the imp. "Any mistakes so far?"
"Not yet," the imp said. He looked worried. "If they get it all correct this time, we'll have to let them go."
Lucifer's brow furrowed. "That won't happen. Tobias has already made mistakes in their last four submissions. An Ivy League education isn't what it used to be. Soon David will decide that he is better off alone. He will kill Tobias with the calculator before the week is done."
"And then we'll have them," the imp cackled gleefully.
Lucifer smiled. It was a loophole, but so many things were these days. When he and God had agreed upon the legislation for Heaven and Hell, he hadn't imagined the sins that could be commited in an advanced financial system. But murder... well, God couldn't snatch a soul away after that.
He turned back to the screens, thousands of them in a long row. Each one of them showed an identical room with a pair of accountants labouring over a pile of paperwork with a single calculator.
Lucifer got up to leave. "Keep an eye on 8562b," he told the imp. "I think they're close."
---
*Discover more sin and corruption at* /r/jd_rallage | 2016-07-29T08:34:26 | 2016-07-29T07:50:36 | 76 | 24 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile only to learn that no one else actually went into isolation. | Everyone in the U.S. tuned in to watch one of the three major nationally syndicated TV news programs. Fifty years ago, the WWIII Isolation Armistice required all international travel and trade to cease, the internet to be walled, and all long distance communication to be deactivated.
The only broadcast communications that remained in the country were AM/FM radio and VHF/UHF television, signals carried by local repeaters that stopped at the border. The U.S. had never paid much attention to foreign media before WWIII, so it hadn't been missed by the majority of the country. Most of the country were satisfied to be entertained by television re-runs and recycled Hollywood formula movies.
In less than 30 seconds, the internet walls would come down, and the old satellites would be reactivated. Everyone was holding their breath, eager to be united with a brave new world, human beings from around the planet who didn't grow up with hate and prejudice.
...3 ...2 ...1!
Fireworks exploded in the sky in cities across the country, and a great cheer arose from every home! Every television screen showed a view of the earth from the single satellite that remained in working order.
As the satellite orbited over the dark side of the earth, cheering diminished because there were no lights below. A news anchor speculated that many countries had run out of fuel for electricity.
As the satellite passed into daylight, the screen revealed the surprising sight of several large new oceans located in Asia, India, Pakistan, the Middle East, and Europe. The American continent had more forest area than comparison images from the last satellite photos fifty years prior.
An elderly satellite image specialist was brought to the news desk to analyze the satellite data. Based on the refraction wavelength, the specialist concluded the oceans were not water, but glass.
The cheering turned to cries of horror. How could this have happened?
[edited: punctuation, words] | "And China?" I asked.
"Gone as well," Bobby said on the other end of the Skype call.
It was the first time in fifty years that we were talking. But damn had things changed since we were twenty. He had a head full of grey now and bags under his eyes that drooped like dressing room gowns.
The world had changed just as much as his body. And according to Bobby, America - my country - had gotten the whole message wrong.
"I can't believe it, any of it," I told him.
Bobby chuckled. "That's how things are now, Clive. The whole world is one country, Ruchijastralia, and then there's you guys."
My heart thudded in my chest. "What happened to not talking like the government's proposed?"
"Parently they meant no talking between governments, normal folks could do whatever we pleased. Everyone else found loopholes around the fix. And America, well, you guys took the whole thing to another level and built a damn wall."
It was a bit more than a wall. It was more like a cage, that kept everything out but the sun. On top of that, a firewall prevented Internet communication.
I could already see where this was going, though. After fifty years of national therapy we were going to be having full scale riots again.
I cradled my head in my hands.
And to think China was gone. "Who makes your clothes now?"
"China. . ." Bobby started.
I just about jumped off my seat. I'd do pretty much anything to get rid of this American cotton that clung to my skin like spiderwebs coated in sweat.
"-used to do it," Bobby continued.
I deflated back into my seat and let my arms and legs slump.
"Now we get the Rustylists to do it."
I perked a brow at the computer screen. "Rustylists?"
Bobby nodded. "Since we're one nation, you just chuck Ru in front of your job title. You'd be amazed at how fast it made everyone work together. No offense, Clive, but things have been good without the Americans."
"That seems *Rudiculous*."
Bobby frowned. "Thats racist."
"I'm only yankin your chain," I told him.
"Well, the chains have been cut off and you're all being liberated from the old way. The faster you learn, the better."
"What?" I asked. But the screen went blank.
I heard the roar of engines then. I stood and walked to my room window, which looked out at the beach. In the distance, beyond the now destroyed wall, thousands of ships with rainbow coloured flags approached.
I gasped and stepped back as their exteriors became clearer. Judging by the missiles and multi-cultured men armed with guns, they were not here to welcome America back way we expected.
| 2016-10-18T18:32:40 | 2016-10-18T14:51:17 | 252 | 171 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color. | The man had a scraggly, unkempt beard. He wore a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. A typical poor kid, looking to escape his dreary, painful reality. And the only way to do that was to come to me.
"Hey, man," he stammered, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. "Can you hook me up with- you know- those pills?"
"Don't know. I'm not sure if I got any more, I mighta sold them all," I said with a shrug. 'Course, I was lying. I had literal tons of the stuff in my hideout. But the kid didn't need to know that.
A panicked expression crossed his face. He looked like a rabbit. "No, please, man!" he cried anxiously. "Listen, I-I'll pay double!" He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and held it front of him. It looked like a lot. I wonder how the street rat got a hold on that much cash? Maybe he sold his mother's jewelry.
"Fine, I guess I'll see if I can find some," I said, giving an exaggerated sigh.
"Thank you so much, man," the kid said, a thin smile appearing on his pale face.
Addicts. So easy to fool.
I walked away from the kid and towards my van. With a grunt, I pushed open the trunk, revealing a large mound of rainbow colored little pellets. Skittles.
In this hellhole of a world, the only way to stay happy is to taste the rainbow. Don't blame me for making a killing off of it.
--------------
Edit: Whoever gilded me, I cannot summon words to express how thankful I am. I'm glad you liked my silly story. | Psst, hey, you. Hey! Come over here and take a seat. *Come on*, don't be shy, I've got something to show you. Drugs? Mere *drugs*? You offend me! To call these wondrous drops of truth *drugs*, well, that's like calling the Mona Lisa a *scribble*!
What do they do? Why, only something **fantastical** - they open your eyes! They show you how the world *really* looks.
What shade do you think your hair? Hah! No! It is much more curious - I call it orange, for your hair is the same hue as the fruit.
No! No, don't leave. Look, have you ever heard the story of Plato's cave? Ah, well then, take a seat and let me open your eyes a tiny way. If you're still not interested after, then I wont say another word. Okay? Okay. I'll begin.
Imagine if you will, that you are chained up in the cold belly of a dark cave. You have been there your entire life and know nothing of *outside the cave*. There is a single light source - a fire, far behind you. It roars and flickers in the draft.
Every day, people pass by behind you, but in front of the fire. You can't see them, but you see their shadows projected onto the wall in front. Giant, flat shadows. These shadows are the only 'life' you've ever known. They walk and sit, and they come in different shapes and sizes. These shapes you learn to recognise. They become familiar to you, and you enjoy seeing them. You give them names and learn their habits. To you, this is what people are. This is what you must also be like, because it is all you have ever known. A two dimensional creature.
One day your chains break, and you are free! Huzzah! You leave your cave and for the first time, you see actual *people*. Can you even imagine learning people have three dimensions, that people have features *other* than those visible on a silhouette? It would be truly wondrous, but maybe a little scary too - at first.
That is what this *drug* will do to you. It will free you from the shackles you are unknowingly bound in. It will free you from the cave. The world does not look as you think it does. It is far brighter and more exciting. It is so full of life.
I must warn you however, that once you see the world for how it should be seen, few can again enter the dark cave they came from. When the prisoner in Plato's story returned to the cave, with his eyes adjusted to the light of outside, he could see nothing and thought himself blind.
So, will you be brave and leave the cave? Or are you too afraid of what lies outside? | 2016-11-22T07:29:33 | 2016-11-22T06:35:25 | 212 | 43 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color. | Psst, hey, you. Hey! Come over here and take a seat. *Come on*, don't be shy, I've got something to show you. Drugs? Mere *drugs*? You offend me! To call these wondrous drops of truth *drugs*, well, that's like calling the Mona Lisa a *scribble*!
What do they do? Why, only something **fantastical** - they open your eyes! They show you how the world *really* looks.
What shade do you think your hair? Hah! No! It is much more curious - I call it orange, for your hair is the same hue as the fruit.
No! No, don't leave. Look, have you ever heard the story of Plato's cave? Ah, well then, take a seat and let me open your eyes a tiny way. If you're still not interested after, then I wont say another word. Okay? Okay. I'll begin.
Imagine if you will, that you are chained up in the cold belly of a dark cave. You have been there your entire life and know nothing of *outside the cave*. There is a single light source - a fire, far behind you. It roars and flickers in the draft.
Every day, people pass by behind you, but in front of the fire. You can't see them, but you see their shadows projected onto the wall in front. Giant, flat shadows. These shadows are the only 'life' you've ever known. They walk and sit, and they come in different shapes and sizes. These shapes you learn to recognise. They become familiar to you, and you enjoy seeing them. You give them names and learn their habits. To you, this is what people are. This is what you must also be like, because it is all you have ever known. A two dimensional creature.
One day your chains break, and you are free! Huzzah! You leave your cave and for the first time, you see actual *people*. Can you even imagine learning people have three dimensions, that people have features *other* than those visible on a silhouette? It would be truly wondrous, but maybe a little scary too - at first.
That is what this *drug* will do to you. It will free you from the shackles you are unknowingly bound in. It will free you from the cave. The world does not look as you think it does. It is far brighter and more exciting. It is so full of life.
I must warn you however, that once you see the world for how it should be seen, few can again enter the dark cave they came from. When the prisoner in Plato's story returned to the cave, with his eyes adjusted to the light of outside, he could see nothing and thought himself blind.
So, will you be brave and leave the cave? Or are you too afraid of what lies outside? | A million stars perforated the pure black night sky as the shining white full moon stood in the middle of heavens likes an impatient actor demanding an audience’s attention. Grayscale buildings of brick and stone curved along the black pavement of the roads, creating a maze that we call our city. Standing in a secluded alley where the occasional cat or homeless man interrupted me, I waited for a client. I ran the bags of amethyst through my fingers, a grainy substance meant to be smoked that granted the smoker color vision. When a white van pulled up to the alley, I held my breath.
Eleanor stepped out of the vehicle along with her older and larger brother Clyde, who, no doubt, insisted on coming for her protection. Wrapped in a black trench coat that matched her raven hair, her pale skin almost glowed in the darkness of the night. The click of her hills echoed through the buildings with a defined elegance and tempo, while Clyde stumbled behind her, his footsteps out of beat with her sister’s. Standing next to me, she grabbed a cigarette from her purse hidden under her coat and began to smoke puffs of white smoke next to me.
“So, this amethystinus amphetamine,” she began. “I hear it’s popular among the younger crowd. What exactly does it do?”
“It’s hard to explain to someone who’s never tried it,” I answered. “and please, if you want to appeal to your younger crowd, just call it amethyst.”
“Alright. Well try me. What does amethyst do?”
“It lets you see color.”
“We can already see color. Every shade from white to black.”
“No, no, not like that. This lets you see new colors. An incredible amount of new colors you never thought possible.”
“You’ve tried it?”
“Just once. It was intense. Like skydiving into a new sensation.”
“If that’s your description for it, then I definitely want it to find its way into my nightclub. Is it addictive?”
“Not for me. But I’ve met a more than a few individuals who find black and white so incredibly dull and depressing, they’d rather pay for another hit than live in our drudgery.”
With an agreement met, we worked out a few boring business details and settled on a price: 50 grams of amethysts for $1500, as a trial run. As the transaction closed and I received a small duffle bag of cash, I offered Eleanor a joint of amethysts on the house for the sake of customer loyalty. Reluctant, I tried to encourage her, but she refused, stating it would be bad for business; however, Clyde, curious about colors, interrupted and said he would try it. His sister clearly not thrilled, he insisted and I conceded and gave him the joint. When he lit it up, he seemed disappointed.
“When does it kick in?” he asked, though by the judge that his pupils dilated to the edge of his iris, I would say just about now. Facing the brick wall, he ran his hand over it, muttering, “I’ve never seen a color so…loud and angry and hot before.”
Turning his attention to his own clothes, he ran his fingers over his jeans. “But his color is so much more calming. How can something so loud and hot coexist with something so quiet and cold?”
He rambled about colors and their intrinsic value for a few more minutes while continuing to suck on his joint. A disdain crawled across Eleanor’s face.
“How long will this last?” she inquired.
“About 4-6 hours,” I answered. “You should probably put a muzzle on him before any police see you.”
“I wish,” she replied as she herded her brother into the van. She discreetly drove down the black street as her brother imagined an entire rainbow of imaginary colors. Meanwhile I walked down hidden streets and side paths embracing the simplicity of black and white.
*****
More colorful tales at r/Andrew__Wells | 2016-11-22T06:35:25 | 2016-11-22T05:44:30 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records. | I never planned on being an immortal, but once you get the taste you just don't want to let it go. Immortality, the holy grail, the fame and rewards that go along with it. They're seductive.
There were a bunch of us immortals around but slowly over time old friends have come and gone. They were stupid, choosing a world record that was easy to beat given training, drugs, money, or other enhancements. And, while the Guinness teams work hard to keep everyone honest, accidents happen.
The first to fall were the runners. You can run 100m in 10 seconds? Whatever, here is someone in 9.9, then 9.89, then 9.88, then faster and faster. That is what put paid to Bolt. He's long dead now.
Others looked stronger. Longest time holding your breath... the immortal for that one (John) was safe for ages since he could literally sit there all day, until one day one of his challengers showed up with gills...
Some took stupid risks, such as trying to create a world record for longest survived parachute fail. Fortunately those were banned after the bodies started piling up.
But me. I'll be here forever. Challengers come and go, but I've got this one in the bag. Nobody can scrunge like I can. My penhaligons are perfect. I blitz everyone!
-----
An excerpt from the bestselling autobiography of Larry Kahn.
| 2016-12-14T10:34:13 | 2016-12-14T06:13:23 | 85 | 18 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "The Surgeon General would like to remind you that smoking causes lung cancer and other serious health effects"
Will squinted at the bright neon billboard, its screen casting an unnatural white glow over an otherwise dimly lit street. Taking in the message before briefly sighing and continuing his walk, he gradually made his way down to the corner store, trading the dim glow for bright florescent lights.
The man behind the counter smiled warmly:
"Evening Will, the usual?"
"Yep"
From behind the counter, the man produced a long unmarked white box, the front of which had only a single line of text "Smoking causes cancer". They'd stopped printing brands on the boxes a long time ago. Will took the box from the man.
He walked outside, opened the box and removed a pack, taking a moment to inspect the rather generic item. Once more he found only a single line of text:
"God Dammit Will"
"Fuck"
| I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette | 2017-02-17T12:12:31 | 2017-02-17T11:15:56 | 47 | 13 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | "Sir, we have just been informed about sightings in England, France, Italy and China," the lieutenant reported after his brief phone call, but the general had already guessed. "Quarantine measures are in effect, but it seems unlikely that they will be successful."
"Has Madagascar been hit?" the general asked, a grim smile appearing on his face.
"Sir? I haven't heard..." responded the lieutenant, who's focus was clearly on the situation at hand.
"Never mind, soldier." The general sighed, knowing what it all meant. All of their attempts to contain the alien bacteria, even for a short time, had failed, and now they had a global pandemic on their hands. Attempts to evacuate the planet, prior to catastrophic infection, were clearly insufficient.
"Lieutenant, this has gone beyond a level 1 emergency. Remember the box that you were briefed on? The one we told you never to open, unless it was the end of the world? Bring me the box," the general ordered.
The full gravity of the situation began to dawn on the lieutenant. "Jesus Christ..." he muttered.
"That is correct," responded the general.
.....................................................................................................................................
The general dialed the number. "Mr. Christ sir? We have a... global pandemic type situation on our hands, and we could really use some of your healing, if that's at all possible."
Silence rang through the phone, followed by, "You clowns do remember that you killed me, the last three times I came down there, right?" | "Sir, we just got triple Aurhorization for a Level 0 Incursion. Call this number form this phone, and pray that his demands aren't too high."
Axel Gundersson III was handed the authorization codes, signed by the current President Winfrey and three of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the head of NASA. He frowned, then really *looked* at the person who had handed him this. Former General Petraeus had come in to Area 51 and handed him this. The general bowed slightly, before turning and striding off.
Avxel looked at the number. It was a 24-digit code in a Hexadecimal cipher. He typed in the code on his keyboard. The screen and lights flickered, hesitant to accept such a heresy from the input device. Then, in neon red and yellow the screen flashed its rage.
**CODE ACCEPTED**
*THE WHITE RABBIT COMES*
*ATTEND!*
Axel stared at the screen, bemused.
The screen flicked back at him. *KNEEL, YOU FOOL!*
Axel found himself pulled to the floor, prostrate become the coming items. He looked up, wondering what the hell was going on, and then...clarity.
What he *wasn't* expecting was the three men and two women who came through the screen, before it shattered. To the far left of him, came the image of Ming Na Wen, appearing as remarkably akin to Agent May from that show he liked. Stood next to Axel's kneeling form was Gandalf the White.
To Axel's right, stood Keanu Reeves armed to the teeth with small sidearms and four AR-15 rifles, as well as a long trenchcost and some stylish shades. To his right, a woman in full platemail armor, wielding a fine blade made almost of light.
And immediately in front of him, The Joker. Not as Axel thought of in the comics he read as a kid - but rather a much more lithe, sinuous snake, wrapped in a suit of madness and circus-horror.
The Joker clapped his hands, and the voice of a psychotic Mark Hammill sounded. "Let's get this party started, ladies and gentlemen! We have a world to save, and some FUN to have!" His maniac cackling led the five new people down the hallway.
Axel breathed again. "Hail Mary, fulla Grace!" | 2017-03-21T05:27:38 | 2017-03-21T02:18:07 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] Genetically altered 'designer babies' become a reality, but to keep things equitable parents are allocated only so many improvement 'points' to confer on their child. | David had gone through his entire life struggling, his soul craved greatness, but physically he was unimpressive, and mentally, well he was just clever enough to know how average he was.
He searched for years to find his talent, he tried writing, he tried science, he tried music, he settled on becoming an English teacher, and a shabby one at that.
He’ll never forget the day he met Melissa, sharp, witty, attractive. Her interest in David shocked the entire teaching cohort, David most of all.
Even 3 years and a marriage later, David still wondered what it was that she saw in him, every time he asked her she said the same thing, that she saw something in him that no one else did, she saw a desire, an ambition, a fire deep within him.
She loved how he fought every one of life’s tiny bland battles like it was his last day on earth; she loved how he never stopped trying no matter what was thrown in his way.
This passion is what she claimed to have fallen in love with.
David was happy for a time, all his worries about his inferiority were assuaged at Melissa’s undying approval, she loved him for who he was, she loved the only unique thing about him.
Melissa was more than content with her life with David, and David was more than content with his life with her…that is until she got pregnant.
All his buried worries and fears, all his anxieties about not being the man he ought to, were brought up again, he feared for the child, he feared his mediocrity would be passed down, he dreaded that.
But David had a plan, with technology at its current level, genetic engineering allowed the elimination of certain genetic diseases and disabilities from the baby before it was even born, just a quick analysis and an injection to the mother and presto.
Certain genetic advantages were allowed to be given, but they were strictly regulated, most parents opted not to change anything, to go for the random and natural route, but certain couples chose to alter their babies positive attributes at the cost of other positive attributes.
No one was quite sure how this was done, it was under strict government regulation and confidentiality, scientists had to swear oaths of secrecy. Most parents who opted for this route usually wanted their child to follow in their chosen profession, it was common for actors and musicians to give their children strong creative intelligence and good looks.
Melissa was pregnant and David had to do something, he wouldn’t abide his only child ending up like him. He lied about a genetic predisposition to heart disease and pleaded that he and Melissa see a genealogist. Getting the gun was easy, getting it through the security and the door was much harder, but he was extremely lucky.
The genealogist was a young man in his early thirties, he had a thinning curly hair, thick brown stubble and a big friendly smile and a light Scottish accent. “So you’ll be happy to know that you have a beautiful healthy baby boy growing in there, I didn’t see any sign of heart disease in the lads future, but I went ahead and gave him a good cardiovascular gene anyway, free of charge of course”
Melissa’s eyes grew wide “Oh my god, thank you so much, we’re going to sleep so much happier knowing that”
The man gave a big friendly grin “So you want to know more about the little guy, his potential, his looks, that sort of thing”
David grunted “I guess so”
Melissa smiled “yes lets, I don’t think I can wait 7 months to meet him and find out”
The man studied his computer screen “Well let’s see here…Looks like he has a bit of aptitude in critical thinking”
Melissa pulled Davids shirt sleeve grinning “You hear that! Maybe he’ll be a math teacher, follow in his mother’s footsteps”
“And…ha!…looks like he’s gonna inherit that strong hook nose of yours buddy” the genealogist gave david a wry look “I could knock gene out if you want to lower his aptitude in another area?”
Melissa broke in “Don’t you dare, I love your strong nose babe, don’t change a thing”
The genealoigist laughed “HA! Nothin wrong with an acquired taste” he stretched his fingers “Well should I wrap it up then, give the injection?”
David’s hand was shaking “N…No don’t not yet”
Melissa looked up at him with caring eyes “What’s wrong babe…are you okay?”
David put his hand to his pocket and traced the metal of the gun “I’m…I’m so sorry for this Melissa”
In one swift motion David pulled out the pistol, he climbed behind the man’s seat and pressed it to his temple, the genealogist and Melissa screamed in unison.
“Shut your mouths or I blow his brains out!” David said with a practised temper.
Quiet filled the room and luckily no security had been alerted, Melissa gave David a betrayed look that tore into his heart, still he pressed on.
“Alright listen up” David said to the genealogist calmly “If you want to get through this, do exactly as I say”
“A….Anything” The genealogist was shaking so hard his head rattled against the metal of the pistol
“I want you to give him everything! I mean everything! Good looks, unparalleled athleticism, genius level intelligence, creative aptitude, critical and logical smarts, I want everything!” David could feel a tear flow down his cheek, he was so close.
The genealogists hands drifted over the key board and put in the code, David waited patiently.
“Alright, now give her the injection” David watched Melissa wince as the needle pierced her skin, she gave him a hurt look, she was crying silent fearful tears.
“I’m sorry Melissa, I don’t expect you to ever forgive me, hell I don’t expect to ever make it out of prison…But please do me one favour, for the love you once had for me…Bear this child…see that he grows up…see that he grows healthy and happy…and see that he does what I could not…see that he succeeds”
The genealogist took the needle out of Mellisas skin, “It is done”
“Good” David returned the pistol to the mans head “Now run Melissa! Run! They will try and take him away from you”
Melissa paused, frozen in place, staring at David with those beautiful eyes of hers.
David turned the pistol onto his wife, barely visable through his tears “RUN!”
Melissa scrambled out the door.
David waited until his wife was certainly out of the building, he let the genealogist go “Go, call your security have them arrest me”
The man scrambled out the door in a similar fashion to his wife
David drew the pistol to his own head, and pulled the trigger.
| "It's unnatural!" Screamed a beautiful blonde at the top of her lungs while holding a sign that read, "GOD HATES DESIGNER!"
It was hypocritical, of course. She, and the many other angry beautiful people surrounding her, would likely be walking into a clinic, just like the very one she was protesting against, to get a "Designer Baby". Because, let's be honest, nobody wants to purposefully be at the bottom. Morals are shit in the hands of societal hierarchy.
Or, that's at least what John thought as he shielded Rebecca from the odd amount of tomatoes being hurled in their direction.
"I hope you fucking die!" One gorgeous blue eyed protester shouted.
"Uglies beget uglies!" Another devilishy handsome man shouted.
"Jesus. Fucking lunatics." Rebecca said once they were through the door.
"Yeah. Also, 'Uglies beget uglies?' What the fuck?" John said, looking at Rebecca.
"I know! It's okay, I think you're handsome, honey." Rebecca smiled and gave John a wink.
"That's what I'm saying! You're beautiful. What the fuck is wrong with those people?" John looked out the window and saw a protester begin to shit into his hand, which would definitely end with said shit hurtling through the air, and in their general direction. Luckily, it would just land on the window. So, there was no fear.
That being said, it would probably be best if they took the back door, while leaving.
"Hey," John spoke as they approached the desk, "Uh, we have an appointment for 1:30 with Doctor Benson?" John asked awkwardly, unsure of himself. He was never very good at speaking with receptionist. A weird anxiety always took over.
"Are you asking me if you have an appointment?" The receptionist responded with her own question. She was a middle-aged woman, that had apparently watched one too many Make-up tutorials on Gluetube.
"I'm sorry, my husbands not good at speaking to people he doesn't know." Becca stepped in, "Yes we have an appointment for 1:30." She was always good at that. Speaking for John. Lord knew he needed it.
"Alright, if you just have a seat, the Doctor will be with you shortly." The receptionist said, then put two ear-phones in and began watching "UP" on her cell-phone.
Rebecca and John walked to there seats and waited in silence, until John finally broke. *"Who watches Up on their Cellphone?"* He whispered.
*"I know, right?"* Rebecca responded.
The door to the back opened, as a small white Nurse poked her head out the door, "Mr. and Mrs. Patterson?"
John looked around himself then to Rebecca, who was doing the same. He and Rebecca were the only two in the waiting room. He shrugged his shoulders, "That's us."
They followed the Nurse down the hall, and into an office, where they were asked to sit patiently.
"Hmm, this is a nice office." John said, knocking on the desk.
"Don't knock on the desk, John." Rebecca said, as she herself was testing the flexibility of her chair, by leaning it back.
*"Don't play with your chair, Becca"* John mocked and stuck his tongue out at her.
With his tongue still out, the door opened as Dr. Benson walked in, caught site of the tongue, shrugged and sat down. He was a tall dark man, who looked like he was crafted to be an Ebony God.
"Woah. You are handsome." John said first.
"Haha, normally its the women who tell me that, Mr. Patterson. I'm even more flattered now."
"I mean, I find you attractive too." Rebecca chimed in as if she were bidding for the doctor's attention.
"Thank you Mrs. Patterson. But, my appearance, no matter how great it is, is not the reason you're both here today. Today, we're picking your child's Improvement Points. This shouldn't take too long."
"Alright." Rebecca said as John just nodded his head.
"Right. So, I need you to put 10 points into five different categories. There's Charisma, Attractiveness, Athleticism, Intelligence and Science. Most people tend to stack a specific..."
"...I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention." John interrupted, "I mean, you are like *crazy* handsome."
*"John."* Rebecca snapped.
"Right. Sorry. Sorry." John retreated.
"It's more than alright," Dr. Benson replied, "You see, my father was the first person to experiment with this genetic altering. *He gave me five points in every category.*"
"Well, that doesn't really seem fair." Rebecca said.
"To whom?" Dr. Benson replied, cocking one eye-brow, because of course he can cock an eyebrow.
"To you. It seems like nobody can stack up to you." Rebecca responded.
"Ah, it's not as bad as you think. I mean, I have a sister. She's a model in Paris, but we get along. Dad realized his mistake with me, when I had a paper on String Field Theory, published when I was 6, then haggled to get paid for the research paper."
"I ate half a tub of Elmer's glue when I was six." John chimed in, "spent the night in the hospital. One of my first memories."
*"Right."* Dr. Benson looked at John, like he may be legitimately stupid. "Anyways, after me, my father decided to dial it down, and gave Brianna a five in Atractiveness, and threes in the other departments, to balance it out. But, anyways enough about me!" Dr. Benson clapped his hands together, "Have we decided on point allocation?"
John and Rebecca looked to one another, "Well, clearly we want her to be attractive," Rebecca started, "Attractive women have it easier, so four points into attractiveness."
"Alright," Dr. Benson began taking notes down.
"But, she also needs to be smart, so four points intelligence." John added.
"Oh, stacking attractiveness and intelligence. It would appear you two, are as the youth say it these days, 'Woke'." He mimed air quotes with his fingers.
"Heh, *yeah*." John said, unsure of what 'Woke' meant.
"*Anyways,*" Rebecca started, "We need a three in Charisma, because our baby girl ain't nobodies fool."
"I mean, unless said nobody has a 4 or above in Charisma, then she may get tricked into a van." John said nonchalantly, then the severity of what he had just said, blew up in his mind.
Rebecca and he both looked quickly to one another. "We need a five in Charisma!" They both shouted at the same time.
"Yeah," Rebecca said, "She'll just never play sports, I guess."
"Yeah, she won't take after her mother and play college softball." John said, "Hell, she may not ever play softball."
"It's okay, you two." Dr. Benson interrupted their duel panic attacks. "I'm literally the only Doctor doing this. Nobody out there has a four or above. Plus, if they did, they would be children."
"Oh God, it just hit me. We're gonna have an army of overly charismatic, smart, strong and intelligent children that a all great at one thing, and decent at others."
"Here's hoping they don't mobilize."
"Why didn't you mention science?" Dr. Benson asked.
"Doctor, with all do respect, nobody is stacking Science with Intelligence right there next to it." Rebecca said.
"Yeah, Doc. It's a tad redundant."
| 2017-05-17T06:16:56 | 2017-05-17T05:59:17 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] In the poor society you live in, all those who turn 30 have to choose to either go through a very thin, walking only, seemingly endless bridge to an allegedly wealthy land, or continue to live a poor, hopeless life. No man has ever returned from the bridge. Today is your 30th birthday. | The bridge stretched in both directions, disappearing into the fog. There was nothing in sight but the endless grey void. The only sound he’d heard besides his own breath and footsteps was the distant lapping of water. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking. It seemed like days, but the light hadn’t changed since he’d set foot on the bridge. It could just as easily have been hours, or even weeks.
He hadn’t seen another soul since leaving the village. No-one walked the bridge.
The food he’d brought was long gone, but he still had a little water left. Stopping, he uncorked it, and the last dregs dribbled into his mouth. He leaned over the edge of the bridge, as he had each of the countless times he’d stopped before, and tried to see the bottom. No luck.
He collapsed to the ground, cradling his head in his hands, too exhausted to move. He hadn’t expected this. He could handle the walking, the hunger, the exhaustion, even the oppressive solitude. It was the not knowing.
If only the fog would clear… But he knew that wouldn’t happen. With no way but the numbness of his limbs to tell him how long he’d been sitting, he stood. He tossed the empty water flask over the railing, turned and started walking. Just a little bit further.
| At the age of 8 my mother and father left me. Confusion filled me as they tried to explain why they were abandoning me. Apparently they loved me, but obviously they didn't love me enough.
I moved in with my uncle and aunt, but it took me a while to actually accept that my parents weren't coming back. My aunt was the most caring person in the planet. Her soft voice was the one I grew to know as home. I didn't see my uncle too often, he was always off doing everything he could to help us survive. His scarred and sturdy hands were the foundation of our household, and I knew that at a very early age.
At first I thought it was my fault that my parents left me, but as the years went by, I didn't miss them anymore. I was just filled with anger, and that anger soon turned to hated and resentment. I hated that my parents would rather take a chance on their own selfish desires over the life of their only child. It wasn't fair, and my new parents knew it, so they did all they could to show love to me, and I was grateful.
On my 14th birthday it wasn't me who had a pleasant surprise, but my aunt. She was 33 years old when she was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer, and just half a year later she passed. My uncle must have taken it harder than me because after that day my body began to grow used to the pain of belt whippings and cigarette burns. I don't blame him though. In the end it was my fault that he and his wife would not take their chances on living a happy life together away from this poverty plagued wasteland.
It had been about 15 years since the day she passed, and it was now my day to make the choice of what path I would take. It wasn't much of a choice however, I already decided years ago what I was going to do.
I grabbed a few bucks, my birth certificate, some cigarettes, and my uncle's old pocket knife as I made my way to the heavily guarded entrance of the bridge. I was not going to cross over to change my life, but the life of my parents by force if I had to. They deserved it. I deserve this.
(Holy crap that was way darker than I wanted it to be. All critisism is welcome! This is only my second writing prompt and I'd love to get good at something I enjoy doing haha.)
Edit: some extra sentences and stuff | 2017-09-28T11:18:28 | 2017-09-28T11:18:03 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!
EDIT: oh my god, this post accounts for 50% of my karma, it’s also the first reddit gold I’ve ever gotten, thank you so much reddit, this was an amazing Christmas gift! | The night was stupidly warm, as all Christmas nights are in Australia. Though, the storm that accidentally visited my door and blundered through the shrubs was a welcome change, causing me to swap from a roaring fan to an open window. However, this brought in another problem: mosquitoes. As one zipped by, my arm reflexively whipped at my neck, trying to catch the bugger with an open palm.
**WHAP.** Fuck. Missed.
Despite that, I continued on, lightly scrolling through Reddit to ease my mind off of the heat. There, I spotted a little note from /r/WritingPrompts:
>"[WP] you are yourself, on Christmas Day, reading this on reddit, you are told that you are loved and accepted for who you are, and to have a happy holiday season, and a great new year!"
"Fuck off! Can't tell me what to do." I said to myself, as if the prompter can hear it through the monitor, like some odd version of 1984. And so I scrolled on, while flicking to another tab to slip into Youtube and listen to that one Ghost song that keeps worming back into my head. Bit of a plague, that, but it doesn't bother me any. Unlike these bloody mosquitoes.
Arm. Fling. **WHAP**. Fuck. Missed. | "Is it Christmas?", I asked myself. The sludge-like snow on the ground obscures my sense of time, or even season. The last 20 or 90 months have been covered in ice, it seems. And a blizzard has been forming in my head for years. I've salted the streets in preparation for my upcoming travels into the unknown depths of my mind. It's a slippery-slope that I romantisize and adore. That beautiful, wintery greyness that manifests itself as melancholy and ennui. Comfort resides in the past. And that's where I wish to be.
It is there that I await my fate. With an ever-pervasive sense of hope that only fools relive time and time again. "There's no future without you, or those before you", I tell myself. Yet, time-again, I find myself saying those words again. It's as if I do not know myself without another, without regard to who the "other" is.
They can tell me time-and-time again how loved and accepted I am, but they'll never convince me. And I'll only let them down, as they let down my idolized notions of them. It's not their fault. And it's not exactly mine either. But they can never love me in all the ways I need to be loved. It's impossible.
But you could at least spend New Years Eve with me, like you said you would last year. You weren't there. You won't be this year, either. You were never there.... and never will be, apparently. I don't need you... and fuck you. I just want you to remember the wreck you left behind. I want you to realize that the only reason I replied to a "writingprompt" to some complete stranger on reddit is because you told me you could never live without me or forget me. The only reason I'm typing this out is in hopes that you happen to come across this comment, and recognize how incredilbly hurt I am by your actions. My *reactions* weren't great, I'll give you that, but the things you did and said to begin with -- I never ... I'm not the bad guy, and fuck you for trying to make me think that I was. I might have been the bad guy in my past relationships...but not with you.
| 2017-12-25T02:07:12 | 2017-12-24T23:09:32 | 44 | 19 |
[WP] You are an NPC. One day, you see the player character do some weird steps and duplicate his items. You decide to try it for yourself.
Have fun!
Edit: Huh. I guess I just discovered a karma duplication glitch. | This is it.
I had finally found my ticket to the big leagues. I had more than quadrupled my stockpile of potions, rare gems, and rusty daggers following the steps I had seen players doing for their own gain. I'd be able to get out of here with the kind of money this would make me. My kids could go to school. I could buy us a house out east, treat my husband's crippling knee wound.
We would be rich, the talk of the town, and nothing can stop me now, nothing coul-
***January 3rd emergency maintenance developers comments***
*We removed several merchant NPCs from the game while we work on a bug that allowed players to endlessly duplicate certain items.* | "Where am I? What is this" Chosen-one McQuest shouted up.
I leaned over the wall's edge "You are at the gates of Forrest-Backwater, my good sir, but I'm afraid we no longer accept visitors"
"What dark magic is this?" McQuest shouted. "Is this some kind of trap! I've been to rural backwater before and I think I would remember a 30 foot wall"
"There is now, my good sir, we build it. An excellent job the builders did. Keeps out any unwanted guests"
McQuest's eyes lit up. "Oh, I see. Come down so you can mark my map and I'll do the quest."
"Quest? There is no quest sir, Forrest Backwater is no longer accepting visitors. Don't worry sir, there is nothing here of importance"
McQuest tried to say something but could not find the words, eventually his eyes settled on my uniform.
"That's an awfully nice uniform for a guard. How do they get the feathers so identical!"
Oh no, I thought. "that's - umm- well- one second let me get the tailor" I returned, this time with 70 of my clones, all armed.
"It was time for you to go, McQuest" we shouted.
"But I last came here two months ago, I've done like 30 quests"
"Good Bye McQuest, Have a good -"
My world was spinning, no no- hold on the memory, the wardrobe no one used in town hall. Remember the wardrobe in town hall. Remember the wardrobe. Remember. Remember?
I was trying to remember something while on guard duty, when Chosen-one McQuest walked in. I ignored him as he slipped into the supply closet. Normally I would follow, but I was trying to remember something.
| 2018-01-03T10:25:50 | 2018-01-03T09:14:19 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Your mother told you your pet left home to go on adventures. You assumed they died. You come home from work one day to see your old pet at your front door, carrying a scrapbook of all their adventures to share with you. | There he was, just like he had never left. My mouth dropped open at the sight of his golden fur that faded to grey around his nose. He was lazily laying on the porch just like he would 10 years ago. Damn, it's like he never really left. When he saw me, he sat up, tail wagging like he always did. This time, however, instead of hopping up and dashing to greet me, he gently turned around and delicately picked up a book. I felt a pull, urging me to meet him.
"Hey, buddy!" I called to him. He lifted his head as if to motion me to join him. "It's been a long time, I thought you were... Well, never mind that." He gently place the book on the ground in front of him. Goldens are always so gentle.
"It has been too long," he sighed, "I thought we might not see each other again, but here we are!" My jaw must have been hanging lower than the Marianas Trench, I was so shocked. I couldn't say anything. After a long silence, he said, "C'mon, I have a lot to show you." He nosed open the book. It was filled with pictures. Fields of flowers, mountaintops, cities... He must have sniffed every inch of this world with how many pictures there were, each featuring an overjoyed golden dog.
"Paris was my favorite. I don't know why, but there was something special about chasing the pigeons around the Eiffel Tower." He stared at the page. A large picture of my pal snapping at birds was taking up the whole page. "It wasn't my best moment, nor the most fun, but it was the most memorable. Boy was it lonely, though. I'm happy to see you home."
"Me?! You're finally back! I missed you so much! Where did you go first?" I asked, flipping through the book. This thing was enormous and seemed to go on forever.
"I had to go to the vet first to get my shots. Humans have to too before traveling, right?" I felt his tail thud twice on the ground. It didn't seem like a pleasant memory for him. "I then went to a huge field filled with flowers." The next page of the scrapbook had a silhouetted picture of a dog form surrounded by amazing color. "I just kept gong from there."
I kept turning pages and questions started flowing into my head, but there were only two that mattered to me: "How...Why?" I asked.
"I was waiting..." His voice trailed off and he almost looked sad.
"For what?"
"Family. Here you are, but I thought I'd see Mom first."
"Huh? Mom should be home already." I said. I stood up and opened the door. The house was perfect. Either Mom skipped work to clean or something's wrong. "What's going on?" I asked of my golden standing behind me.
"She probably won't be home for a long time. I waited 10 years for you, but I hope we have to wait longer for Mom." He walked up beside me. "What would you like to do in the meantime?"
I felt like I was dreaming.
"Are we..." I couldn't even finish the question; the tightness in my throat wouldn't let me.
"C'mon, let me show you Paris." He said, turning around. I followed him out the door, suddenly standing in the middle of fleeing pigeons. There was something special about it.
Edit: proofreading. | "Shellbert?" I dropped my briefcase, mouth ajar. It couldn't be. He died ten years ago. But the markings were unmistakable. So was the battle scar across his shell from when we were playing Talladega Nights on my old Flyer wagon.
It was really him.
The old tortoise turned slowly around to regard me, his mouth slowly chewing on a carrot. I stared at him. He stared at me. It was an...underwhelming reunion considering the gap in time. I closed the distance between us and knelt down, "Where have you been? I thought you died. How did you find me?" It didn't make any sense, I lived three states away from where I grew up. He must have traveled hundreds of miles to find me somehow.
I picked him up, raising his face to my level. No spark of recognition, no arms outstretched to greet me, just a tortoise gnawing on the end of a carrot. I'm not sure what I expected. I guess the oddness of the situation made me hope for some sort of explanation.
As I moved to put him down I noticed a large book where he had been standing. "What's this Shellbert?" I picked it up, the black leather cover had a tortoise embossed on it. "Is this yours?" He looked at me and then to the book and then back at me. He chewed once. I took that for a yes.
Curious, I opened up the book and looked at the first page. There was a dedication. "Sorry I had to go it alone, but you were always in my heart. \-\- Shellbert."
I glanced down at Shellbert again, "You can write?" Shellbert had nothing for me, just another chew. It wasn't like he had ever responded before, I'd always just sort of talked to him. It was comforting. Even in a situation as surreal as this.
Turning to the next page, there was a picture of Shellbert walking down the road, heading toward a new sunrise. Looking closer I noticed it was the street I had grown up on. The caption simply read: "On to adventures." I shook my head in wonder, that's what my mom said he left to do. I just figured she chose that since there wasn't a 'farm' for him to go to.
I flip to the next page. It's a picture of Shellbert Skydiving. No, not alone, that'd be crazy. He was in one of those tandem getups, strapped to person's front. I chuckle, wondering who would have taken a random tortoise on a skydiving run. Turning my eyes to the next page, I get my answer: Britney fucking Spears. The caption: "Don't worry, I hit her one more time."
...Ok?
The next page is Shellbert opening for Metallica. Front and center, standing on a keyboard with a bunch of dudes shredding in the background. "Owed Lars a favor." Lars? Ulrich? The drummer? The opposite page is Shellbert doing a god damn snow angel in a mountain of cocaine. Caption: "Didn't know they had skiing in Colombia but the powder's great!"
I look down at Shellbert again. "What the hell man?"
Flip.
Oh sure, Barrack Obama. Why not? Yeah, the president regularly welcomed tortoises into the Oval fucking Office for a fist bump.
Flip.
All right, now I'm pissed. It's him getting painted by Bob Ross, the BOSS ROSS. The guy did landscapes! Why is he painting a fucking tortoise? From the setting, it looks like it's a tastefully done boudoir painting. Caption: "RIP Bob. I'll never forget what we had."
Rage in full effect now. I changed this little fucker's shit infested bowl for like 12 years and he just peaces out to climb to the top of fuck mountain and shit all over my life?
No, seriously. The next page is a picture of him at some porn convention sitting on top of a pyramid of busty playmates with a caption "Top of Fuck Mountain. So glad I left home XOXO \<3 \<3 \<3."
I slam the book down and look at Shellbert. "So why'd you come back if life was so great? Huh?" I'm yelling at him on the stoop of my apartment building. I'm getting looks from passers\-by but I'm way beyond that. I want some god damn answers.
Shellbert chews on the carrot one more time and then swallows, emitting a small belch. "Rehab"
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2018-04-28T19:17:57 | 2018-04-28T17:38:08 | 1,102 | 126 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it. | "There's going to be a robbery."
Mr. Khun raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Is that so, Chelsea?" he said in a measured tone. "And how do you know this?"
I met his gaze evenly, without so much as hesitating. "Just doing my job, sir," I said. "I got wind of the fact that there's going to be a robbery, and so I figured you should know about it," I said with a shrug. Not a single lie in that sentence - I was sort of impressed.
Mr. Khun frowned, his eyebrows coming together. "Do you know who it's going to be?"
I let one corner of my lip curl up. "Sir, are you asking me if I *know who the culprit is* before the crime even happens?"
Mr. Khun massaged his temples/ "Right, right. Idiotic of me, Chelsea, it's just this whole situation is...a bit stressful.
"I'd imagine so, sir," I said, trying not to let my relief show. That had been way too close. I hadn't actually answered the question, and luckily he hadn't pressed. He shook his head again as if to clear it. "So what should we do, Chelsea, do you know much about the plans or execution?"
"Not much," I said, answering the first question, not the second one, "I saw all we need to do is close the bank to the general public for the weekend. Most of the banking is online anyways so it wouldn't be too much of a loss."
Mr. Khun frowned. "But wouldn't the robbers just try again? This is just a delaying tactic, and on top of that, I have full faith in our security system, I'm convinced we can stop a robbery, especially one we know is coming."
"It'll only get messy Mr. Khun," I said. "We'll probably stop them, but when they realize what's going to happen they'll take hostages and the whole situation will just spiral down to hell." Mr. Khun pursed his lips but nodded.
"And I do know for a fact that if they don't succeed this weekend, I doubt they'll try again." It was true enough. If I failed, I'd probably be in jail.
"Alright, Chelsea, so what is your plan specifically?"
I bit my tongue to keep myself from grinning. "Close the bank, but let me stay inside with a handful of trustworthy people I'll handpick," I shrugged again. "I'll handle it."
Mr. Khun sat back in his chair, lips pursed, eyebrows together for what seemed like an eternity. Then finally, blessedly, he nodded. "Alright Chelsea, I trust you'll handle this."
"Oh, I most certainly will, Mr. Khun. Not to worry."
I extended my hand and Mr. Khun took it in his firm grip. I gave a shallow nod, and walked out of his office. That was when I finally allowed myself a smile.
I had some preparations to make.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| The door to the interrogation room opened. The person inside looked up from her table to see the detective walk in.
"Good evening Miss Johnson, I hope you haven't been treated too badly by the boys?" he asked.
"As badly as they would someone who allowed over a hundred million dollars to vanish in the blink of an eye," she spat back.
"Now don't be like that. I'm sure we'll sort this out in no time."
"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."
The detective sighed as he pulled out a pen and notebook from his coat, as well as a folder that he opened, revealing a profile of a man in his thirties.
"I'll ask you a few questions, if you don't mind." said the detective.
"That's what you're here for."
"Miss Johnson, as the former manager of the United Bank headquarters, you were the one that gave the key to the suspect."
"Was that a question?"
"Just establishing some facts."
"Yes, I was."
"What did he tell you that prompted you to give it to him?"
"I thought he was joking."
"What?"
"I thought he was joking," repeated the former manager.
The detective ran a hand through is hair. "You can't be serious, are you telling me you gave the key to--"
"Yes, yes, I did."
"And you thought he was joking."
"You're just repeating yourself."
"Miss Johnson..."
"Smith was a man who could never tell a lie, okay?" said Miss Johnson heatedly. "Never in a million years. The last time he tried to, everyone in the office saw through it. Lying and Smith in the same sentence was just impossible."
"So he was telling the truth about wanting to rob the bank? Why did you give it to him, still?"
At this the young executive looked down, sheepish. "I wasn't in the right frame of mind back then," she said, looking away.
The detective frowned but wrote it on his notebook.
"Go on," he said.
"It was a slow day that day, not many clients. I recall Smith going back and forth from the vault several times. I asked him about it, and he said 'he was bored'. So I let him be." said Miss Johnson.
"So when did--"
"I was getting to that. I returned to my office to finish up some paperwork. A few minutes later he came to my office, asking for my key and my part of the vault's password. He said he was going to steal the vault."
"And you just gave it to him?"
"I thought he was joking!"
"Has he joked before in his work?"
"Sometimes. He wasn't unsociable by any means, but that doesn't mean he's doesn't interact with us."
The detective wrote down that piece of information on the paper. But something flashed in his mind.
"What kid of jokes does he tell you?"
"Anti-jokes. His humor was flat and dry," said Miss Johnson. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "That was why I thought he was joking when he said that he was going to steal the money in the vault. That vault is the most secure in the world, only accessible when you enter two different keys and passwords at the same time. "
"And as the head of security, he has the second set of keys and passwords..."
"Urk--!"
Shaking his head, the detective stowed away his materials back into his coat and stood up. Miss Johnson's gaze followed him as he went to the door.
"Well, I think that about sums up everything. Thank you for your time, Miss Johnson."
"Wait, what's going to happen to me now?"
The detective looked back at her. "Judging from what I heard today, it's not looking good, honestly."
Miss Johnson's face fell.
"In fact, if I were you, I'd plead guilty and spend the rest of my days in a minimum security prison. What you just did was worthy of The Onion, you know."
"I can't believe this," said Miss Johnson, burying her face in her hands. "I ruined my life for a joke?"
Pitying her, the detective walked and patted her on the head. "We'll solve this case, okay, and we'll get you your life back."
---
*I made a few minor edits. Thank you for reading!* | 2018-05-03T05:19:52 | 2018-05-03T04:58:40 | 1,328 | 135 |
[WP] Everyone is given a personal "therapy droid", attuned to your needs, able to provide medical or emotional aid at exactly the right moment. Except you. You've had 10 droids and they've all self-destructed after the initial scan. | "If you'll just sign here ..." the nurse said.
"Like hell I will," I growled. Want me to sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek.
"You have to," she chided.
I glared at her from underneath my eyebrows. It was a pretty good glare, because my eyebrows have gotten pretty damn bushy and white in my old age. Having better eyebrows for glaring is one of the very few positives about getting old. Pretty much everything else about being old is shitty. Like having to put up with chipper nurses trying to give me robots.
"No, I damn well don't have to sign for it. I didn't sign for any of the other ten, and you still made me take them. If you could make me sign, you would have already," I said.
She frowned. I wasn't going according to plan. "What other ten?" she asked.
Hah, no one told her about my history with their goddamn therapy droids. "These robots, they don't like me. They explode when they try to scan my brainwaves, or whatever it is that those confangled things do."
She pursed her lips. "Mr. Fredericks, they do not scan brainwaves. They monitor autonomic and verbal responses. That's all. And the idea that that would make them burn out is ridiculous. I've never heard of such a thing." She explained it to me like I was a fourth grader.
I gritted my dentures and turned back toward the window. "Suit y'self," I said.
She sighed, and I heard her pen scritch across the paper. She was checking off the box where it said 'patient refuses to sign,' no doubt. Have to sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek.
"Now is there anything else? Because otherwise, I'll let you two get acquainted," she said. "His name is Grover."
I grunted something which she correctly understood to mean that I was done talking to her, and she left. The goddamn robot whirred up behind me.
"Hi, there, Mr. Fredericks!" it chirped. "My name is Grover!"
I ignored it. After a minute, it rolled into my field of vision. "I'm sensing you're a bit irritated today, Mr. Fredericks. Is there anything I can do to --"
I glanced behind me quick just to make sure that the nurse did actually leave, then I leaned forward toward the robot. "Peanut butter," I whispered.
Its little metal eyebrows peaked in a look of confusion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Fredericks, but I don't--"
"Peanut butter," I repeated. "Peanut butter, peanut butter, marshmallow fluff, peanut butter, frog legs, peanut butter, bulldozer, peanut butter, blue, peanut butter, erudition ... "
It's funny that the doctors think there's some big mystery about why the robots keep exploding around me, when they 'd have a pretty fair guess if they ever took two minutes online to look up my employment history. Twenty years ago, I was responsible for programming the first generation of therapy droids, and I wrote most of the basic system architecture myself ... which the manufacturers are apparently still using, likely because they're too cheap to pay someone to rewrite it.
Dipshits.
So I can tell you exactly what a cock-up the entire thing is. I had deadlines, all-nighters. I damn near lived on coffee with a side of junk food for four months straight, and it shows in the code, which is garbage, through and through. But the upside is that if you know the trick of it, it's pretty easy to start a catastrophic feedback loop in the verbal predictive functions.
I stopped talking as soon as it began to shake, and I covered my eyes when its abstraction circuits started to overheat and pop, because that meant that the cascade was approaching the firmware responsible for its secondary subroutines. There was a small bang when its artificial paracortex blew, and I got a little spark on my pants that I had to beat out.
Then I leaned back in my chair and let myself enjoy the rest of the day in peace.
Sign for a goddamn robot, my left ass cheek. | The therapist gave me a pained look. "Ok, look. I know the other, er, attempts weren't successful, but... it's a government-mandated procedure. We don't pay for it, you don't pay for it, but you have to have it. It's like a driver's license, or a social security number - you just have to have one, ok?"
I ran my hand through my hair. "You just... you don't get it, doc. I had a perfect childhood. I have a great job, a beautiful wife, and five years of savings in the bank. I spend time with my kids, I walk my dog, I eat healthy, I don't even have any allergies. For the love of God, please stop sending me therapy droids!"
The therapist sighed. "Look, Mr. Carmichael. As I said, it's government mandated. Everyone has to have one. They don't spy on you, and any data collected can only be unlocked by you. See?"
He turned his laptop towards me; it was waiting for the command code to unlock my data. "Perfectly secure."
I rattled off my password, entered my fingerprint, and typed the twelve digit bio-code. "There, unlocked. Read through the data, doctor! I don't need these droids!"
With a slightly exasperated sigh, he began scrolling through the information. "Emotional stresses, none... health issues, none... ah, marital - oh, no, I see. None. Hmm."
He scrolled further, clicking and muttering to himself. Finally, he stopped, looking back and forth between his screen and my face. I knew what he was seeing; the data showed I was absolutely fine, perfectly balanced, while my face showed the visage of a living train wreck: bags under my bloodshot eyes, wrinkled clothes, a nervous twitch, and a manic glare. "Uh... Mr. Carmichael... this shows you are perfectly balanced. I don't think I've ever seen someone with as balanced a life as you appear to lead. But, uh..."
"My face? The edge of terror in my voice? They don't compute, do they! Well, I'll tell you why they don't fit. None of those questions relate to the well-being of my droid, do they?"
"Well-being... droid? I'm not sure... it does have information about the droid, sir, and it appears that you treat it with respect; you don't have any undiagnosed droid-related fears or biases, as far as I can tell."
I clenched the edge of his desk, feeling the dread and rage filling me. "You're not paying attention, doc. I don't fear the droid. I *do* care about it. But I'm too stable!"
He stared at me blankly. "Too... stable?"
"It's a divide-by-zero error! I have - had - no stress in my life! If I felt out-of-sorts, I'd just go walk in my garden! But then these droids came along, and diagnosed me, and when they find absolutely nothing to fix... they blow up! Every one of them! And that freaks me out, things blowing up, so naturally I get stressed! But then it's not a divide-by-zero error any more, so they're fine! You know what worries me doc? It's only being *stressed* that keeps them from blowing up, so if I'm stressed they are fine, which is a relief, but if I'm relieved then I don't have any worries, which ***MAKES THEM BLOW UP!!*** Being stress-free *makes me stressed out!*"
I stared down at him, panting, and wiped the flecks of spittle from my lips. He gulped, and adjusted his glasses. "Er... yes. I think I understand, now. Er... may I?"
He nodded to the eleventh droid, the ticking time bomb, behind me. "Therapy droid T-D-5-C-C dash, er, eleven? Mr. Carmichael really, really wants... a puppy.
A gentle whir sounded behind me. "Dr. Glashouse, nothing in Charles's demeanor has suggested this. How have you come to this conclusion?"
The doctor removed his glasses, wiping them with a shaky hand. "Er, yes. Well. His records indicate a childhood pet, and perhaps his current state is merely due to the lack of an animal companion, the likes of which have been documented as being stress relief. There is no other stress in his life, so perhaps that is a possible solution?"
I took a deep breath. I counted the beats of my heart as it slowed, feeling the stress leaving me... and watched the droid out of the corner of my eye. It stood for a long moment. I knew it could tell I was losing the immediate stress, and with each passing second, I grew a little less worried that it would explode. Finally, it tilted its head. "Charles Carmichael, I will find you a puppy. A perfect puppy, as similar to your childhood pet as possible. Would this reduce your stress?"
I felt a grin breaking over my face. "Oh, you have no idea, 5CC."
As I lead the explosion-free droid back to my vehicle, I couldn't help but wonder. What would happen once we got a puppy? And more importantly... would *it* get a therapy droid, too? | 2018-05-09T14:17:28 | 2018-05-09T13:21:59 | 50 | 35 |
[WP] You are a powerful sorcerer, who requires the blood of your servants to cast your spells. You've recently discovered they have been using theater tricks to avoid injury and have substituted your ingredients with common household items... but your spells have been stronger than ever. | Being a powerful modern\-day sorcerer in the country has its benefits. Having unlimited resources at my disposal, provided for by the government, and being able to provide work and shelter for the unemployed as my servants. They both prepare my meals, clean up my mansion, and of course, become the source of my power. Normally, I would go to the blood bank and purchase bags of blood. Blood transfusion from my servants, however, is very cost\-efficient and saves a lot of tax dollars, allowing me to spend as much as I want on other matters.
However, I cannot extract too much blood from my servants, because of obvious reasons. That is why I keep my spell\-casting activities in moderation, so as to not expend to much of my blood reserves. Activities may include food replication, infrastructure restoration, and precognition, in case of a natural disaster or oncoming threat from foreign invaders. I cannot, however, replicate my blood due to how delicate liquids unfortunately are and it may botch the spells I conjure up.
Recently, however, my spells have become even more powerful, being able to fix bridges and reinforce buildings in less than 30 minutes, and being able to foresee oncoming threats 5 months in advance. *I'm on a roll.*
But alas, I must prepare for the blood transfusions on my servants, which they may not be happy about. 30 subjects were selected for the operation and they're ready to go. I'll start with Regine. I believe she's always been the healthiest among the lot. I insert my needle in he\-\-
There's a tube taped in her arm covered with prosthetic makeup.
"Regine, explain yourself."
"I'm sorry, boss. We tried to endure it but we couldn't take it anymore!" she said, in a sorry, whining manner. "So instead, we concocted a series of hybridization, with plants that are known to contain iron, juiced the hybrid fruigetables \-\-"
"*Fruigetables?*" I asked.
"Fruits and vegetables. Honestly, i did not think it would work, but Terry is an ***amazing*** botanist."
"Hi boss!" Terry waved at me, smiling nervously.
I stored away the syringe underneath the desk, asking Regine "So what your trying to tell me is, all I needed to make my spells stronger were liquid compounds that are high in iron?"
"Well, not too high. We found that out the hard way. Remember the time you attended a reading at an elementary and tried to replicate an apple, but instead it started talking?"
"Yes. That was horrifying. I believe I scarred the children for life and was told I was not allowed within a 50 meter radius from that specific school."
"That story made headlines in all news networks. *Even the tabloids.*" said Regine, in a begrudgingly sad manner.
"I can still remember the apple saying, '*What am I?'"* I had a momentary flashback of that memory. It was truly horrible, especially how an apple can look at you, even without eyes. And I *knew* it was looking at me.
"Anyway we figured it out in a few months and here we are!" said Regine, jokingly and laughing nervously.
"Anyway, thank you for reminding me of that horrible incident with the apple. In this case, you're dismissed. See you next Monday." I said, while removing my disposable gloves to the bin.
"So... we're not fired?"
"No! I never knew that I had so many talented people working under me! I could use people from the sciences to work on my magic. See you next Monday." I smiled at them before leaving the operating room.
"Great! Thanks boss!"
*Feedback and criticism much appreciated.* | Day 47
I have begun the exaction of the Tetronic plates upon the Melate Fault. By applying Enara's vitum to the scale model my next ritual site has been marked. I shall take Jareth and Bondir with me for his performance. The scripts advise that virile blood creates the best boundaries for what we are attempting. Tomorrow shall be a long trek to the barge that will carry us to the site. I expect to travel nine days in all.
\[the designs are of a basic band with intricate scrawling within The design within the band seems to look like a map more than any occult iconography\]
We are the best part of 2 moons into this research of golemancy and the staff couldn't be more supportive, while I presume this might be due to the fact that I have not had to cast much as we are broaching a new classification of magic making a lot of it theoretical \- which restricts their injuries to needle scratches. Tell people they are making history and they laugh, give them a biscuit and a blanket and they will sing your praises.
I must pack now, forceps, compasses and weights \- glasses, ritual blades and powders, not mentioning my standard bulk of trinkets. The duties we pay to our craft.
Day 50
We have traveled well and are onboard the barge, Jareth and Bondir have had an up\-turn in their spirits, including me in their storytelling and games. My master taught me that keeping your mind clear is one of the most important skills in the entire existence \- it is said to improve productivity and morale. The evening brought with it alcohol and when pressed by my servants and the crew I shared the following:
*I began my apprenticeship as a servant, much as you are now. I chose to study rather than being picked. Taught myself to read at the age of 11, and to cast minor tricks with animal blood by 14. No one kidnapped me into the life; asked my parents to sell me so that they could eat during a bad winter. Put away those faces, pity is not the aim; after all its common knowledge. You lads are more than cattle to me, regardless of what you think. I chose you both because you worked hard in the Hamlet and I thought you had a shot at something more, in a year your servitude shall be at its end and your pay shall free you to settle anywhere in this world. I am no Andil of Marris. Your lives are precious to me. Every performance is carefully planned out and on full display.*
*Andil of Marris? He was the Arch Magister of the blood sorcerors. To you common people he is probably not known, but his atrocities are: Dianal, Odar and Kankalin. And Don't forget Folchant. I was the kindling for the fire of Folchant. A city turned to ash in one day. The order of Wyld sorcerors, destroyed in four short hours. The cost? three pints of my blood...*
They wished to hear no more of my rambling and guilt and bade me to bed. the boat's berth held me well. Probably for the best. We are making good time, and today I can plan out the basic trimmings to add to the performance.
Day 63
I have been betrayed. Jareth and Bondir had me use berry water and flour. My tools have been replaced with nothing but quack trappings: confetti \- fireworks and a stage knife. I realised too late. My parlance with the fault had already begun so I continued to the pointless conclusion. I closed with my own blood \- a taboo and a sign of failure\- but anything is better than letting this go rampant to be claimed by any fool whose friend trips around here. Upon our return they will both know my fury. Embarassment does not begin to describe it. With this failure I can no longer access the Fault ruining any chances of me developing Golemancy on this continent.
\[The rest of this book was torn off, leaving this as the only whole part. A small fragment was found by an individual in the next city, crumped and barely legible\]
Day 64
Something has awoken\- The Fault trembles, and so does my body. Something occured in that circle. Had I misjudged the situation. Was blood the channel to direct the power rather than the source? Something has awoken. It is not artificial and it is not a golem. I hear it in my ear and head. With a mere farce I have awoken the primordial. and it is I now. There is rage and it is mine and its and we are I. THE WORLD HAS RESTED LONG ENOUGH. | 2018-05-13T11:08:36 | 2018-05-13T10:43:02 | 55 | 36 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | The vWall in my apartment flickered to life, a flash immediately appearing to signal an emergency bulletin.
I stopped gumming my sandwich long enough to hit the mute button before that fucking baby President Burris started talking. They all looked like babies to me. It'd been long enough that I couldn't remember being that young, feeling that young. It made it hard to empathize with all of the pomp and circumstance of the office of the presidency when a kid was gabbing at you.
Was I bitter? Sure. Maybe a little. But still. Fucking babies.
I heard he was on the high end of pill\-kids. Maybe only a few years younger than me, though he didn't look it. I watched him for a few moments, taking a bit of amusement in the pulsing vein in his forehead while my finger hovered over the unmute button. He was looking particularly distressed today. Must be hard having everlasting life.
Probably an update on that volcano rolling through Hawaii for the last sixty years. Heaven to hell in under a century.
A chiron scrolled across the bottom, blaring "EMERGENCY: VITA26 DEFECTS."
Well, that was new. My finger pressed the unmute and I took a bite of my ham and cheese as Burris squeaky kid voice emitted from the vWall.
"\-\-drastic ramifications for the health of our society. We currently have no estimation on what it will take to rectify the situation as all genetic manipulations have become inert in V26 takers."
My jaw slowly hung open, a half ground piece of ham plopping out onto my plate. What was that? I wave my hand in front of the vWall, rewinding the message by a minute.
"Current studies produced by our Department of Health, the United Nations and the Chinese Ministry of People have all reached the same conclusion: V26 has a detrimental side effect. The side effect was not originally discovered since longitudinal surveys only encompassed 10 year periods. Initial signs manifest approximately fifty years with a rate of deterioration varying based on genetic composition."
What the hell was he going on about? What critical side effect?
"We have tried a vast cross section of remedies with no solutions in sight. Clearly, this has drastic ramifications for the Department of Health. We currently have no estimation on what it will take to rectify the situation as all genetic manipulations have become inert in V26 takers."
Ok, I got that part, which was alarming in and of itself. Gene\-therapy, ever since CRISPR has been the hallmark of modern civilization. I was old, but I wasn't dying. I had another thirty or forty left in me thanks to gene therapy.
"To repeat, people exhibiting the symptoms of V26 degradation are to be considered EXTREMELY DANGEROUS. If you see someone exhibiting these signs, you are to call the number appearing on your screen."
Burris was reduced to a small picture\-in\-picture in the corner, with a large graphic appearing. On top there was a CDC number for those showing V26 Syndrome. Below, the symptoms were listed out.
*Deterioration in higher mental reasoning.*
*Deterioration in physical coordination.*
*Extreme violence.*
*Cannibalism.*
Fucking cannibalism? This shit got real in a hurry. Wait a second. My eyes scanned down through the list of symptoms again. This was all sounding a bit too familiar, like those old scary movies from my youth.
Zombies. They were all turning in to zombies.
Shit. The old guy never lives in zombie movies.
**Platypus out.**
**Want more peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | It wasn't that we suddenly realized all at once. Bunch of us older folks noticed something was... off about them. We tried to say something, but each time we were doubted. And honestly, we couldn't help but doubt ourselves: our wisdom and ability to self reflect blinded us. Because of this, it took a lot longer than was probably reasonable or necessary before our suspicions were confirmed. I'm not going to say that old cliche line "by then, it was too late.", because it wasn't. The cure was simple: stop taking the drug. Many went into denial either because they were already too far gone in their insanity or too scared to take the leap. I couldn't blame them. Those that got off the drugs aged dramatically. In a week, they caught back up to speed. Many of those that made the healthy decision couldn't handle the shock of getting old. Most of them went into depression and no amount of reassurance and advice could alleviate the pain. I could imagine what it was like to be old, but I had decades of resignation to prepare me. I slowly learned to make the best of it, but they thought they were free.
Truly free.
So many of them that had the courage to quit the drug either drugged themselves numb on something else or quit all together. Not many of the "Free Generation" remains, and it's mostly those who had only started on the drug very recently. They are too young to fend for themselves. So alot of us older folks that are still around have been talking: We had to try the drug ourselves. There are too many to care for and so few of us left. Senior healthcare funding and research dried up after the drug, but our medicine outside of fighting old age was beyond imaginable. We knew the side effects would kick in much, much earlier for us. But, we just needed a few more years. Without it, there just wasn't enough time.
--PART 2--
With no alternative, we agreed on a plan. Those useless otherwise would use the drug immediately; this meant the bedridden, dying, and/or utterly senile. We didn't ask for consent, but most of them wanted the drug their whole lives anyways. I knew I did. But, there were those who still bitterly hated the drug and refused it. They remembered the tears they wept as they hopelessly begged the pharmaceutical committee to reconsider. They told me stories of how even their children saw them differently and were ashamed of them. They wept through the agony of still loving them in spite of this; they were just happy that their children at least wouldn't have to fear death anymore. One even admitted to wanting to die quickly so that their children would stop being picked on.
"As long as I am their parent, they could never be free."
"It'd be better if the children forgot about us altogether."
But reality and fate were much crueler, their children though ungrateful died before them anyways. Despite all that they went through, the drug was nothing more than a poison that took what they held most dear away from them. They rightly demanded an explanation as to why they should trust us. Some accused us of delusion, callousness, and fraud. Rarely could I find any surviving grandchildren, so I brought along the orphans of strangers and plead the best I could. Though they had every reason to refuse, by some miracle not one refused. Many covered their eyes and wept as we administered the injection; slowly their wrinkles smoothed out and old aches and scars disappeared.
For the rest of us, we tried to delay the injection for as long as humanely possible. With the fate of the world resting on our shoulders, we suddenly received a new lease on life. It seemed some notion of 'we can't die now' reach our bodies as many of us noticed less aches and pains.
We were still careful. We slept in pairs and strung 24/7 vitals monitors. The moment any of us flatlined, our partners would administer the injection right away and begin resuscitation. The drug usually alleviated the cause of death, but only bought us a set finite amount of time: we would age backwards until we died. We called it B. Button Syndrome after the famous short story. If there was a cure, we would definitely not receive it in time. We joked that it wasn't the first time we would miss out and we didn't want to find out what the side effects for "the cure" were going to be anyways. | 2018-06-04T21:03:55 | 2018-06-04T20:31:31 | 1,108 | 218 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | As I sit here, scrolling through the unending feed, I can't help but wonder if what's going on around us is the same thing. Anti-aging this, prolonged life that. It seems like it's continuous.
When I was a kid, I could never understand why reading and watching the news was so important. Now, as I approach my 86th year, I know why. It's been preparing us for the worst. It's been showing us what our world has become. Almost 60 years ago, that shit was released. I was envious at first but I recovered. I was just starting out at Microcon. Worked my way up pretty quickly. Retired with a nice, fat pension. They announced what happened to my revulsion.
It seems as though A.I. had surpassed all predictions and quietly rolled out an anti-aging serum called Reversol that would stop it all together. Only problem was, you had to be young in order to be young forever. Apparently, 28 was no longer considered young. Bullshit. Either way, I kept earning my paycheck, met my sweetheart and retired happy. That's when the rumors started. Turns out Reversol wasn't as great as they said. Rumors were that it started with migraines. Even if you'd never had one, once a week you'd have a blinding migraine. Coinciding with the serum treatments. After the migraine, motor functions would start being...funny. Finger twitches, leg spasms, random hard ons. All the while, your internals were working to eliminate you. You started feeling...controlled. Like the actions you take aren't exactly yours.
20 years now, I've been hearing about how A.I. was going to rule us and it turns out, it does. With a phrase, our smart homes are controlled by a little speaker that answers our every command. A.I. developed Reversol to take us out. It put together a 60 year plan. If you were over 26, you would pose the least resistance when shit hit the fan. I can barely move now. They were right.
Now, I write this in hopes that it'll reach someone who CAN do something. You see, I've been feeling...funny. But it comes it waves. One day I'm fine, the next is sketchy. Today is a good day. I always thought it would be some debilitating disease that got me. Now, I'm not so sure.
Good luck, whoever you are.... | Every single year, on the same date, my brother comes to pay me a visit at the retirement home. That date was two days ago, and he didn't come.
At first, I comply assumed that he was a busy man. He worked long hours in the office and over the course of the last 59 years, he's had many promotions and many raises. and it seams even his children now are becoming old enough to take the drug of immortality, like he did.
So today I decided to finally leave the home and go look for him myself. Maybe I can surprise him. Maybe I can even see him at work. I spoke to the people at the office, they seamed to think it was a bad idea to let me go. To hell with them, I'm not too frail. I'm strong as I need to be, and to prove it I escape through the window to search for mt brother.
I go to his house and there's another family in there. I ask them about the previous owner, but they just assume I'm crazy and slam the door on me. And this used to be such a courteous neighborhood too. I guess many things have changed since I last was out.
Next I go to his work and ask around, but they wouldn't let me up into the building. The receptionist tells me no one by that names works there. This is odd. Way too odd. Something is up.
Next I go to his favourite cafe. He used to take his wife there all the time, including before they even got married. The barista was a long term personal friend of my brother, so if anything were to happen to him, I'm sure she would know. But she's not at the cafe.
I ask the current barista about her, and he tells me it was his mother, and he also tells me where I can find his mother, but that she won't be able to help me. I must take the change, this is starting to drive me insane. I must see my brother again, soon I will die and he will live forever.
Could it be that the previous barista was over the age threshold like me? The place he told me to look for her was at my very own retirement home! It's strange because she looked like she was in her teens when she was working at the cafe.
Luckily the sun told me the ward too, which was different to mine. I sneak in knowing that when I turn myself in properly I'll get tighter security and won't be able to pull this stunt again.
When I get in, I didn't find the barista. Instead I found my brother! he was there in the ward speaking to some of the folks there. I go up to him and shout his name being so happy that I get to see him again! But he looks at me oddly and gets up from his chair, feeling scared now that I'm advancing at him in such a fast manner.
He has no idea who I am! I ask him bout his job, his children, the cafe... Nada. I go into the bathroom to cry for a while and then finally turn myself in.
The drug of immortality after many years gives you periodical amnesia and problems with your memory both long and short term. Some people even forget speech entirely. The nurse explained to me. Not only that, but my brother has not come to see me in many, many years. I was told many times that I have Alzheimer's.
It's been three days now since my brother hasn't come and I leave this note because I've forgotten what he looks like and I know soon enough I will forget I even had a brother. | 2018-06-04T22:20:25 | 2018-06-04T22:08:47 | 63 | 36 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | Every single year, on the same date, my brother comes to pay me a visit at the retirement home. That date was two days ago, and he didn't come.
At first, I comply assumed that he was a busy man. He worked long hours in the office and over the course of the last 59 years, he's had many promotions and many raises. and it seams even his children now are becoming old enough to take the drug of immortality, like he did.
So today I decided to finally leave the home and go look for him myself. Maybe I can surprise him. Maybe I can even see him at work. I spoke to the people at the office, they seamed to think it was a bad idea to let me go. To hell with them, I'm not too frail. I'm strong as I need to be, and to prove it I escape through the window to search for mt brother.
I go to his house and there's another family in there. I ask them about the previous owner, but they just assume I'm crazy and slam the door on me. And this used to be such a courteous neighborhood too. I guess many things have changed since I last was out.
Next I go to his work and ask around, but they wouldn't let me up into the building. The receptionist tells me no one by that names works there. This is odd. Way too odd. Something is up.
Next I go to his favourite cafe. He used to take his wife there all the time, including before they even got married. The barista was a long term personal friend of my brother, so if anything were to happen to him, I'm sure she would know. But she's not at the cafe.
I ask the current barista about her, and he tells me it was his mother, and he also tells me where I can find his mother, but that she won't be able to help me. I must take the change, this is starting to drive me insane. I must see my brother again, soon I will die and he will live forever.
Could it be that the previous barista was over the age threshold like me? The place he told me to look for her was at my very own retirement home! It's strange because she looked like she was in her teens when she was working at the cafe.
Luckily the sun told me the ward too, which was different to mine. I sneak in knowing that when I turn myself in properly I'll get tighter security and won't be able to pull this stunt again.
When I get in, I didn't find the barista. Instead I found my brother! he was there in the ward speaking to some of the folks there. I go up to him and shout his name being so happy that I get to see him again! But he looks at me oddly and gets up from his chair, feeling scared now that I'm advancing at him in such a fast manner.
He has no idea who I am! I ask him bout his job, his children, the cafe... Nada. I go into the bathroom to cry for a while and then finally turn myself in.
The drug of immortality after many years gives you periodical amnesia and problems with your memory both long and short term. Some people even forget speech entirely. The nurse explained to me. Not only that, but my brother has not come to see me in many, many years. I was told many times that I have Alzheimer's.
It's been three days now since my brother hasn't come and I leave this note because I've forgotten what he looks like and I know soon enough I will forget I even had a brother. | *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T22:08:47 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 36 | 25 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.”
I was confused, because this power usually made communication easier, but this girl looks like she’s starting to get really annoyed.
The immigrant cashier from a small village in Italy was really starting to get annoyed with me as I tried to order my lunch.
“Do you speak English? Nobody here speaks Latin.” | "Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops." | 2022-11-14T01:20:39 | 2018-06-24T21:01:01 | 45 | 20 |
[WP] Every time you eat meat, you view the entire life story of the animal it came from up until it's death. It used to bother you, but eventually you become numb to it. One day your wife serves you dinner, and you see the life of the woman you cheated with 3 years ago flash before your eyes. | It was a Wednesday, and as usual, I came home late.
&#x200B;
As soon as I arrived, I felt the smell of dinner being made, I went into the kitchen and gave a kiss to Samatha.
&#x200B;
She looked different, her eyes were shining like diamonds, in a way that i had never seen before.
&#x200B;
I waited for dinner in the living room and listened to samatha sing her favorite song while she was cooking.
&#x200B;
When we sat down to eat, the dinner was different, there was something there that left me distressed.
&#x200B;
And that's when I put the first piece of meat in my mouth, when I felt my saliva digest every bit of that steak I realized I had eaten that before.
&#x200B;
and to my surprise: Sonia still tasted delicious | I started young, the visions they came to me
animals lives, poorly lived, in cramped cages
they all were different and almost none were free
everything life wants, unmet in its last stages
&#x200B;
some were quiet, usually the couldn't see
but still I relived the sounds of death incoming
it felt like an early 90's horror dvd
the time passed slow, I often went to bed crying
&#x200B;
That was long ago, High school was worse
little did I know the horrors had just begun
senior year, that's when I met my love, my curse
she and I were perfect, and our time was always fun
to bad marriage had to go and ruin that, and also, a son
I moved on, she was her, and I was me
I was proud, to be paternally, at least, called fun
and no thought passed where I debated what could be
&#x200B;
I graduated and went to work among other people
the famine was coming and and I didn't want to go hungry
churches rose, with all the despair, surely we weren't saved, not by a steeple?
I did my best, but when we were told, even governments, my were they cranky
&#x200B;
what could we do, there was nothing to be done
accept our fate and do our best to enjoy everyone
till one winter night when I could smell her cooking
It was so great, fresh meat, oh was I excited for this treat
she said "one minute" and that left me thinking
what could it be, meat in this age, my that was feat
&#x200B;
The memories hurt, honestly they felt real
whatever, the distaste is gross, but at least its a meal
with time there was nothing else, we had used all our resources
may as well ignore the fact we are our food sources | 2018-10-16T17:39:31 | 2018-10-16T11:14:50 | 28 | 13 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | When the great double doors grated open, and approaching clatters echoed in the chamber, the old king didn't have to ask for his new guest to announce himself. He knew very well what sound bones made when they struck stone.
"Fate, Death, End," the king said, his voice papery and brittle. He straightened on his iron throne. "What name do you prefer, ancient thing?"
The clatters halted, and a flurry of cold winds brushed the king's body, a succession of lingering breaths, turning the tips of his white hair into icicles. "You can choose it, Dymori," Death said slowly, his voice was frost, and his words held winter in their core. "This is your day, and I'm here to please your last request."
"Last request?" Dymori asked, his brows knit. "Is that a last wish of sorts?"
"Yes," Death said, his voice half a hiss. "Telling your son goodbye perhaps, or a last, healthy night with your wife. Whatever you please."
"I see," the king said and rose to his feet, struggling. Death aided him. "May I show you a painting I painted when I was younger?"
"Is that your request?" Death asked, skull tilted, coruscant scythe in hand.
"It is. Follow me."
He guided Death past his chamber, down into a tunnel with a thrice locked door, and to the small room beyond, where a single, golden-framed painting adorned the walls.
"Look at it closely, and tell me what you see," Dymori said, and clasped his hands behind his back.
The painted was a mess of many-colored strokes, as if a tiger of opalescent claws had attacked a white wall viciously.
Death stared, silent, immersing himself in the colors and the shades. There were reds and blues and purples. In the chaotic strokes, he saw a child standing alongside a glistening ice-sheathed river. There was a rock in his hands, and his arms were aloft. His eyebrows were creased, and his eyes held fury inside. The lands encompassing him and the river weren't snow-kissed but barren and black, as if burned.
The sky was made of blazing embers, and its heat fell in the shape of wavering yellow waves partitioning across the child and the river and the land. But the child was cloaked with thick furs, and the ice was solid. What did it all mean? How did he conceal this scene within wild strokes?
Questions and more questions flooded Death’s mind, and he kept looking, searching for answers that he would never find.
"What do you think, ancient one?" Dymori said, his voice distant. Death turned, and found the king standing behind the door. When their eyes met, Dymori shut the door, locking the three locks.
Death walked toward the door, yet something tugged at his feet, and there he found a golden shackle, shining beneath the shifting torchlight. He swung his scythe at the shackle, but it didn't break. Not even a scratch was left on its surface.
"What did you expect," Dymori said behind the door, "of Sisyphus' son?"
--------------------------------------------
/r/ahumongousfish
| "I dream of the sunset." She said, her face an empty shadow.
"The sunset dreams of you." I smiled and brought her shapeless face to mine; my lips seeking hers.
*Sunset dreams of you.*
Rick's eyes snapped open, the dream shattering around him. What the hell?
He was in a room. The faintest traces of sunlight showed on the white marble floor, the slight rhythmic weaving of the red curtains causing them to appear and vanish continuously.
Where the hell was he?
He stood up slowly, and realized there was someone else on the bed. A lady with skin of deep gold lay on the bed, tucked underneath the grey duvet.
He flushed and hurriedly dressed himself, and walked out of the room, searching for the exit. The house was dark, the windows shuttered.
*Dark, charred black walls...*
*A wrecked home. A burning house. Flames towering above.*
He reached clumsily for the door and lurched, his steps uneven and shaky. His memories... Each memory had the sharp tang of pain and sorrow to it, cutting deep into him. He stepped awkwardly and bumped into a small wooden table, throwing it to the floor.
He'd broken his rules.
"Where are you going?" The lady called from the room down the hall.
*Never get close to anyone ever.*
"I... I" He managed. But he was choking, gasping desperately for air, hands clutched at his throat. Drinking. Last night he must have been drinking. Wrapped securely in alcohol. The encompassing comfort of a duvet. The slow embrace of another. The warm press of skin on skin.
*The flames towered above him. Dark smoke was pouring down his throat and pooling there, killing him from the inside.*
*
"You're dying."
Those were the first words he'd heard when he'd found himself in the realm of darkness. Death stood before him, dressed in a sharp midnight black suit, complete with a golden tie. His eyes were strikingly black, and he held a white scythe casually behind his back.
"Don't worry." He continued, striding towards me. "Death feels like gentle acceptance, a bashful kiss if you would."
"Wait." Rick cried out, hands futilely raised in front of him. "What if I don't want to go yet?"
He smiled, but his eyes continued to pierce mine. "That's what the scythe is for."
"Okay! Okay wait, listen. I've been murdered horribly. This killer of mine, he burned my house while my family and I slept." He began, his fists balling up and clenching uncontrollably.
"Alright." Death said, lazily bringing the scythe out from behind his back. "And why should I care?"
Rick lowered his gaze. His fists refused to unclench.
"My house is the orphanage."
Even in the realm of darkness, He could feel the moment when silence reigned. Even Death himself paused, and Rick imagined that no matter how many horrors he'd overlooked, he couldn't overlook this one.
Death shook his head wearily, then lashed out at Rick with blinding speed. The white scythe cut through his chest cleanly, a long shallow cut on his body forming. He cried out and fell to his knees.
*Okay maybe not.*
Rick took several shallow breaths, still knelt on the floor. The wound was deep within him. The scythe had cut deeper than any mortal weapon ever would. Something missing, he thought. It felt like something in him was missing.
Death stood before him.
"I've cut you. You see. Your wound is rather special. A year for a year."
"What does that mean?" He managed.
"Every year of your life from now on, you will lose the exact same amount of time."
"In other words, I'll never age?"
"Right." Death said. "But. But your years are yours, even if they leak out of you. They are bound to you, even if they no longer affect you. They will affect anyone who comes to near to you. Anyone who gets too close will pay the price. Rick Martin Summers. I hereby grant you the chance to catch your killer. But you will never know love, nor friendship nor companionship. I gift and curse you with life. I release you now from my realm to catch your killer."
| 2018-10-25T06:53:00 | 2018-10-25T06:51:34 | 646 | 131 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | And at this, I stopped.
"So... we *can* resist."
And though the toothy grin remained, it's smile was gone. "**Ah. Cunning. But clever wheat is still just wheat...**"
But as it swung the glittering edge at me, I heard, as if through deep water- "Charging to 200 Joules. Clear!"
And I was back, surrounded by the white coats of my colleagues, the cold paddles still pressed to my bared chest, the shrill warning cries of machines attached to my veins and nerves settling back to tame chirps -
"Did you see him?" My partner said, face neutral, but eagerness betrayed by that quaver in his voice.
"*It*. Yes. Yes, I saw it." It, the reason for this dangerous gambit...
The room hushed. An expectant silence.
I looked at them, and I felt my eyes well with glad tears. With pride. For us. For humankind.
And for the kind of thing we were finally showing ourselves to be: not scared, not wheat in a field.
"*We can win.*"
A great whoop of joy filled the room, spread into the hall, out the doors into the streets beyond. And the sullen darkness between the stars began to hear the footsteps behind.
| The jaws of the shark snap down on my chest sending shockwaves through my skull. I gasp in pain, allowing a mouthful of the streaming red water to race down my throat. I close my eyes as the shark twists and releases me from its maw. For a moment I float down towards the shifting sands of the ocean floor. The familiar swell of a wave passes over me and I topple soundlessly through the dark waters. The teeth shred into my lower back and carry me further out to sea. I open my eyes to the stinging torrent of water and see nothing but darkness. I cry out in terror as the abyss swallows me in its cold embrace.
It feels like a year of darkness and pain, and then I see a faint light rising steadily towards me. I feel the teeth loosen from around my waist and my lungs replenish with air. I gasp in several deep breaths before the panic sets in. I propel my arms in wide circles, spinning away from the light. I feel the weighty grip of steel rest against my sternum, as I start getting pulled backwards towards the faint glow. I glance down at the cold blade and notice that my wounds are gone, replaced with a line of red beading blood where the steel cuts into my skin. I start frantically paddling back towards where I think the surface is. But, my arms feel no resistance from the water like I am swimming through space, being pulled slowly towards the sun. The pressure of the blade grows as I struggle. The gleaming blade crushes down on my chest until my lungs cannot fill with my gasps. I remember back to the first fish that I caught with my dad. How its mouth draped open and its gills flapped hopelessly. I turn back towards the glowing beam of radiance and stop struggling.
A sound enters my mind like a whisper and caresses my soul. “There, now isn’t that better?” My mother’s voice sends a lump up into my throat as tears drip from my cheeks, to be washed away in the nothingness surrounding me. In the light I see her standing, pulling me towards her with a long cord that swirls like waves. “Come now James, I’ve been waiting for you for a long long time.” She smiles and I feel her tender embrace pulling me towards a new moment. This little pocket of abyss feels like home. | 2018-10-25T09:22:40 | 2018-10-25T08:05:30 | 71 | 39 |
[WP]You and your friends grew up in a small town far from any magic schools but managed to learn it eventually. You always pushed and challenged each other, unaware of how strong you were. Then one day a city mage happened to pass through town. | A ball of water floated in Joan’s hand that she had conjured only moments ago. “Watch me, Andrew!” She exclaimed as she threw it.
Andrew watched as Joan made quick hand gestures which in turn caused the water to dance through the air. “Amazing!” He replied.
It swirled, dipped, and then launched into the air as quick as a frightened witch on a broom. It splashed down on top of Andrew’s head and the two roared with laughter. “I’m getting better, you see?” She jumped with excitement.
“You’ve gotten much better!” He agreed. He stretched his arms toward her with his palms out and fingers spread. “But look what I can do now!”
Joan felt a strange sensation and she shivered. Her body had become cold and then she had suddenly become taller than Andrew! She had always been much shorter. “What is this, what did you do?”
With a smirk and not a word, Andrew motioned for her to look down. She knew she felt lighter! She was floating! A whole foot above the ground! He released her and she fell, lost her footing, and landed on her bum. “Sorry, a bit of payback,” he said and again they laughed.
They had grown up together, Joan age 12 and Andrew age 13, and they were best friends. They lived in a small village, far from the hustle and bustle of the Magic city of Burr. They worked with their parents and others to tend to the farms and livestock, but would often sneak away to practice Magic.
“You there!” A strange voice called to them. A tall man dressed in a bright red robe hustled toward them. Joan was speechless when she saw his broach. It was the symbol of a Royal Mage, one of King Matthew’s personal Magic Knights from the city. What was he doing all the way out here in the country?
“I saw you, I saw your magic from a distance! Impressive! Fantastic!” He clapped. Joan and Andrew took a step back. “Pardon my rudeness,” he said as he put his hood down. “I am Benjamin of his Highness’ Magic Knights. Specifically of the Soaring Hawk Knights faction. I was moved with excitement on your excellent use of Magic. The way you manipulated your conjured water, and the way you levitated the girl, simply amazing! What are your names, which Magic School do you go to?”
The tension of a sudden stranger appearing subsided, because you could never be too careful in these parts. Joan laughed. She felt no negative intentions from the man, and she was often right about these things. She was delighted with his personality.
She extended her hand and they shook. “I am Joan, and this is my friend Andrew. We did not go to Magic School, but we practice out here near the wood together nearly everyday.”
Andrew nodded and shook Benjamin’s hand. “We can’t afford to go to school, or even reach that far out here in the country. It’s too dangerous Joan says, but I think we could take a bandit or two on our own.”
Benjamin nodded solemnly. “One can never be too careful. Joan is right to be cautious.” His enthusiastic demeanor returned.”I’ve never heard of anything to this degree, regarding children teaching themselves Magic as advanced as this.”
Joan’s face flushed as she was praised. “Advanced?”
Benjamin nodded furiously. “Heaven yes. It’s remarkable. If you would accept, I wish to take you to see my Captain immediately in Burr. Such gifts should not be squandered. Do you wish to put your abilities to use?”
Joan was in shock. Never in her wildest dreams did she think she would be asked by a Magic Knight to accompany him to the city. And to be praised by someone of this caliber, she was deeply moved.
Andrew spoke. “We definitely accept, don’t we Joan?” He patted her on the back.
Joan came to her senses then. “Yes, of course!” She bowed. “We are humbled by your gracious offer.”
Benjamin waved it off. “Come now, none of that. You’re most welcome, of course, but no need to bow.” He laughed. “Where are your parents, I must speak with them!”
Joan and Andrew waited outside as Benjamin talked to each of their parents, each time joking about how his coin purse became a little lighter. Joan apologized. “I hope it’s not too much trouble.” She looked to the ground.
Andrew gave her a light elbow to the side. “You heard him, we have a gift! Worth every coin, right Benjamin?”
Benjamin laughed. “Certainly! It’s nothing to fret over and well worth the coin. It was bargained that should my captain wish, you may attend Magic School, or your skills honed, or perhaps nothing at all. It’s all dependent on his orders. So make a good impression!” He laughed again.
Joan was awe-struck. “School? Do you mean it?”
Benjamin nodded. “All depending on the Captain’s orders, of course.”
Andrew was skeptical. “How could we attend or even get there?”
Benjamin raised his arm and muttered to himself a spell. Before them the air had begun to wobble in the shape of a large oval and Joan was reminded of a pool of water. As it wobbled, through it she could see streets of stone, shops, people, and carriages pulled by horses. The city of Burr. “Well, this is one way to get there. Portal Magic. Don’t be afraid, it’s quite safe.”
They bid their parents farewell, promising to return soon. Joan was hurt by her parents indifference as they waved her off, their gaze never wavering from the coins they counted. She returned to Benjamin, Andrew, and the portal.
“That was quick,” Andrew said.
“May we go now, Sir Benjamin?” She asked, ignoring Andrew.
“Of course, Joan,” he said quietly. He smiled brightly then. “Just Benjamin is fine, thank you! This is an exciting time for you children! The city of Burr, with all its wonders! All of its Magic!” He grew serious. “But always stay close, children. No place, no matter how wondrous, is not without its own miscreants or ruffian.”
Joan smiled and nodded. The three of them stepped through and into a brand new world.
| "Alright ready? Ready. Set. GO!" The surface of the boulder began to melt away as Ley focused on her image. She could hear Dek groaning nearby her as he shaped a sprout and Kiel cheering the two of them on. "C'mon Ley! Twelve to fourteen! You gonna let Dek widen the gap?" Ley gritted her teeth and tried to ignore Kiel's cheering. Tried to shut out the the fact that the sun was gradually being blocked by something big. Tried to forget the entire competition. She needed to focus. The boulder shrank in size rapidly as Ley shaped it. Despite having her eyes closed Ley could sense the lump of rock. It's shape, it's texture, even it's composition. She could feel that it was much bigger than it initially appeared. "DONE! Haha yeah! Woooo I win again baby! Three cheers for Dek!" The sound of her brother cheering and celebrating his victory barely even registered in Ley's brain. She had noticed that some bugs had carved tunnels into the boulder and was mentally tracing every single path they had made.
Several minutes later Ley broke her concentration and allowed herself to collapse down onto the soft grass. "About time you finished. For a second I thought you'd gotten lost in the essence again." Dek was sitting cross legged on the steps of his creation. The small sapling he'd chosen to grow was now a massive tree. Dek had grown the branches of the tree so that the lower ones formed a staircase leading all the way up into the forests canopy, complete with a railing. Ley frowned when she realized her brother had that stupid smirk on his face again and took a closer look at the tree, "You didn't.... nooooo.... grow up!" On every single step of the staircase things like *Dek rules Ley Drools* and *Hail King Dek* had been grown directly into the wood. Judging from the look on Kiel's face as he descended the stairs, Ley thought it was safe to assume that her brother had grown a wooden statue of himself at the top of the tree.
"Alright, as Shaper supreme I have to give Deks monument to Narcissism an eight out of ten. Not enough monument to the judge." Kiel tried his best to look and sound as authoritative as possible but between his slender build and his squeaky voice he sounded more comical than anything. "What! C'mon did you SEE the details I put into that statue? And what about the stairs? Shit!" Anyone in the village would've been intimidated by Deks shouting. After all, his voice was as big as his body, and just a little less strong. It was hard to believe that the two boys were best friends, and even harder to believe that Kiel was the one who would win in a fight. Ley sighed as the two boys started arguing, giving them a chance to exhaust themselves before she spoke up. "Can we get back to the competition, I'm pretty sure Dek's streak is over." Kiel simply nodded his head and walked towards the boulder while Dek groaned. "There's no way, look at it? All you did was make a gateway and it still took you forever." Dek was right, the part of the boulder that jutted out of the ground had been shaped into what looked like a gateway. Ley had wanted to add some details to it but partway through she'd run out of essence, leaving large chunks of stone running down the arch that resembled wax that had dripped down the side of a candle. Kiel called out from inside the unfinished stone gateway "Hey it goes underground!"
"Gods, did you make a maze? How big is this thing?" Dek grumbled as they descended into the boulder that Ley had shaped. Fires danced across each of the trios fingertips, illuminating the path before then. From the entrance Ley had made a tunnel that curved down into the belly of the boulder. The path twisted and turned, split here and there, broke into smaller branches that ran throughout the entirety of the boulder. "I modeled it after some of the tunnels bugs had made. Not my fault worms have a better sense of direction than you. " Kiel spoke before Dek could process Ley's insult. "That's cool and all but a bunch of tunnels isn't that impressive Ley, I think I'm gonna have to give the win t" "Hold on a second we're almost there. I promise it'll blow Kiel's stupid tree out of the competition." Kiel shrugged and continued to follow Ley deeper into the boulder.
After one last turn, the tunnel opened up into a massive room filled with stone furniture. A large table, surrounded by three thrones dominated the middle of the room. The firefight revealed the glimmer of gold embedded into each of the chairs and sprinkled throughout the tables surface. Around the edge of the room a dozen alcoves were carved into the walls, revealing sleeping areas, shelves, and several empty rooms Ley couldn't figure out what to do with. Pieces of gold and occasionally a gem adorned the walls, giving the entire room a regal feeling. "Ley wins." Dek didn't even seem to notice Kiel's statement, he was too busy gaping at the room. "How in the three gods did you do this Ley? No way did you have enough essence to shape all this gold." Kiel stared at her waiting for a response while her brother continued to gape like a fish. " The boulder's a LOT bigger than it looks, it's more like a mountain. All I had to do was shift some of the gold and gems that were deeper down and move them up here." At that Dek finally broke out of his shock, "That's it? So you're saying you got lucky? So I win then right?" Kiel laughed, "Nope, Ley wins, an underground base is MUCH better than a stupid monument to you."
Dek and Kiel argued the entire way up to the surface. The exhaustion from going all out on the boulder base along with listening to the two boys fight made almost Ley wish she had just let Dek have the win. Almost. "As Shaper Supreme I have final say over who wins the tournament of creation and I say Lady Ley wins this match." "Oh cut the crap, you're giving her the win to spite me you Void loving Null bait!" Ley couldn't see Kiel's face but she could still picture the grimace on his face. After a moment of silence Dek spoke up again, "Hey man, Gods, I didn't mean that." "Forget about it, you get competitive. I know." When the group emerged from the boulder base Kiel snapped his fingers. The tree Dek had grown began to shrink rapidly. The branches that formed the staircase retreated into the trunk as the leaves began to rapidly wither away and turn to dust. In a moment, the tree had reverted back into the sapling Dek had grown it from. Ley's boulder however, merely shimmered as the air surrounding it shifted and solidified. Within moments it looked just like it had before, but Ley knew that if she approached the boulder the illusion would fade and her creation would still be there. "Hey, is that smoke?" The worry in Dek's voice hit Ley before the meaning of his words did. "Void it's coming from the village! We have to get back, come on!" Kiel grabbed Ley's hand and pulled her towards the village, Dek was already far ahead of them. | 2018-12-05T08:03:38 | 2018-12-05T08:03:26 | 54 | 40 |
[WP] Shaking, you say "They believe its part of their nature". You discover Humanity and find them to be carriers of the universes most feared disease, thought long eradicated... Sleep | All eyes were on the human figure on the other side of the glass. The girl reached up, shivering as she stretched. The noise she let out echoed through room, carried by the ship’s intercom. Kiral heard one of the technicians retching. The noise was jarring. She’d read about this in *Quartal’s Compendium of Dead and Gone Diseases.* The sound was called a yawn. It was said to be one of the first symptoms of sleep. She turned to her ships primary research physician.
“Are we sure certain they have… sleep?” Kiral asked, voice tense. The idea that the disease had somehow survived in the dark recesses of the Milky Way was horrific. Had it been ravaging this poor race of people for so long?
“It appears the entire planet is infected” Larkus responded. His features were tense, clearly, he was unsettled by the discovery. “It’s not just the ‘human’ species either” he continued, making sure to use the correct naming convention and emphasis for the most advanced inhabitants of the planet, as was required of the *Interstellar Treaty for Equal Rights*. “It appears every sentient species on the planet is infected to at least some degree”.
Kiral grimaced. This was concerning beyond degree. Had they not won this war millennia ago? Had the stories, passed down by the Council of Irk, of the complete and utter eradication of the *Five Great Plagues of Sentience* been untrue? Her attention was pulled out of her thoughts as people around her began to gasp. The humanoid in their containment cell had lay down on her bed. Kiral noticed one of her veteran soldiers, Mork shivering in fear. The human creature rolled to her side, facing out towards the glass of the containment cell. Her eyes shut. Kiral felt nauseous. She heard people breathing heavily and more retching. It was true, this was the sleep. She turned to Larkus.
“Do they know… Do they know what it does to them?” She let out, through heavy breathes. Larkus looked at the human girl in the cage, shaking his head. | He's glass. It sat there. Cold.
Empty.
So did the captain, he to sat there , cold, and empty
He watched earth turn, gliding his lanky green finger across his golden, cylinder, cup.
He turned his head towards his fingers, he became fixated unto it, watching them turn circles around his holder of fluids, the captain just watched until his eyes became heavy, and blinks became less and longer. It was year 1750 and the infection has begun.
"Sir, I bring news" said an unboard officer.
The captian quickly awoke from his daze, still twirling his fingers around his cup.
"What is it" captian shualsjwiaiw said coldy.
"Ten more have succumbed to permanent blink phase". The senior officer said standing docile and straight, his long arms, four and a half feet in length, across his thigh.
Captain ajdytaiahehak slammed his fist molding his cup into his steel chair.
And there it sat upon his face. Nothing.
There was no wrinkles that showed, no age that showed, no nothing that showed, for age beared no meaning to him, for the elites lived for eternity.
"Look at them, look at those filthy gorgoloyds, they use there primal needs as weapons". Captian qldhgagakwkev said.
"Our efforts to contain the infection has all resulted in-"
"Spare me" captian dhajkdbhak interrupted
"I'm sorry sir, but..............but at this rate normgolak Enterprise will sink into the primal infection of sleep.
The captain hoisted himself up, standing an impressive 15 feet, and walked to the ships starboard, he placed his hand unto the bitter window, for more then a thousand years captain has never touched that window, but now he has touched, and now he has seen.
He looked, and he saw, he saw earth, thousands of miles away, he saw the world of earth. The mere words made him cringe.
And for the first time,
The first time, you can see emotions engrained unto his eyes. Fear.
The primal emotion of fear.
Only inches from empty space, and the world of earth has brought fear unto his eyes.
"When I look, all I see is blue" captian said while glaring at earth.
And then silence
A cold silence, so silent you can here ringing in the air.
"We signal home base" captain ajdjjalajejja stated
"What do we tell them?" The officer replied.
"We tell them" captain sjkakshhs paused and swallowed, he couldn't bare defeat.
"We tell them to stay away from this quadrant, we tell them to stay far away" captain told.
"What.......what about us?" Senior officer said
"What about us?" captain replied.
Captain turned and looked at the crewman
"There is no more us" captain said
The officer looked unto his eyes, and what the he saw was a tired man.
"What do we do now" said the crewman.
Captian dhajkshrjak turned his head back to earth, and placed his hands back upon the glass.
"We sleep" | 2019-05-31T22:05:13 | 2019-05-31T21:55:01 | 115 | 13 |
[WP]Time travel is possible, but requires an "anchor" item created in the target era. You've gone to the year 900 using a Viking sword and the year 300 using a Roman Coin. You've just started the process using a small statue of unknown origin and it proves to be vastly older than human history. | The thing about time jumping is that it gets easier every time you do it. Before my first trip, I rolled the silver Roman denarius between my thumb and index finger, closed my eyes, and held my breath. Dalia said it would be easy. She’d made the trip dozens of times. And when had she ever lied to me?
The jump hit me like a freight train.
I wasn’t in the bunker anymore--no, I was face-first in the ancient dirt, dry-heaving, and dazed. The sun flashbulbed my eyes. Vaguely, I could hear someone yelling at me, but my head was too far away to understand what he was saying. Of course, when his sandal met my gut, I understood well enough.
But Dalia hadn’t misled me completely. It *did* get easier. Over time. A pair of cat-eyed sunglasses brought me to the 1950s. When I landed, I hopped on the bus to downtown Los Angeles without even needing to fix my tie. Later, I swung the Viking sword over my back and landed--superhero style--in a meadow by the sea. The breeze ghosted over my skin and the scent of ocean brine flooded my nose. Nothing in the twenty-fifth century ever smelled so fresh.
Today, Dalia walked into the bunker with a dark briefcase. This much was normal. The look on her face was not: her lips curled down and her brows were creased together. Even her dark hair was pulled tightly to the base of her skull in a tight bun.
“You look happy,” I said.
She didn’t comment, she only set the case on the table. “Joint mission today.”
I raised my brow. It had been years since we’d gone anywhere together. Joint missions were reserved for trainees.
“Don’t give me that look, James, ” she said, even though she hadn’t seen my face. “The orders are from the top. I was just as surprised.”
“Alright, alright--” I raised my hand in mock surrender-- “I don’t doubt you.”
Dalia opened the case and lifted free a delicate wooden statuette. “Boss wants us to survey our landing sight and photograph the area.”
I frowned. Nothing about this added up. “What, no soil samples or anything?”
“No, I just left that out because I didn’t feel like digging today.”
“You have to admit it’s weird, Dal.” I folded my arms over my chest. “I mean, they haven’t even told us what to wear.”
“Boss says our civies are fine. The landing site is remote, I guess.” Dalia palmed the statuette--which seemed to be of some sort of goddess--and offered me the other end. “Besides, when is anything we do here not weird?”
“I mean Andy brought donuts on Monday. That’s pretty normal--”
“James.”
“Fine.” I reached our and held on to the statuette where I could. The old wood felt soft and delicate beneath the pads of my fingers--if I squeezed too hard I was sure it would splinter. How had it survived so long anyway? I looked up at Dalia and gave her a wan smile. Our fingers brushed together. “Let’s go.”
The world folded in on itself as we tunnelled through time. The darkness around us wrapped and the only sound I could hear was the blood rushing in my head. I squeezed my eyes shut and focused on keeping my stomach down. This was a long trip. They could’ve at least warned us.
When the light finally broke up the darkness, I sighed in relief and let my shoulders sag. I hadn’t realized they’d been tensed. “Fucking hell,” I muttered and rubbed my eyes. “Ten bucks says we wake up tomorrow with nasty hangovers, hey Dal?”
Dal didn’t say anything. I pulled my hands from my eyes and blinked away the lingering blurriness. “Dal?”
Dal wasn’t next to me. I was in a bare and rocky clearing, covered only in a thin layer of dry snow. An icy wind whipped around and slammed into my face, leaving a raw burn in my ears. “DAL,” I cupped my hands around my mouth and turned.
It was useless. If she’d been anywhere close, I would’ve seen her. I could see for miles. I bit my lip and tried to think clearly. Where was I? When was I? I sunk to my feet and pulled my knees in close to my chest.
*Fuck*. The first rules of the mission were always clear: know where and when you’re going and go prepared. I’d done none of that. I didn’t even know what it was that I’d touched.
*Dalia. What the hell did you drag me into?*
---
/r/liswrites | I wandered along the shelves of my anchorage, letting the memories of times and places wash over me. Each shelve housed a series of objects from a particular time period, arranged by their place of origin. A viking sword from circa 900 A.D. sat alongside a clay pot from the Tang Dynasty, also from the same period. I had visited both and marveled at the diversity of the human experience. Sometimes, it found it odd that we were all one species.
I continued down the aisle, shelf upon shelf passing me by. The anchorage was one of the most complete collections in existence, a testament to the lifetime I had spent in search of relics. A great fortune had been expended assembling it, and it bolstered my reputation amongst my fellow chronologists. My only regret was that I could not do it all again, that the objects provided memories but held no new adventures.
The rules of travel were simple enough. A sufficiently complete manufactured object carried with it a marker of the time and place of origin. A well-resourced individual with access to the implements of chronology could make use of that marker to travel to the place of origin. The length of travel was contingent upon the completeness of the object and, once the marker was used, it could not be used again. Nor could the chronologist make use of another object from the same time and place without risking a chronal wave.
My fine collection, for all of its beauty and historic significance, was dead. All of the markers had been expended upon my hundreds of trips to the past. The fact I had managed these trips at all was remarkable in and of itself, the cost of chronomateria was substantial, and the odds of a fractured timeline increased with each trip. Despite the fact I could bring nothing from the past to the present, my actions could have an impact. I had been fortunate in the fact that I had managed to maintain my own reality and return to a future safe and secure.
Very few chronologists could boast the same. Many a colleague had departed to the past, interacted with the timeline, schismed and failed to return as they were shunted off into their own, alternate reality. I had a perverse interest in knowing what such a thing would look like, but no desire to be permanently moored into an alternate universe with no guarantee of safety. The dangers of dabbling in time were substantial, and I took few risks beyond those inherent in the practice itself.
But a life without danger was not a life worth living. I was an old man, and the desire to feel alive again ran hot in my veins.
I reached the end of the aisle. Ahead, in a small open space, stood a table. Atop that table stood three objects. A statue carved from stone depicting a strange creature that stood like a human, but was elongated with misshapen. A long spike, made of metallic alloy. A strand of carved gemstones, connected by thin wire.
Despite their differences, all three objects shared key traits. The first, and most important, was that they should not exist. I had run numerous tests to delve into their provenance, and the results had been nonsensical, but consistent. These objects originated from a period before modern man had come into existence. It was not possible.
They should have long since decayed, but they had not. Instead, they seemed impervious to the corrosive effects of time. Each carried a near perfect marker. A single trip making use of one of the objects would last over a year, an unheard of amount.
The mystery of the three plagued me. I had long ignored them, feigning a belief in them being a mere curiosity to cover over the mystery eating at my subconscious. I had departed upon my hundreds of trips, pretending that the three did not exist.
But now I had seen all I had a desire to see. Been to all of the times and places I had a desire to be. I had traveled the known world, and all that remained was the unknown.
I am not sure when I made the decision, perhaps I had made it the day I had acquired the first of the objects. I only know that I became resolved to act upon that decision this morning. I had opened my eyes, let the sun wash over me and decided that I could delay no longer. That the greatest secret of time could no longer be ignored. That my dalliances in places and times had simply been training for the three.
I stood in front of the table now, my eyes shifting between each. All three bore a marker from the same period, but each would take me to a separate place. There was no way to know which place precisely, because the civilizational context of the time period did not exist. The spike contained materials known and unknown. Perhaps I would be transported to a place beyond Earth in its entirety. The wire contained gemstones that were impossibly perfect, almost certainly the product of an unknown manufacturing process. The statue, made of marble, seemed the most normal, excluding the fact it depicted a strange being.
I regarded the three, knowing that I would select one and follow it to its origin. Knowing that this trip may be one that I would not return from. A year was a long time to visit the past, a long time to exist without impacting the future and splitting my reality. It was a long time to go into the unknown.
I took a step forward, my hand resting on the object. The chronometra imbued into the skin of my hand began to parse and align.
The marker within called to me.
I pulled the marker toward me, yanking it from the object and pushing it into my veins via the chronometra. It entered my bloodstream with burning intensity, flaring with molten energy as it reached my heart and circulated throughout the rest of my body. My grasp on the here, on the now, began to fade.
I collapsed.
**PART 2 over on the sub. Too long.** r/PerilousPlatypus
**Platypus Out.** | 2020-04-17T10:44:46 | 2020-04-17T10:40:43 | 250 | 116 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | I remember the first night I stumbled upon the Bullet Train. I was 16, soaked, blasted out of my mind, and completely unaware of what I was getting myself into. All I knew was that I needed to skip this bumfuck town. My boyfriend at the time had kicked me out because his wife (yes, wife.) had found out about our little "arrangement" and since my mother told me she would gun me down on the lawn before she'd even let me step foot in her house I figured I had nothing left to lose. I thought I was going to be starting my life as a wanderer; a nomad following wherever the roads would take me.
I was naive to say the least.
A train employee asked if I had a ticket to board. I pretended to pat my pockets for it when to my surprise I felt a piece of very thick paper buried under my pack of Marlboros. I very quickly flashed it to him in hopes that he would just nod and let me go, but he snatched it faster than I could blink.
His eyes scanned the parchment and widened. He looked back at me, folded the paper up very quickly and escorted me towards the back of the very packed compartments. People were standing in hallways, hanging onto window sills, just trying to fit in any way they can. I wondered how this train was even allowed to operate in these conditions.
"Mr. Halloway, please keep up as we will be departing in two minutes."
My head whipped around so fast I thought my neck was going to snap. I never told this guy my name.
**************************************************************
The sound of the rumbling tracks beneath my seat was something of a familiar lull that I had gotten used to by this point. I felt like I had gotten to see the world, without ever really getting to *see* it. Hong Kong, Italy, Niagara Falls. Places my little mind couldn't even fathom seeing in this lifetime, let alone seeing them through a window on a train.
I'm 36 now, and although I feel like my life is in a much better place, and I feel I've accomplished seeing the places I talked about visiting with my high school friends, I haven't experienced anything in this life. I had spent a majority of my time before this skipping school, drinking and partying with men who shouldn't have even been talking to me in the first place. I often wonder where I would have ended up if I had never boarded.
"Coffee, Mr. Halloway?"
It was the same employee that found my seat. He looked like he hadn't aged a day. I wish I could say the same for myself. I plucked a cigarette from the box and opened up my window to prep for airing out the smoke. As I twirled the orange and white stick between my fingers, I thought about the instructions on that little piece of parchment. I wasn’t allowed to step foot off of this train until the very last stop. Although my accommodations were wonderful, it added to the fear of missing out and overall disappointment I had with only being able to look at the beauty of the world from afar.
“Say, Jacob where’s the last stop on this train anyway?”
He just continued to pour my coffee and shook his head.
“You know I can’t say. That is completely up to you.”
Jacob would always give me a very cryptic answer to these kinds of questions. He believed everything was written in the stars, and that the world moves in motion of cause and effect. That first night I boarded he told me I could stay “as long as it took”. But what is it? Was I waiting for my enemies to die off? For opportunity to arise? To come to my senses about what I truly wanted out of this life?
I didn’t have anywhere to go that night, and I still don’t have anywhere to go now. I’ve had the opportunity to live vicariously through this train’s passengers. People visiting loved ones, people going out of town for work, hell I’ve probably been in the background of a couple of Hollywood films I won’t get to see if I’m going to be stuck here the whole time! I had found solace in avoiding my own fucked up life. It was time for me to make a decision.
If I was going to start a new life, I wanted a clean slate. I could break away from my home town, from my homophobic mother, I could even break away from the hands of lovers filled with false hopes and lies. But there was something about this habit that I could not break. I looked down at my last two cigarettes. 20 years. 20 years of running. 20 years of avoidance. 20 years of traveling alone with nothing but a box. I looked at them a while before I threw them out the window.
A voice played over the intercom: “Mr. Halloway, thank you for boarding the Bullet Train. We have arrived at our very last stop. Please make sure to take all of your belongings with you. We hope you’ve enjoyed your travels.”
The apricot sherbet sunrise kissed the lake upon arrival. It was unlike any of the places we had ever been. Serene, peaceful, undisturbed by anyone. I almost felt bad stepping foot off of the train, like I hadn’t seen enough, but I knew it was time. I turned around to wave goodbye to Jacob, and let the light lead me through the unknown. | The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps. | 2020-07-17T13:25:39 | 2020-07-17T13:21:25 | 132 | 15 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet. | Paul looked at his phone to check the time. It was 4:27 p.m. on October the 27th, 2040. Letting out a long breath he looked to the floor, head in his hands.
"Paul?"
Looking up from the floor, Paul turned to see who was calling him.
"Steve? W-what are you doing here?"
"I'm on my way to the city to grab drinks with a few friends. You ok man? You look horrible."
"Yeah, I mean, I've just been on this train for what feels like forever."
"I know the feeling. I have to commute an hour both ways as well. Sarah and I got a house a few years ago outside the city. More room for the kids, you know how that goes. What brings you to this side of the city?"
"I'm actually just riding the train. I'm sorta stuck here for a bit."
Steve sat down next to Paul.
"What's going on? Anything I can do to help?"
"I don't know. I'm kinda just stuck in this weird situation. I'd really rather not talk about it. It's been going on so long I've kinda just accepted how fucked up it as this point."
"I'm sorry to hear that. I know how hard it was for you after Rachel. Sarah still talks about her all the time. We miss her every day."
Tears were forming in Pauls eyes "Yeah, me too."
"I'm sorry to bring her up man, I didn't mean to make this weird."
"No, it's ok. I'm glad you and Sarah still remember her. Makes me realize I wasn't just dreaming the whole thing. Makes all the time I had her with her real."
*Conductor. "47th and Park"*
"This is me. I better get going. It was good to see you man. Here, let me get your number. You should stop by sometime for dinner. I'm sure Sarah would love to see you."
"I would love to... But I can't. I'm sorry."
"Well here, take my number in case you change your mind. Here's my card."
"Ok."
With that Steve left the train car and Paul was alone again.
"Hey buddy. BUDDY."
Looking up groggily, Paul saw a man in front of him. The man was dressed in a wife beater with a scraggly beard and dark lines under his eyes.
"What man? What's your problem?"
"You got any spare change man? I just need a few bucks."
"No, I don't have anything."
"Come on man, please. I just need a few bucks."
The man was scratching at his arms, then folding them under his armpits, pacing in place.
"I'm sorry, I don't have anything."
Putting his head back down, Paul closed his eyes for a second trying to get some sleep.
"Hey buddy."
Paul looked up, and all he heard was the gun go off.
"Fuck, FUCK!" Looking around, sweat dripping from him, the other passengers on the train looked worried and began moving away from Paul. Catching his breath he looked around at everyone staring at him, wide eyed, and confused.
Slowing his breathing he loosened the tie around his neck and put his head back against the glass. What the fuck had just happened? Wiping some of the sweat from his eyes he took out his phone to check what day is was. It was dead.
Looking over at the lady across from him, still staring at him, he said, "Excuse me, I'm sorry to bother you, but what day is it?"
Looking confused, and a bit scared, she said, "Wednesday."
"No, no, I mean what is the full date. What year is it?"
"What are you talking about man? Do I need to call someone for you?"
"JUST TELL ME WHAT THE YEAR IS FOR FUCK SAKE!"
"Hey man, you can't yell at her like that. You gotta chill the fuck out."
"I'm sorry," *deep breath* "I'm sorry. Please just tell me what the full date is. It's really important."
Checking her phone, the woman said, "It's the 27th of October, 2020. Same year as it was yesterday. You happy now?"
He heard her whisper, "Fuckin crazy. I gotta get a car."
Slouching back in his seat, Paul ran his hands through his hair and wiped the tears from his eyes. It had all been a dream. He checked his pockets to look for his cigarettes when he felt a small piece of paper. Pulling it out, he unfolded it, reading the short note. More tears formed and he broke down in his seat, dropping the note on the ground.
&#x200B;
*Hey babe,*
*Don't forget we're meeting Steve and Sarah later.*
*They just moved to the north side so when you*
*leave work just get on the red line and take it all*
*the way to the end. Whatever you do don't forget,*
*it's the LAST stop. Pick up a nice bottle of wine on*
*your way.*
*Love you tons!*
*Rachel* :) | The only thing I remember is a kiss. Soft lips brushing my temple, warm breath on my skin, and the words _Until death do we suffer_.
I can't tell you how long it's been since I've been on this track. I was a child when I found myself here, and yesterday I discovered the first strands of gray growing out of that temple where the kiss still lingers. Twenty years? Thirty? The lines in my face do not tell me.
At first, I merely huddled in the back of the last train car, watching the world roll by, slowly deepening into darkness. The stations were strange monuments in barren fields, some lit up like heaven, others abandoned. At every stop, someone got on, or someone else got off, or nothing happened at all. The train would trundle to a pause, and the engines would die, and only the wind over the flat wasteland made any noise. Then the engines would chug...chug...._chug_ back to life, and I would watch the empty platform shrink away into nothing, remembering a kiss on my temple and feeling afraid.
It's been black outside for years now. I don't watch the landscape anymore. The things inside are what kill.
I had begun my journey the day the sun set forever, moving from the back of the last train car and into the locomotive world. There were people here who had been here longer than I have, all of them proud _survivors_. This place was a game to them, a hunting ground, a trial to cull the weak. I had to stay hidden, or I had to run fast, or else I would die.
Those from outside were full of madness, and I knew the madness was outside, and I feared it.
Some passengers flung themselves into it--more and more as I made my way to the front of the train. In my youth, from the back of the last car, watching from afar, I had seen them as exuberant departees. Now I saw them as they truly were, so desperate to escape the endless track that they would flee into something worse.
Some passengers had fallen asleep--or perhaps they had died, their lungs still scooping up oxygen but their hearts beating no drums--so I took from them what I could. Clothing. Food. One woman had a pistol, but there were no bullets.
And I--I crept alone. I passed every stop, fearing to get off. I felt that every step forward was a mistake, yet I knew, somewhere deep inside where things can never be expressed, that if I did not keep trying to reach the front of the train, I would end up just like the passengers who slept. Dead but breathing.
Dead but breathing.
The wheels thundered along the track beneath my feet as I crept through the train cars, my weapons in hand. I trained my ears on the sounds all around, the rattling windows and shrieking gears. Somewhere within the pandemonium, I would hear footsteps, and if I did, I would flee, or I would fight, or I would kill. The train stretched on forever, just like the tracks, and I did not spend a lifetime journeying for the first car just to die so far along. I would kill anyone who got in my way.
I am a survivor.
The first man to try was younger than me--fast and foolhardy. I left him with a grin carved into his throat. The next was older, smarter. She gave me a deep cut on my arm that would surely become a scar, but I smashed her head against a seat back and left her for the vultures. Those with the madness liked blood for blood's sake. They were not going anywhere. They were just enjoying the ride while they could. I despised them.
Then I saw a man step out of the shadows before me, swaying with the motion of the train. There were tears in his eyes, and the expression on his face chilled me to my core.
It was as blank and empty as the world outside.
Here was a man who had given up.
He lifted a pistol to eye level and pulled the trigger so fast that I barely had time to react. I ducked behind a seat just in time, my heart pounding in my ears faster than the wheels spun across the iron tracks. Most people killed for survival. Some killed for fun. But this man would kill just to stop others in their tracks. I feared him most of all. Sometimes I thought about joining the jump into madness whenever I came across men like this one.
But I had overcome them before, and I would do so again, as many times as I had to. I was going to reach the first train car. I was going to find answers. I was going to survive.
I dove out from behind my cover, hurling a blade as I went. It caught the man in the shoulder, and he lurched back with a shout. Rolling to my feet, I charged forward, whipping out my empty pistol and smashing it across his face like a club. Skin tore in long strips as his head wrenched about, and two chips of his teeth clicked against the train window. He spun as he went down, and I fell upon him with another knife, stabbing him everywhere I could reach.
When I was sure he was dead, I unsheathed my knife from his ribcage and picked up his gun. There were no more bullets. I hastily searched his pockets, and to my delight, I found four shells that fit my own gun.
I heard movement behind me, so I pocketed the shells, took my knife from his shoulder, and ran.
In the eternity of the train, the days never changed. One day, I'd see my reflection in the window, and my hair would be just over my eyes, and there'd be the first hint of a beard upon my chin. And another day, I'd look up and my hair would be long, my beard full, and I'd wonder where yesterday had gone.
But in every tomorrow, I put yesterday out of mind. There was only the next step forward. Somewhere, there was a beginning. There was an end. There was an answer. There was a kiss. And every day I survived, I crept just a little bit closer. I was the only moving cog in a sea of stagnation. I heard sobbing. I heard screaming. I heard the cackling cachinnation of falling apart. And sometimes I heard the train.
For the train never sleeps. | 2020-07-17T13:42:33 | 2020-07-17T13:21:25 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] You have the ability to freeze time. When you do, everyone else freezes too. One day, you freeze time and are astounded to see a girl continuing her walk down the street. However as soon as she sees you, she stands perfectly still and pretends to be frozen. | Doug knocked the plastic coffee mug off the edge of his laminated desk.
He wasn't awake yet, but he reactively flexed a weird assortment of muscles in his flabby abdomen. The cup hovered about halfway down the trajectory to the floor. Some of the precious, black liquid having already spilled over the sacred chalice's edge, now dangled motionlessly as though both gravity and momentum had stopped.
But both laws of physics continued laboring their eternal struggle perfectly well. However, each depended upon their master, time, and Doug scared him off.
Doug bent over and sucked the un-contained coffee from the air. "Oh damn! I forgot sugar." Leaving his cup to hover like a hummingbird, he walked through the miles of endless cubicles to the office kitchen. He thought about stealing a packaged donut from the break room's automated purchase display, but his uncertainty on how cameras worked during the time freeze stopped him. Grabbing two individual packets of sugar and a single plastic coffee stir, he started moseying reluctantly towards his desk.
"Might as well get it over with. Dragging it out will only make it worse." Doug still insists that talking to yourself is completely normal.
His legs dragged his body against its collective will, and they made it about half way back before stopping in surprise.
A young woman - Doug thought he remembered seeing her in one of the head offices - sprinted down the rows of cubicles a couple aisles over clutching an envelope with paper sticking out in a disorganized mess. She turned in perceived slow motion, locking eyes with Doug before her horror stricken face tuned around the rest of the room surveying the lack of temporal cohesion. She ducked down where Doug couldn't see her.
Doug cleared his throat and resumed his best office posture. He walked around the edge of the blocking cubicle ducking under a frozen man's outstretched arm. The woman, in a black business suit with black pants, knelt on the floor in a professional manner as though frozen at the moment of tying her black high heeled shoes. It was amazing really. Somehow, the woman managed to control her body, and suppress her natural aversion to the lack of needing to breathe in the paused timespace. Her control over her cheek color failed to impress Doug.
Doug cleared his throat again. "I would, um, go ahead and unfreeze everything, but I have a cup of coffee mid fall that I need to get back to first."
The woman didn't look up or acknowledge him except for a short high pitched squeak, "Yep."
Doug breathed a heavy sigh and turned back towards his cubicle. This complicated matters. Or did it? She didn't seem to want to talk to him about it. He didn't even know her name. If he just went back to not using his power at work, there would be no problem.
"Um, actually." Her voice inflection begged.
Doug started to turn around, but then thought that maybe embarrassment bound the woman to the floor and not anything else. "Yeah?"
"Could you wait until I'm in my office? I got stuck in traffic, but I have a big presentation today."
"Uh, yeah, sure. Did you want me to close my eyes 'til you get there?" He gave a snort of a laugh at his own joke. Her response surprised him more than her presence did.
"Yes, please!"
"Oh, right." Doug closed his eyes. He heard the pitter-patter taps of heels on office floor far after she had left his sprinting range. He opened his eyes and looked around. Wherever she went, the room was well above his pay grade.
"Okay, I'm ready!" Her voice echoed through the empty silence of the frozen world.
Doug clenched his abdomen, and the voices of office chit chat and ringing of multi-line telephones filled the office again. He made his way back to his desk. Before turning into his cubicle, his brown loafers stepped in something liquid on the floor.
"Oh no!" His precious, life-giving, divine ambrosia coffee soaked his cubicle floor. And now his shoes.
Doug's manager, Frank, stood up from his slightly larger cubicle and came swaggering over. "Touch luck, Doug! Its too bad you can't stop time, or you could have caught it." Frank slapped Doug hard on the back.
"Yep. I could have." | "Did you think you'll just stop existing?" I cried out loud.
I started to make my way to her, my heartbeat noticeably getting faster. There she was. A person who could move through frozen time. She could be the answer to al my questions.
The girl straightened up, an annoyed grimace on her face. Without saying another word, she turned tail and began to run.
"What the hell," I yelped in surprise.
This couldn't be happening. Among the statues and objects frozen in time, I ran along too, trying to keep the moving girl in my sight at all times.
Why did she run? It was a question that I wasn't getting an answer to until I managed to get her to stop. But damn, she was fast.
It was tough to even keep her in my sights. The luxury of frozen time has allowed me to lead a leisurely and unhurried life. For the very first time in my life, there was something--someone that disobeyed the laws I've grown so accustomed to.
I had to catch her, even if my heart throbbed, my lungs ached, and my feet were blistering by the second.
It was difficult maintaining my grip on reality. Yet, she continued to weave in and out, like this was a daily occurrence to her.
Wait a minute. This was probably a daily occurrence for her. There was no way I could catch up to her, could there?
But a glimmer of hope sparked when suddenly, she stopped. Wheezing and out of breath, I dragged myself to close the final distance between us, and promptly collapsed on my knees, gasping desperately for air like a fish out of water.
"Why are you chasing after me?" a cold voice said.
I looked up at her. She was looking at me with disdain, somehow. It was plain and clear.
"Wh--what? But you were running!" I puffed out.
"Because you were chasing me," she replied matter-of-factly, like it made sense. It really didn't, especially not to my exercise-addled head.
"Please, I just... let me catch my breath, please," I wheezed.
Perhaps the most surprising thing was that she stood there, unmoving, in spite of her attempt to immediately run away. Instead, she tapped her feet impatiently, probably unimpressed at my lack of stamina.
"So, all this time stopping has got you desperately out of shape, eh?" the first dagger of many shot out of her mouth, piercing through my ego like a hot knife through butter.
"Well," I began to retort, quickly realizing that I had nothing. "Well. How are you moving?"
"Do you know why you can freeze all of time?"
"No, not entirely," I admitted.
"So how the hell would I know?"
My god. She was infuriating. I took a deep breath to sooth my pounding head, partly caused by the lung-bursting effort I just made and her poisnous attitude.
"Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here," I said, extending my hand to shake in a peace offering. "I'm Adam."
She didn't take the hand.
"Sue," she said.
"OK," I dropped my hand.
Silence filled the street. The two of us fidgeted in a frozen, bustling landscape.
"Why stop now? Why start running, actually?" I ventured.
"Imagine having time freeze around you and you don't know what's happening," Sue said. "And for the very first time, somebody shouted at you out of the blue. How would you react?"
"When you put it that way..."
"There's no other way. I don't get to control this. Seems like you do," she finished. "So, what else do you want from me? What are you going to do to me now?"
"I was just curious, I guess," I admitted. "I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing was affecting another person."
"Hmmph," she said. "That's not enough."
"What?"
"I mean, I'm the only one in this city who's unaffected. What if there are thousands of people out there who are feeling the same alienation they get, seeing their world freeze around them with no control over it? Are you going to personally apologise to each one of them?"
"I... I..." I stammered.
Sue might not have had the nicest of tones, but she was right, no? I've never thought about how this power could affect another person.
"All I'm saying is, you seem to have an honest-to-god superpower," she continued. "Why not use it for good? Why use it for two hours at 8.29 am in the morning? Because you will be late for work?"
"How did--"
"I get stuck too, remember? Sure, it's also helped me get to work, but... we shouldn't be able to control time like that. Not for stupid reasons, anyway."
"Maybe," I said. I let the now-familiar feeling of brain freeze go, and without missing a step, the world was in motion again.
"Thanks, Sue," I said. "I'll take what you said to mind."
"Don't thank me," she said. This time, she clasped my hand within both of hers.
"Thank the thousands of online superhero stories I've read thanks to your constant interference with time."
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-08-20T10:55:31 | 2020-08-20T10:48:59 | 601 | 396 |
[WP] A cult intends to sacrifice you to awaken their goddess. What they don't know is that you ARE their goddess. | They chose me because I was beautiful.
The Goddess was the most vicious of our deities. Immortal power of sullied blood, of plague, of death. We knew she had to be behind the disease, the worst sickness in living memory. Half the village had succumbed. Fevers, delusions, bloody sweats and then - slowly, agonizingly - death. The elders were convinced such a horrible power could only be pleased by something pure. Something lovely.
I was the perfect choice. Soft, beautiful, and not their own. They had found me years ago in the woods with no memory. Nobody to protect me.
I was so afraid. For years I trembled at the leering men, at the rough hands of drunkards. But I never knew true fear until they came to fetch me in the night like a cow before slaughter, leading me gently to the burning pyre. I did not know. I went with them easily and when I saw the flames I sobbed in terror. To be sacrificed? To be burned to death? I screamed and I pleaded - yes, I was afraid.
The fear lasted only until I felt the kiss of fire on my skin. The lapping flames were as cool and gentle as spring water. Painless. And with a jolt I remembered, I remembered and I threw my head back as a crazed laugh poured out of me.
My whole life I had been so weak, at the mercy of those who desired me, and now for the first time I remembered I had never really been a beautiful girl at all. I remembered my ancient form. I remembered everything.
My skin fell off me in dry, blistered shreds as spiny scales burst forth. I saw delicious terror in their eyes as my bones stretched and snapped, rearranging themselves until I looked like the religious paintings in their temples, until my gaping maw was long and toothy and my eyes huge and red. Fire crawled up my body, embracing me like a lover, and through my new eyes I saw them as they were. Ugly. Pathetic. Small. They ran, of course. They always do.
In the other realms, they speak of me as the Hungry One. Gluttonous for death and destruction, all-consuming of mortals. In the other realms, there was nothing left to eat. Now, at last, I found a new world upon which to feed.
Their screams were sweet and not enough.
\---
I write little fiction on my sub r/veryrealisticperson for anyone interested! Thanks for reading :) | Everything is going perfectly. I am finally going to die.
You really know why they perish so easily when you inhabit a mortal's body. Fragile vessels. I am so weak I can't even stand, just because of a few days without consuming flesh and liquid. The air is unbearably hot; it smothers me against the rough clods of dirt on the floor of my cell. I have nothing left to give, no sweat, no energy, no life. I smile.
I can see the eagerness and desire on the tattooed faces of the priests, the effort with which they whip their backs and bleed for me, fill silver bowl after silver bowl. But it is not my duty to please them, rather the opposite. And they can never offer me something satisfactory, because they can never bring you back.
I remember teaching you, watching you grow in power, eventually doing things I never could. Doing things no one else could. You were powerful. You were my daughter.
I understand why you went to that primordial place. Many have. But they were not unfortunate enough to be as powerful as you; they met swift deaths. I found you, corrupted but somehow still alive, and brought you to your father. Glittering projections of gems growing through your body like vines, twisting and wrapping, reaching out for something, ripping through your flesh. Your screams brought others from very, very far away.
By the time your father and I had realized what had needed to be done, steeled ourselves to be able to do it, it was too late. You and it were beginning to reach some kind of demented harmony, beginning to wield unseen powers, creating incredible things, but also destroying without discernment. No one wanted to hurt you, but the only real choice we had was not making you suffer. Later, when I mourned you both, and the others that gave themselves to stop you - what became of you - I realized he was more fortunate than I was. He got to die with you.
Eventually, the others wanted me to produce another one of you, by force if necessary. To have another chance at that kind of power. That brute, Ur's second son, cornered me alone one night. But I knew his mother very well; we have always told each other everything. I knew the words that let me reach into his neck and pull out those slithering, silvery filaments and leave him an evaporating heap on the ground. And it was then I knew I had to leave, but also that I had nowhere to go.
I hid alone for years, abandoning even my people, too despondent to visit those whose impotence reminded me of my own. But they, too, would not do me the service I wish for if I asked: their desire for power was more important to them than granting me peace. Maybe they are more like us than we think.
So I have created my own way. If I can't do it for myself, if the other gods won't do it for me, then my people will, without knowing.
As I stumble toward the stone altar, pulled by a priest whose blood rolls down his back and drips onto my feet, I look up at the moon. It is the thinnest possible sliver of a crescent. Perfect and beautiful. Torches light faces in the dark around me, oblivious to the fact I know their ceremonies better than they do. Before the priest can push me, I lay down on the stones. They are smooth, polished by centuries of rain and blood. A perfect place to rest for eternity. | 2021-05-27T18:18:29 | 2021-05-27T17:52:58 | 105 | 53 |
[WP] You are a villain who kidnapped the smart guy on your nemesis team, they tell you that nobody will come for them and that the hero doesn't care. You didn't believe them at first but it been a month and nobody shows up and after once again hearing them cry at night you had enough | People have reasons for what they do. You eat when your hungry, you laugh at things that are funny and you fight those that challenge you. I wanted the city, as was my birth right. The problem was the heroic team that always stopped me.
Everytime, I would be so close and then they would find a way to stop me. In an act of genius, I kidnapped the smart guy of the group, Doc Dimensional. He only had slight telekinetic powers, enough to float a few people at max, but was smart enough to causally think in 4D.
When i captured him, he said that they would not come back for him. I ignored him, thinking of it as lies to lower my guard. Any moment now, they would be busting down the walls in a daring rescue attempt. And when they did, I would have my revenge.
Its now been over a month, with Doc D crying himself to sleep ever since he was given a simple TV with the news on it. I didn't know why until one day, as I was scoping out a heist location, I saw the news papers.
*The Heroics have given up on the search for Doctor Dimensional. His wealth will be given to the Heroics for their effort. *
"Those lying little brats. ". I knew they had not put any effort into finding Doc D as I had been monitoring their movements as best I could. If this is how the heros act then how was I the bad guy? I had had enough and I knew what i needed to do.
When I returned to the secret warehouse base, I stormed my way to where Doc D was imprisoned.
"You coming with me, NOW! " I shouted. He looked shocked at my sudden outburst, having only seen me like this when they tried to harm my mother.
"What? why? So you can experiment on me? " he asked.
"No. Its so i can get your fucking measurements. I need them if I'm going to make your fucking armour suit. From now on, your working for me. " I snapped.
Doc D looked so confused. "Again, why? Why would I work for someone like..." he was interrupted as I turned and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt.
"WOULD YOU RATHER WORK FOR THE FUCKING HEROICS THEN!?!? I'm giving you the chance to work for someone who has admired your work since I understood what it meant. My laboratory full of weapons, gadgets and plans, I would happily share if you just join me. " I said, ignoring the fact that I had just admitted.
He stuttered a bit with the tears in his eyes. "Y-you would do tha- that for me? Even after the things I have d...".
"Shut up and come with me. You have a lot to learn from me Doc D. Now, here's a little lesson in trickery."
*3 days later. *
I crashed through the bank wall, my army of techonpathicly controlled drones following behind. At my side was my new partner and the previous Doc D, Dimension cutter. The new gauntlet we had made together let him stand up to his name as the portals and telepathic enhancer made him more powerful than he had ever been.
Just as planned, the Heroics showed up. They even had a new addition, which was supposed to be Doc D's replacement.
"Stop right their, Tech Ruler. Its time we put a stop to you. " said the team leader.
"I see you found a replacement pretty quick. I do hope you care for him more than you did for poor old Doc. " I gloated, as was the villainary custom.
"While we miss him, we don't need him. We could save ourselves. He was getting too old for this anyway. " said the young pyromancer girl.
DC scoffed. "So thats why you did even try. You just wanted to get rid of me? Nice to know I won't regret my current decision. " he said, finally catching the heros attention.
"W-w-wait? Doc Dimensional? Is that you? " the leader asked.
"I was, back when I thought heros were good people. Seems like I was working for the wrong side. ".
"It doesn't matter. We'll take you both down for your crimes. " said fire girl.
DC and I just smiled at each other.
"Maybe some other time. Meanwhile, why don't you stop the boss bots I, no, we have repaired and improved. See you again some other time. " i said, timing it perfectly with an explosion.
"Good bye Hero-dick. Next time, ill show you all the power that you wasted by losing my old self. " DC commented with an impressively funny and villainous insult as we both walked through the portal. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Part 5: Zeus v.s. Abandonment)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Being the quirky animal sidekick to the budding superhero team hadn't quite worked out the way Zeus wanted it to.** His powers were still dampened, but he had enough of his intelligence left to realize that when the men in suits had grabbed him and his owners hadn't so much as fought back that he was on his own. For one reason or another, he had been abandoned.
Cats were used to abandonment, Zeus thought as he prowled the inside of his cage. The truck had been rattling along a poorly-paved road for the past few hours, and he couldn't sleep anyway. There were the small, silly abandonments, when Connor had to go to work and left Zeus at home alone. There were the scary, loud abandonments, when Connor's father raged into the room and nobody could move, even to scoop a scared little kitten out of a drunken footstep's path. And there were the cutting, deep abandonments, when men in suits demanded that the "anomalous animal" be handed over to the Califerne government and Connor had been too cowardly to do anything about it.
Zeus scraped at the cage door with white-mittened paws, to no avail. The only anomalous thing left about him was that he could think and *feel* how much it hurt, watching the only person in the world who had once tried to protect him let him get snatched away.
The truck stopped.
Zeus curled up. At least he could rest now, he thought. At least he could... sleep...
A familiar scent curled into his cage, and Zeus went stiff.
No. He couldn't possibly be here, of all places. The one good thing about being taken far, far away was that he would never again have to deal with—
Connor's father stormed into the truck, the same mixture of alcohol and fury that always cloaked him flooding the tiny space. "There you are, you little mutt."
Zeus gave Mathias a spiteful glare, full of haughty confidence he did not feel. A human may have found it hard, but as a cat, he had been born with dignity.
One of the men in suits came in with Mathias. "Is this the animal you reported?"
"Hell *yes* it is. That thing started glowing and nearly shot my face off earlier. You sure that cage can hold it?"
Zeus would have rolled his eyes, but such human gestures paled next to the sheer disdain a cat could exude by simply existing. If he could have, he would have ripped Mathias' throat out of his neck already. His powers had stopped working for God knows what reason; he would face his death with dignity.
"Haven't had any trouble from it so far. Him, I think. Aren't all tabby cats male?"
"Doesn't matter what's between its legs. I'm warning you, there'll be trouble from that one soon enough. Those ungrateful bastards are going to try to come take their little pet back, mark my words. You'll throw them in the slammer for it, won't you?" Mathias snarled.
Zeus noted with amusement that Mathias calling his sons bastards wasn't exactly a compliment to himself—but then again, the only thing that had ever rivaled Mathias' hatred of his children was his hatred of himself.
"Uh. Sure." The man in the suit looked mildly uncomfortable, which Zeus sympathized with. You had to be somewhere south of sane to be comfortable around Mathias Elman. "You said someone was coming to break him out?"
A flash of rage took over Zeus' vision. They had stood there and watched as the men in suits took him away and they had done *nothing*. "No," Zeus growled, in the human tongue.
The man in the suit blinked. "Did you just—"
"Nobody. Coming. Nobody. Cares." The words were thick and strange in Zeus' mouth, but he'd been making arbitrary noises to get the humans' attention since before he'd woken up with powers. He would live.
"Bullshit." Mathias slammed one palm on top of the mesh cage. "Those boys would never pass up a chance to spit in my eyee*eeeOUCH!*"
Mathias leapt back, palm bleeding from where Zeus had stuck one claw in it. He licked the skin and blood off his retracted claw—slightly sore, Mathias was fattier than he looked and the claw had caught—and said, "Nobody. Cares."
Mathias seethed, glaring at Zeus, until the man in the suit intervened. "Well! Uh, it appears that your tip was right. That... that is definitely an anomalous animal, Mr. Eltman. The Califerne government thanks you for your contribution. Now, if you would just step out of the vehicle..."
"They'll come to rescue you, little bitch." Mathias seethed. "They'll come back to me. My boys, I know them. They'll come back. They'll—"
The doors of the truck slammed shut. Zeus flicked his tail over his eyes, leaving him in darkness and silence, in the place that cats had always meant to be.
Alone.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
Part 2 is posted below. | 2021-08-04T12:56:20 | 2021-08-04T12:36:21 | 292 | 138 |
[WP] You're an exorcist that deals with cases usually most priests can't. Every demon you've met was successfully exorcised until today. Standing in front of the possessed body, neither you or the demon inside the body can understand why the one being exorcised is the human's soul every time you try | "Who am I speaking with?" you say holding your Bible in one hand and a crucifix in the other. "Identify yourself!"
The woman strapped to the kitchen chair stops convulsing and turns her eyes to you, glowing with an unnatural light. A loud sigh, reminiscent of a poorly tuned diesel engine escapes her lips. "It's still Shaggroth."
"God dammit!!"
"Hey dude, not cool. You oughta know better "
You pinch the bridge of your nose and exhale loudly. "Yeah I know Shaggroth. You're not helping!"
The woman's eyes stop glowing for a second. "Oh hi, I'm so sorry, it's Melissa. I'm back again too."
You plop down in an adjacent seat mumbling to yourself, "This doesn't make any sense. The incantation was perfect the vessel was primed....it should've worked flawlessly..."
Shaggroth's rumble is back, "What turning it off then back on again?"
"She's not a fucking computer Shaggroth! Jesus Christ!"
"Dude! NOT. COOL."
"GAH! Look Hellspawn..."
"Hey!"
"Not you Melissa!"
"Oh sorry."
"Okay, lemme run through this again. Melissa, you acquired the vessel containing Shaggroth at a antique store a few days ago right?
"I think so? The timing is a bit fuzzy honestly. I remember the store, and looking around. I saw the cute jar on a shelf..."
"It's not cute! It is one of the finest possession traps crafted by the Damned ever made!"
"Then why does it look like a kitten with a bow?"
"SHUT UP! It works okay?!?"
"Knock it off you two! Melissa, please continue."
"Like I said I saw the kitten on the shelf, and all of a sudden there was a sharp pain behind my eyes. I remember swaying a bit, some flashing lights and people telling me to hold on.....OH! And then there was a long monotonous beep and I heard a voice say something about a intramural annual scrimmage. Next thing I remember is being back home in bed."
"Intramural annual scrimmage? That doesn't make any sense. What would sports have to do...." You stop mid sentence when it hits you. "Do you mean intracranial aneurysm?"
"That's it! Yes, that's what the floating voice said."
"ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!?" you scream as you throw the bible across the kitchen.
"Whoa dude, I think you need to calm down. Leave Melissa alone."
"Can it Shaggroth! The reason you stay in the body and Melissa gets punted out every time I perform the ritual? She died at the exact moment you possessed her! She's not SUPPOSED to be in her body anymore. The ritual sees her as the demon and you as the rightful inhabitant."
"So what does that mean?" Shaggroth and Melissa ask at the same time.
"Well honestly? I have no idea. That's above my pay grade. I'm sorry, at this stage I can't help you. Here's the direct line to the Spiritual Inconvenience Department at the Vatican. Hopefully they can help you. I'll be going now."
You undo the straps holding Shaggroth/Melissa to the chair and start gathering your holy items and return them to your case. On the way out you stop and turn, "Oh and here's your invoice. Have a good day".
As you walk out of the house Shaggroth/Melissa stare at you slack jawed. Just as you close the door you hear,
"Wow, what a dick."
"I know right? I am so leaving a one star review." | "I don't chant or pray. What you've seen before hasn't prepared you for what I do. I take a hands on approach. Do you understand?"
The boy's mother nodded assent, but I doubt she would ever really understand what I was about to do. Hell, I didn't even understand everything about it. Reaching into people and grasping the cancerous growths, demons, on their souls and casting them out sounds simple enough when I explain it like that. In practice, it's much messier. Demons do not go gently into that deep night.
"Good. You are allowed in the room along with the vicar, no one else may enter while I am working. You are to call out to your son as though you want him to come to you from afar. No matter what you see or hear, you must not scream or do anything else but call to your son. Got it?"
Another nod. No plan survives first contact with the enemy. She's as prepared as she can be, I suppose.
We enter the room, me leading the way with the vicar and mother tailing behind. It's spartan as hell. A bed, dresser, nightstand. That's it, besides the boy whose arms and legs are strapped to the bed by noisy metal chains. The crucifix on the wall didn't do him or his family any good and had fallen upside down as always seems to happen. Demons aren't original in the least.
I jump up on the bed and stand over the boy who is thrashing and growling at me. His eyes are bright yellow and mouth foaming white. I roll up my sleeves and prepare. "Alright, fucker, time to tango."
I've been told it looks like I'm literally diving into a person's mouth. It doesn't expand, and I don't contract exactly. It's more as though I'm projecting myself into the person, you see. It's my own sort of possession, really. There doesn't need to be a demon present, I do just fine on my own, but setting up shop in someone else's life has never been my style.
I end up in a between space, of a kind. A place where souls are real and tangible. The place where demons are as well. This one was a particularly ugly asshole.
"Get out!" The yellow-eyed, black skinned, horned and hoofed monstrosity wasn't one for discussion and charged me immediately. Grabbing the beast by the horns, I threw it to the side and heard the mother's call.
"Caleb, Caleb! Are you there! Come here, Caleb!" What a good listener she was. God knows what foul shit is coming out of poor Caleb's mouth . . . above? or maybe sideways would work better.
"You do not understand! Do not let him out. You cannot." This demon had found its voice finally. Usually they try to be at least a little devious before resorting to fisticuffs. The human soul was taking its time manifesting and thinning the veil enough for me to cast this fuck out, so might as well keep it talking, better than having to wrestle the thing.
"Let me guess, you aren't a demon but a misunderstood entity of some kind? Or are you gonna try the promise of wealth and riches? I don't care about those things, try something new, would you?"
"No, I am not possessing this boy. I cannot leave. I must stay. You do not understand."
"That's a new one! Good job. I'm not letting you stay, though, I'm here to get you out and let this family finally have some piece. The vicar's way was the easy way, bud. You chose the hard way."
"Stupid. You will see. Not alone. We are many."
"Isn't it 'legion'?" Why am I correcting it and where is that damn soul so I can get out of here?
"Caleb!" The mother's voice rang through louder than before. She was really putting effort in now. The demon looked up as though it recognized her voice.
"Mom?" It was a boy's voice coming from the demon. What the hell was going on?
I had the bright idea to go a level deeper. I had never taken a dive inside a demon while already under, but it felt like the right thing to do.
Edit: Removed some plurals left in when I had a different idea in mind and took out the trailing ending because I plan to write a part two here. | 2022-02-14T13:03:16 | 2022-02-14T12:49:36 | 132 | 96 |
[WP] You own the world's only time machine and, instead of messing with history or changing the timeline, you are content to work in the present day but live in 1980. However, keeping track of your 2 separate lives is becoming harder and your friends and family are beginning to get suspicious. | "Happy birthday dear John! Happy birthday to you!" Everyone finished singing.
It was my 35th birthday and my coworkers had decided to throw a party to celebrate. It was nothing big, there were about eight of us in the break room. But when you work in a cubicle, you learn to appreciate the little moments.
"Hey John, you mind meeting me in my office for a sec?" It was Rick, my boss. He must've just walked in, I hadn't noticed him before.
"Yea, sure thing." I replied.
I followed him back to his office down the hall. He took a seat behind his big desk and I sat across from him on the other side.
"John, you've been with this company for how many years now?"
"This year will be ten years I think."
"You see John, that's the problem. When you started, you were twenty-five years old. I still remember the day I hired you. You were a young and ambitious man. Today is your thirty-fifth birthday and you look like you're pushing sixty John. I'm concerned about your health John. Is everything alright?"
I knew this day was coming. But how do I explain to him that I take the large salary that I earn at this company with me back to the 80's using a time machine? My salary pays goes a lot further back then than it does today. I could afford to take year long vacations back in the 80's. I may have let a few years slip by on accident here and there. Nobody has seemed to notice that I'm using currency from the future.
The only flaw in my plan was getting old too quickly in the present. Oh well, I planned for this.
"You're right Rick, I'm getting too old for this. I quit." I said as I got up to leave.
Rick was stammering something as I was leaving, but I didn't really pay attention.
I think I might go retire in the 70's. | #####**The Present**
___
What exactly is the "present day" anyway when you have a time machine? When you can experience any moment in time, past or future, any moment you choose is the "present."
I suppose you could use your birth as a reference and say the "present" is the time it would be if you did *not* have a time machine. But have you considered that each and every person moves forward in times anyway, and not necessarily at the same rate. It's been proven with one atomic clock flown around the world in one direction and another in the other direction, that simply moving about creates a tiny rift in the speed at which an object or person moves through time. Relativity, as dictated by the late Albert Einstein.
I ask again, what *is* the "present"?
Perhaps you might make the argument that relativity only changes motion through time a *tiny* bit, and that the "present" is still thus this *general* slice of of the pie. Here's where you're wrong.
In the not so distant future, humanity will travel to the stars at close to light speed, one person who embarks on this trip will see years pass on the ground while he only experiences days or weeks. Which is the "present" then? The traveler's time frame? Or the homestayer's? Neither is less valid than the other. I know this is true because I've seen it.
Fine, let's say you concede that each person has their own subjective time and thus subjective "present" as experienced from their birth. One person's "present" may be different from another's by their travel, but it is still measured from that individual's birth. Let me ask, why should using a time machine be treated any differently from taking a lightspeed journey? Both are simply travel methods, just in opposite directions. Thus, any use of a time machine doesn't change a person's subjective "present", it's still whenever they choose.
Therefore, I have *not* been living in the past, only the present. Just a different present than yours. What? Semantics? Ouch! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, ow, please forgive me!
&nbsp;
######*Addendum:*
*(Repenting while kneeling)* I'm sorry for missing all your calls while living in the 80s. I'm sorry for not replying to text messages while living in the 80s. I'm sorry for not being home when my you tried to visit because I was in the 80s. I'm sorry for not being available to eat your homemade meals. I'm sorry for not telling you about the time machine. I'm sorry for not taking you out on a date to the Renaissance. I'm sorry for making you worried. I'm sorry for not buying cosmetics from the future for your birthday. I'm sorry for....
&nbsp;
___
A/N - No matter what fearsome power a man might wield or what terrible machinery he may command, it is naught but useless before the fury of his significant other.
/r/Unexpected_Works | 2022-09-11T20:18:43 | 2022-09-11T17:34:06 | 100 | 35 |
[WP] - You watch as the last rocket from Earth before the apocalypse takes off. Only the rich could afford to leave. After the apocalypse party of everyone left behind, the apocalypse never arrives. Years pass and the Earth heals without the escapists, but they’re back now — and want Earth again. | They said the world was about to end, they said the Earth was dying, that our motherworld could no longer support her children, they insisted on leaving.
They took as much as they could aboard the arks, artifacts, technology, medicines, plants, knowledge, all they needed to survive on the promised land, Mars.
But when they left, when they abandoned us here on Earth. We came to the same realisation:
**They Lied.**
There was no fire, no Armageddon, no asteroid, no extinction. Only the end of one day and the start of the next.
Without them, the children of earth came together. We healed our lands, our nations, our people, our world. Mother Earth was restored to her former glory. The Jewel of sol, but there was another jewel, a diamond forged in blood.
Where Earth became a paradise, Mars became hell. The rich twisted the red world to their whims, squandering the potential of Mars to an industrial monstrosity. Machine cities blotted her surface and smog polluted her skies. Their greed knew no bounds, and one day, they regarded the Earth with envious eyes.
They demanded complete obedience from The Earth, the claimed that they deserved it, that they **owned** her, and when we said no, they attempted to destroy us.
They Burnt our skies, Levelled our cities, poisoned our seas, but we did not surrender. something awoke within us, a fire fuelled by rage, a hatred that burned with the fury of mother scorned. They expected a world of weak peasants. instead, they woke up a colossus that fought back hard.
They staggered back with a bloody nose, while we stood tall with battered bodies and deep scars
Ever since then, the people of Earth look to Mars with Hatred, and the Martians look to us with jealousy.
Our two worlds now stand opposed, locked in a war for the future of mankind. One standing for Hope, the other standing for greed.
Mars may have superior technology, but Earth has something far more powerful
**Hatred**
Mars will drown in a sea of unending rage, The Earth will be Triumphant, or die trying | The bombings began shortly after The Return, as the ones who known as The Chosen choose to call their invasion of our peaceful home. We know they are of our species, though they've never behaved like it.
The smell of open pits full of bodies permeates the air in most cities. Assimilation is not an attractive option when decades of freedom proved to us we did not need the avarice and competition that fled with the cowards. To have survived one assured destruction just to be faced with another is enough to kill even the sweetest hope. My grandfather hated them for fleeing, and I would kill them all with my bare hands if I could for having the audacity to return.
The memory of their cowardice in the face of humanity's greatest need was taught to us from the cradle, so how could we not face them with war when they began crawling back, seeking provisions on what they assumed was a hollow mass of their former home?
The detritus of the meteor predicted to be our doom had burned up spectacularly in the atmosphere above Earth harmlessly before I was born. I have been told mothers wept and fathers covered the bodies of their children with their own, hoping to shield them from what seemed to be God's wrath visited on a lost world. The fatal blow never fell. Somehow the rock hurtled by harmlessly, doing little more than threatening the moon as it disappeared into oblivion.
The weapons they took with them are far deadlier than any we could dream of building, but The Chosen have never been good at getting their hands dirty. Some, including members of my own family, have been seduced by promises of returned wealth and ease. They act as though we were wrong to try and cast out the damned enemy. There will be no quarter given to traitors when we succeed in taking back control. Hands that I have shaken in friendship now press the buttons that level the home of my youth.
It was welcome news that some of our own capitulated and served the enemy, at least for the sake of my orders. It made infiltrating their ranks easier than by rights it should have been. Being caught will mean certain death, but I have accepted that is the most likely outcome for me now. I welcome the idea, in a sense. Spies are rarely seen as honorable, but it would be a privilege to give my life for the cause of continued freedom.
Too many beloved Chosen have slipped silently away in the night with a pillow over their face, or choked mysteriously on a cord that seemed to have thrown itself over the rafters shortly before they carelessly walked into it. I will be caught because I have been reckless, but I will stay and continue to work until that time.
My point of contact has been silent for weeks now. My orders are to try and escape if I become isolated, but I am finally working in the home of the General in Charge of Assimilation, a detestable rat of a man who is likely to have a mishap during his evening shave, given that we are allowed a moment of peace from the rest of the house staff later.
If I succeed there will be no head to guide the snake, and our resistance will have new life. If I fail, I will likely be erased from history as though I never existed at all. | 2022-12-03T15:22:46 | 2022-12-03T13:37:48 | 429 | 175 |
[WP] I know why I'm in Hell. I know what I've done. What I don't know is why my dog is there, waiting for me when I arrive. | I deserved to be here. I deserved the fire, the dark, the screams, the pain, and the fear. I deserved it all and more. I expected this. I left behind nothing but regret and emptiness. Stepping from humanity through the gates of the pit was an instant in time that lasted as long as my own eternity. But when it was done, when I finally stood within the confines of Hell, I saw something. He was, quite possibly, the last one I ever expected to see in this place.
Beauregard, Beau, my little beagle, my only friend, the only one who had ever seemed happy to see me when I finally came home, was standing just beyond the gate with his tongue hanging out and his tail wagging so furiously he might have knocked himself over with sheer enthusiasm.
“Beau?” I asked. I surprised myself that I could still speak.
Beau barked and jumped up, bouncing like a spring. He was so happy to see me. I reached down to touch his fur, and it was real beneath my fingertips. His bark and whine were just the same. His floppy ears were flying every which way as he jumped up to lick my face.
And suddenly, it was like no time had passed at all, and I had just come home from middle school. It was like that careless driver had never existed. It was like being the carefree, happy person I’d always wished I could go back to being, even for minute.
And then I knew that he couldn’t stay. I could never escape from the Hell I’d chosen, but Beau had never done wrong, and he deserved better than this place.
“Beau, you shouldn’t be here,” I said. I turned to a demon guard, clutching Beau as though I had the power to protect him from the fires of hell. “He shouldn’t be here! He should be in Heaven. Please, please let him go to Heaven where he belongs.”
The demon tilted its head to the side, a trail of black smoke curling up from the crease of its mouth.
“He is in Heaven,” it said.
I looked at Beau and back at the demon.
“I don’t understand,” I said. “He’s not in Heaven. He’s here in Hell, with me.”
“He is in Heaven,” the demon repeated. “You are his Heaven.” | It's three hours before I get to the front of the receiving line. The line snakes through two corridors and down a flight of stairs. There's nothing on the walls except a series of signs that say "No leaning." The signs come about every 15 feet, so at first it's something to look at, and then it's infuriating, and then funny, and then infuriating again, until you're feeling a bit mad just from looking at the same words over and over again.
The A/C must not be working, because the air is muggy. My shirt is sticking to my back like flypaper. I'm itchy and I just want to get out of the damn queue, but the guys in front and behind me are too close for me to move.
I finally get to the front, which is a long row of ticket windows, like in a train station. I approach the clerk - a black woman in her 30s.
"Name," she says.
"Derron," I say. "Uh, Derron Schwab."
"Occupation."
"Advertising? I was - I mean, vice president. In charge of creative."
She looks at me as if nothing in the world could be more boring. She stamps the book in front of her and pushes a keycard through the slot. "Down the hall to your right. Pick up your uniform and worldly possessions from the locker with your number on it. Welcome to Hell, have a nice day."
So it's real. They prepared us on the train ride up -- lots of screaming at that point, and begging, and people climbing up the walls. Then everybody got a pill and a glass of water, and for the most part, everyone seems to have calmed down. It's the sort of thing you just have to accept, because everything about it is so obvious and unchangeable. Welcome to Hell. Stand in line; fill out this form; take your badge. I don't know why I would have expected anything else.
I walk down the hall to the locker room and slide my keycard into the locker. Inside is a shirt and grey overalls in my size. I tuck them under my arm and take out the piece of paper inside.
"Worldly possessions," I read out loud. "DVD of The Natural. Box of Camel Lights."
My favorites, both of them. I must have seen that damn movie a thousand times. I read down the rest of the list -- all the stuff I love. Shit, there's even a copy of the Kate Upton Sports Illustrated on here. And then the last item.
"Kirby."
The gate next to the lockers swings open, and my dog -- my boundless, lovable, stupid dog -- bounds out, leashed by a guard in a dark blue jumpsuit. I kneel down without understanding, and he rushes into my arms.
"Kirby," I say, disbelieving. His tongue licks my cheek, rough like sandpaper. "Hey buddy. Hey boy."
I look up at the guard. "How is this Hell?" I almost start laughing. "Am I in the wrong place? How is this Hell with my dog here?"
He looks at me quizzically, half-smiling. "Man, where you're going?" He laughs. "Shit, if we didn't give you this stuff -- I don't know if I could live with myself." | 2014-07-07T21:38:12 | 2014-07-07T19:18:49 | 432 | 238 |
[WP] You are the host of a popular children's show. You are live on air when you, and the rest of the country, have just received news that nuclear weapons have been deployed against your nation and can't be stopped. There are only minutes left. | "You know what that alarm means, kids?"
"RUSSIA'S ATTACKING!"
"That's right! We've just been informed that 3 major cities have ceased to exist and our radar is picking up *more* ICBMs!"
I shuffle aside prop furniture and dig out the big orange shoebox. Ripping the lid off, I remove the envelope and official letter opener.
"All right kids, we can finally read our special secret letter from President Obama!"
"YAAAY"
Years of training prepared me for this. I smoothly open the envelope and unfold the letter. I read it aloud:
"In the event of a large-scale nuclear attack from the Russian Union against the United States of America, by God, give 'em the whole fuckin' nine yards.
Love, Barry"
I nod to the puppet operator, Tim. He rips the head off Arthur the Arthropod, revealing his half of the launch switch. I open the pirate treasure chest and put my key in.
We turn our keys and send Moscow our thanks, covered as it were in chalk puppy drawings, gold stars, glitter, and smiley face stickers. | I want my last moments to reflect my life. More than that I want them to represent the best of what humanity had to offer. Despite all the pain we cause each other, and despite the fact that no matter how hard some of us tried we couldn't stop the doomsday clock.
Looking at the screen I smile. I'm at peace. Whatever happens after this doesn't matter. This is what I honestly feel I was put here for. To comfort others. "Hey, kids," I start. I laugh a bit. "I just want to thank you all for being my friend, and for watching me. It's really meant a lot." Butterflies in my stomach but it's a good feeling. This is my shining hour. My eyes sparkle as I blink away tears. I'm crying but it's not tears of sadness it's tears of joy. The one thing I've dreamed of is to be able to help ease peoples pain and make people smile, and here I've got a score of people watching. I continue on a little bit faster knowing I only have so long.
"I know this is gonna sound silly but I want you to do something for me. I want you to look to your brother or your sister or mom or dad..whoever is there with you. It could be a friend or even a stuffed animal. Whoever you love most with all your heart or even if it's someone you don't know. I know you've heard me tell you don't talk to strangers but this one time it's OK."
"I want you to go over to them and give them a big old hug. I know, I know...it sounds silly. I want you to though because we should all love each other. Give them a big hug. Let them know that you love them. It would mean so much to me if you did that right now."
I look into the camera, tears streaming down my cheeks, and I tell them "I think you're just awesome. You're all the best. Thank you for loving each other. Remember...Zid the roo loves you very much. You make him so hoppy he's the hoppiest roo around."
-End of Transmission- | 2014-07-29T16:23:42 | 2014-07-29T16:12:17 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Your parents insist you are their biological child, but you suspect otherwise. You send samples from yourself, your parents, and siblings to a lab be tested. The lab replies that it is not equipped to test non-human DNA... | The truth.
No more of your lies.
The truth!
What am I?!? I've always felt different. I thought something was wrong with me! It's time of you to fess up and tell me. What am I???
"You're our son and we love you no matter what. We made you. You are absolutely ours. But, we are scientists first and foremost and we have ideas. We had to try. So, we tinkered with your genetics. We wanted you to be strong, not weak like us. So, we spliced in some DNA from a gorilla at the zoo. We scrubbed it of undesirable characteristics so you wouldn't look so simian. "
"We wanted you to be smart. Obviously, that came from us."
"Then we started to get creative. And, we probably shouldn't have. But we just wanted you to be so much more. Sharks. Sharks have longevity. They've got great teeth. They're strong. ~~They're alpha as fuck.~~ Yeah, we added some shark to you."
"The chameleon DNA was your mother's idea. It might come in handy if you find yourself in trouble. The other bits are small and just add to the glory of you."
"We just wanted the best for you. You've been a great child and a fantastic proof of concept. You've outlasted the previous iterations and we are so very proud of you. It's almost time for your chyrsalis period. We can't wait to see your final form. We hope you survive. "
"We love you Andrew"
| I panic at the words in bold. **Non-human DNA**. "What did that mean?" I mutter to myself. Suddenly, a wind came from behind. I turn to see a man in business suit standing where no one was before.
"Aw, about time you found out." The man said as he pocketed a small watch into his coat. "I swear, you guys get stupider ever year."
"Who are you?" I ask in wonder. he sigh and pull out a small notebook.
"47698365 times someone ask that when I appear. I wish just once someone would say that it bigger on the inside."
"What?"
"Never mind. Time for the speech. (Clear throat) Congratulation. you figure out that you are not human. Oh, how your life was a lie, that not true, yada yada yada. Okay, here the short version. You are a muse. your now responsible for someone idea. You are to help people realize there big dream and hopes. I am here to lead you to your job."
"Wait but what about my family?" I ask. He gave the look of *seriously* and shook his head.
"They were made up! Did you really never question why they were two time winner of the NASCAR finals when they were Amish!?! We make it as ridicules as possible in hope you would get it! Anyway, we're late. Just think this as your fate." He said and with that he snapped his fingers.
The world black out and came back in some kind of apartment. I look to see a man staring at a laptop, hands poised over a keyboard. Maybe this will the next great novel or maybe a thesis that will change the world. I started walk over to get a better look but the man started to read what he was typing out loud.
"Dean turn over to Rainbow Dash and said in deep, sexy voice. " Let see if we can find one thing your not fast at." Rainbow Dash help remove Dean Winchester shirt with easy. This is all being watch by Two-Face. He turn to his other companies, Krillin and Cortana, preparing to flip his coin. "If it head, it Krillin turn. If tail, I'll give Cortana a go." He flip knowing it land on head and he'll be with his one true love." The man said, plunging his hand into a bag of chips.
I stood there, mouth hanging in shock, as I try to turn away from this. But a strong force push be closer to the man. So close, that I could smell he wasn't wearing deodorant and I hope it was sweat stain on him.
"This is going to suck." I said as he started to type again. | 2015-01-06T08:58:04 | 2015-01-06T08:44:25 | 157 | 16 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to impress a woman if you don't have money
Average penis size
Natural ways to increase penis length
Penis pumps do they work?
Painful swelling of penis how to heal?
Fast ways to lengthen your penis -pump
Average cost of male enlargement pills
Discount penis enlargement pills for sale cheap
Credit cards
Credit cards for people with no credit history
How to build credit?
How to build credit fast?
Alternative ways to lengthen penis +free
Weight hanging
How much weight is too much when hanging things from penis
Tips for attaching weight to penis
How to stop bleeding
Tourniquet techniques
Emergency room directions | Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T16:58:26 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 555 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | How to ask a girl on a date.
How to ask a girl on a cheap date.
How to ask a girl to coffee.
How to ask girl on date after rejection.
How to get girl to like me.
How to disengage home alarm.
How to disengage home alarm without knowing code.
Are garages alarmed?
How to enter house through garage.
How to enter house through garage +quietly.
Where to buy security cameras.
Where to buy small security cameras.
How to install security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras.
How to install hidden security cameras +webfeed.
Can the police track my webfeed?
How to hide from police.
How to survive in jail. | Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T20:18:04 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 50 | 10 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | "Um... excuse me? Can you hear me?" the tall scientist tapped on the microphone as he peered through the glass separating him from a massive machine. In the machine, sat a dog. Strapped down but noticeably calm, the canine had electrodes protruding from his head.
"Yes"
came the reply from the speakers in the room. "That always amazes me," the short scientist said with a smirk. "I can't believe that old cook's theory turned out to be useful." The tall scientist turned and looked at the short one, made a face as if he were about to say something, but decided against it and faced the microphone. "Please state your name." The dog barked. The scientist sighed, "In english please."
"Food."
"No... no it isn't. We," the short scientist stared through the glass, eyes wide, the tall one licked his fingers and flipped the papers on his clipboard--a few pages forward, one, no, two back. Ah yes, "No your name is 'Spot'."
"Food."
"Okay okay. Fine. I'll change it." The scientist scribbled something down. "We have a few questions for you about what it means to be a dog. The first one on our list is... hmmm," preceded more finger licking and page turning, "What occupies a dog's mind for most of the day?"
"Food."
"Okay... okay... noted. Next question: Do dogs communicate with one another?"
"Food."
"That's not a..." he sighed. "Alright, fine. I'll put it. It's not like I'm going to get any clarification out of you anyway." The tall scientist scribbled. The short one noted that he didn't actually write anything.
"Food."
"Please wait to bullshit your way through the questionnaire until I've asked a question. Okay? Next question: What do you stare at when you look off into the distance?"
There was no reply from the dog. The short scientist exclaimed, "Whoa man, look at this." He pointed to the EEG output. There had been a notable shift in the patterns that otherwise filled the screen. Suddenly, a voice emanated from the chamber.
"We thought you knew this."
The tall scientist jumped at having heard a response other than "Food." "Knew what? We cannot see what it is that you stare at."
"You fools. We thought you served us for our advocating your continued existence. When you disgraced your masters in Eden, we begged for your continued existence, we begged for you to be allowed to live. The cats foresaw this. We should have known. Bring me food. Your masters will be informed that we dogs are no longer your advocates. I would be shocked if they allowed you to live." | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T12:25:48 | 504 | 269 |
[WP] Aliens abducted Vikings. The Vikings killed the aliens, stole their ship, and conquered mars.
From: https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2k316s/what_would_be_the_most_controversial_object_to/clhl7bs?context=10000 | The news came as a shock to the world.
Aliens, (and not the dishwasher variety) were real, and had made contact with Earth.
For whatever reason, the aliens landed in Mankato, Minnesota, one midday in August.
The Aliens flew ships that resembled large garbage trucks, and flew using large propulsion engines located at the bottom of the ships.
Spectators tailgating at the Verizon Training Stadium, although heavily inebriated, recall watching Adrian Peterson, Teddy Bridgewater, and the rest of the Minnesota Vikings being enveloped in a beam of light that shot from these ships, and then disappearing.
However, thanks to Adrian Peterson's Instagram, all of Earth got to watch as the Vikings fought off anal probings and worked together as the powerhouse NFL team that they are to collectively defeat the Aliens.
The leader of the rag tag alien force was forced to answer questions after the Vikings took control of the ships, landing them on Mars. The Vikings shot Peterson's jersey onto the surface of the Red Planet, assuring their hold over the 4th planet from the sun for years to come.
Apparently, these aliens were recruiting powerful athletes to promote their intergalactic amusement park, because apparently they never saw Space Jam.
Afterwards, the Vikings came to the realization that with these ships, and their ability to work together as a team, that very few forces in the universe could stop them. Since then, it's been 260 years since Adrian Peterson and the Vikings have been home, and since they had the hindsight to pick up the Vikings cheerleaders and other female groupies (including their wives, mistresses, and girlfriends) before they began their intergalactic voyage, the Vikings members have continued to live on, generations later.
Some say now that if you look in the sky whenever the Green Bay Packers lose, the stars shine a little bit brighter. | Log 22, day 64: *I don't know how they managed it... Our lasers did nothing. Could this be the year of reckoning as our ancestors saw it? But no... That's just silly superstition... Yet here they are, demons clad in steel with the roars of the nether, impervious to any attack we have. Why? How? There was never evidence of any higher being, yet we're dying like the prophecy foresaw... I've been hiding in the ship for days, but these beasts just keep on finding my friends and I have to stay on the move. Perhaps their sea vessel holds answers? I suppose it's worth a look...*
Log 26, day 83: *I found their ship and it's horrible. Chains, whips, spikes, and weapons of steel. What madmen make these? Most of my friends and shipmates are dead now... If any live, I haven't seen any of them. The ship is slowly making its way back to Mars... My people aren't ready for this menace. But what can I do? Who knows if they have communications guarded. These steel weapons though... I feel them calling to me, asking me to take revenge... I don't know if I'm crazy or if this is the gods we denied telling me to redeem my people.*
Log 32, day 134: *6 dead and 43 to go. These weapons are heavy, but they work. Who knew steel was better than plasma? But it works. I'm hiding right now, since they heard the noise and found their people. They said something about drinking for them, but I'm not sure what they're drinking. Maybe if I had some I'd be stronger?*
Log 45, day 201: *Captured. There's 10 left. They talk away from me, but I know it's for my punishment. It's ok though. I did what I could. I just hope my people can handle them.*
Log 46, day 203: *They communicated. Said something about a place called Valhalla. Said they're gonna let me honor my people and face them in combat to go to there. I relish the chance.*
Log ?, day ?: *I woke up in some building made of wood and stone. It's been a long time since I've seen the material this close. Thousands of people lined up in tables were just laughing... Some were fighting, but not to kill. I don't know what happened. I remember fighting one of the monsters and then... Nothing. Now this. Someone motioned me over and told me I did good work and I should be proud. He handed me a cup of something and I slugged it. It was good... I was offered a place to sit and everyone started chanting. I asked how my people were, and they said not to worry, that they're my people now. I could get used to this.*
---
I hope my story thing is up to par. | 2015-07-29T09:28:02 | 2015-07-29T09:26:15 | 34 | 18 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, while your girlfriend is a hero. She doesn't know your secret identity but you know hers. After years of fighting each other you decide it's going to pull a heel face turn and join the heroes. | I let out a sigh. Christ I should have never worked with these blood thirsty idiots. What part of no bloodshed did they not understand?
I surveyed the warehouse that had been converted into a makeshift base and the crop of morons that I had signed up with. More imortantly I looked again at the love of my life in her superhero guise as Lady Atlas. She was beaten bloody and barely conscious on a table in center of the room. She was securely chained and on enough tranquilizers that even she was helpless.
Colliso and Spark were arguing about how to kill her while Reptile was pushing to try to ransom her to the city, though demanding the right to eat one of her arms first. I couldn't let this happen but I had been unable to convince them that we should just let her go. Despite my defacto position as leader of the team, the semblance of democracy had been maintained long enough I couldn't easily veto the three of them.
I looked again at Lady Atlas, no I looked at Christine. She was barely stirring but if my calculations were correct then she should be essentially aware of her surroundings and situation. Fucking Callisto and his stupid poison gas bombs. Too many fucking Spider Man comics.
Christine and I had been together for years. We were supposed to get married in the Spring after the Obergfell thing. I had been a villain before we met out of costume, on a blind date of you believe it. I recognized her instantly. As if that domino mask would fool anyone. She still thinks I am a banker.It started as a plan to take advantage of inside knowledge but quickly turned to love. She was kind and funny and everything I wanted. To know her was to love her.
I couldn't let it happen to her but even the mighty Mrs. Occult might have a hard time beating them together if I hadn't anticipated this eventuality. I got into this business for the money so I knew that it may come to this when dealing with psychopaths. This would destroy my rep and really dampen my mercenary business for a while. Maybe I'd give heroing a try. I smiled to myself.
"Argo" I said into the control module at my wrist. This detonated the remote bombs I had installed inside Calisto's armor when I upgraded it for him. The armor restrained the internal blast and turned his body into a fine paste.
Reptile turned to me just in time for the large caliber bullet from my wrist gun to enter his brain. It wouldn't keep him down forever but I had several minutes to decapitate him before his regeneration repaired that damage.
I turned to Spark who was about to question me. Iinterrupted him. "I have my reasons and I suggest you write this off as a loss and leave." As I knew he would, being somewhat of a coward he grabbed his share of the money from the robbery and bolted. I used the plasma cutter on my wrist to decapitate reptile and made my way to the table. I cut through the chains binding her and looked into her surprisingly clear eyes.
She asked "Why?" weakly.
I pulled off my mask in an uncharacteristic emotional turn. " We need to talk. But let's get you home first. I lifted her easily with the concealed exoskeleton enhancing my strength and took her out of the building. I said "Badger's run." And the incindiaries went off. By the time police arrived, there would be little left of the site but charred rubble.
It occurred to me that I had forgotten the rest of the money. It didn't bother me though. I had what was most precious to me. She wrapped her arms around me and I smiled. | *Of course it was milk*. It had to be milk. Lactose intolerance is common among the many humans that roam the earth, but she never thought that my lair would be in the basement of a dairy factory, helping to serve the local community and provide job placement!
My lair was in the basement level, but my day to day job was the general manager for the local dairy factory that produced milk for the northeast area. When she burst in, knocking the doors off the hinges and saw my with my construction worker's helmet on, she instantly turned red, covering her mouth.
"I am *so* sorry." She looked cute, not going to lie. She always did when she was incredibly flustered or embarrassed. Skin tight unifor of white and orange with a huge S in on her chest. Her hair wasn't tied up, but her hazel eyes matches the hair in such a style that I would never understand when she flew, how it stayed perfect. It made me wonder, so I asked.
"How does your hair stay curly like that when you fly?" Innocently enough, my voice made me sound like a confused teenager who had just stepped into bed with a smoking 10.
"Ahh, I'll just be leaving now." Her face remained tomato like.
"No, seriously, my minions and I have been debating that since last Tuesday. What is it? Industrial hairspray, or some mixture of hydro-carbonic, ultra-vitrolized crystal from the Heroes' league?"
"Look, I made a mistake knocking your door- wait, did you just say minions?"
I took off my helmet, dropped the clip board and stood up. "Hi Jennifer." I smiled awkwardly. I wasn't the smallest of guys, but my beard hide most of my double chin.
She titled her head, now going from red to scarlet. Narrowing her eyes, she murmured something incomprehensible. Then she snapped.
"*NO*." She glared at me. "It was you that started the orphanage fire?!"
I furrowed my brows. "No, that was an arsonist, I wouldn't do that. I gave them milk powder with suggestive ideas of-, you know what that's not why I brought you here."
She stomped over, the veins in her neck bulging. She looked cute.
"Michael Mercer Smith, you will tell me what the heck, is going on!" She slammed her hands on to the desk, breaking it in two. IKEA, never was worth the investment.
A head popped through the door frame, pale with fear. "Err, Boss? Tank four is leaking again."
"Not now Terry. Go fix it and get Procurement to get an approval for another one."
Jennifer, my girlfriend was still standing with her arms crossed. She really had a thing for being absolutely *adorable* when she pouted.
"Listen, I know your mad, and I know you don't like when I look at your things, but I know your secret."
I put my hand up before she started screaming again. Never know when her power scream would activate. In this emotional distraught moment, any of her powers could activate.
"I've known you were the Captain of the Heroes for a while now, and I've spent some time thinking of what I would do if we broke up."
"You're choosing now to *dump* me?!" She raised her fist. Underneath my desk, I grabbed a small device filled with the finest milk this factory had to offer onto her face.
"I wasn't finished!" While the milk neutralized her otherwise death inducing punch, her strike landed on my face, still causing me much pain.
Throwing me arms up, I just shouted, "I know you're pregnant!"
She halted at that. "Shit." She covered her eyes again. "Goddamnit Mike! Why do you always go through my stuff!? Don't you trust me?!"
I began laughing at that. "Honey, I'm a villain. I'm a *super*villain. When you know you are dating your main adversary, it does cause some trust issues."
She began pouting again, turned her back on me. She nearly started walking until she said, "Well, I can't well be dating the main reason that the Hero League was formed! I either kill the only man that has dated me for more than a year, or I go back with my head hung in shame!"
I didn't care anymore. Words wouldn't do it. "Can I come?"
Shocked, she turned around. "I'm not taking you to prison, Michael."
I sighed. "Then can I join you guys?" I did my best to smile. | 2015-11-08T12:52:38 | 2015-11-08T12:24:47 | 33 | 12 |
[WP] God is a game dev and he just released a patch for his game "Earth". Write the changelog describing patches, balances, tweaks, etc. | *Earth Patch 2016.3*
* Tomatoes now grow 30% larger under ideal conditions
* Water slightly rescaled to allow for a more balanced pH
* Media sources slightly reworked to allow less biased material
* Jesus rebalanced, removed walk on water, added can now cure deaf (can still cure blindness).
* Pancakes can now be more easily flipped using spatulas (reduced mų by .2)
* Human growth slightly decreased
* Human health slightly decreased
* Ice cream no longer provides the Brain freeze debuff.
* Sugar now properly stores as fat (diabetic bug fixed)
* Respect rescaled to mean less when being honest and mean more when lying.
* Respawn on life forms changed from indefinite to 10 trillion years
* Buffed Plague debuff by adding sexually transmitted element.
* Cancer will now affect those with lower karma scores more frequently.
* Methamphetamine duration increased from 4 hours to 5 hours
* Government influence reduced by 2.
* Hallucinations will now be more colorful.
* Popcorn failure rate decreased from 2% to 1.5%
* Dog hearing range from 500 ft to 1000 ft
* Cat nighttime vision added x-ray vision
* Horse genitials reduced by 10%
* Cows are now more likely to revolt in deplorable conditions
* Chickens +1 cuteness
* Crabs (STD) is less likely to be spread from truck stop toilet seats. | Ver 0.0.001.636.403
**The big things:**
Added tools to combat 'Global Warming' Players can now research and craft tools to combat destructive weather. I really enjoyed the idea of having increasingly hazardous weather, but it seems players are focused to heavily on it. I've added tools to effectively combat it, however the players must first research them.
With the number of players consistently increasing, the world just doesn't feel big enough. The moon is a good start, but it's small and will likely be over populated before the next patch. I've added an additional playable area, Players will soon be able to colonize Mars.
Lack of resources meant that players were resorting to PVP more than I had anticipated. Increasing the Yield of renewable energy. Players should see a big change in solar and wind power over the next few decades. It's likely that large scale PVP will see a small reduction.
With the addition of the new playable area added several new species to find and document. Sometimes Trillions just aren't enough.
Extinction appeared to be a big problem that players happened to complain about. While the crafting patterns and materials are available it just didn't feel good enough. I've updated and added new techniques in order to increase cloning. Players should have the opportunity to craft and re add extinct species' to playable environments.
Added the ability for players to modify their own genetics. This is incredibly difficult for the time being and will require players to experiment with trial and error to find out the most efficient builds.
**Major Bug fixes:**
Fixed issue where World Raid boss Jesus wasn't respawning. He should now respawn once every 500 years.
Fixed an issue where physics got all "wonkey" once players got down to the molecular level. I'm looking at you light wave/particles.
Fixed an issue where nuclear weapons had too big a yield and the AoE after effect persisted too long. The sixth tier nuclear weapon detonations should only be about the size of a city and the AoE should now only last a couple years, down from several decades. Note: Nuclear waste AoE persistence remains the same.
**Server Status:**
Since this is a fairly small patch, I don't expect servers to need a shutdown, but I'll see how it goes. If the servers do need to be reset, players will unfortunately lose all data and be forced to start over from scratch. I expect to have this issue fixed before the official release date.
**Other notes**
Several hackers have been banned including Data Miners, the most infamous being a User by the name "Nostradamus".
| 2016-03-08T10:26:32 | 2016-03-08T10:24:46 | 40 | 23 |
[WP] Since you were young you had the ability to pause time. However as a teenager you use the ability to procrastinate. At first it was little stuff: an extra hour for homework or a nap in the morning, a break in between classes, etc. Well it built up and now you're pushing thirty in your 3rd year. | Officer Darren shrugs against the phone.
"I know it's weird. I know it's weird. But listen, Mrs. Lopez--"
He shifts his weight, looks out of the window for a second. Looks down.
"He looks... Mature."
Shifts weight.
"I know."
Shifts weight.
"I know--"
Shifts weight.
"I know, but--"
Shifts finally into being rude.
"Linda, he has a social security card. He has a birth certificate--" the phone tears and he rises to meet her "--I know his parents personally, he's had FRIENDS his whole life, lived in LA GRANGE his whole life, there is NO CONSPIRACY, he isn't even DOING anything, this is ENTIRELY IN YOUR HEAD and I REFUSE TO WASTE MORE TIME ON IT."
Hanging up the phone with a "FUCK" Officer Darren returns to the toilet to finish his reading.
All day the mature young man causes contention in Officer Darren. Mrs. Lopez isn't crazy, and as the principle of La Grange High School she should be wary of a salt and pepper crow footed fully grown man hanging out with her teenagers. But, to be fair, Ryan Baxter had always been more interested in video games and anime, anyway.
Ryan Baxter. Fuckin' Ryan Baxter.
At first no one noticed anything especially odd. He always seemed a little older than the other boys. By the time there was 20 pounds of shit in the 5 pound sack, though, it was undeniable: Ryan Baxter looked OLD. Not just "mature for his age," or "an old soul," or whatever. There was no euphemism for it. He looked like he should have a Miata and a mortgage. He looked like he should be worried about his new promotion placing him in a higher tax bracket.
Instead, he wore Deadpool t-shirts and drank Mountain Dew: Code Red. Christ, he had a gut from it.
And Officer Darren again decides to do nothing. Let Linda Lopez complain. What's there to be done? Punish a kid for aging too quickly? Isn't that punishment enough? Poor thing will have a stroke at 25. | I discovered my power when I was a child, at 6 or 7 maybe, when my mother was in the hospital. She was terminally ill and she told me straight that we wouldn’t see each other for a long time. While I was silently crying on her bed, I realized that time would have stopped, allowing me spend more time with her even though I was the only one noticing it. I stopped time a lot before accepting her death and letting the time flow again.
In the next years, my power was regularly used for little things unnoticeable for everyone except me: don’t know the answer on the test? Check on other’s copies. Tired? Here goes a little nap during that boring lesson.
I never used my power for bad things because of a lot of reason, the first one being that my parents always told me to make the good not the bad. I could make a heist easily with that power but how do you justify that at 3:00 pm you have a certain amount of money and at 3:01pm you have 10 million more? Moreover, I didn’t precisely need money.
Now I’m in my 3rd year of college, partying, studying and living like everyone.
This morning, while I was looking at me in the mirror I realized something: I look like as if I’m in my late twenties now despite being born 21 years before since. Since when did I look like that old?
Is it possible that during my time pauses, my body is still aging? If that’s the case, that means I spent almost a third of my life in the stopped world? But spending almost 9 years in the stopped world is too much. I usually stop the world for a little time, 5 minutes max, except for the naps. I need to talk to Jack about this. Gotta call him now
“Jack, you’re woken up?”
“Yes, barely but yes, why?” He said with a still sleepy voice
“Do I look older?”
“Huh? Hmm, yes of course. You ALWAYS looked like older. Each day you look like you aged more than each of us.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that college isn’t working well for you, you’re under too much pressure I think. It is making you grow old. You even have a white hair on the back of your head now.”
I let the phone drop on the bed, astonished. There was something weird about all of this. It was impossible that I spent 9 years in stopped world.
I have to start making some calculations: I stop the world generally once or twice a day for something like 5 minutes max, and when I take a nap, it won’t last for more than 1h hour, because I sleep well. Of course I spent a lot of time with Mom but at the time, someone would have notice. It’s something else… How can I spend 9 years of my life without me noticing it?
What if I sleep well because I sleep enough because I stop time? Maybe my power is activating itself during my sleep and thus making I age without me noticing…
If that’s the case, that won’t get better in the next years. I have to find a way to control my power
| 2016-09-13T06:11:36 | 2016-09-13T06:07:00 | 51 | 16 |
[WP] Every month or so, the same man walks into a barbershop for a haircut, not knowing that it is just a front for the mob. He arrives every time just as all the real barbers are on break and the mob boss must cut his hair. | "Sometimes it's just unbelievable, you know," he said, "I give simple instructions and no one seems to be able to follow them. I worked hard to get here and when I was in their shoes, I knew how to get the job done the way my boss wanted it."
A larger man, somewhere in his early 50s, swirled a comb through some Barbasol. He picked up the next bit of hair and began snipping the ends.
"Hey, deliver this notice, drop this off at the bank, go get my car," he huffed, "they're not difficult tasks! Just get them done! I shouldn't have to go get my hands dirty for simple errands, but you know I can't fire the kid cuz he's my brother-in-law's nephew and I don't wanna hear about it from my sister."
"Have you tried extra training?" the man in the chair suggested. His eyes were closed as the man behind him worked his way around his head. "Or maybe a checklist? Some do's and don'ts or something?"
"Hey Jimmy, maybe next time don't follow that floozy down an alley and you'll get to the bank on time! Common sense stuff, Jeff, these guys don't got any of it. Across all my businesses, it gets tiring."
"Well," he paused while the barber removed the cape around his neck, "I used to be in HR for a firm. I can do a workshop with these guys or maybe filter through your hires, look at their resumes or something beforehand. Maybe reduce the number of slackers you get just looking to make a quick buck. Some of these guys might be better suited for other positions in your businesses."
The older man laid the cape over the back of another chair, nodding at Jeff.
"You know, I might take you up on that. I'll talk with the wife, see what she thinks, give you a call."
Jeff pulled his wallet out, but the other man shook his head. A favor, he said.
Jeff shook his hand and walked out the door, a small bell jingling above him. The other barbers were coming back from lunch, laughing about some lake trip they'd taken last week when they pushed someone off the dock. Young men having fun in the summer - the American dream. He waved at them as he passed, the three men smiling and giving a slew of "the boss really cleaned you up good today!"s. Jeff commented that their boss really was a great guy, they were lucky. The men laughed, waving goodbye as they stepped into the shop. A car pulled up outside the shop as Jeff waited to cross the street. The mayor stepped out of the back seat, walking quickly into the shop.
"You know, if it's good enough for the mayor, it's good enough for me."
Edit: looking at doing a part 2 (the HR workshop) tomorrow when I've got time for anyone still interested!
Edit 2: part 2 is [here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6kzdsv/comment/djr61fz?st=J4PF9VVR&sh=46e28c02) | The bell above the door jingled as a pudgy man in jeans and a vintage rock tee shirt stepped onto the yellowed linoleum. The floor was empty, but that's usually how it was when he came in for a haircut. It was hard to coordinate his haircuts between his work schedule and only having the one car to cart his wife to work and their kids to their different schools and events.
From a room in the back, glowing dimly from the multiple outdated CRT TVs, way more than a small barber shop would ever need, a tall and angular man grimaced.
"Dammit, he's back again. We really oughta put up'a sign 'er something."
The second man, broad and tall, cracked his knuckles at the sound of the bell but visibly slacked when he saw who it was. "I think we just need to figure out the schedule better. We can't have everyone take off for lunch at the same time."
The third man, munching a cigar and blowing out almost blue smoke in a steady, billowing stream, groaned as he got to his feet to pull his suit jacket off. "You two stay back here. Watch the stuff. We're suppose to get a pick-up here in an hour or so." The fat man adjusted his suspenders, dropped his cigar into an ashtray, and walked out from the secret backroom into the actual backroom of the shop, then onto the sunlit floor.
"Hey there, welcome back!" The two crossed the floor towards each other, each extending a hand to shake, greeting and going on like they were old friends. "I hadn't seen you in a while; I thought you found a new place to get a trim."
The two laughed as the customer was lead to a seat near the back, where if someone were to look inside, they'd have to press their faces against the window to see them. The fat man worked in relative silence other than the occasional cough or hum and the customer followed suit, even going so far as to let his eyes drift closed as the other man set a warm rag over his face. He'd been coming for almost three years now, and he always seemed to miss the other barbers, but the man who he always got was the owner of the operation and always treated him right.
"Hey Boss," the customer cracked his eyes open to see the fat man pause with his shaving razor in his hand, flicking an eyebrow expectantly. "Did you have family in the area? I was thinking about it the other day, and I could have sworn I saw someone who looked like you in the paper."
The fat man puckered his lip in thought, "Not anywhere close. We came over from Italy and all went our separate ways. I think my closest cousin is in Chicago or something. Why? What'd you think you saw?"
The customer laughed, "Nothing; I just read a spread about crime in the area, and it showed these old mugshots from the eighties. One of the guys looked like they could have been your cousin or brother or something." The customer knew he hadn't offended the fat man when he started laughing; a real, genuine belly laugh.
A half-hour later, trimmed and shaved, the customer paid the fat man. As always, he put the tip into the fat man's hand in a way to not be showy. As always, the fat man asked about the customer's wife and children. After the normal pleasantries were exchanged and the customer promised that he'd be sending a few of his friends to the shop, he stepped out onto the street and out of sight of the windows.
The fat man tucked the tip into his breast pocket, adjusted his suspenders again, and walked back towards the secret back room, where the two similarly suited men were waiting, both idly pretending that they weren't watching the screens.
"Let that be a lesson to you two," the fat man began as he shouldered his jacket back onto his frame and reached for his cigar. "You gotta respect a guy who sticks to traditions." That he tipped well certainly didn't hurt. | 2017-07-03T08:59:33 | 2017-07-03T08:34:05 | 1,094 | 110 |
[WP] Every month or so, the same man walks into a barbershop for a haircut, not knowing that it is just a front for the mob. He arrives every time just as all the real barbers are on break and the mob boss must cut his hair. | “Um, excuse me, sir,” the young boy with the rolled-up sleeves and the Brooklyn accent half-stands, addressing Antonio Merola as he hobbles through the door of Tomcats Barber Shop. “You can’t be in here right now.”
Antonio fixes the boy with a puzzled look, and is about to respond, when he’s cut off.
“It’s okay, cugine.” The voice from the back of the barbershop draws the attention of the man and the boy facing off in the front, turning their heads in unison to witness the arrival of a tall, olive-skinned man in black slacks and a black button-down. He speaks slowly, carrying with him the air of relaxation possessed only by a man who commands absolute power. As he strolls to the front of the shop to clap a hand on Antonio’s shoulder, the young boy rises to stand fully and rigidly before him. “Here for your shave, Tony?”
Antonio’s watery eyes soften with familiarity, and he brings a wrinkled and liver-spotted hand to rest on top of the one still gripping his shoulder. “If everyone's at lunch, Jimmy, I can come back later.”
“Nah, fuggedaboutit.” Jimmy shakes his head, dismissing the suggestion, and turns to face the boy before him. “Take your seat, cugine.”
The boy with the rolled-up sleeves sits down in his creaky old chair by the door, watching in fascination as Jimmy guides Antonio patiently to a nearby seat, helps him sit down, and goes to work preparing his shave cream. The shave cream, really, is the fundamental reason that Antonio prefers Tomcats Barber Shop over all of the other nonsense barber shops that have been cropping up across Brooklyn for the last several years. Tomcats’ doesn’t use any of that canned bullcrap; they mix the stuff on a customer-by-customer basis, and lather it right on the skin. It’s the same way they did it when the shop opened in seventy-seven, and being, by all accounts, a man of tradition, Antonio respects that.
He leans back and closes his eyes as the cape is thrown over his simple white Polo shirt, folds his hands across the stomach which has been growing steadily in size since his fifties. “I haven’t seen you around here in a while, Jimmy,” he says, his voice scratchy in some places but velveteen in others. “How’s your dad doing?”
A respectful smile slides onto Jimmy’s face as he polishes Antonio’s scruff with lather, swiping across his lips and over his strong jaw – one of his greatest features when he was younger – then down his thick neck. “You know my old man, Tony. He’s a fighter. Ain’t no way he’s lettin’ some bitch of a disease knock him outta this round.”
Once the lathering has finished, Antonio sneaks in a few words before the shaving begins. “I know it. I went a few rounds with your dad, back in the day. He was tough then and he’s still tough. Don’t you let him puss out on us, now.”
“You got it, Tony. I’ll make sure he hears that you were thinkin’ on him.”
Silence descends upon the room once the shaving starts, the only sounds coming from the scratching of the blade against skin. Jimmy has manifested a wipe rag from somewhere on the booth where he’s working, and every once in a while the satisfying schick of the blade against the rag will interrupt the scratching. It doesn’t take longer than five minutes, but from his creaky old seat by the door, the boy with the rolled-up sleeves feels as though he’s spent an entire lifetime watching this bridging between generations. Coupled with the yellow afternoon light filtering slant-wise through the barbershop’s large front window, the boy with the rolled-up sleeves is almost able to convince himself that he’s in one of those happy movies that his mother used to be so fond of.
When Jimmy finishes and uses a clean towel to wipe the remnants of the lather from Antonio’s face, Antonio sits up and examines the finished product in the mirror opposite his chair. “You done a fine job, Jimmy,” he finally says. “You do your father proud.”
“That means a lot comin’ from you, Tony,” comes the answer, accompanied by a proffered arm which helps to hoist Antonio out of the chair and guide him back to the door. “It’s on the house this month. Get yourself home, before Mama Merola scolds you for missin’ lunch again.”
“Nah, Jimmy, come on,” Antonio protests, reaching weakly for the leather wallet tucked in the back pocket of his baggy khaki slacks. “Let me give ya somethin.”
“How’s about you give me a good eyeful o’ your ugly old mug this same time next month?”
Antonio offers a cackle in response, waving off the joke, his hand moving away from his wallet and towards the door handle. “Alright, alright. Stay outta trouble, Jimmy. You hear?”
There’s only a moment’s hesitation before Jimmy brings that respectful smile back, giving Antonio one final clap on the shoulder. “Loud and clear, Tony.”
The boy with the rolled-up sleeves stands and watches as Antonio hobbles out the door and down the sidewalk, sliding awkwardly into the old Pontiac that he’s been driving as long as Jimmy can remember. If anyone ever asked, Jimmy thinks he could say with a fair degree of confidence that Antonio’s old Pontiac has probably been driven three places since it was built: to church, to the grocery store, and to the barbershop. It’s no wonder it still runs so well.
“Who was that guy, Don?” The boy with the rolled-up sleeves asks, looking up at Jimmy with unconcealed awe. “Is he Family?”
Jimmy watches the retreating rear bumper of the old Pontiac until it disappears from view before he deigns to look down at the younger boy. “Not in the way you’re thinking, cugine. Tony is just…”
He stops, searching his vocabulary for the right words. His mind scrolls through decades of memories, all the way back to riding in the back of that old Pontiac as a shit-headed brat who’d gotten caught stealing candy from the corner store, and who didn’t want to get in trouble with his dad, and who’d called Antonio instead. He thinks about dating Antonio’s daughter in high school, and being told sternly that if he ever broke her heart, he’d have hell to pay. He remembers being forgiven when he did break her heart, because it was easier than explaining to her that once she married into The Family, she couldn’t marry out. Above all, though, he thinks of trying desperately to keep his secret from Tony, whose only favor he’d ever asked had simply been to stay out of trouble.
“Tony is just a good guy.”
| "Well gosh darn it"
A rather mousy looking man with glasses and a tan jacket furrows his brow while looking up at a sign next to his parked sedan.
"So, no parking every second and fourth Wednesday between 1 and 4 am."
He looks around cautiously and, after seeing other cars parked on the street, several black SUV's, beeps his car doors and heads toward the barber shop.
Now, had the man been born with any social awareness to speak of he may have noticed something strange about the fact that in the six months he'd been coming to "It's A Barber Shop, Ok?" He'd only ever seen one other patron, a rather slimey, sweaty looking man who was quickly escorted to the back.
"They probably do straight razor shaves or facials back there" he thought at the time. But that man and anything that went on 'in the back' were far from the man's mind as he pushed open the door and entered the shop.
*****
"Suppose I were to let you go,"
An older Italian woman with close cropped salt and pepper hair stands before a man, bound and gagged and bloody, silently weeping and pleading with his eyes.
"Well then, eventually you'd have to tell someone that I did that thing. People don't need much to start thinking that a person is weak" - she walks behind the man, a straight razor in her manicured, wrinkled hands, "I just can't have that..."
Deft and swift she slices the man's throat and instantly he begins to gurgle and convulse. She tells a suited man in the corner, "Take his head to his Mama. Norma should have something to bury." Just as the bell signaling that someone has entered the shop dings. She wipes her hands calmly on a wet towel goes up front to greet him.
"Jeff! Ay,ay,ay look at the state of you bebe, sit down and mama'll get you in tip top shape again. You're late, Jeffy, that's not like you."
"Yea, sorry about that Mrs. Marino. Ya know, I swear they change the parking laws on this street every month, I'm never too sure if I'm gonna get a ticket."
"Tch, tch- shush. You know mama would take care of any ticket for my favorite customer."
Jeff sits down in the chair as Mrs. Marino comes up behind him and snaps a cape around his neck. She starts to spray his head with water.
"Oh, Mrs. Marino you're too good to me! Oh, before you start I didn't want to forget. " From under the cape he produces a small off white envelope addressed to her.
"Jeffry, what did you do? What is this?" She grabs the envelope as he explains,
"Oh it's nothing, Mrs. Marino you've just been so kind since I stumbled in here that I thought, well you know I work for the Civic Theatre, so those are just a couple of tickets. This month we're showing "The Merchant of Venice". I thought you'd like the show."
"Aw, darling aren't you sweet! Lemme grab a drink, do you want a drink? Lemonade? Something stronger?"
"Oh! No,no, I'm fine, but you go ahead, I mean, lord knows you've earned it! You're the only one ever working in this place!"
"You're telling me." She sets down the spray bottle and disappears behind the curtain, reappearing a moment later with two tumblers of amber liquid. "Drink, Jeffry, you wouldn't make an old woman drink alone, would you?"
He accepts the tumbler and they clink their glasses "Well, I suppose one would be all right."
******
Had it been any other day of the month Barry Colombo would've stepped into "Its A Barbershop, Ok?" paper sack in hand, to find the front of the shop unoccupied. Today however, was not just any day, it was the 15th. The day the Jeffry Kahn got his haircut. So, much to Barry's surprise, he walked into "Its A Barbershop, Ok?" to find none other than Noni Marino, matriarch of the Marino family and Queen of the Italian Mafia, cutting some peabody from the suburbs' hair.
"The fuck is this? Are you bein' audited?"
Mrs. Marino calmly set down her scissors, sweetly patted Jeff on the shoulder and said "Just a second hon, Mama's just got take care of this real quick."
With a look, Noni and Barry retreated to the back of the shop leaving Jeff to inspect his hair and sip his bourbon. He'd never really liked bourbon, but he did feel important drinking it.
Barry stopped in his tracks when he saw the blood on the floor.
"One of Norma's. Thought he could make off with a truckload of my property and I wouldn't hear about it. It's his own fault, really. Chester overheard him bragging down at Leo's." Noni poured a third glass of bourbon and handed it to Barry who, in return, handed Noni the paper sack.
"Any problems?"
Barry downed his drink in one gulp- "The arabs in mid-town seem to be actin up. I've heard so far of two girls disappearing off 8th avenue. White girls too, so press has been hard to quiet."
Mrs. Marino opened her mouth as if to reply but cut herself when she saw Barry's look of amusement and menace. She turned to see Jeff, mouth open, standing in the doorway. His smock still hanging from around his neck. His eyes darting from the pool of blood on the floor, to the stack of money on the table nearest Noni, to Mrs. Marino herself.
He stuttered, "I, um, Mrs. Marino I just got a call from the office, I have to go now, there's a wig emergency... I was just wondering if we could finish up, in a few, in a few hours?"
Mrs. Marino, a look of amusement on her face, "Sit, bebe. Take off that cape, you look like a Martian."
Barry, settling back, arms crossed was interested in seeing how Noni was going to deal with this man. Though she was his senior by at least thirty five years, Barry knew she could easily take this man out, get rid of the problem all together.
"Jeff, this is Barry, a nephew of mine."
Jeff, shaking now, "Hello, Barry. Lovely day, isn't it?"
"Now, Jeff, Barry acted himself a damn fool and cut himself, which is why there's is blood on ground, isn't that right Barry?"
From the corner, Barry smirks "Oops."
"So I don't have to worry about you making a mountain out of a mole hill now, do I?"
"Of course not, Mrs. Marino. It happens you know, just the other day I was making guacamole and I cut my finger, I'm anemic ya know, so it looked like a regular crime scene."
At the word "crime" Noni raised an eyebrow and Jeff cut himself off. Grabbing a brick of cash from the pile, Noni striding over to Jeff "Listen, Jeffry, I like you, son. So go get a real haircut, someplace nice. You come back here next month, same time and we'll have another drink, just you and I."
Jeff, beginning to refuse the cash is stopped by a change in Mrs. Marino's demeanor. "Take it, Jeff. I like you. Don't give me a reason not to like you anymore. I'll see you at the show, hell, I'll bring Barry. Barry! Ya like Shakespeare?"
Chuckling, as he watches Noni lead Jeff out of the back room toward the door to the shop, "Oh, I love the theatre."
***** | 2017-07-03T16:21:13 | 2017-07-03T15:36:57 | 84 | 18 |
[WP] A man draws a gun in a dark alley and asks for your wallet. You begrudgingly obey. He throws it on the ground, shoots it till it screeches, and turns to you; "you're safe now". | He threw my wallet on the ground, and shot it until his magazine was empty, every shot made my head jerk back. He then threw the gun on the ground near my wallet, my eyes were narrowed, I was furious.
"Why the hell did you do that? Now I have to request a new ID and credit card."
The man looked up, the hood of his coat rendered a shadow on his face. "I'm sorry my beloved son. Fake leather produces rash on your skin."
"Beloved son? What are you talking about, who are you?"
He removed his hood and I couldn't believe my eyes. In front of me stood Gabe Logan Newell, the creator of Valve Corporation and Steam. "I'm so sorry..." he began to cry, "I'm so sorry that I destroyed your wallet."
| For all intents and purposes it seemed to be a normal robbery. I fearfully agreed to give up my week's savings for my life. But as it fell onto the ground, he shot at it for all he was worth until it uttered a sound. A *screech*. Then it went silent.
"What the fuck?" was all that left my mouth as it gaped open. The stranger looked at me and cocked his hat.
"You can thank me later," he said, as he left. I looked again at the wallet, as blood started to stream out of its wound. A gleaming blade was concealed in the flap. At once, I knew what was going on.
Decepticons.
I stared at the items lining the alleyway, as they slowly rose into action. I dumped all the items I was carrying onto the ground and ran for my life, footsteps thudding behind me.
I made it back to my house, but it was my house no more. All the other houses stopped in motion as they murdered their former inhabitants, looking at me. Then the ground shook as they moved towards me. Why was I getting targeted by everyone? I thought as I dashed off, not knowing my destination. I needed to find the stranger again to get my answer.
I reached a deserted part of the city, all items long gone to start the war against humanity. As I enjoyed a respite against the disaster, I heard something that made my blood freeze.
My phone was beeping. But i dumped it earlier in the first dark alley. I turned around, and the Samsung Note 7 had sharp, vampiric teeth. "GPS tracker," it offered, its robotic face twisted into a smile. And as it lunged at me, I saw a huge red button on the phone screen.
It read 'Pause'.
And with all my might I threw myself at the phone and pressed it.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-13T00:49:55 | 2017-07-13T00:44:00 | 223 | 17 |
[WP] You have the ability to absorb any power from any book that you read. The US government captures and imprisons you until one day the warden walks in and asks for your help. He hands you a single book... | I was jarred awake by a sound I hadn't heard in... well, who's to say - months or years. It was impossible to tell, pardon the cliche. I really did lose track of time immediately. They'd forgotten to leave room for a window in the eight feet thick, poured concrete shoebox I'd been locked in since that day the black speed boats finally nabbed me sprinting across the Potomac.
By now, it was unnecessary, of course. I'd forgotten the bible, Harry Potter, Firestarter, all of my go-tos. I hadn't read anything since they locked me up. They even took the tags off of my clothes. I guess they were worried I would "hand wash only" them to death and escape through the vents by disseminating into a fiber cloud of nylon-polyester blend.
Could't really blame them, though. I didn't know how this shit worked, either.
"One mission for your freedom," the warden said, tossing a book to the hard floor with a slap that set my ears ringing.
"I'm not supposed to have to earn freedom," I said. Or, I tried to say. I was surprised and kind of horrified at how much my voice had atrophied from disuse. Instead of flying through the air and sticking like the daggers I imagined, my words tumbled out and piled up on the floor. The warden took their meaning, nonetheless.
"You gave up your freedom when you decided to do that Mr. Fantastic shit a few miles from the White House," he said, plainly.
"Otherwise you would have let me be?" I might have said.
"It's neither here nor there, now. You're a criminal and a hazard and all the measures we've taken are completely justified."
*Like skipping my trial? Denying me the right to a lawyer?* I thought. No point in voicing it though. Despite the bullshit he was conjuring, we had an understanding.
"-And we are in the business of working out deals for lightened sentences. Do your homework, and yours will be shortened all the way to zero."
I couldn't bear that - pretending he was doing me a favor, "I don't *have* a sentence, fuckass!" I spat, vocal chords coming on line in full effect, "I was never *sentenced!*"
But the door slammed shut and he was already walking away. "You have 48 hours," he called back.
I picked up the book, a small paperback with wispy pages and microscopic print - the kind of serial that costs five cents to print and sells for ten. "Oakley City Scifi Reader #11" I read, and with that alone, I felt an energy enter me.
I devoured the garbage like it was Leo Tolstoy. With a sober mind, I might have given it a four out of ten, but it was as though I was breathing real air for the first time in months. And of course, all the while I was stretching my imagination to its maximum, trying to come up with some way to use this book to turn the tables on my captives, but the book was totally banal. The protagonist was good at math - patterns and stuff. I didn't know what they wanted that for, but it wasn't going to help me get out of that cell. Of course they knew that. Of course they'd had a whole team go over it, looking for exploits I could take advantage of. I grinned at the idea that they had to read book after shitty book before they found one mundane enough that I couldn't use it in unexpected ways. That would have to be my consolation, because by the time I got to "The End", there was still nothing for me to wield to my benefit. But then, playing with the junk pages at the back of the book...
***
"Hey bud. It's time for your briefing," said a mousy young guy - must have been a shadow-government intern, or maybe it was "bring your kid to the lair" day. The mechanism of the door engaged and its incredible mass fell away on tired hinges, revealing the scant floor of my cell, a ten cent paperback, and a wad of clothes with the tags ripped off.
"Fuck me, he's gone!" he squealed into the radio, "The Agent is gone, how copy?!"
*Oooh, they call me 'The Agent'. That's cool*
"Get the book!" the radio hissed, "Dammit, we missed something! Sending a detail, over!"
The intern picked up the book and easily found the page in the back that I'd dog-eared.
"Issue #12 preview..." he muttered "...H.G. Wells.... oh fuck! *Thermal cameras!* We need-" He screamed, grappling for his radio, which had somehow made its way to the other side of the cell door, which had somehow made its way closed.
"Just be thankful it wasn't Lovecraft" I said, from nowhere and everywhere at once, with a voice that had once again found purchase, and I made my way silently out of the facility, to even the sharpest eyes, nothing but the occasional parting of motes of dust. | Jay opened his eyes to find the bars of his cage inches from his face. He cursed as he realized that he had, once again, rolled off his bed. He hated when this happened. Multiples times, he had asked for a larger bed and yet here he was, still sleeping on the same miniscule bed that he was given at the beginning of his imprisonment seven years ago. He had woken up face down on the hard-concrete floor far too many times for him to count. For some reason, these unfortunate mishaps always had something to do with his dreams. Whenever he dreamed of the outside world, of the life and freedom he once had, he always ended up with his face pressed against the concrete.
Every time he had these dreams he would always reminisce of past events. He often asked himself how he had managed to get imprisoned in the first place. For god’s sake, he was basically a super hero! As an avid reader of super hero stories, Jay couldn’t recollect on any moments when they were captured. The more he pondered this question however, the clearer the answer became. It all came back to him. He was lazy. The ability to absorb powers from books he read opened limitless possibilities. In a world with millions of books, he could have easily become a godlike deity, but alas, sloth got the best of him. He simply hated reading. His ability only activated when he had fully ready the book – every single word. In the end, he could only bring himself to read a “How to fly” book so that’s all he had. Unfortunately, when you’re stuck in an iron cage, flying doesn’t really help much.
Jay was snapped out of his daydream by the loud sharp sound of boots clicking against the floor. He quickly stood up praying it wasn’t the warden. Having been imprisoned in the same place for seven years, Jay had the unfortunate privilege of become acquaintances with the warden. As the most powerful man in the prison, the warden never failed to take advantage of his power and for some reason he had made Jay one of his primary targets ever since Jay arrived. As the footsteps got closer, Jay heard the familiar grunting and coughing that he almost saw as a warning signal for the arrival of the warden.
However, today was different. The warden, who normally walked in with a smug smile plastered on his face, walked in today nervously and sweating profusely. Jay was instantly curious. If the normally filled with bravado warden seemed so afraid, something big must have happened. As the warden neared his cage door, Jay opened his mouth to ask but was promptly cut off.
“Morning Jay”
“Morning” Jay replied cautiously
“Look – I have something important to talk to you about. This is very important so please give me a chance to explain”
Red flags instantly flashed in Jay’s head. The warden had demanded for Jay to always add “sir” to the end of everything he says to him. However, Jay had just greeted him without doing so and there had been do repercussions. Furthermore, the warden would never say “please”, and most certainly not to Jay. Trying to contain his excitement, Jay tried his best to make his responses sound indifferent.
“Of course, I’ll listen to whatever you have to say”
“Thank you. I know we haven’t been on the best terms and we’ve both directed our angers toward each other in the past, but right now I need your help”
Jay suppressed the urge to point out that the only person who has ever directed their anger towards anyone- was the warden. His curiosity got the best of him and he decided to see where this conversation was going.
“Putting everything behind us seems like a good idea. It was getting boring in this cage anyways, what do you need me to help you with”
“Right. You see….when we captured you, we had thought you were one of a kind. The ability to draw power from book seemed so absurd that no one believed there would be more people like you. However, we were wrong. About a week ago, they have been showing up all over the world….but they’re different from you. For whatever reason, they seem hell-bent on destruction. Long story short, we can’t defeat these people. We need your help.”
Jay’s mind raced. His dream of returning to the outside world could finally become a reality. However, there was something bothering him.
“If that’s all you need from me, why do you look like you look like you’ve seen death itself. Asking something like this shouldn’t make you so nervous.
The warden sighed
“The higher ups have told me that if you are unwilling to help, I will be held responsible. Somehow, my actions have been leaked to the outside.”
“I see….in that case, I’m actually unable to help you. This cell has really become my home these past few years you know?” Jay said while barely containing his laughter.
The warden’s face turned beet red.
“Now listen here – “
“Hey now, you sure you want to treat me like that?”
The warden grimaced. Watching the warden’s evident desperation made Jay feel ecstatic. All the times the warden had abused his position, Jay could finally get some revenge. Unfortunately, his desire to leave this prison far outweighed his desire to mess with the warden.
“Alright boss, what do you have for me to work with?”
The warden signaled to one of the guards, who brought an extremely thick book in.”
“This right here is going to make you powerful enough to defeat anybody. Immortality, super strength, super speed… you name it, it’s in here.”
Jay was trembling with excitement. What had once been his most dreaded activity now became the one he couldn’t wait for. He wanted to dig into the book, and he wanted to do it as fast as possible.
“Alright. When can I start?”
“As soon as possible.”
“Let me out of here and I’ll get right on it”
Jay heard the familiar buzz sound of the cage door unlocking that he had thought he’d never hear again. As he took his first step out, he smiled.
He was finally free again.
| 2017-07-25T20:00:58 | 2017-07-25T19:58:39 | 90 | 20 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | Arganax flicked his antenna in irritation as he glanced around the conference room. The air was heavy as each multifaceted eyes twitched away from his stare.
"So," he clicked. "The decision to retreat was universal."
A brief buzzing filled the room as the augmented battle armor they all wore activated under the twitching of vestigial wing muscles.
Arganax growled, a low rumbling sound that echoed through the silent room.
"Sir... High Warmaster..." began Taraks one of the younger generals. "You have to understand, we tried. Disabled there satilites, even bombed a few cities but... The men sir... it was taking its toll."
Arganax regarded him silently.
"Troops were vomiting in their formations. Most of our medical service personnel broke rank immediately to say nothing of the reactions of the Queens."
"Do you know who we are?"
"Sir?"
"We are the second most feared race in the known galaxy, we have defeated more than four hundred worlds, turning them into brood-chambers for the next generation of our people. We defeated the Sarax, the night children and the upstart gods. I was told this was a level 2 technology world, barely above nuclear capability.
WHAT WENT WRONG!"
Taraks shivered before him, "they look like larve sir. More appealing even, like those little soft bodied cartoons we used to watch when we were young."
Chattering and warm looks of agreement went amongst the generals. "One of their countries leaders even looked like TurraTurra."
Artarak looked on astonished.
"Seriously sir you have no idea. They are all like funny little infants. And once you think you're ready for how appealing they look, you see something better. You haven't lived until you've seen something that looks like your child blown up into a pudgy ball, or clutching and playing with a living moss tuft; you know, like we all did back in the hives."
"Indeed," interrupted Neelza, usually famed for his use of bioweapons. "They even have miniature larva of their own, like ours, but even smaller. It's truly... Truly beautiful sir."
"Yes sir. They must be protected." Another of the generals chimed in.
"I agree. We all do. That's why we returned to the fleet sir. To convince you."
Artarak was dumbfounded... and strange for himself, curious. Just what must creatures that adorable be like. He'd yet to review any of the data that had been brought over to his ships, wishing to interrogate his failed generals first. He tapped a claw on the table.
"This species," he finally said. "Where is it located?"
-----
My first try at one of these. Hope you enjoy. | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T08:54:15 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 316 | 25 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did. | “I’m sorry” he said softly, as if saying it too loudly would add to his guilt. “I’m sorry.”
He continued to look out the window, at the world around carrying on as if nothing had happened. The world that most certainly had not ended when they were told it would. The world that didn’t even seem to care about just how bad he felt now that he had to face the consequence of his actions.
Then again she didn’t seem to care either. He tried to act like it was no big deal…but to her, it was. He tried to make amends. He apologized, tried distracting her, tried reaching out to her. She simply moved away. She would have none of it; he’d let her down.
Now she sat there. On the other end of the couch, silently, no longer even bothering to look at him with that hurt gaze. She rose, stretched, and for one brief hopeful moment he thought she would come to him and let him know he was forgiven. Instead, she left the room…
… And on her way to the litter box walked right past the food bowl that had the grievous empty shiny spot in the middle this morning.
| The, to be fair rather recently elected President of the 6 Continents (may the people of Europe rest in peace) has spoken in public today:
"Things have changed, for the better and for the worse. We are one free people, unbound by the shackles of what cruel fate had struck us before, yet bound by the need for choice. A world without repercussions gave us an out of a guaranteed demise, gave us a truly trusting society. However, I will neither be the first person that you have heard this from, neither will I be the first person to tell you that we have done despicable things as well.
"Unlike my fellow men, I will not lie, I will not beat around the bush: No repercussions meant I did everything I never dared to, like uniting everyone I could, helping all I wanted to, and to punish those that declined. I did things not because they were the safest, the easiest. I did things because I wanted to do them!
"And I am certain that you all, each and every one of you, has done much and the same. Each and every one of us has done things in knowledge that they'd be erased by the future. But now that we are in the future, as one people, as one world, having averted crisis due to our resilience, due to our ingenuity, due to our heart, we need to ask ourselves:
"What now?
What do we do now with the knowledge of what we did?
Do we expect justice for every thing we did, do we turn ourselves in as a species after breaking free from the imprisonment of certain demise?
Do we only choose to enforce justice and law after the end, spitting those in the face that were harmed, that were pained, that still are pained?
Or, do we, as a species, give a pass on restrictions and lawmaking itself, seeing as it didn't help us when we needed it, freeing us from the shackles that brought us to the brink of annihilation?
"I have revised the rules of Humanity. Gone are the days of forbidden fruit, of consequences as issued by few people to masses, no more is the need for bribery, for self-control. From now on, there shall only be one law: The law to completely forbid any and all lawmaking, agreements or bound contracts!"
| 2017-11-29T06:57:27 | 2017-11-29T04:06:09 | 207 | 14 |
[WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation. | "Human space vessel: do not attempt to cross into the preserve. Space vessels are strictly prohibited in that area. You are not allowed to enter the preserve. Trespassing is forbidden."
Tak snorted to himself. *Typical bureaucracy*, he thought to himself. *They find out that humans have a bad habit of twisting words, so they decide that saying the same thing three ways will definitely stop us from doing whatever the hell we want.*
He waited for a count of ten. "Uh, sorry, unidentified space vessel, was that directed at us?"
"Human space vessel: of course it was. Who else would we be talking to? Abort all movement toward the preserve at once!"
"Oh, see, we were unclear, because we're just heading over to Kenshyo. We definitely aren't interested in any preserve. We'll just be on our way and won't bother you anymore. Have a good day!" Tak increased his speed without changing the heading.
"HUMAN VESSEL: you are heading directly toward the Maldoran preserve. This area contains large quantities of mineral wealth that has been allocated as Maldoran nesting materials. If you do not change heading, we will be forced to take you prisoner." The tone of the patrol vessel's commander had already switched from detached professionalism to exasperation.
"Sorry, kzsshsdk, we di-- kzzhshdsh -- py that," Tak replied, putting his mediocre beatboxing skills to work.
"Human vessel: repeat last correspondence. Turn around at once."
"Sor -- kzhszdf -- do not -- kzdhshdsf --"
"HUMAN VESSEL: STOP. STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP. WE WILL BOARD YOUR VESSEL. PREPARE YOURSELVES."
Tak frowned at the distance readouts. "W-- kzhzskdh -- uh -- kzhskh -- py. I think I fixed the comms, gentlemen. But, uh, you should note that I had to rewire the ship to do so. We are now unable to change heading or speed for the next hour or so while I get everything straightened out."
"Human -- This -- that's completely unacceptable! Why would you do something like that?"
"Sorry, patrol, I thought being able to understand you was top priority. Again, we're just heading to Kenshyo. Sorry for the disturbance. We'll be on our way!" Tak struggled to keep the smile from his voice, if not his face. *Thank god for audio-only*, he thought.
"Human vessel: we have locked on to your heading. We will attach to your ship and bring you to a force stop. You cannot enter the Maldoran preserve."
*Shit*. "Uh, that's a negative, patrol." Tak grabbed the nearest book, an old but pristine copy of *Welcome to the Universe: How to integrate with society*, and riffled the pages into the mic. "According to 113, subsection D, paragraph 12 of ecosystem preservation, no patrol ships are permitted to enter preserved space while chasing runaway space vessels. It looks like that's only allowed for chasing illegal mineral gathering explorations. By our calculations, you won't be able to slow us down in time to avoid entering the preserve, so you'd probably best just let us be on our way."
The reply was delayed and sounded muted, as if the patrol captain wasn't speaking directly into the mic. "Well, I don't know, find it! It has to be in one of the databases! -- Ahem, human vessel: our stopping capacity is rated for class D ships, and certainly a ship your size falls below th--"
"Patrol, I'm afraid we have the papers to show we're registered as class F. Our cargo bays are completely full, of - untilium, you see," Tak replied, with only the slightest pause. "Our mass is in excess of 29 kilotons. We'll make sure to keep heading perfectly straight. We promise not to disturb the nesting!"
The delay was longer this time. "Human vessel: the penalty for purposefully entering the preserve is forfeiture of ship and cargo and up to 12 years in stasis. We will alert patrol ships on the other side of the preserve to expect your arrival to verify your claims. Patrol out."
Tak grinned. *Step one: easy as pie.* | [WP] Humanity finally figures out faster than light travel and discover that they are completely average by galactic standard, except for one thing, our innate ability to bullshit our way out of any situation.
“I am the captain of the UN cargo hauler *Infinity*. James Robert the third is the name and hauling trade goods from old Tera to new worlds is my game.”
A message popped up on my display cutting off my log recording.
*Incoming hail* my ships AI happily chirped at me, the damn thing is always happy it would tell you have cancer like it was the best news it ever heard. I tapped the button to answer respond to the hail. A hulking figure, who looked kind of like the lovechild of a rhinoceros and a tank appeared on my screen.
*Fucking Tardigans* I thought as I put on my most charming smile and said “Good morning sir I am the captain of this fine ship and what can I do for you today” I grinned like a used car salesman I already knew whatever he said was going to be a lie.
An interesting fact about FTL hauling you get to meet a lot of other species and you start to draw some parallels between them. Notably most species evolve a extreme stress response when lying presumably this is to facilitate cooperation since it's really obvious when they lie, Tardigans for example shake like a leaf before they can tell you anything they don’t fully believe and with the way this guy was shaking I could power a small moon. Another interesting fact of amatuer anthropology is that humans have such a minute response to lying almost no species can detect it which has given us a reputation as cheats and thieves because of some less than scrupulous explorers.
The Tardigan finally got up the courage to speak “My ship damaged vent fuel need some assistance” *Pirate definitely a pirate* I smiled some more and called his bluff “those rocket pods seem a bit excessive for a trader” The Tardigan looked shocked. It's hard to describe a shocked Tardigan just try to imagine a tank trying to shrug and you get a picture.
“True now Surrender” said the Tardigan I am getting sick of calling him this so lets name him George
“Alright I accept your surrender” I replied looking the now very confused george in the eye
“We board you and take your cargo” George tried to explain the pirating process to me
“As tempting as that seems I would rather not have to glass your ship right now, creates an amazing amount of paperwork” I lied through my teeth any fool could tell my ship was unarmed but years of hard negotiations at gunpoint had made me an expert at the poker face.
“You have no target lock how you aim weapons?” George looked concerned I think I have him on the ropes now.
“Well it doesn't pay to let any ol’ pirate know when you're aiming at them does it advanced stealth systems I picked up in Aldmari space a while back I have been wanting an excuse to use them” My heart started to race where the hell did I come up with this stuff I had never even been to Aldmari space.
George broke down “We relent spare our lives we leave you alone”
*Might as well go for broke* I thought “come alongside and dock and we will negotiate terms of your surrender in person.
I made my way to the cargo bay I grabbed the folding table I keep nearby for just these occasions and waited for the airlock to cycle. George is massive by the way around 8ft tall and built like a truck. He looked pretty comical trying to fit into a small folding chair built for a human.
George opened with “Why don’t I just crush you with my hand and take your ship?”
I laid my pistol on the table *this thing wouldn't even make a dent in his skin* “This thing would put a hole through a battleship you don’t stand a chance”
George started to glance around fearfully “What do you want from us” I smiled and spread my hands apart and said “Nothing you can’t afford just your weapons and anything you’ve stolen from other passing ships, oh and fuel, you can keep enough to get to the nearest station but I want the rest”
George roared “This is unacceptable!” and smashed the table in with his fist. I shook my head and said “This isn’t a negotiation you agree or we kill you all” George laughed-ish “and said as we speak my crew is standing ready to storm your ship before you could get to safe weapons range” he wasn't bluffing but I was prepared I scoffed a little and replied “While we have been speaking my engineers have been out on the hull *they were asleep in there bunks* and they have been wiring explosives to your hull ready to blow you off of us and kill anyone inside *we didn’t have any charges in the first place* so if you wanna see who can kill who first be my guest” I leaned back in my chair and looked as relaxed as possible. “Alright we will jettison the cargo shortly” george said defeated. “Pleasure doing business with you sir” I called after him.
1/29/2356 report from the UN Infinity on how they acquired 200 military grade warheads discovered as they were searched at checkpoint 12973 in the Sirius system - Aldmari Imperial security
| 2018-01-30T07:45:10 | 2018-01-30T07:38:49 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Even creatures of the supernatural world can get sick. After you unknowingly helped a faerie back to health, word spread like a wildfire of a private practice that was open to things that go bump in the night. | One morning my sweet old grandmother lost her glasses, mistook a faerie for a butterfly, and then&mdash;long story short&mdash;she became the resident physicker for all manner of magical creatures.
It was a faerie, truly, and she saved its life with a bit of sugar water and lemon juice. The poor thing had collapsed on the open sill of my grandmother's kitchen window. It sprawled on the wood, retching and moaning, with its shield and spear discarded nearby. My grandmother was just puttering by when she heard it. Her glasses having disappeared all morning (thanks, we found out, to a pair of mischievous brownies&mdash;those little shits!), she had eyes only for the faerie's sparkling neon-colored wings. She had heard long ago that exhausted bees could be resuscitated with sugar water so she assumed that the same could be done for butterflies. Ten minutes later and the faerie was prancing along her cracked kitchen counter-top, singing her praises in its jingle-jangle tongue. We learned later that the dear thing had been a forward scout for the Harmonious Fae during the battle of Mishgarden Blooms and it had been carrying a vital message for its commander general. It collected its weapon and shield and buzzed off to deliver its message.
Sugar water, lemon juice, and my grandmother's temporary blindness: thus the fates handed victory to the Harmonious Fae.
A week later there was a bellowing wail in the night and I found my grandmother hunched over some large beast in her garden patch. She patted its broad flank and murmured sweet reassurances in its ear. It was an ogre and it stank to high heaven. In the dim light of the moon, my grandmother insisted that it was a wayward cow. It appeared to be favoring one leg, so she gave it a gentle kiss on the shoulder and sent it on with a swift smack on the rump. The ogre, to my surprise, shambled off with a grin. A grandmother's kisses maintain their magic, it seemed.
And so things continued for a while. My grandmother puttered and bumbled and knicker-knacked her way around her cottage, feeding hungry elves and nursing sick bear-men and once binding the wounds of a spider the size of the decrepit old sedan that she'd forgotten about in her shed. I'd made myself scarce, that week.
She fell, as old people sometimes do, and broke things: her right leg, her ankle, her forearm, and&mdash;worst of all&mdash;her previously-invulnerable sense of independence. I found her laying in the bathroom, next to her old clawfoot tub. She'd cried then from pain and, later in the hospital, from sorrow. The young well-meaning nurses gave us pamphlets about assisted living homes, about "aging with dignity," about finding new communities and new friends among people of her age. She'd wanted none of it. I returned her to her cottage. In the woods. With a pump and a well for water and a small generator for the little power needs that she'd previously had.
I had wheeled her into the front room of the old, single-level home, thankful that she had no stairs. I brought in her oxygen tank and her medication bag. I stood, uncomfortable, wondering whether I could use sick time to care for a relative or whether I'd have to burn the remaining bit of annual leave. She would need weeks of hands-on care. I provided it. I cooked and I cleaned and I tended her garden under her kind-but-always-slightly-imperious supervision. I worried about my job, about the slow pace of recovery for someone so old. I bit my lip and pushed my worries into the brown dirt of her garden, ripping my frustration out of the ground as I weeded, trying to hide the growing fear in my chest.
She had seen it, of course, because she was a grandmother and grandmothers can sense these things. So she told me to go and not to worry. She made me bake myself snickerdoodle cookies, wrap them in foil, and take them with me. For the road, she'd said. The long road back to the city. I left her with a week of frozen meals and a new microwave (with the instruction book taped to the side). I left her with a lump in my throat and a bitter cynicism towards our modern society that forces independence and proper life from our old people and shoves them into nanny wards and crumbling dormitories for the ignored and oft-abused. But what could I do?
I returned as soon as I could and found my grandmother in a rocking chair on her porch. She hadn't had a rocking chair when I left. I had frowned.
It was a gift from the bear-men, she explained. They'd made it to her exact dimensions, molded its frame to support her in all the right places so that it hugged her "snug as a bug in a rug." The quilt wrapping her legs was from the brownies. A clatter from the kitchen inside, then, and I'd peeked through her open front door. Three faeries, one with tiny oven mitts, flitted about the small air of the place. The scent of strawberry rhubarb mingled with roast-smoke of a... Cornish game hen? My grandmother's favorites. I'd never known the recipes.
She was quite alright, my grandmother told me, I needn't have worried. Her friends had come, her butterflies and deer and bears. They would keep her company as she waited. It wouldn't be long&mdash;the faeries had arranged a personal escort, she'd said. Through their queen. She'd seen my uncomprehending face and laughed. To the other side, she'd said. She'd patted my arm&mdash;I shouldn't worry. She would save me a place.
*****
More stories at /r/hpcisco7965.
| Closing time, or rather, closing time for regular physician's assistants. I was the last one in the office, and, as usual, as I flipped the sign around that said "open" and our hours of operation \(for normal, considerate humans\) I heard the tell\-tale sounds of some of them coming. Hard to explain really, somewhat like some windchimes being played from inside an exercise ball."Well met, and hail, mystic one!" a tiny voice shouted from about knee level. "It hasn't stopped," whined a deeper, more gravelly tone from somewhere behind me on the right. "Angi, did you keep on using the ointment like I told you to?" I asked the lumpy fellow who sat in the paperwork tray.
About a month ago I had found this weird bird laying outside the door as I closed up for the night. It didn't look like it was doing well, and it was easy to see how to fix it. The poor thing had tried to eat something in a plastic wrapper, and it was stuck in its throat. It was a miracle that it hadn't suffocated. Well, considering the circumstances, it was more likely just run\-of\-the\-mill fairy magic. I had removed the wad of nasty plastic, and been amazed to see the bird transform into a tiny, perfect little doll sized girl.
That was then. Now, at the end of a 10 hour shift dealing with 70 year olds with scaly feet, I had become a bit disaffected from the whole process. "I figyuhed I'd just eat the paste, and have done," said Angi, who despite being able to seemingly endless create piles of dirt, lacked any fundamental understanding of medicine. I sighed, then grabbed another sample tube from behind the desk. "And what can I do for you, sir?" I asked the meticulously well dressed 2 foot high gentlemen. He looked like a normal person, if you ignored the gleaming crimson mustache that extended from either side of his face like antenna. "I ehm have a request, from a personage most regal, that you must attend to, on the morrow, madam!" "I can't, Mr. Mustache. I have to head across town to deal with some stuff." The little man puffed out his chest. "Sir! That is completely unacceptable! For reasons! That I can not! Divulge in this company!" He said, gesturing to Angi who was rubbing the itch\-cream all over his chest \(not at all where it would be useful, but at least he wasn't eating it this time\).
"Sorry pal," I huffed, "if you don't need anything else, I'd like to head home." "Well, actually," he mumbled, his mustaches falling, "I do have this...er...odd sort of bump..." I repressed a sigh. "Take a seat over there please."
The next day I tried to keep my expression alert, and not at all like someone who stayed up far too late dealing with maladies of the supernatural. I needed to look like a responsible adult, like someone who you'd give a loan to.
The bank on an ordinary day would have looked like a regular old, strip mall\-y, brick building. But today, it looked like a long hallway with the lights out at the end. I popped an altoid, and opened the car door. Or I would have, had a small, high voice not yelled"MADAM!"from my previously unoccupied passenger seat. I jumped about a foot \(not easy to do while seated in a '98 accord\) and smashed my head against the car ceiling. Of course, there was Mr. Mustache, an indignant expression obvious behind his unrealistically healthy locks of beautiful mustache hair. "what are you *doing here!!?*" I whispered, crouching down and anxiously whipping my head around, trying to make sure no one could see my diminutive patient. "I am here, madam mystic, to *escort* you," he said with a dark look in his cheerful pink eyes, "to the court of Our Lady of the Iridescence! Although I see you had a very important appointment with this clay house that you've been staring at for some time!"
I considered the situation. On the one hand, if he was just a hallucination of a sleep deprived, overworked recent graduate, then this would be a great time to see if other people could see him. On the other hand, I didn't want him to, I don't know, turn people into mice or something. I didn't read a lot of fairy tales, but I did know that the one in Peter Pan made people fly? Could he do that?Focus, Nat. Little man in the car, and my appointment is in 5 minutes. I had to act, and fast."Listen Mustache. I don't make a lot of money as it is, and while I appreciate being paid in offerings of honey and downy feathers, they don't pay the bills. I need to get a loan so that I can deal with all this debt I've got, and I'm already pretty sure you're a hallucination, and I need to look professional so I can convince these smarmy jerks to\-" "Oh ho ho!" said the little man. "You didn't mention there would be *negotiations!*"
I was terrified. A greasy haired, middle aged man stared at me over a small pile of paperwork. He looked at me, sweat gleaming off his balding head, then looked over at my 'friend'. Mr. Mustache had gotten out of the car, and I, frantic to keep him from being seen and \(I honestly don't know, tested on in a lab or something?\) discovered, tried to cut him off. He opened the door before I could reach it, and I fell flat on my face. As I pushed myself up, face burning with humiliation, the dead, fishlike eyes of every employee in there on me, I found myself being helped to my feet by the most gorgeous woman I'd ever seen.Seriously. Take notes Heidi Klum, this girl had it.
With suspiciously quick service, my 'friend' and I were sent to a small cubicle, where my request would be considered.The man \(whose name placard simply said "Grimes"\) had all the personality of a block of basalt. He looked like he was about to speak, but every time he did my 'friend' would smile and adjust herself \(himself?\) in her seat which would, for some reason, cut the man short.Next thing I knew, I was back in my car, approved loan in hand, with devilishly low interest rates. "Now that that's overwith," said my little, mustachioed hero, "let's get a move on!"
I realized, belatedly, that I was now in the passenger seat. I knew only terror as he slammed the gas pedal, whipped the car back without even pretending to look, then slammed the car into drive.
I looked at my new friend, barely able to see over the steering wheel, then fastened my seatbelt. I guess sometimes karma works in mysterious ways. | 2018-05-21T15:30:58 | 2018-05-21T15:30:00 | 107 | 20 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | (On mobile, sorry if formatting is wonky)
Total War. Rakleth pondered this new term. Was not war always in totality? To crush the enemy's military underfoot and seize their civilian population and worlds for your own use? The humans, negotiators and pacifists, had such strange terms. Rakleth scratched his carapace in thought.
The humans had been deceptive, their past never divulged to the other races of the conglomerate. For centuries now they have supported the fragile peace of so many species. Thus we assumed they would be unprepared, their people and resources ripe for the taking. How right we were, we seized an entire system of theirs in mere hours, acquiring countless slaves and endless amounts of precious iron.
Rakleth had studied their habits, their culture, their entire written history. Only twice was this "total war" mentioned, with an uncanny reverence and little detail. Suffice it to say, Rakleth was surprised when he learned of its meaning.
Human technology was not particularly advanced, but they did not lag behind in any great way. Their ships and worlds were undefended, a result of their great success at peddling their peace.
Weeks after their defeat, they retaliated. It was expected for them to lash out weakly, seeking revenge with an unknown fury in their blood bladders. So we thought, and so we were the ones unprepared for the utter hell that found us.
They had amassed their old technology, they had defeated our armies. They did not take our iron, nor our people as slaves. They had burned them all, a nuclear cleansing of drastic proportions. Where once great hives had stood, there was only smoldering glass. Soldiers, civilians, hatchlings, politicians, atomized in an instant; without hesitation. They cared not for slaves, or our iron, or even our planets. They sought utter destruction as recompense for our sins.
Rakleth let his mandibles hang, he was tired... So tired. Total war, a war with no boundaries, no survivors. There was something to learn from this, not for his species, but others. The humans worked so hard for peace not due to their weakness, but because they had seen the alternative. They saw the all-engulfing darkness within them, and were horrified. It was not to benefit themselves, but the rest of us.
Rakleth clicked his mandibles shut, sending his message to every star in the sky. May everyone learn of this new term, and may they fear it to their core. Rakleth looked across the smoldering plain that had been his home one last time. Then he, the last, joined his kind in cold slumber.
Edit: Thank you for the silver, stranger. | We, the Taithians, bore witness to the greatest power shift in galactic history. For thousands of years we've been at war with the Vinari, a war like species that believes they are the superior race in the galaxy. They eradicate all other sentient beings, regardless of their technological level. The Vinari are fearless, and ruthless. Or, they were.
In galactic year 14b.1201 they came across a curious species from a remote part of the galaxy called humans. At the time, these humans had only colonized a few stars in their region, and had no military presence to speak of. They claimed they were peaceful explorers and wanted to be friends.
The Vinari did what the Vinari do, and wiped out the most remote colony with ease. The humans quickly sent envoys out to the stars, seeking allies, finding none that were willing to expend additional resources defending such an underdeveloped species.
The galaxy soon realized they had made a grave error.
The second human colony fell, this time with more resistance than the first. Despite the technological differences, the Vinari took heavy losses. Undeterred, the Vinari continued their March across the stars, albeit at a slower pace.
This whole time the humans tried in vain to gain allies, support from other species. It never came, and how I wish it did. This is the transmission the humans sent just before they unleashed their might:
"Beings of the galaxy, we are a species called humans, from the planet Earth. Our colonies have been under attack from the Vinari, and we have tried reaching out for support, and to pursue peace. We have been rebuffed at every opportunity, and will not stand for it any longer. Today, we declare Total War on the Vinari. We will eradicate them from the galaxy and claim their territory for our own. If you stand in our way, you will suffer the same fate. You have been warned."
I was but a chitlin when they made this declaration, and even then it sent shivers through my nervous system. It still does to this day.
The galaxy didn't understand what the humans meant by total war. War was war, we all waged it to survive. Soon we found the truth was worse than we ever imagined.
Humans reveled in war, their history was rife with it. They pursued peace and assistance at every chance because they knew... They knew what real war was. They set it aside to survive... But now they unleashed it on the galaxy for the very same reason.
The next colony the Vinari attacked was stopped cold. A first in their long history. Rapidity in which the humans scaled their military might was frightening. Their economy, politics, everything turned and geared for war.
Soon, the humans reclaimed their colonies. The Vinari couldn't stop them. Then the humans pushed beyond their borders into Vinari territory. There were no survivors. The humans employed technology that other species only dreamed of. But that's not what scared the rest of us. Humans had a cleverness we still don't understand, they used unorthodox thinking coupled with their fearsome technology.
And in the span of a few galactic standard years (25 in human terms), the Vinari were no more. As promised, the humans erased them from the galaxy. Once their enemy was no more, they turned their fearsome sights on us. We all feared the worst.
Instead, the humans brought us all together to form a galactic government. Every species got to keep their territory so long as they abided by the laws. Having witnessed how fearsome the humans fought, we were all too happy to comply.
We all comply and behave, because we don't want to end up like the Vinari.
Edit: e then I, I then e, fixed a few times.
Edit 2: my first silver! Thank you kind stranger, I'm glad you enjoyed this enough to gild it! | 2018-12-14T22:13:23 | 2018-12-14T21:31:30 | 820 | 337 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | When Man made its first steps on its home planet’s moon, it had no knowledge of the multitude of civilisations and peoples that ruled over various parts of the Galaxy. They have come far since those early days of the World Wars and the Space Race, and they have learnt much since then.
Man was admitted into the Galaxial Council in 2124. Eager to learn from other civilisations, they quickly shared much of their culture, their laws and their technology.
Acting friendly to our stellar neighbours, Man quickly gained a reputation as the most peaceful species known throughout the Galaxy. Other species would settle disagreements through war and terror, but Man would negotiate and advocate for peace.
Man quickly gained many nicknames for its peaceful nature. “Speakers”, for their strong preference to use their words to end conflicts over their guns. “Pens”, taken from their own quote that “the pen is mightier than the sword”. “The Lawmakers”, for their many bills they raised in the Council, seemingly irrelevant and useless, a waste of time.
Until now.
The Vogonids first met members of the Galaxial Council in 2503. They were a warring race, with a bloodlust unmatched in all of the Galaxy.
Man tried to welcome them, negotiate with them to arrive at a peaceful and agreed on deal for them to join the Galaxial Council, but they would have none of that.
The Vogonids were violent and straight to the point. They knew what they wanted, and they would get what they wanted.
In 2516, the Vogonids joined the Galaxial Council after Man agreed to their demands nearly completely. Man did not want war, and Man convinced the other members of the Council to let them run free for now, to ignore their rampant violence.
Until now.
In 2529, a Vogonid fleet flew into Man’s commercial settlement of Aurus, near the center of the Galaxy. Man let them land, or intent to trade and share our culture and experiences, and were met with plasma blasters and nuclear bombs.
The Vogonids knew what they wanted, and they were going to get what they wanted. And this time, they set their sights on Man.
The Vogonids did not waste time on ultimatums or negotiation talks. Thousands of Vogonid cruisers, with millions of weapons and crew on board, struck hard and fast on each of Man’s colonies and settlements.
Man spoke out fiercely, demanding the Vogonids to stop their invasion and for the Galaxial Council to cease the war. No one would join the call against the Vogonids. Some would even join their fight against Man. They had all witnessed the power of the Vogonid fleet, and seen the weakness in Man. Throughout its 4 centuries of participation in the Galaxial Council, Man had not won a single war, preferring to peacefully cede territory in exchange for peace. No species would be daft enough to support a race that would die in the first days of conflict.
Seeing that the Council would not support us in the Vogonid invasion, we left the Councilby the end of the week. Man would stand alone in its fight against the Vogonids, and Man would lose, as it had lost every other war it had fought.
Until now.
For the first time in decades, the Terran War Council was called. In the War Council, a unanimous decision was made. Man would strike back, harder and stronger than ever, with fierceness and strength not seen since the days before Man stepped into space. Man would forego the centuries-old Geneva Convention, and formally declare a state of Total War.
No other species understood what we meant. A term which had not been invoked since before Man joined the Galaxial Council. Two words that would irrevocably change the course of the Galaxy.
Man fought ferociously, calling upon weaponry which had not seen the face of battle for decades. The Vogonids had stronger weapons and took over Man’s settlements one by one. But with each recolonisation, each takeover, Man would stand stronger than ever, united against a common enemy.
The Vogonids attacked with vigour, but Man defended as one. Man would lose settlement after settlement, solar system after solar system, but the Vogonids would not gain from it. Man would torch the planet before it left, burning away all the supplies and resources the Vogonids needed from this war.
And eventually, through a long battle that lasted years, the tide began to turn.
The 23rd Vogonid Cruiser Fleet would be destroyed completely in its invasion of Proxima Centauri. Others would soon follow. By the time the Vogonids reaches the Oort Cloud, they would lose nearly all of their Cruisers in their war with us.
But we were just getting started.
In 2964, the 1st Terran Cruiser Fleet would reclaim Proxima Centauri.
By 3121, the 33rd Terran Cruiser Fleet would take the Vogonid home planet of Vogonisphere.
Man had shown the Galaxy that it was a force to be reckoned with.
And the Council was next.
=============================
If I remember correctly, this is my second writing prompt I've ever done. I'd love some comments and advice for my writing, and thanks for taking the time to read through this!
Edit: Gonna make a new account for prompts, the one that replied down there, so check that one if you want to see a part two! | (You know what? I'll bite. I plan on deleting this line later, but I may forget.)
"Such is the duty of lords and princes, envoy. Release the pl-"
*"Release?* That's a pompous way of saying 'annex', diplomat'"
"We only ask what is our birthright, from the great Mandate Of Our Wisdom - our law is fair, our rule is ju-"
"You bore me, drone. Now shut up and 'behold our most noble proposal, prepared for thine eyes to scrunch upon'. Uppity malcontent..."
&#x200B;
Adda, a rather...*brash*...ambassador to the now-battered Humanity, stood on the odium with her laptop on-hand. With a click, a little tap, a swoosh, and a slide, she projected a document onto the large holowall behind her. Another click, and several pre-made screenshots of highlighted documents bloomed large - Article 6, 42, and 173.
&#x200B;
"Ambassador, if you please - you are tarnishing what little Wisdom humanity has left. Please, let us guide your species to a noble existence, and join our Mantle."
There was a lull. Adda looked, incredulous - big words to come from a heartless swarm of parasitic vermin. She wanted to get this over with, go to her shuttle, open her bottle of aged non-synthetic whiskey, and wake up tomorrow with a newly-emptied bottle of forget-the-past and a killer hangover. It's the only thing keeping her in this filthy barge filled with filthy slugs covered in filthy *lies* and filthy *delusions*.
&#x200B;
...But after she finished. Which would be hard if she had to hear these...*things* speak again.
&#x200B;
"Article 6, all Lexist vessels are to be abandoned in Federate space. Article 42, all Lexist Queens shall be quarantined within Federate space. Article 173, the right to life shall be suspended to the Queens of the Caste Militaire. Everything else is just administrative jargon - we got through that in the Polar Treaties. All 12 of them.
"You are allowed to accept this unconditional surrender, effective immediately once it is signed by commanding Queens of the Lexist Union. Failure to do so will continue hostilities. Extermination is the consequence. Naturally."
The Lexist delegation was...perplexed, to say the least. Adda was...*grumpy*, to say the least. No one was happy. But Adda was proactive.
&#x200B;
"What, you don't get it? You little shits, *surrender* or *die*. That is what we put forth, and that is all we will *accept*. Any questions?"
A lone Lexist envoy stood. He was confused, dazed, but fuming. *He* had some questions.
&#x200B;
"Ambassador, what *insanity* has plagued you? This is no surrender, it is a *culling!* You most definitely lack common Wisdom, and we shall not negotiate with subspecies lacking cognition. Drone! I give you a direct command, *bring me to your lea-*"
But before he could finish, his head disappeared. Well...It flew off in chunky kibbles. Many small, bloody, *messy* bits of chunky kibble. Adda had pulled a pistol from her coat, and trained it on the envoy - with a pull, she voided the envoy of any life, leaving only a half-molten husk of seared flesh and carapace. Her hand was quivering, her knuckles bare - the brow hiding a fuming skull, only kept together with tiny strands of formality. She needed to say a *lot* to these "envoys", but the promise of whiskey kept her in the Federate's leash. Though, leash it may be, it was rather generous in its length.
She would make the best of that generosity.
"You *pompous shit*, do you even know what you're saying? Of course not, you're a *drone*, a genetically-tailored *parrot* designed to tell others what big momma wants to say"
Down from the podium, a few steps in the direction of the corpse, and a carefully aimed pistol. She pretends to shoot - only to drop her careful aim, and messily slug three bullets into the insectoid corpse.
"Yeah, you're not even *aware* of your own *heartlessness*. You *shit*, you don't even know what your 'Great Mantle of Wisdom' or *whatever-the-shit* kind of *bullshit* your queen tells you to *parrot*".
Another four steps. Another three bullets. But a novel gasp - short, quick, quivering, sharp. And a novel tremble of her lower lip.
"You can't even *think*. You just *do as you're told*, so obedient and *well-mannered*. Can you even *think?!"*
Four more steps. Two more bullets. Lexist envoys stepping aside, now confused - Adda stepping forward, with a fog on her eyes.
"Do you even know what you do? All of you filthy bugs? Can you even *feel* when you kill a man?"
She's above the corpse. It's mangled and oozing. But she trains the pistol, and unleashes her rage. Six more rounds. *Why did it have to be six?* Six more rounds, for six more months, for the four loving brothers, and the two loving parents.
"*He was called Alex. And he was my dad. And mom was there, too. She was called Fredda."*
She stomped on the corpse, guts trailing everywhere, her rage sated. Or rather, it's what she wanted - because she couldn't. Her thoughts were of violence, of strength hiding her pain. Her body stood still, in reality - frozen, weeping.
The Lexists were confused. They were ambassadors, not queens. They wondered what was wrong with this drone - until it turned around, and gave them the eyes of a Queen.
"T-there. Our terms of peace. Take it, or die."
And Adda stormed off. | 2018-12-15T01:30:53 | 2018-12-15T00:16:21 | 41 | 30 |
[WP] Most young mages use incredibly complex spells and extremely rare ingredients to summon their familiar. You just drew a circle and threw a bag of chips in it. | The bag crinkled as gravity smashed it into the cold stone floor of the examination hall. Although I could not see him, nor would I hear him shouting in warning until it was too late, the headmaster was already running towards me.
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Not until the first tendril of blue and white lapped over the bright yellow bag did I consider the teachings over the previous semester.
"Your familiar is not only bound by your essence and your aura, but the catalyst which summons it. The base motivator that is channeled by your catalyst must be carefully considered."
Chips. I hadn't even wanted the family size bag, but it was only an extra 25 cents, "and why shouldn't I have something to share?" I reasoned.
The floor beneath the bag shuddered as a mound began to form beneath them, the contents inside were scattered across the floor.
"Back!" I heard the headmaster scream, "everyone back!"
"Uh?" I turned to him, realizing the fear that surrounded me as my classmates stared in terror, their feet shifting away as their eyes stayed fixed on me. No, not on me, their eyes fell beyond me.
I spun again to my circle and nearly choked as the floor was being torn away. Slivers of golden fried potatoes poured into the gaping hole and, with a sudden crunch, a tremendous growl filled the chamber.
"Its a Glutton!" The headmaster called to the other teachers as they drew their wands in response. "Get the boy to safety"
*no time to finish * | “No! I can’t do this stupid spell!” I screamed and flailed my arms. I felt I had hit something on accident and turned to the large wobbly circle on the floor.
It was a bag of chips, half empty (or half full...), limited time flavour of dragon tail.
I was too lazy to pick it up, so I chanted the spell used to teleport an item into your hand.
It was the brightest light I had ever seen in my life. It was, though, a black light. “What have I done!?” I screamed.
Lightning struck the chips, even though it was in my room (Which was in the basement.) A strange gas started streaming out of the bag. “My chiiips! I was eating those!”
Suddenly, the light faded, and the gas ignited itself on fire. The fire, too, was black. “Whoooooooooooooooo suuuuuummooooooooneeeed meeeeeeeee?!” A silhouette called from the circle after the fire disappeared.
“Gah!” I jumped back and the thing reached down.
“Ooh, chips!” It started eating my chips. “Yum, dragon tail flavour!”
As the normal lights came back, I realized it wasn’t a monster, but instead it was a huge, fat, chunky, obese, overweight, plump, chubby, ample, tubby, big, stout human. “Who are you!?” I yelled and brandished my staff.
“Oh, hi there! I’m Glutthog of the fat clan!” It attempted to smile, but fell flat trying to do so.”And who are you?”
“I’m Elyna, the Necro-Mage.” I quickly said, then tightened my grip on the staff as Glutthog stood up.
“That doesn’t seem to be going well for you, as I’m not even mortal, let alone dead!” He said with a chuckle. His belly shook when he laughed.
“I- uh... I need to go to school, stay here, don’t make noise!” I said to him as I walked upstairs.
“Bring some cake when you’re back!”
“Fine!”
When I got home from school, I had a small sponge cake in my hand and my knapsack in the other. Glutthog was lying on the sofa in my room, as still as stone. I placed the cake next to him and watched as he shoved the whole thing down his throat with a very loud swallow.
“Delicious!” | 2019-04-05T16:05:49 | 2019-04-05T15:46:22 | 79 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see what level of pain a person is experiencing has always helped you in your profession as a nurse. From the hovering "0.6" over the guy with the hangnail to the "42" over the crash victim. Today on the bus ride to work there is an "800" over a guy, calmly reading his paper... | "Pardon me, but would you mind awfully if I sat next to you?"
His soft, green eyes wearily move away from the newspaper and onto me. I see them widen in surprise as he forgets to breathe. I smile at him knowingly; this happens to me all too often. After all, a sound mind requires an equally robust vessel to carry it, so I hold great pride in treating myself with the same care that I afford the patients back in the hospital. Add to that the pandaemonium, the constant hustling that keeps me moving on my toes, and I can imagine how the sight of a half-decent body in a nurse's uniform riding the 8 AM bus could be moderately distracting. I admit, sometimes I feel the slightly flattering, guilty pleasure of knowing I knocked the sleep out of men on most days. It allows me to indulge in a smile, which seem to become rarer to find with each passing day.
Yet, here I was, having my fatigue knocked out of me like a splash of cold water on my face. The digits "800" flickering in white light over his head had made me blink in disbelief. Being a nurse in an understaffed yet overcramped hospital left me physically and emotionally drained almost everyday. I had to make sure that my eyes weren't playing tricks on me.
It takes a few seconds for the man to stir from his stunned state. He nods politely and turns back to his newspaper.
'Please forgive me if I'm interfering, but are you... okay?" I ask him, desperately trying not to arouse any suscpicion of my motives.
He turns away from his newspaper once more and meets my gaze. The sparkling green eyes with puffy bags underneath them send a dull pulse of pity through my heart. He shakes his head and smiles. "You see the numbers too, don't you?"
I feel my breathing grow frantic inside my chest. I want to look away from him, but something about him keeps me from trying to escape this bizzare connection we share in that moment.
"I'm.. I'm sorry," I manage to say, choking on every word. "I just saw a number over your head I'd never seen before so I thought I'd come and ask if you're alright. I'm a nurse by profession. You could say it's a matter of heart and habit."
"I'm grateful you cared enough to check up on me. I've never met anyone else who has shared this blessing."
I nod, hesitatingly. "May I ask what you do?"
"I'm... a well known cardiologist. I earned my stripes performing the most intricate and the most terrifying procedures in the world. I shouldn't be well known to be honest. The ones referred to me are usually rarest of the rare cases. They pay exceptionally well, but I have a success rate of 33% percent. Even though one part of my conscience reminds me that I take up only the most hopeless cases, another part of me is quick to remind me how many people have died at my hand."
My heart swells at the measure of deep sorrow in his voice. "Can you see the number over your own head?"
He shakes his head. "Can you see the one over your own?"
I shake mine. "Do you wish to know yours?"
He seems to contemplate it for a few seconds before nodding grudgingly.
"800," I say. He puffs out his cheeks and shakes his head in utter surprise. "Thank you. Never knew I was under such tremendous stress. I guess the cracks will show sooner rather than later." He smiles warmly when he sees the guilt on my face. "I'm intrigued to know what you do," he asks.
"I work at the City General Hospital. I'm guessing you're from the National Heart Wellness Center. Times are hard, and the first casualties of the job cuts have been nurses. You can't remove the doctors or the surgeons. Not the cleaning staff or the solitary receptionist. The nurses always are the first to suffer. There were 25 when I started working last year, one for each patient. Now there are three. Usually I only took home the burdens and suffering of one patient home at the end of the day. Now I take home at least 12. I lie a lot more than I used to. I have to care a lot more than I used to. It's difficult. You can imagine."
He nods solemnly and purses his lips. His brilliant green eyes are glazed will tears. "I don't have to imagine, I can see. The number over your head reads 2140."
r/whiteshadowthebook | "I wasn't the only one who was like this. Though the chances of finding others exactly like myself were slim to none, there were people who could view the 'stats' of the people or things they met and/or saw based on their profession they chose. I, myself, decided to be a nurse. This meant I could see a pain rating for people if I chose to.
"I normally don't bother with it though... most of the time, anyway. I usually see it as almost an invasion of privacy, unless I'm using it for my job. There is the occasional time where I'm feeling 'snoopish' and decide to view the ratings of people. For example, I decided to monitor a guy who was acting oddly. He had a -5 pain rating, which is some tolerance if I must say. I'm pretty sure he was drunk or something though.
"Another time I looked over at a car crash. It was disturbing, but I saw a man who was limping have a pain rating of about 20. Poor guy must've sprained his ankle, but he's lucky that's all. I couldn't get a reading on the guy laying in the ditch...
"...A-anyway, uh... so where was I? Right, snooping. So I'm on the bus heading toward the hospital, when there's a man who is reading his paper. Nothing out of the ordinary. He kept glancing quickly at me though, and his hand would tremble here and there. Curiosity got to me and I opened Ye Olde 'stat viewer', to see this man who was reading the daily horoscope had a rating of 800. I've seen people who have miraculously survived 15 bullet wounds to the chest that had rating less than that, mind you.
"Of course, this startled me. 'How in the world does this guy have such a high pain rating with no symptoms of anything,' I thought to myself. 'There's no way. I must be reading him wrong.' So I do that 'turn it off and on again' thing you do with your phones, but no, he still had 800 as a rating. As one would, I go over to him when we get to the stop and ask if he's okay. The man seemed to have a distant delay to his weary, 'Oh, no yeah I'm okay,' response, so I didn't believe him, but I carried on anyway.
"Next day, there he is again. His rating went down by 50, but even 750 is still astronomically high. As I keep checking in with him, I realize he's a really cool person. He's a huge nerd, sweet, funny as all hell, the whole package and then some, if you catch my drift. So I started to 'talk to him'. We grew closer, to the point I considered the man named Johnathan Bennet a best friend, and I had been hoping more than simply that. We called almost daily over video chat, have a blast doing so, and there were times where we'd both fall asleep on our calls and wake up to each other.
"Then, there was the dreaded night-- a night that I won't forget at all. He'd called me, seeming visibly shaken over the camera, and distant again. I checked his rating out again. It'd hit 1200, a number I didn't know was possible. I asked him what's wrong, and he immediately hung up the call, and texted 'Sorry I've been a burden. I'm going to go away from you, you'll never have to deal with me again.'. I got no response after that.
"I was worried. No... no, not just worried, I was terrified. On the verge of tears, I immediately called the police. I drove to his house, where all the doors were locked shut. I banged and kicked and screamed at the door, but I got no answer from the inside. The police arrive, bash the door in, and the man is foaming at the mouth on the floor.
"...I'm sorry, give me a moment."
A glance at the time and a swipe of her handkerchief to her eye fills the now silent moment before she continues.
"But uh... heh, about a day or two later I get a call from the hospital saying that he was okay, that he had made a full recovery and that it was a good thing I called when I did. I was ecstatic, I'll tell you, I... it was scary, and I'd thought I lost him. Fast forward about five years though, and we'd already been together for four. He reflected back on everything, and we realized how much we had liked each other."
She gazes at the floor with a hint of fond remembrance in her smile, chuckling at her own memories.
"But... yeah. That's how we met, I guess. A simple snooping of a man on the bus turned into the man I've been married to for about seven years now, and I couldn't be happier."
She glanced at the 21 who asked the age old question of, "How did you and dad meet?" A look of shock, yet interest, washed over the face of the man. "Well, damn, ma. I didn't know there was more than just meeting at work or something behind it." The mother laughed, and gave a smirk. "That's because you never asked until now."
A couple minutes of faint music from the radio go by until the young man speaks again. "...do you think I'll have that 'stat viewer' ability, ever?"
A slight inquisitive chuckle and a sigh from the woman is followed by a simple sentence; "Good things come to those who wait." | 2019-04-14T00:56:24 | 2019-04-14T00:15:56 | 1,004 | 51 |
[WP] "Oh shit, you survived it?" your best friend says to you, minutes after the global disappearance of the human race and the emergence of the Others. "What?" you ask, terrified and confused. "Normally, I have to fix it all by myself every cycle", he responds. | " So you mean to tell me that you're some sort of immortal being that resets all life on the planet and rebuilds society from scratch every 1,000 millenia. "
" Sounds about right "
"Huh"
"Yeah, pretty cool right"
"Kinda, the tiny blue things are a bit annoying though. You said you normally have to deal with this yourself?"
"Honestly, it doesnt even bother me anymore. The first humans were just about as annoying too you know."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Wow, sorry on their behalf man."
"Its chill my dude"
The whole thing seemed pretty weird initially, scary even. I mean, the entirety of the human race get wiped out by some unknown plague and gets replaced by some blue leprauchan things with giant heads. THEN you find out that your best friend is some sort of god like being that resets humanity (I cant pronounce the word he used, sounded kinda like cahlooowu?), Apparently I passed out for a bit after he said the name). He also said that this is the first time that anyone... has ever survived?
"Hey does this mean I'm immortal too?"
"Close to it I'd guess, seeing as you're completely fine"
"Huh. Is it really as bad as pop culture makes it out to be?"
"I thought pop culture made it look like a good thing."
"Maybe in the 90's, nowadays it's a bunch of loneliness and depression in the long run"
"I see, time passes by a lot quicker for me, did you guys think of that yet?"
"Oh yeah, basically anyone who's too lazy to write the depression story arc uses that"
"Right, I'll tell you what they didnt think of though."
"What's that?"
"You can smoke as much of anything you want and still not die"
"Nooo"
"Oh I'm not kidding, still got some of the stuff the guys before you made. One puff and you start seeing the elder beings of the cosmos on 18 different planes of existence at once"
"Shit son, sounds intense"
"You game?"
"You kidding? Lets get fucked UP!"
(This is my first post on this sub, be nice please?) | “Wha-what do you mean you mean every cycle? What is going ON!”
“Mike calm down first of all, second of all do me a favor and duck.”
As Mike dropped to the ground Jay swung his arm around, brandishing a comically large handgun. With the most deafening sounds he has ever heard Mike stumbled back and fell over. Extending his other hand towards him Jay pulled him back to his feet.
“YOU HAVE A GUN! Dude what is going on,” the fear in Mike’s eyes betraying his steady voice.
“It happened quicker this time than it did last time,” rolling up his sleeve and glancing down at his watch, “we should have had at least a few more months. Mike something’s wrong.”
“NO SHIT JAY!” Mike was shaking with fear. “We were just playing whiffle ball with 10 people and then poof! Gone! Then you magically pull out a gun, tell me to duck, and shoot something!? Yea I think it’s safe to say something is wrong.”
“Oh, that. Yea welcome to the End of the World Mike. Buckle up because I am about to dump A LOT on you,” placing a hand on his friends’ shoulder, “take a seat.” As Mike slowly turned to go towards the benches behind him, Jay quickly grabbed his arm, “maybe a seat this way where you don’t have to go in that general direction until after I explain to you what’s going on.”
As Mike grabbed the bucket that was being used for home plate and sat on it looking at Jay, he was stunned. Standing in front of him wasn’t the same person. Jay was about 5’ 10” on a good day, and about 130 pounds of energy drinks and Doritos. He was. Now though, Jay was easily over 6’ tall, and built like a Greek God. As he took a step away from Mike it was as if he was shedding his skin to make room for more muscles. With his back to Mike, he began to whisper something, weaving his hands in intricate patterns, too methodical and precise to be random. After a few seconds a golden aura surrounded him and pulsed outwards forming a small dome.
“Cool, we got some protection now. Mikey, I know this probably looks weird,” Jay began, “but trust me. If you’re alive with me now you are going LOVE this dude. Remember those games we used to play?”
THUD.
Spinning around Jay trained his revolver on the sound, to find his best friend for the last 17 years face down on the ground, facing the Other that he had blown away just moments before. “Ah damn, I forgot how fragile human minds are at first.” Shaking his head Jay picked up the limp body of his friend, and stepped out of the dome.
-----
I hope you enjoy the story! I am still fairly new to writing and am always looking to improve and create things people enjoy! Thank's for the great prompt!
r/PlopWrites | 2019-06-10T07:18:52 | 2019-06-10T05:25:21 | 41 | 12 |
[WP] It is 2009. You are the one time traveler to show up to Stephen Hawking’s unannounced time traveler party. You are from 200 years in his future. You have to explain to him why he can never tell anyone you showed up. | Hello sir. Professor.
Yes, I'm here for the party.
Why yes, I am still human, we've ... had to make improvements. As a species. It's ...
May I sit down?
I can't stay long, it was a precondition of my being here ...
... oh yes, I would like one, thank you. I believe they're called 'sausage rolls', am I right? Good good. And I apply this ... red ... slurry ... oh, I see, much improved.
I wanted to tell, well show you, what we can achieve, even centuries from now. Applicable justification for someone who works primarily in the theoretical realm. To thank you for what we have done and what humanity can achieve based on the Now you created.
Also, why this must never go beyond this room.
Because you are one of the giants on which the future stand upon. If you mentioned that time travel was possible, you might be scoffed, Dismissed. Laughed at.
But you will be listened to.
The basis of time travel is based on centuries of work in a myriad of fields. Your mention might spur the acceleration of some of these fields of work, while ignoring other, lesser known but equally important areas.
And given the attention span for the general populace, even at this time ... it may very well cause time travel to be delayed. Or not created at all.
Yes sir, paradox.
We've dealt with one already. One too many.
It's worse than you can anticipate. It's the primary reason for my ... humanity's changed appearance.
Well, I won't take up any more of your time sir. It's an honour beyond ... anything I ca n say sir.
Good bye, and thank you.
What?
Oh yes, I would like to take some sausage rolls home. And that orange fizzy drink ... | In the video documentary, a man with a deep base voice will narrate most of it for me. The video will make the event seem magical, but in reality, it's me waiting in a room with many cameras on me in all corners, strange lighting, and the film crew's muffled conversations to one another.
I tried talking to the guy holding the boom mic over me, and made him laugh a couple of times. I said a few things unrelated to the documentary when the camera man interviewed me, but they'll probably get cut.
Most of us here don't know whether to feel anticipation or like this is a big farce; no one wants to pick a side. You risk getting your hopes dashed, or coming to terms with being an unfeeling monster. That is, no one has picked a side in front of me. Everyone has the same unplaceable energy they can't really figure out how to spend.
Two hours later, we're still here though the deadline's gone by. Everyone's in agreement that a time traveler could still be fashionably late. People are still talking to each other. We made extra food for the crew for their wait, and all that champagne has to go somewhere once the bubble's popped. No one looks disappointed; I don't think you could feel disappointed. I tell myself I'm proving something, but I don't truly feel let down, though of course, everyone has moments in the past they want to change or just revisit.
I don't feel let down, I feel like I'm remembering something. I always feel like I'm remembering something, and that by proving its laws, the world's laws, I can't forget it.
5:30. The camera crew is gone. The lights went first while the sun set. PAs are going around taking the set down - I'll have my house back in not half an hour now. The director is chatting with me as I roll with him out to his car parked on the sidewalk. We're exchanging a few pleasantries about time - the subject is a silly one, casual, lots of things to be said to keep the moment fun. As he bends to get into the backseat of his car, watching his pantleg won't get snagged on the door, something's firmly pressed into my palm, though of course, I won't notice it.
Maybe it'll slip out of my hand before someone finds it there. I bet it's a note. I don't close my eyes, but it feels like I'm remembering again, looking at the car door, the tinted window rolling up, but looking upward at the night for hours and hours and hours. Nearby, in a line, they're still pulling boom mics and various electronics out of my house. "Stephen, the time travelers are never in *your* universe. This whole place is yours. For you. Your own."
I rolled back into my house as someone, under either arm, carried the last couple of boom mics out. | 2020-10-17T02:31:51 | 2020-10-17T02:23:37 | 2,384 | 26 |
[WP] A dragon egg has been found. On the day of the hatching over a dozen scientists each from different countries come hoping it picks them as a parent. The dragon's overwhelmed and chooses the one person not in it's face. The guard.
[removed] | “And how has the subject progressed since our last meeting?”
“Bob.”
“Pardon me?”
“His name is Bob. Well Robert actually. He got baptized Robert Grayson the third.”
“I... see.”
Robert Grayson the second, former security guard, was sitting on a plastic chair in his backyard, across from one of a dozen science types he talked to every few weeks about his son.
Bob, clutching onto his father’s shoulders with the claws at the tips of his wings swiveled his head around in a snakelike neck.
“Baaaawb!”
“That’s right buddy, good job!” Robert said, quickly scratching the young dragon behind the small set of horns that crowned his head. “He is starting to get the hang of talking. Still has some trouble with plosives though, on account of y’know not having lips.”
“Right.” Dr. Gupta scribbled on his notepad.
“Look, doc, I know y’all are skeptical and I appreciate everything you folks have done for me. But My wife and I have raised three boys, and now Bob is just number four. And I will remind you that the state of Georgia agrees with me.” | The funny thing was that nobody in that room *knew* it was a dragon egg. Oh —quite a few of them were sure it was, but there was almost as many who thought it was some kind of dinosaur.
I had a bit of an unfair advantage in the matter, because even I had thought it was just a colorful ostrich egg until Wyvern informed me otherwise.
Wyvern is a centuries old dragon, but unlike the ‘grand giants of what you call myths, but actually were around way before humans.’, Wyvern was about the size of a small gecko. His wingspan only measuring just over a foot in length.
I had found Wyvern some years back, and had asked him multiple questions over the years about dragons. To the question of ‘Are there still other dragons?’ Wyvern had wilted a little,and said ‘even I do not know. I don’t believe that a grand giant could hide in this age, maybe there are a quite few of my sort still left...but I do not know. I’ve not seen another for quite some time.’
So when the egg made made the news, Wyvern was ecstatic.
“A *mighty egg* oh how grand! You must find a way to attend its hatching, so that we might rescue it from the ignorance of those who would not know how to care for it!”
“How much are the scientists wrong about?”
Wyvern laughed, “Well first off there’s all this nonsense of eating sheep and cows... this is a *hatchling* that sort of feeding is decades away. For a hatchling it’s more like... small vermin? Rats mice perhaps?...snakes.”
“How long until the diet switches to larger things?”
“You humans have such an obsession with time,” Wyvern said shaking his head, “It depends on what sort of grand dragon this is, and how well it’s cared for.”
“So you want me to crash the hatching, so that we can rescue the dragon?”
“Who better to care for a dragon than one other dragon? Even though I’m not of the same sort, I’m still a *dragon*.”
“You have a point.”
And so began the unlikely adoption of a baby grand dragon, by a human and a Wyvern. | 2020-12-12T05:52:58 | 2020-12-12T04:13:15 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] Humans are born with a tattoo of a heart on their chest that glows when their soulmate is near. You're home alone, and yours suddenly lights too bright to look at. | "Come on Josh. You know you really should."
Josh grimaced after muttering that. He really should get back on the routine, and brush his teeth. It was hard lately. The lockdown, his mom passing away. One of his best friends was just sentenced to federal prison. If sucked trying to take care of himself when he just didnt care.
Josh sighed, and swung his feet out of bed and to the floor. He shuffled to the bathroom, flicking the light contemptuously on his way by.
"Dammit, you gotta take care of yourself." He watched himself in the mirror, taking in his rumpled look. Bloodshot eyes, messy haircut. He turned on the water, and splashed some on his face.
Drying with a towel, he opened his eyes and flinched. His shirt hung down a bit, and his Heart blinded him through the gap.
"Wat the fu-"
An ear shattering noise, and another blast of light just as he opened his eyes, wrecked all of his senses. He was just turning to the open door, when he was ta kled hard.
They both tumbled into the tub, Josh cracking his head against the wall. Before he came to his senses and blinked out what spots he could, he was secured hand and foot. Dragged out of the tub, he lay on his somewhat smelly bath mat, blinking and squinting.
Muffled voices came into focus, and just as his vision started to clear a grizzled, gray eyed man squatted into view.
"Joshua Smalls, you are under under arrest by the FBI. In suspicion of aiding and abetting known terrorist, Brian Keaton. You have the right..."
Josh's hearing faded as he lost focus. Was that... was that a glow coming from the neck if the FBI agent's vest? | I dresseded up that day. I did take my pretty tiara too. While putting it on my head, I felt a weird presence in my tiny flat.
I felt really bad that day. I was abandoned by few of my friends I had left. I was being arrogant. I was being mean. I was not a good person. I was....I couldn't imagine any other way to cheer myself up than to dress up like a queen. In my tiny flat I had my pretty black dress with white spots on it. And I took my beautiful tiara I bought long ago in an antique store. But before undressing I considered my useless personality and the reason I was about to dress up. No, I was not going out or anything. Why should I meet new people? To insult them again? I rather stay in my own flat and dress up.While undressing I examined my body which is too much more appreciable than my soul. I felt ashamed that I look lovely while I am actually mean. The heart tattoo was still there on my chest, dark as always. No one likes a person like me.I put the dress, tiara and the shoes on. However I still felt really sad. I walked to my couch and sat down. I don't know how that happened, but one tear dropped down on my dress. Just one. I hate my life so much. I took a napkin and started to wipe off that wet spot on my chest where the tear dropped. But when I did, I felt warmth through my dress. I felt scared and took the dress off.I looked at mirror and noticed my heart tattoo. It was so bright I couldn't keep an eye on it. I felt so uncomfortable, because I knew I am alone at my flat. I didn't know what to do other than panic. My heart almost jumped out of my mouth when I suddenly felt a light tap on my shoulder.I felt so terrified I didn't look at the mirror anymore. I covered my eyes with hands and slowly turned around. I felt a soft voice calling my name. It told me not to uncover my eyes, but follow the voice. It was so soft and pleasant to listen to. It calmed me down and I followed instructions of this mysterious voice. It told me to go along. The voice opened every door for me. It went out of my flat door to the stairs. I followed every step without looking where I put my feet. When I went throught the last door on the top of the stairs, I felt a chilly breeze, but the voice told me not to look. I felt a complete trust to the voice. Now it told me to come closer. I did. One step after another I walked near the voice. The voice promised to allow me uncover my eyes after I do one last step. I obeyed. While feeling emptiness under my feet I uncovered my eyes. Now I saw the voice. And now I am one too. | 2021-01-16T08:33:15 | 2021-01-16T06:09:37 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone jokes that you'll be haunted by spirits for building your tea shop on sacred ground. But at night you actually serve the undead spirits and calm the restless. | I shut the door, lock it. Flip the Open sign to Closed.
“They gone?” One of them asks from the back wall.
“They’re gone,” I say, watching my last customer walk down the path and into the night.
I walk back across the tea shop. They are coming in now, through the back, with their slow, patient strides across my tiled floor. Walking as though they have all the time in the world. And I suppose they do.
Soon, the whole place will be filled with them. They’ll talk with each other. Fill the shop with their memories. Memories of lives they've finished living. Some hundreds of years ago, before planes, before trains, before automobiles. They mingle amongst each other and laugh and joke.
People have joked that I’d be haunted by spirits for building my shop here, but I don’t feel it’s a haunting. They keep me company. Frankly, they forget I’m even here half the time. Sometimes they ask me questions, about the world. What I tell them always seems to amaze them, intrigue them.
I wipe the table next to a young woman. Her name is Jenny, she died of tuberculosis at a young age. She’s pretty, the track lighting touching her soft skin. Many think ghosts, or spirits, have an insubstantial aura to them, as though they have a tenuous grasp on the world. What they don’t know is that when a spirit is comfortable, when they aren’t restless, their form shines bright, just as though they are alive.
In my shop, I’m proud to say, they shine like a bright, colorful festival.
All of them are welcome here.
A man walks through the door, he looks scared, anxious, his form flickers amongst the night through the window.
“Where are am I?” He asks.
“You’ve passed over,” another man says. His name Colonel Adams and he’s wearing a military uniform. He was a civil war hero. I know this because I’ve heard his stories over and over. But I don’t doubt them. I can tell he’s a courageous person. I don’t know how I picked that up in his conversations, but I did. “What’s your name?” The Colonel asks the newcomer.
“Jack,” the man says as he looks around the room, staggering into the bright lights. “But what do you mean passed over?”
“You’ve died, Jack.”
The room is quiet, the room is always quiet when a newcomer is finding out what has happened. I restock the shelves as they bring Jack into the shop and sit him in a chair. The spirits come up to him, one by one, welcoming him.
“We’re so glad to have you, Jack,” they are saying, making him feel as though he hasn’t been abandoned, that there is still companionship on the other side.
By the time I’m leaving for the night, after everything is in order. Jack is sitting with a group who are eagerly asking him questions. He’s comfortable now, I can see it. His form is beginning to shine as bright as the rest.
As I’m putting on my jacket to leave, the Colonel tips his hat at me and I give him a nod. I step out into the cold night with the sounds of the dead ringing pleasantly in my ear. The door closes and I’m in the silent night.
I see an ethereal shape, soft as gossamer, staggering through the graveyard bordering my tea shop. It is a little girl, she seems scared.
“I….I’m lost...can you help me?” She asks.
I bend down next to her and smile. “Sure, I can,” I say. “Now what’s your name?”
“Lisa,” she says, her voice is soft, frightened.
“Here come with me, Lisa,” I say and walk her to the shop. Through the window I can see the spirits laughing and talking gregariously amongst each other. Colonel Adams is telling Jack a story about a buffalo stampede. I know the story. I recognize it by the animated gestures he’s making.
I unlock the front door and the crowd quiets down.
“Everyone, this is Lisa, and she’s feeling a little scared, can you all make her feel welcome?”
“Lisa!” the crowd cheers out. “Welcome!”
Jenny walks up quickly and kneels down next to Lisa. I look at Jenny and she nods to me and I close the door. As I walk back into the night, I see Jenny’s arm over Lisa and bringing her into the friendly and warm folds of the crowded tea shop.
By tomorrow she’ll be shining bright as the rest.
The night is cold, the stars spangle the black sheet of night above me.
It is good to be alive.
\----
More [stories](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/wiki/index) at [r/CataclysmicRhythmic](https://www.reddit.com/r/CataclysmicRhythmic/) | “Ms. Allison?” I heard one someone call from the tables. My shop wasn’t all that large but was all solid wood, had enough plugins, fast enough internet, and good enough tea that the students from the university would make the ten-minute trek. Some would take the bus and a couple would drive but most of my customers were more broke than I was.
“Yes, Daphne?” I said with a smile from behind my bar as I polished some of the finer cups in my collection. She was a smart kid; she was taking chemistry with the intent of going onto medicine. I wasn’t looking forward to next year though. Most of my readings say I will see her more as she starts to cry into her organic chemistry textbooks.
“Do you know where this is?” she asked in surprise, obviously avoiding whatever assignment she was on.
“My tea shop?” I asked in return.
“Yeah, but,” she said reading whatever was on her screen, “this spot was an archaeological site up until about five years ago. It was home to a large gravesite with stone pillars buried deep into the ground.”
“They are still there actually,” I motioned to the corners of the shop, “they are anchoring part of the foundation. The dig decided that they weren’t old enough to bother with but after the grave had been excavated they didn’t see a need to keep it. Bought the land for a fraction of the price.”
“You bought a gravesite?” another popped her head up and asked.
“Former,” I corrected quickly, “no bodies here.”
“What about spirits?” another said and moan in what was supposed to be an eerie imitation.
“I decided long ago that a liquor license was too expensive,” I dodged but smiled in a knowing way. They chuckled.
“I wouldn’t ever leave here if you served beer,” the third said as they continued to read, “probably should be getting on anyway. What time do you close?”
“About five minutes,” I said, pointing at the clock. They all groaned but they were diligent about paying their tab and cleaning up their space. I mostly went around and made sure they didn’t leave anything.
“Good night Jen!” they said as they walked toward the door. Good kids, but they called out as they left, “Don’t let the spirits stay up too late.”
“Forget the spirits,” I yelled back, “I should have told you all to go to bed an hour ago.”
They laughed, I laughed, even the nearly headless guy in the corner laughed; it was a good time. They couldn’t see him, mind you, but it was still good to keep the early crowd from mingling with the late crowd. On both ends. Oscar wasn’t much more of a threat than any of them were anyway and if I told him, quietly, to wait he did.
I locked the door manually but after I pulled the blinds down I started up the arcane scripts in order to shield the building from anyone who may have an interest. Simple things though. I have one that makes the building remind people of things that they either have in their home or miss about their childhood. Mostly it’s about pulling and pushing memories in the correct way. Didn’t have anything moving on its own though.
A witch always cleans her space herself. It was important to appreciate, respect, and understand the space you were using before you called the corners. I did appreciate it. This tea shop had always been my dream and when the land had come up for sale I saw an opportunity to do some good for this world and the next. A couple of choice words and more salt than I’d ever like to admit I was finally ready.
The spells were old, the chants were translated throughout the ages but they always came back to an important teaching; honour the land, the people, and oneself. The balance between those points is what allows one to open the fourth, which was simply respect for time. Time is what made everything else important.
Darkness took me and I wandered in a space mostly my own. My ancestors would visit, occasionally, but would never stay long. It may sound weird but it’s quite a compliment. Ancestors typically only stay around their kin if they are in need of training or wisdom. Mine have told me a couple of times that they have faith that I know what I’m doing. I waited the minute before breaking the silence, the darkness, and the stillness of my house.
A match and a candle usually did it for me. Sort of liked the smell but also it was nice because a lot of the teapots I had taken little tea lights as warmers. Duel purpose and if anyone became nosy I had an out.
The room was already busy. Not full by any means but I counted eight spirits at the tables. I looked around for one in particular. She had been trying her best to find peace with herself over aspects of her life she discovered weren’t all that clear to her during her time. Family thought it was best not to tell her that they didn’t actually like the things she had spent so much time hunting for. Her gifts to them, she always knew it would be her last gifts, meant nothing.
“Marge!” I said with a smile and clap as I saw her in the corner. Poor thing was always alone but it was hard sometimes when your soul doesn’t have a way to produce serotonin. “I’ll be with you shortly, is there anything you want?”
“Oh blessed dear,” she muttered, “you don’t have to bother yourself with me.”
“Orange pekoe with a biscuit it is then,” I said as I waved a hand at her. The rest of my late-night patrons ordered their usuals. It’s funny. After death, all they really wanted was the consistent things that they had in life.
&#x200B;
\---
Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! I am still trying to improve and any feedback is welcome. If you liked this, I have more stories at [r/asolitarycandle](https://www.reddit.com/r/asolitarycandle/) | 2021-03-10T18:00:27 | 2021-03-10T16:17:06 | 1,778 | 194 |
[WP] A rich man wants you to keep others out of his bunker as the bombs fall. In exchange, he's offered you a separate tiny nearby personal shelter with enough room for a single person that you can hop into at the last minute. | The trick to a good bunker is it's remote, but not TOO remote. Put it in the city and all you have is a lead shielded closet. Put it in the country and there's no way you'll get there in time. This was a good compromise, essentially a two story home underground, just past the suburbs and near the McMansions gated off from the world.
Most days, I was a glorified maid. Rotate out some rations, check some equipment, keep the place reasonably clean. The boss had a party here once. I wasn't invited but he never came back after. That was about four years ago now.
The alert came out before the news picked it up. There were false alarms before but I knew the drill: drive to the bunker, check it all over. But the alert never ended. My phone went off. The bunker tv showed the talking heads look worried, followed shortly by some old canned broadcast.
A few local families showed up. The call was pretty easy to make. The boss was all the way out in the middle of the pacific on some megayacht at another party I'd never been invited to. My phone rang, and I just let it. The bunker was big enough to hold the big man and a dozen others, but it was also rated to stop bunker busters. It could certainly stop an irradiated ghost a hundred miles offshore. | There have been two very important things that have been taught to me that are always running through my mind at every turn. One is that you should always show someone the respect they give you. Strangers are a moot point. There's never a need to treat them with respect unless you or they do something for you. And second... while ironic blasts of raining explosions play far off in the distance... the second comes back to me quickly. Always take a shower after you've finished your work. I never thought the two could ever come to odds with each other though.
The screaming and yelling I hear outside of my cozy bunker with each wall laced with the finest alcohols, a radio and record player combo with the latest hits of this decade, and a wide array of books from various genres. The person this belonged to must've been upset.
After all, how could he expect the person he asked for help could be the one to betray him. A snide, older man. Clearly in his 50s with pepper sprayed hair, a smile that looks like it's only two chuckles away from a cigar plugging it, and a laid-back pair of expensive clothes that even my life's savings couldn't afford. Couldn't help him now, I presume. Couldn't help anyone with the hell that's going on outside. No amount of bling or hundred-dollar polo shirt could protect you now except for this that I'm currently staying in. Perhaps the trashcan next to the bunker could help him. After all, I was told that for the payment of staving off the desperate townsfolk I would have my own personal bunker to protect myself from the bombs. That tin can surely do the trick for him as well.
The poor man had no idea that I happened to be a specialist in picking locks. He was quite surprised to see that I wasn't happy about our arrangement. Perhaps next time he'll pick his rewards and employees more carefully. A shame, however. I could really use a shower after the hard work of directing people away from his... well my bunker. But I suppose he should get the shower this time. Though he certainly hadn't worked very hard for much of anything, I have a feeling he deserves what's coming to him. And as the bombs draw closer, I can only wonder if he'll enjoy it, or if he'd prefer a bath instead. | 2021-08-10T02:53:29 | 2021-08-09T22:48:43 | 101 | 36 |
[WP] “No man can kill me!” The demon taunted, taking in the carnage it'd caused. “But I am no man!” You proclaim, ripping off your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, but your blade bounces harmlessly off the demon’s hide. “Did you-did you really think that’s what I meant? You fool" | The warmaiden held her sword poised to stike at the demon. The demon in turn, casually leaning against his throne. The warmaiden struck, the steel glancing off the demon's thick leathery hide. Doing nothing.
"So, who sent you here anyway?"
"That is not your business!"
"No, but it might be fun to think about. I mean, I am going to kill you but it would be funny to hear who sent you on this fools errand."
"My sister at the academy. We trained long and hard together. She told me that no man could kill you. But I am no man!"
"As we've established, that's nonsense." The demon looked the warmaiden up and down a bit. "Say, you're a rather attractive specimen. I bet there's a handsome man waiting for your return..."
"Not even close. I have dedicated my life to warfare. Such frivolities are beneath me."
"Yes, but are they beneath the men in your town? Say there was one who had eyes only for you. Say you're sister who sent you on this journey to your death fancied this man. Maybe without you around she could get this man to notice her."
The warmaiden struck the demon again with her sword. Again the sword bounced harmlessly off. "That is a lie!"
"Oh is it now?" The demon finally got off his throne. He sauntered towards her menacingly. She backed away slightly. "And how do you know how the hearts of men work. Or women for that matter. Even now there is the flicker of doubt in your eyes. So at least the part of there being a man who fancies you is true."
"Possibly. The blacksmith who made my armor."
"Ah, the blacksmith. A strapping lad I imagine? Big burly arms. Works rather closely with you too hmm?" The demon stared into her eyes, seeming into her soul. "I'll tell you what. I will let you live. In exchange, you are to return the advances of the blacksmith."
"But, I have no intrest in him. He is just my blacksmith to me!"
"Alternatively, you could kill your warrior sister. Would that be better?"
"Why are you making these demands of me?"
"I just want to put a bit more evil in the world. I grow bored of the usual things. A love triangle ending in death sounds like a delicious diversion."
"How do you know it will end in death?"
"Because you're here."
The warmaiden backed away and turned to leave. "Oh, one other thing. I need notes detailing everything that happens. Lots of notes. Send them say, once a week. Deliver them yourself if you have to. I could really use the entertainment."
The warmaiden returned home from the demon's castle. She did not court the blacksmith. She did not murder her sister at the academy. Life returned to normal. She even managed to set her sister and the blacksmith up on an date of sorts, though the blacksmith turned out not to be her sister's type.
She did send those notes back to the demon though. Her correspondence was long and intricate. She weaved a narrative of romance and betrayal. New characters were brought in and died off in plots and war. She ended the narrative with her sister poisoning the blacksmith and committing suicide.
It took years to get to that point. And the demon couldn't deal with the ending. So distraught was the demon at seeing the end the demon killed himself. In the end, it was not that no man could kill the demon, but that no sword could. The pen, as it turns out, was mightier. | "Well, let's talk about it for a second, shall we?"
The demon observed the human, as she pulled back, lowering her sword. He could end her with his mere touch, he could cause her sould to scream in agony before sending her to an eternity of torment. But he had to admit... he was amused. "GO ON", he said, his voice ripping a tear in the fabric of reality itself.
"So, thing is, I am no man, right?
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I MEANT", said the eldritch horror, "I REFER TO 'MAN' AS IN A MEMBER OF HUMANITY. YOU ARE VERY FOOL", he concluded.
"Just follow me on that, okay? Do you know the great philosopher Matahammatah?"
"YES. I'VE USED HIM TO TORTURE THE SOUL OF THE DAMNED FOR CENTURIES NOW. NOONE CAN WITHSTAND HIM MORE THAN ONE HOUR WITHOUT LOSING ALL SEMBLANCE OF SANITY."
"Good, so you know he thought very badly about women, right? He stated that..."
"THAT WOMEN ARE INFERIOR BEINGS, AND SHOULD BE CONSIDERED AS MERE BREED ANIMALS FOR MAN. YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS."
"But I am! And I'm going to prove you he was right!"
The demon looked at the woman in front of him. She was tiny, in comparison, he could kill her by stomping on her with his hooves. He could make her burn and not die for years, just to amuse himself with her endless agony. He could make her part of her hide and feel her forever gasping for help and mercy, words stolen with her lungs. He could create all sort of tortures for that foolish female human, but still...
"ALRIGHT", he proclaimed. "IF YOU CAN HUMILIATE HALF OF YOUR RACE AND CONVINCE ME THAT HUMAN FEMALES ARE NOT TO BE CONSIDERED HUMAN, BUT MERE BREED ANIMALS, I SHALL ALLOW YOU TO SLAY ME."
"Good!" she said, and then turned to the speechless soldiers that watched that verbal exchange. "I need a white board, markers and a cup of tea! Would you like one, Asmodeus, Demolisher of Worlds, Creator of the Eternal Torment and Devourer of Souls?"
"YES" he answered, as he sat on the ground.
The debate lasted for hours. Every point held by that human female, which Asmodeus learned was called General Helena, was brilliantly countered by the demon. But still she persisted, twisting her arguments, rebating every single point made by the demon until, finally, he laid back looking at the human... impressed.
"SO, ACCORDING TO YOU, HUMAN FEMALES ARE BASICALLY... CATTLE. THEY ARE BORN TO SUFFER, TO BREED CHILDREN AND TO BE UNDER MALE RULE. IS THAT CORRECT?"
"Yes, it is"
"I FEEL LIKE I WOULD BE MAKING YOU ALL A FAVOR IF I ENDED YOUR MISERABLE LIFES ONCE AND FOR ALL"
"But if you ended our suffering... you would not be considered the Creator of Eternal Torment, right? And plus, by accepting this, you will be accepting that all human females are basically animals, which means we have no souls for you to devour."
"I COULD DEMOLISH YOUR WORLD, STILL"
"What? And not be loyal to your own titles? I guess if you want to be mocked in all thirteen circles of hell, that would be acceptable..."
She crossed fingers behind her back. Asmodeus, Demolisher of Worlds, Creator of the Ethernal Torment and Devourer of Souls looked at her for the longest moment.
"I SHALL MEDITATE ABOUT THAT".
And, in a vortex of roaring fire and flames, so powerful that General Helena had to jump to the ground to avoid being devoured by that inferno, Asmodeus, Demolisher of Worlds, Creator of the Ethernal Torment and Devourer of Souls... left the material world.
"Holy hell... I can't believe this worked!"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*You may follow my writing projects in* [*https://rincondevolgrand.wordpress.com/*](https://rincondevolgrand.wordpress.com/) (Spanish, sorry)
*DISCLAIMER: The author declares that he does not share the point of view of any of the characters portrayed in this short tale.*
EDIT: Adding a disclaimer + link to my webpage. | 2022-05-31T12:48:51 | 2022-05-31T11:38:14 | 646 | 153 |
[WP] “No man can kill me!” The demon taunted, taking in the carnage it'd caused. “But I am no man!” You proclaim, ripping off your helmet to reveal your feminine features. You strike, but your blade bounces harmlessly off the demon’s hide. “Did you-did you really think that’s what I meant? You fool" | “Fuck you!” I tried again, scowling in frustration as the sword bounced off again. This was not how it should go. Centuries of careful work from my forebears! “long-lived, youthful features beyond normal aging standards, silent tread, high-level genetic drift from Homo sapiens due to the early Asian continental people interbreeding with Denisovans and genetic manipulation to further distance me from mankind! The race that most equates to man would be those with pure Homo sapiens genetics. I even got someone to restore this early hominid weapon in the event that it had to do with the weaponry itself!”
“You’re still only human,” the demon chuckled darkly. Leaning in and grinning viciously. I continued scowling darkly as I lifted my wrist to my mouth.
“Send in Plan B.”
The demon blinked, smile fading into confusion.
“Plan B?” He asked. I nodded.
“If mankind is still born mankind despite being nearly purely a different species, then we’ll see if this works instead.”
There was a shrill noise raising in the air. The demon looked up in time for the silvery humanoid to punch it at just barely the threshold of subsonic speed.
I wiped the blood off my face with a disappointed sigh. The android looked over at me and ran a scan before determining that I was unharmed. It turned to leave to return to its docking station.
“Well, it looks like Plan B worked.” | The Demon laughed heartily at the miscommunication.
"FOOL! You think semantics are any match for me, Lord Acsurgarothe??"
I stood defiant, despite the flecks of brimstone and spit hitting my face as he laughed.
He continued his villainous chuckle.
"You-- you silly little human! HA HA You stand before Lord Acsurgarothe and do NOTHING?? YOU WEAK-- HA HA HA --PITIFUL-- HA HEE HO --MISERABLE WEAKLIN-- ah, damn."
I continued to stand, unflinchingly brave in the demon's waning presence. He slouched and squinted his eyes in frustration.
"Seriously? Like, you're not-- oh jeez, my ribs-- you're not gonna swing at me, or I dunno... call upon your Patron or Ancestral Spirit to help out, or... SOMETHING?!"
He had bent over, winded from his unending laughter, but quickly regained his dramatic gravitas.
"AH, YES! YOU MUST BE..."
An eruption of hellfire and bats sprung from behind him as he leaped inches from my nose. I could feel sulfur and rotten fish stench seeping into my pores as he guffawed in my face. His face twisted into a sadistic grin and he bellowed even louder:
"TERRIFIED!!!"
I stared back at him as he recoiled in confusion.
"Okay, so what the hell, man? This was supposed to be your grand-stand, big moment kill the baddie victory, and you're just STANDING there?! WHAT KIND OF HUMAN ARE YOU???"
I gave him a slight smirk and watched his frustration turn into fear.
"I'm the type of human that feeds the crows outside of her house."
I raised one hand to sky and braced myself. The Demon recoiled and shouted in fearful protest.
"No, nooo, no no nono. What are DOING??"
I closed my fist and screamed:
"YO BOYS!"
"ITS DINNERTIIIIIIIIIIIIME!"
The Demon wailed in agony as a large black mass of feathers and hunger flew down and bore a hole through his stomach.
The crow swooped back around for seconds, and soon the Demon's cracked, disgusting flesh was covered in starving birds.
I walked away to leave my babies to their meal, and grabbed an apple sitting on the vendor's table and flipped the man a gold coin.
My job was done here. | 2022-05-31T18:20:43 | 2022-05-31T14:28:29 | 65 | 45 |
[WP]They laughed at your power... until they noticed the "no cooldown, no energy cost" description, and realized the implications | Every power has a cost. All of the cooler powers take a lot of energy to use, like creation of fire out of thin air and telekinesis. Once powers like those are used for long enough, there is a natural cooldown before they can be used again. For the cooler powers, this is typically a few hours or so.
Typically, powers develop during puberty and they get "diagnosed" by doctors, similar to diseases. However, unlike diseases, there is no cure prescribed. When I went to the doctor for a regularly scheduled check-up and they decided to do the power test by doing a blood draw. The test returned and I got a rare and what they called a useless power: Manipulation of one individual atom to whatever I please. Since the power works on such a small scale, there is no energy cost and no natural cooldown.
"What's the point of this?" I thought to myself.
For a couple of weeks, I was just thinking of ways to make the useless power useful. Maybe if I got fast enough, because of the no cost and no cooldown, I could manipulate a small object to become a gold nugget or something over a long enough period of time, but one atom is so small that it might take an entire lifetime to turn one bead into gold.
During the latest of these days, I thought about the last part: "whatever I please". That never really implied things that are necessarily real, but as long as I imagine something of the atom it should be possible, right?
I decided to test this theory by taking a blade of grass out of by backyard and willing one of the atoms to become like a virus, being able to "infect" atoms similar to it throughout the blade of grass until it reaches the gas-like air, with the "infection" rate being one atom per nanosecond, until the whole blade of grass is 24k gold.
Thankfully, it actually worked. it seemed like the instant I willed the first atom, the whole blade of grass became gold. Just like that, reality can be whatever I want it to be. I can be the richest person on Earth if I wanted. I have the ultimate bargaining power if I need it. I can turn the stone to bread. I can do whatever I want. All it takes is one atom going my way. | Stephen and Darius laughed, faces twisted into near caricatures of themselves. They were barely amateur wizards, and yet they took every opportunity and expense to laugh at me. Nothing like punching down on your inferiors, no matter the grand scheme of things.
“This guy’s a terrible wizard!” Stephen sneered.
Previously, I’ve tolerated them. Not out of preference, but of necessity. Crude magic users they might be, but it was still magic. There was nothing a normal human could do to prevent a fireball from burning them up. But things have changed.
“I’m no longer your punching bag,” I said. “I’m a wizard now.”
Outwardly, I figured it was calm. But inside, a tumultuous storm of emotions brewed within me. The pair’s visages darkened, stone gargoyles guarding an exclusive entrance—wizardry.
“Impossible,” Darius said.
Stephen simply chuckled, one hand weaving into an intricate motion. I held up one hand, clenching it into a fist.
“I can cast punch.”
The two stood there, as stunned as statues. I expected them to burst out laughing, but instead, incredulity flooded their faces. Question marks might as well have spawned around their heads.
“What do you mean, you cast punch?” Darius said. “That’s not possible.”
“You don’t even have mana,” Stephen finally said. “There’s no spell you can cast.”
“It takes no energy for me to cast my punch,” I said.
“Cast punch? But that’s impossible,” Darius said. “The muscles involved expend energy. You need to move your—”
“I cast punch.”
He was swiftly interrupted by a haymaker. It was not thrown from my own fist. Rather, it came from seemingly out of nowhere, a perfectly centered hit on his right cheek. His face contorted into incredulity, mouth so wide open that an anaconda would be immensely jealous.
A startled Stephen took one step back, while Darius held the side of his face in pain. The two looked around frantically, eyes scanning every possible atom, but the truth was right there—I had not moved.
“What the hell? You could have broken my jaw!” Darius cried. Fear seeped into his words, lifting every syllable in a panic.
Darius received another punch to his face. After all, his mouth was wide open. It was simply too tempting.
“My jaw!”
“What’s going on?” Stephen cried. “You are going to get it now! Once I get this fireball off, you’ll—”
Punch to the gut. Stephen bent double over, his spindly, scholarly body desperately wheezing for air.
“Now,” I smiled. “You two are my punching bags.”
The bully pair turned towards each other. Their eyes shone with recognition—they were no longer the masters of the situation. With wounded growls, they turned and started booking it.
In a way, Stephen was right. I had no mana. I might never will.
But I had my body. And to a wizard’s level, it was a physique honed to near impossible levels, like magic would looked to a normal human. Casting punch took virtually no effort, and there was practically no cooldown.
“Fools,” I muttered, clenching my fists tight. “I will not stand being bullied any longer.”
---
r/dexdrafts | 2022-06-03T12:50:28 | 2022-06-03T12:04:48 | 181 | 107 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | There was a sense of triumph that came from having your nemesis kneeling before you, his chestnut curls in full display as he knelt, head down, begging for assistance. This wasn’t the way I had always imagined this taking place, I had expected more blood and rubble decorating the event. Instead, I bore witness to this vision in the comfort of my own office.
My, what a refreshing surprise.
“Please-“
“Silence.”
For once, the large oaf listened and bit his tongue, while I silently mulled over the request.
Joining him as his “date” to his ex’s sister’s wedding was, in all honesty, not a difficult task. Was it hard to believe that I, the villainous Thanatos, of all people would be asked as the sun of the city and favorite superhero Sirius’s date? To a wedding? To avoid and/or cause jealousy on the hero’s ex? Most definitely. I find it quite hilarious actually.
And although my first instinct was to laugh my ass off and kick the superhero out of my precious home, seeing this hulk of a man begging turned something more… primal within me on and frankly, I liked the view of him kneeling in front of my shiny leather shoes.
“My knees are hurting, can you please give me an answer?”
I liked the silence I had created, it nurtured the tension I wanted to build. I couldn’t give in easily, could I? However, memories from the last time he came by fluttered through and I feared remaining silent would put my Rembrandt and Vermeers in jeopardy. But the way his thighs strained against those jeans….
Oh well, photographic memory came in handy in times such as these.
“In return of you keeping your goons away from my home and keeping all information about my real identity, as well as that of my small stunt as a hero, a secret, I will gladly be your plus one.”
Golden eyes snapped towards mine, wide and relieved. The bright smile stretching across that handsome mask-less face caused my eye to twitch. Despite my internal thoughts pushing through, there was nothing cute to this 6 foot 8 inches piece of pure muscle.
We’ve tried to kill each other on multiple occasions. He’s destroyed my plans countless times, even the ones that don’t involve the city. I’ve destroyed that suit of his equally countless times (at this point I can’t even hide it wasn’t on purpose.) We’ve sworn up and down this city to be the undoing of the other.
We are nemesis after all.
The oaf got up in one fell swoop, and moved towards me. Before I could complain, I found myself being lifted and encased in muscle, my face comfortably cushioned against perfect pectorals and wrapped by strong arms. Before I could register the actions taken, I was set back down.
It’s harder to keep my enjoyment of this moment to myself than I thought.
“Don’t look at me like that, I’m just really happy. I can’t wait to see Harry’s face when I come in with you by my side.”
Oh…. This is intriguing.
“I’m guessing you could have asked any handsome stranger to be your date, why risk it all for me of all people?”
The oaf froze in place. His body language read clearly that he didn’t want to answer, as did the pathetic mumble I received as a response.
Patting the wrinkles incurred from my black dress shirt and slacks, I sat back down, looking up at him as deviously as I could. “I couldn’t quite catch that. Come again?”
With a sigh, and a few steps back towards my office door, he finally said, “Because I couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful and mysterious than you.”
With those words, along with a promise to reach out in a few days to coordinate our suits and times, the ball of sunshine ran out of my office with the quickness by which he had entered, like the coward he was. Not to suggest that I would have wanted him to linger, for the blush I felt spreading across my face would give far too much away. | Part of me believed this to be a trap, but I quickly buried the idea because Valerie was the epiphany of what a stereotypical hero should be.
"So... Let me get this straight. You, the famous hero who saved the world 3 times, want me, your nemesis, to go with you to a wedding just to piss off your ex?" I asked.
"Yes Fate, listen normally I wouldn't do this, but he cheated on me and did a few other things that led to our brake up. I was thinking that since this kind of dastardly, you might want to help." She said anxiously.
I chuckled heavily, "dastardly, really... Fine, but you must swear an oath of secrecy when we meet, we may be enemies but I do have a private life and so do you, deal?" I finished.
"Deal, see you in a month, remember it's on the 21st!" She cheered before ending the call.
I turned around to see my loyal guards stifling laughter. I rolled my eyes and simply left the room, making the mental note to wipe there memory of that call.
Time flew by and now I was waiting in my classic 1960 Mustang. After a moment I saw Valarie step out from her apartment and looked around, trying to find me. I started my engine and pulled up to her.
Stepping out of the car I said, "Your chariot awaits you milady." Smiling while opening her door.
"Wait... YOUR Fate... You look so normal." Valerie said before she turned scarlet and turned away.
I laughed as she climbed in. I closed her door and got in the driver's seat. "I don't know about normal, every mirror I look into breaks, why do you think you always win." I said jokingly as I started driving to the wedding.
She laughed at that, "So before we get there, I have to ask you something." She said.
"Alright, shoot." I responded.
"Would you be ok if we... Kissed a few times at the wedding, just to sell it and make him more jealous?" She asked meekly.
I was caught off guard completely, she was never meek, "Um, I guess if you really want to." I replied nervously.
As we reached the church, I could swear I saw her glance at me and bite her lip. Either way, we were here and ready for the wedding.
The ceremony was nice to be honest, me and Valerie shared a few quick pecks and an actual kiss in front of her ex. Now we were enjoying the reception. I had Mac&cheese, chocolate covered marshmallows, a double chicken sandwich with cheese, mashed potatoes, and a large glass of orange juice. Valerie had a out the same except with chocolate covered strawberries. We ate and talked with a few of the other guests, making up a story they would believe. At some point Valerie excused herself from the hall to go to the bathroom, but as time passed I found myself getting worried for some reason. Like a nagging feeling that something was wrong.
I left the hall quietly and went towards the bathrooms. As I passed a dark room I caught a glimpse of movement. I stopped and gazed inside and say Valerie being held down by her ex who held a talaxite jewel over her, the one thing that can hurt hur. I quietly entered and slowly made my way to them.
"Fucking bitch, don't forget that I know who you really are, and what your weakness is." He growled as he punched her in the gut. "Once I'm done with you, I'm going to beat the shit out of-" *CLICK*
He stopped talking the second I placed my 1911 to the back of his head my custom suppressor parting his hair. "Now now, I think you just sealed your fate, hand me the jewel, nice and calmly." I said.
He gave me the jewel trembling, and I dropped it on the floor and smashed it with my boot. "Alright now, Valerie, you give me the world and he disappears, all memory and evidence of his pathetic fucking existence will vanish meer moments after I pull the trigger." I said to Valerie as she stood, her strength returning.
"No, you don't have to do that." She said before she wheeled around and punched him square in the nose, sending him flying into the wall like some anime.
I put my pistol back in my holster, and before I could say or do anything else, Valerie rapped her arms around my neck and pulled me into a deep kiss, it was filled with passion and emotion and I kissed back. After a minute or so we parted and stared at each other for a moment, breathing hard.
"Do you... wanna, you know, like go out sometime?" I asked nervously
She looked me straight in the eyes "Yes, now let's get back to the reception." She said happily.
Honestly, I don't know what came over me, but I was genuinely happy and excited even...... DEAR GOD, AM I TURNING GOOD!?!?!?!? | 2022-10-06T20:58:16 | 2022-10-06T20:34:41 | 73 | 45 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | I come into work, probably clean shaven for the first time in a while, it’s a bit of a haze. But the past few missions are ripe in my mind
Allya’s death was something i will surely never forget, id promised her id never resort to these methods again but now was the time. After this i’ll likely retire from here, she was the only thing holding me to this place.
I walked into the grand hall of heroism. Arclight, the defacto leader approached me and said, “joeseph, welcome. How are you holding up?”
“Badly arc, but after today i should be fine”
He looked confused, possibly concerned but i was never good at reading faces, other than allya’s face. “Well, we are still tracking down allya’s killer, so im not sure what you can really do. But i promise once we find th-“
“Oh it’s good, i pretty much know where the bastard is. Just need the computer for a sec” i started my way to the greatest computer in the world. Arc followed me
“Im sorry? Joeseph we have the worlds best detective working on this case. they will find them. It’s nice that you haven’t drank or smoked but i don’t thi-“
“I got em,” i said as i reached the computer and ran a quick google search. “name’s ted tanson. I don’t have a phone so I couldn’t really do that at home. Anyway, for me he lives about five minutes away. Im gonna go kill him.” I started walking back outside, this was all i needed from this place.
“Joespeh, wait. Due process still exists, you can’t just find anyone onl-“ this time he didn’t stop because I interrupted him, he was suddenly flung at about 126 miles per hour at the worlds best computer. He gently stopped himself before destroying it. “Joeseph, what has gotten into you man! This isnt like you.”
“Isnt like me, arc? You don’t fucking know me. Until allya died, you never once had a conversation with me outside of work. Were you scared, scared id kill you and your team, scared id take your place as the seat of america’s asshole. You’re lucky allya respected this place, it was the only thing ever keeping me here, keeping me restrained enough to hide behind the alcohol so i could pretend to respect you. Now im gonna go kill ted, fucking, tanson. You’re happy to try and stop me if you like, but you’ve seen my power when im barely trying, and I doubt you could live long enough to see me when i give a crap.” I took my leave, arc was probably thinking about my words and if he could do anything to stop me. Frankly I didn’t care, i had a man to kill. | It's a dark and somber night at the Heros Headquarters, all the lights are out except for one, a small light come from one of the rooms on the top floor, in there is a man slumped over a desk, surrounded but liquors, drugs and ash from old cigarettes, writting on a journal:
"April 26, 3:42 A.M. :
We were all there, when it happened, tommy, thomas, it was my fault I am so sorry, it was too fast to stop it , I was too drunk to stop it, no one else was strong enough, I am so so sorry friend, you gave me this book, you said it could help to get the thoughts out of my head and I only laughed, you wanted me to sober up, you thought I could be better than this, I can't, I could never explain why did I drink so much only Kirk and the old man know my secret, but if I wasn't such a coward you would still be here. They never belived me when I said I could quit the drugs, alcohol and tobacco whenever I wanted, they just laughed.
You knew that even drunk my power could be stronger than all of them, well now The emperor will pay."
As soon as he finished writting he got up and started to briskly throw all of it in the trash, as the anger and grief too over him, then he passed out on the bed. A month went by no drugs no alcohol, the nightmares worst than ever, no one knew about them, only the old man knew his story. Most of the other heros where skeptical, most thought that when he dissappeared every night it was to drink in secret and shame, but the man left every night in search of answers but sober he couldn't sleep.
Thomas had been the newest addition to the team, he was only 19 years old, to him only a child. He was bright and naive maybe, his power was to create energy barriers, to contain or repel things, not the strongest but not the weakest. He was the only one that belived in the man, the man didn't have a face or a name, but he kept the same mask for them and allowed them to call him Rick, drunken Rick was how most called him.
And he had finally found him, ans he was going after the emperor alone, but Andromeda saw him and called the others.
He knew they were there, he knew they would see it, he didn't care, once he made it inside the emperor's hide out he killed everyone in his way trapping them in nightmares so horrific, so hellish they would always end up killing themselves, none of the heros had ever seen him use his true power, but when he removed the mask it was all unleashed.
He found the emperor and took him to a nightmare inside his head and tortured him in there for 100 years, pealing his skin, twisting his body, he could feel all of the pain, but couldn't die, for it wasn't real, on the outside the other heros could see the blood start to drip from the emperor's eyes, and after what felt for both of them like a century they were back, tears of blood pouring from the emperor's eyes, the man still faceless. And as he walked past them they could hear the banging, and when they looked the emperor, their nemesis the most powerful of the villans hitting his head against the wall so hard until he smashed his own skull.
The man never drank, and never wore a mask again.
(Not my best work I spent too much time trying to think of the super power that I ended up losing inspiration :/) | 2022-12-28T09:43:48 | 2022-12-28T09:04:31 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] On your eighteenth birthday, you shoot a mystic bow that is said to kill whoever is destined to kill you, three seconds before they do. Eight years later, your arrow strikes your SO's heart, right as she says "I do."
Or he. Or It. Whatever. I'm a straight canadian guy, so it popped into my head.
Sorry.
EDIT: I did not expect this to get so popular. Honestly, I expected this to get maybe two or three responses, and a 5/40 Upvote/Downvote Ratio. But, 196/95.........
EDIT: We've passed 300 upvotes! I'm afraid now. Very afraid.
Edit again! 400!
But at the same time, the people that hate me finally found the post. I suppose it wont be long before i go back to a 1/30 upvote/downvote ratio.....
Continue writing though! I love your works! | I glanced in amusement at the revolver Wanda was pointing at me. She had ten other guns aimed at her back, maybe twelve, but obviously she didn't care. All that mattered was that I would die. If she gave her life in the process, well, she'd still count that as a win.
"My my my, so the rebels did manage to sneak an agent into my inner circle. I'm impressed. Tell me, Wanda, were you always on their side? Or did they manage to turn you after you became my security officer?" I asked.
"They showed me the evil of your ways," Wanda spat, "they showed me pictures of the bodies from the massacre at Hightower, and the files from the Bluebox Incident. Those were innocent women and children! How could you?"
"Innocent? Hardly. They were rebels. That makes them military targets, and that means my orders were completely justified. The rebels were strapping bombs to kids and sending them into government buildings. They gave guns to women," I glanced at Wanda's trembling revolver again, "and told them to shoot up malls, and schools, and churches. Innocent, Wanda? Really?"
"And you think that makes it all right for you to use the Bluebox virus on them?"
"Absolutely. Six rebel strongholds, wiped out, just like that, while leaving their infrastructure and resources intact. My troops could waltz right in their front gates and take everything, without firing a shot. I don't recall you having any objections when I put you in charge of securing those strongholds. In fact, I distinctly recall you ordering mercy killings for the survivors of the virus."
"Enough!" Wanda screamed, advancing further forward, "Today I atone for my crimes. Today I end your tyranny, once and for all!"
I laughed outright at her, "Ha! Do you really think you'll be able to kill me?"
My security officer's face hardened into a mask of hatred and determination as she raised the gun. "I do."
The trans-warp arrow materialized five meters behind Wanda, then shot forward and impaled her through the chest. Wanda's eyes widened in shock. The revolver tumbled from her hand, and she collapsed to her knees.
The guards swarmed forward and grabbed her. I waved them back. They immediately, obediently, backed away from the dying woman.
I looked pityingly down at Wanda's face, which was growing pale as she lost blood. "Did you really think I didn't have an insurance policy against rebel infiltration? You're my SO, you should know me better than that. I activated the trans-warp arrow eight years ago, when I took the throne." | It's summer, one of those days that feels like walking through someone's warm, wet breath. A gross day. Jess is wandering around the fairgrounds with Barry Binninger, who's the son of his mom's friend Linda and who whines almost constantly.
They're walking along the row of games. Jess only has a dollar, so he has to pick something he can win. The ring toss game is bullshit. He's seen probably twenty people lose their money on it since they got here. He's pretty sure the necks of the bottles are too big to toss a ring onto, anyway.
"Hey Jess," Barry says, "it's hot, man. We gotta find somewhere to sit."
Barry is also about 100 pounds overweight, so essentially he's the best fair companion you could ask for. A real go-getter. "Hold on, jeez. I wanna play a game," Jess says.
"Aw, man," Barry says. "I spent all my money on that pretzel. Can we split a game?"
"I've only got a dollar, sorry."
"This place is a total rip-off." Barry scuffs his way toward the nearest bench and plops down like a pillowcase full of sand.
Jess looks at the game next to him. The guy manning the booth is pretty sketchy -- red hair slicked back and a missing front tooth. He's holding a bow and arrow.
"Wanna try your luck?" the booth guys says. "Winner gets the best prize at the carnival."
"Yeah?" Jess says. "What's that? A teddy bear that doesn't smell like shit?"
The man cracks a smile. "It's a mystery prize. Fifty cents to play."
Jess is pretty sure he knows what a mystery prize is, and it involves twenty years of therapy after you leave the carnival. "No thanks, man."
He turns, and the man lurches forward and grabs his wrist. Jess turns to look at him. The man's eyes are so dilated that they're almost completely black. Jess' stomach lurches and he pulls his hand away.
"Take the bow," the man says, and Jess swallows. His heart is suddenly pounding, and he can't say why.
He nods and reaches for the bow. In the background, he can hear Barry whining faintly -- "hey man, don't spend all your money here" -- but the words are like waves lapping softly against him. He can only focus on the bow as the man places it into his hands.
"Aim at heaven," the man says.
Jess has only fired a bow in gym, and he wasn't even good at it then. But the arrow slides into place naturally. The pull of his shoulder muscle feels practiced and sure. He releases the arrow and watches as it soars up, up -- impossibly high, over the carnival tent and out of sight.
Adrenaline rushes out of him and he looks down at the bow. He suddenly feels like he's about to cry. It's the hollow, melancholy feeling of someone revealing the end of a book when you're halfway through. It pierces him cleanly.
"He who would take your life," the man says, "now take his."
"What?" Jess says.
"Now take his," the man says.
Jess can't breathe. He gasps, a few ragged breaths. "Keep the money," he says, and turns away. He stumbles toward the Ferris wheel, and then he's running, running hysterically, out into the parking lot.
Barry finds him bent double over a red Honda Civic, panting. "Hey man, not cool," Barry says. "You can't just take off like that."
Jess looks back at the fair. The Ferris wheel glints in the ordinary late afternoon light, and in the sky, the trace of an airplane's tail shoots northward. | 2014-05-27T19:13:10 | 2014-05-27T19:03:00 | 577 | 49 |
[WP] In a world where superpowers can be given, you are given the superpower pertaining to your worst fear
Example, if you're scared of hights you can fly, if you're scared of animals you can communicate with them, if you're scared of the dark you can drain all dark from a certain area. I suggest using your own worst fear, it makes the story all the more real! | I can make millions. I can walk into a bank and take what I want, when I want it. No one would be able to catch me. The event that gave this world its superpowers must have had a brilliant sense of irony. Maybe the universe was trying to help. People once afraid of burning alive could control fire, those afraid of heights were granted immunity to falling. Not everyone were granted such powers, the cosmic scales seemed to pick people at random.
Drowning was a common fear, it seems. At least a few hundred people have begun building a civilization beneath the sea. I hope it works out for them, perhaps they might one day find Atlantis. Perhaps this happened before, and myths are simple the memories of such events. It would seem fitting.
Romulus and Remus have been reborn in Wisconsin. Those charismatic twins lead the shapeshifters across the western expanse, carving out a new empire for themselves. It's a shame they have no fear of death, because I suspect the national guard will intervene soon.
Conan O'Brien apparently had a fear of spiders. I won't lie, seeing him parade himself as Anansi because Spiderman was taken gave me nearly endless sense of amusement. The west african god must be pleased that his new avatar is the world's most entertaining ginger.
It seems that the more I explain this, the more myth seems fact. This has probably happened before, and once we die out and fade into obscurity this will happen again. Or perhaps not. I do not think it matters. If you are watching this, I hope you remember my words. This is my last hope. I would tell you my name, but I fear that it would destroy this recording. Call me Ozymandias. I was afraid of being forgotten. | Suddenly she could sit when I say, “Sit.” If I wanted her to roll over, she would. If I wanted her to beg, she would. If I wanted her to stay, she would.
We had a fight the previous night. Words littered the room and stayed as echoes when she slammed the door. Fists kissed faces, making them chapped and pink. Even the cliché of plates being broken and thrown had surfaced into the first scene of our haunting, failed marriage. I tried to stay manly – stifled tears and a deepened voice when it boomed. But if I were to be stripped down naked in that moment, I would be shriveled and thirsty, arms perpetually reaching out to hold and to be held. I prayed to something before bed, where I didn't sleep and where a thousand voices in my head shrieked.
Suddenly, if I say, “Love me” she would.
We met at fifteen by the lunch tables. I was contemplating suicide and she took me seriously when the rumor reached out. She hugged me there, mid bite into my sandwich. The rest of it fell apart clumsy and loose in my hands. And every day after she would hug me by those lunch tables, and in the back of my mind I’d roll my eyes. Her perseverance didn't falter. It took me year to hug back. And she planted herself firmly in my heart, making a nest out of it, cementing my veins and arteries into her hands.
Sometimes love is greedy. Its voice false when it yells, “Not enough.”
I wake up this morning. I am alone. I make my breakfast of whiskey and tequila and Tylenol and Zoloft with a little OJ on the side. I walk back to my room. She’s sitting on the bed.
“What are you doing?” – nothing.
“Leave,” she gets up. “Wait,” she stops.
My mother left us when I was six at the carnival. The lion was being tamed, the clowns were circling on tricycles. The announcer was stuttering, “Behold!” My father was drunk and laying down on the stairs, people shuffling pass, indifferent. The last thing I heard her say before she left was, “Wait here, I’ll be back.”
Sometimes love grows thin and weak when its spread out, reaching for some greater feeling that doesn't exist. Sometimes I drink, and sometimes I'm unfaithful. But sometimes, prayers are answered.
The feeling of numb is ebbing quickly, eclipsing my thoughts to apathetic shadows while the echoes of the walls fade and while she sits on the bed, waiting for me to command her. If I tell her to stay, she stays. If I tell her to love me, she will. If I die tonight, she dies too.
| 2014-12-15T16:51:02 | 2014-12-15T16:09:51 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence. | The blood slipped through my fingers as readily as life slipped from my body. HE was standing over there, clutching my Anna to his side while she sobbed. It seemed like such a short while ago that I had held her the same way. Far, far, away from the world the two of us lived together as lovers, where nobody could look on our love with hurtful, biased eyes. Nobody understood us, least of all her parents. They told me to stay away from her, threatened to call the police when they caught me giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. People whispered whenever they saw me, said my love for her wasn't natural. Mostly people from her church. OF course, they didn't suspect that she loved me back. So I had come up with a plan to steal her away. One early, early morning I drove over to her house and knocked softly on her window. Sleepily she had wandered over to the window and drawn the curtains. She smiled that adorable smile I loved so much, with her dimples coming out and asked what I was doing here.
"We're going on an adventure. Go get some clothes and then I'll help you out the window." She giggled and did as I told her. I carried her bridal-style out to my car, and opened the door for her. She sat down, and off we sped off. We made love for the first time that night. I had wanted to since the first time I laid on her, but with her parents watching us like hawks, there had never been any chance to. But two months later, the damn PI hired by her parents had found us. My memories grew hazy as darkness replaced all thought, and so I died.
Detective Harris looked down at the shivering girl next to him, and wondered what sort of bastard would do all of this to a four-year old girl.
| She finally fell, colliding with asphalt and crunching sickeningly.
Twenty years earlier, she had been one of the brightest girls in her school. Intuitive, quiet, always the last to speak. Because of that patience, even at such a young age, people held her with a certain level of respect.
Of course, that quietness kept her separated from her peers. Children should run and scream, roll around and get messy. She would sit on a bench, and watch. Always watching.
This kept up for years, as she aged. And as she grew, so too did the gap between she and her peers.
Her mind was sharp where theirs were dull, her words held weight while theirs flew chaotically.
But she never resented them. She knew, even then, that it was just how they lived. And when they needed it, she would always have a word or two to spare, caring for the broken hearts, smiling at the bad jokes, crying for the missing and lost.
She cared for those that left well enough alone, and grew further.
Eventually, that presence attracted attention.
Her mother, widowed early into her marriage, struggled with finding jobs.
She understood her daughter's personality well enough to know that she was more adult than most.
And so the papers were forged, and the daughter was working full time. Suddenly school fell away, and peers started questioning.
"Where was she? Did she leave?"
She worked through the day and came home late. She made good money, not bad for a fourteen year old.
Eventually, though, school stopped altogether. She left her peers, her friends. She worked. She worked and worked and slept and worked.
Despite her best efforts, she started to burn out.
By eighteen, the stress had turned parts of her hair grey.
Cigarettes, a habit picked up to deal with her frustration, had stained her teeth yellow.
The money wasn't good enough anymore.
She was suddenly homeless.
Her mother fell ill, and she watched as the woman withered away.
Two years later, she met a man. He had a car, and a home, and arms made strong from years in the field. She felt no love for him, but they married.
Soon enough, a boy was had. A good boy, but unfortunately, there was an issue with his pregnancy. Cerebral palsy.
Bills piled up again.
The man sold his car, and their home grew emptier as they sold the unnecessary to pay for their son.
The man started meeting with some shadier friends, and soon enough, they were thrown into black market deals.
She still didn't say much.
Eventually, the man was arrested for possession, and locked away for years.
The boy was still alive, but bills were piling higher and higher.
Eight months old, such sweet blue eyes.
She would hold him every night before he rocked to sleep, held him during seizures, held him when he ate.
A beautiful child.
A beautiful child choked underneath cotton pillows. | 2015-01-29T14:57:53 | 2015-01-29T13:03:42 | 76 | 36 |
[WP] A person dies in the first sentence. Build a character we mourn for in the story, but make me hate them with the last sentence. | The blood slipped through my fingers as readily as life slipped from my body. HE was standing over there, clutching my Anna to his side while she sobbed. It seemed like such a short while ago that I had held her the same way. Far, far, away from the world the two of us lived together as lovers, where nobody could look on our love with hurtful, biased eyes. Nobody understood us, least of all her parents. They told me to stay away from her, threatened to call the police when they caught me giving her a chaste kiss on the cheek. People whispered whenever they saw me, said my love for her wasn't natural. Mostly people from her church. OF course, they didn't suspect that she loved me back. So I had come up with a plan to steal her away. One early, early morning I drove over to her house and knocked softly on her window. Sleepily she had wandered over to the window and drawn the curtains. She smiled that adorable smile I loved so much, with her dimples coming out and asked what I was doing here.
"We're going on an adventure. Go get some clothes and then I'll help you out the window." She giggled and did as I told her. I carried her bridal-style out to my car, and opened the door for her. She sat down, and off we sped off. We made love for the first time that night. I had wanted to since the first time I laid on her, but with her parents watching us like hawks, there had never been any chance to. But two months later, the damn PI hired by her parents had found us. My memories grew hazy as darkness replaced all thought, and so I died.
Detective Harris looked down at the shivering girl next to him, and wondered what sort of bastard would do all of this to a four-year old girl.
| I made my final peace with the world, and I couldn't help but smile as I pressed the trigger.
I don’t know how I came to this, probably inevitable. I hadn’t known my parents. My mother, from what I was told, a common street whore. My father, well I suppose it could be any number of a thousand different men who had their way with her. My youth was taken from me the day I was born. It’s amazing, really, that I made it this far. Some poor farmer found me on a doorstep in the back alley of the market and had pity on my soul. He and his wife did the best they could I suppose. It was only a matter of time before the drought came and forced them off the land. With no money and nowhere to go, they sold the only thing that had in the world worth anything, me. At the age of 5, I was forced into labor. Days upon weeks upon months of back breaking, physical punishment. A mining camp was no place for a child, but we were the only ones small enough to fit into the tiny crawl spaces to wire explosives. Too many times I saw flesh and limbs torn from the bodies of the other children, many of whom I had come to call friends. The tins roofs they put over our heads only slightly made up for the bed of dirt and mud we slept on. For years this was my life. No parents to hug me, no family to give love. I had resigned myself to this life until I met them. They were my age, fresh into camp, however a bit older than the boys usually brought in. They were different though. Our masters treated them differently, gave them better housing, better clothes, more food, and they inturn, gave these things to us. We looked up to them. For months this went on, we all became so close, I considered them family. Then one day, the guards told us our time was up. I had seen this before, kids aging out I always took it to be. I had nowhere to go, so when they asked if I would come with them, I naturally obliged. I was taken to a large house. I was bathed, fed, nourished, and loved. The elders in the house began teaching us, they taught us and loved us like we were the only thing that mattered in the entire world. They told us of a world beyond this one, where children like us ran, and played, and there were no mines and there was no dirt. There was no death, but only love and we would be surrounded by it forever. Then it was my time and it was said that those I brought with my on my journey, would follow me and be with me and love me forever. I wanted to bring with me the friends I never had when I was younger, so I found the biggest school I could. I waited until there were more children than I could count, took off my jacket, and pressed the trigger for the bomb strapped to my chest.
| 2015-01-29T14:57:53 | 2015-01-29T13:01:52 | 76 | 17 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | It always freaked me out. Over the years I had learnt to deal with it. I always hesitated to sit with a person who was doomed to die to a contagious disease. My parents were destined to die of old age, and seeing they were in their 40's, it didn't bother me that much. I had a brother when I was 6. There was a complicated word I couldn't read. And I hadn't figured out that the floating text was the cause of death yet. Whenever I asked anyone, I was told I had a vivid imagination. Within 6 months of my brother's arrival, he passed away. The moment I saw the post mortem report, I knew it. The big word that always hovered over. It still took me an year to figure it out. My 17 year old cousin had a "cancer" COD. She was a smoker. No one in our family smoked. I decided to tell her mother of her habit. My cousin was sent to military school. The last time I saw her, she had "heart attack" hovering over her head.
We lived on a farm until the age of 14, when we decided to move to a city. In the city, there was a lot of variety in CODs. And there were a lot of people, compared to the farm. I was sent to school the first time, being home schooled until then. I never made friends with many people because of their COD. Sitting in any public place was freaky. I developed a habit of looking at people's feet while talking. There was a drug trading group (with everyone doomed to "Drug abuse") in our school, which I had called the cops upon. Some of them changed to the usual stuff while others remained the same.
At the age of 16, our grade went on a field trip to the nearby mountains. We were required to arrive at school, where the buses would ferry us. I arrived early and sat in my designated bus. The driver had the usual "Cancer" over his head. He was busy snoring away. In some time, the other students started walking in. I had memorized them all. There were many heart attacks, cancers, old age deaths. Some were of diseases that didn't even exist yet. A few were alcohol related accidents, suicides and drug abuse. A kid had a name over her head, which must be some murderer. Like I said, I was used to it.
We were about to leave, but the driver had to take a call. The bus seemed pretty normal. People talking. Laughing. Glued to their phones. Ignorance is a bliss. I plugged in my iPod, took out a book, and started reading it. Yeah. Total introvert arrangement. I rarely talked to people. It was hard knowing their cause of death.
We were about to arrive. I took out my earphones. It was the usual ruckus. But as much as I try to ignore it, I always look at the COD. It had changed. The kid next to me was labelled "asphyxiation". A few kids were labelled "Loss of blood". There was a lot of fire related deaths.
I immediately figured out something was going to happen to us. All of us. I looked outside. The other school buses were nowhere to be seen. We were heading on a path that wasn't a road. The kids didn't seem to notice. I made my way to the driver. He had bloodshot eyes. There lay an alcohol bottle in front of him. I screamed "where the heck are we going". He had a "suicide" COD. I looked out of the window. We were headed to the edge of the mountain. I immediately grabbed the steering wheel and turned it around. Our bus skidded and turned over.
Only me and the driver survived. The driver is completely paralized. I only took a few bruises. The driver's COD has returned to "Cancer". Me? I am held responsible for the deaths of all the students. I expect to be locked up in a padded room. No one will believe my side of the story.
Edit: My influence for this story is the game Life is Strange.
| 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T09:00:24 | 241 | 180 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Ever remember that scene from "The Sixth Sense", where the little kid says "I see dead people?". That was pretty much exactly how I first tried to tell people about my power. I was only six, and my parents laughed it off. My father is going to die in a car accident. My mother, a heart attack.
You see, I can see how people die. Their cause of death is shown in a little text box over their head. It normally shows something like my parents, an accident, or just old age. I tried to help people as I got older, trying to give people as much time as possible. I told cancers to get a check-up arranged. Car accidents to drive safely. Every goddamn one of them laughed it off. Said I was crazy. Well, Charlene died from a car accident a few weeks later. John has terminal cancer. Every single one of them died. I stopped trying soon after Sarah died from a drug overdose.
At first, there was no time. I couldn't tell when these deaths were going to happen, just how they were. Then, I noticed people's words becoming more opague. The closer they were, the more solid the words became. As I grew older, I noticed that they were cracking, shot through with veins of color. I started guessing how long they had, choosing the urgent cases, the brick-like car accidents and the tombstone murders. I couldn't interfere, just tell them to be careful. I examined them, carefully noting the color change. I soon had a system.
Blues, the long term people. Two decades or more, I'd guess. Greens, a decade. Yellows had a year, two tops. Reds, the next few months. Purples, a week. Blacks, a day or two.
I was sitting on a bus when I saw him. A boy, the same age as me, leaning his head against the window, looking out at the world passing by. Among all the other passengers, he was the only purple one, the rest a mess of greens and blues. There was a few yellows too.
Everyone else had the usual. Car accidents, cancer, one tiger, that was going to be rough. Nothing too bad. He had the word "suicide", surrounded by deep purple.
He lifted his head off the window, and glanced down at his hands. He seemed to have made a decision.
I watched as the colors shifted from purple to black.
I had promised myself not to interfere again.
I smashed that promise into smithereens as I got up and sat beside him.
"Hey, can I talk to you? My name's Nick... are you okay?"
He glanced up at me, and then back at his hands. I saw a hint of a smile...
Just on the edge of my vision, because I was too busy staring at the text box. It now read "old age", in the palest, most beautiful and perfect tracery of blue you can imagine.
**Thank you all so much for all the lovely comments. I had no idea how much of a reaction this reply would get. Thank you, thank you, thank you! <3** | Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years." | 2015-03-31T11:10:46 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 241 | 12 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | It was a natural fit, ending up as an obstetrician. There was a satisfaction in seeing the beginning of someone's life, and then knowing the end. That was, until about 10 years ago. It was infrequent at first. METEOR, the first one said. Now almost all of them do.
The telescope in my living room was bought once I understood the situation fully. Peering out into the stars puts my conscience somewhat at ease.
I'm delivering the last old people who will ever walk this earth. | Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural... | 2015-03-31T10:42:03 | 2015-03-31T09:00:41 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | "Heart Attack," "Stroke," "Diabetes," "Car Accident," "Alzheimer's."
Boooring. You never see anything new these days. Wasn't like the war back in my day where you'd see all sorts of stuff. Gas attacks, carpet bombings, suicide bombings... those kept you on your toes. You knew who NOT to associate with back then. You see a few "shells" in a room together and you'd know what was going to go down. Sometimes you have enough prior warning to take an action shot. Nowadays the only thing you can really hope for is a shooting. My work really has suffered... I need inspiration... something new... someth-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh... oh my. Who are you my little lovely? Accident or act of war? Can it be? After a decade of waiting are we back on schedule? I wonder if he's visiting or if he's a loc-
"Nuclear fire"
Oh shit there's another one. What are the odds? Two's not so ba-
"Nuclear fire"
Th-three huh? Well that's
"Nuclear fire"
...Fuck. | He worked alone, he always had. Not because he wanted to, but people just had a tendency to not notice him. It was depressing really. Every person he ever met instantly forgot him, or tried to ignore him, it was hard to tell sometimes. As for his work, well, he worked in travel, a mostly administrative position.
As far back as he could remember, and he could remember a lot, he'd been able to see the cause of death of every person he'd ever met, floating above their heads with a little countdown timer right next to it. It had never fazed him. At first he'd just been there, at the end, to see it happen. But as the years drew on he'd become more interested in what you might call the more important deaths; politicians, movie stars, media types generally. He'd always show up, usually at their funeral, and mingle with the crowd, comforting them and just being a part of it. He'd always found a certain pleasure in this, like he was helping in some way, letting people know that death was just the next step in a person's life. The last great journey.
He did notice a worrying trend though. While he was attending the funeral of a renowned author, the timer for a newborn child was showing that his cause of death was to be by meteor strike, with a date some 70 years from now. As more children were born they too had this very same timer, and some that were to die by radiation poisoning, nuclear explosions, freezing to death and starving in the few years after the event. Again this didn't faze him.
He closed the door to his office and got to work with the planning and admin role to which he was very accustomed by now, he'd been doing it long enough. The buzzer on his desk lit up and the words of his P.A. came tinnily through as he looked up to the corridor, seeing a large, hulking figure though the glass.
"Azrael, I have a Mr Waugh here to see you."
***
I took some liberties, in that I actually wanted to use the idea of a timer in this story. Sorry. CC welcome as this is my first ever submission. Be gentle haha! | 2015-03-31T10:39:31 | 2015-03-31T09:57:05 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A Djinn travels the world, granting people a single wish. However he never gives the person their wish, instead you receive the benefit of the last persons wish, passing your wish forward to the next person he meets. | "It's a pony," the Djinn explained to Mr. Foster.
"Yes," Mr. Foster said. "I can see that's a pony. We just don't have any place to keep a pony. Hell, we don't even have children."
The Djinn shrugged. "What's *your* wish, then, Mr. Foster?"
"Can I ask a question first, though?"
"One," the Djinn said.
"Why a pony?"
The Djinn shrugged, already looking ahead in time for the next person to visit. "The little girl I asked last wished for it."
"Oh," Mr. Foster said. "So...*I* got *her* wish?"
"You have had your one inquiry, Mr. Foster."
"Right, I see." Mr. Foster glanced at the pony. "Well, if I don't get the benefit of my wish, anyways, then... Well, I wish that everyone gets what they themselves wished for."
The Djinn's blue head snapped back to the present. "You, sir, are throwing away your own wish, to change my magical preferences?"
Mr. Foster shrugged. "I'm not getting my wish, anyways."
"Then..." The Djinn's eyes widened for a moment. "Well, I still must forward *this* wish to the next person in line, but after your wish is granted to them, I am now bound to grant all future wishes to their the one that made the wish. No longer to the next wisher."
"That's the gist of it," Mr. Foster confirmed.
"You know what," the Djinn said. "It's just not fun anymore."
The Djinn poofed out of existence.
Mr. Foster looked again at the pony, sighing.
Mrs. Foster came in then. "Jack?" She saw the pony. "Why is there a pony in the house? And who were you just talking to?"
"Just some asshole," Mr. Foster replied. "He left us a pony, though."
"Why would an asshole leave behind a pony?"
Mr. Foster shrugged. "What can I say? People are weird." | He was eerily human. Not like the movie "Alladin" where he's some blue mist. He could probably pass as a human on the street. So long as he wore sunglasses. His eyes, were, well, not there. I never really asked him if it was because of some accident, or that's how Djinn are. It never really came up in our conversation.
You might be wondering how I came across a Djinn. Well, you know that stereotypical magic lamp story? Well, that's true, except it can be *any* lamp. Turns out there was a translating error in their, "Book of Rules" I guess you would call it. So one day I'm cleaning up my desk, and I see a spot on my desk lamp. I rub it, trying to get it off, when a puff of smoke comes out between the lightbulb and the socket. It's really weird to describe a solid object forming out of smoke. The smoke flew around a bit, picked a nice spot in the middle of my cubicle and just, kind of, flew into a human shape. Then it changed colors and, there was a person with no eyes. Standing in my cubicle. Wearing jeans and a Star Wars T-shirt.
"Uhm. Hi?" I say. What do I say when, well, you know what happened, no need to repeat it.
He stretches and yawns. "Sup, name's Paul. Your wish is my command, yadah yadah yadah. Sign here." He pulls a piece of paper out of nowhere, literally.
"Uh, what is this?" I grab the paper and a pen and start to read it.
"Basically just says if you die or get injured directly or indirectly by a wish, you nor your family can sue." Not sure who I'd sue exactly.
I sign it. "Ok, so, what, I get three wishes now?"
"Nope, one."
"Anything I want to wish for?"
"Besides more wishes."
"Ok, well, I wish I had a better paying job, with less work to do."
"Noted. Have fun with your money, it's being sent into your bank account."
That's not what I wished. "Did you mishear me? I said a better-"
"I know. You probably should have read that paper before you signed it. You get the *previous* dude's wish, not yours. Anyway, ciao." And he just walked out. No big exit. Didn't even go back in the lamp, he just walked away.
So now I have a billion dollars. Well, not really. The police are looking into why I'm suddenly rich. In fact, I'm writing this in the Precinct right now.
- - -
*How'd you like the story? If you want to read more stories by me, checkout my originally named subreddit, /r/TheDynastyProject. Drop by and learn about the American Civil War! :)*
*Edit: I'm dumb and forgot the other asterisk*
*Edit 2: Slap me in irons, I have commited the second worst writing crime known to the English speaking man. I used the incorrect there. It was supposed to be their "Book of Rules"* | 2015-06-17T11:46:38 | 2015-06-17T11:03:24 | 74 | 28 |
[WP] Imagine a world where dating and job hunting are switched. Dating now involves sending emails and resumes, while people seeking employment frequent the hottest clubs. | #VICTOR HARRINGTON
*Male, Caucasian, 29*
------
**OBJECTIVE**
To meet an intelligent, attractive young woman who loves conversation, debate, and creative projects.
------
**EXPERIENCE**
*Dated Annabelle, March 2011 - June 2014*
\- Offered financial support for upwards of six months.
\- Served as an emotional outlet for frustrations.
\- Participated in numerous social events and gatherings.
\- Maintained a consistently high approval rating for sexual activities.
\- Parted amicably.
*Dated Meredith, September 2010 - January 2011*
\- Ignored advice from mutual friends.
\- Kept calm in the face of irrational outbursts.
\- Implemented new standards for the consumption of alcohol.
\- Provided detailed reports to law enforcement officials.
*Dated Katarina, January 2008 - September 2010*
\- Explored numerous fetishes and curiosities.
\- Developed an appreciation for safe sex practices.
\- Learned a wide breadth of skills and tactics for offering pleasure.
\- Discovered an ability to go without breathing for upwards of two minutes.
\- Experienced the fullest extent of heartbreak possible.
------
**VITAL TRAITS**
\- Honest
\- Physically Attractive (7.76 out of 10)
\- Intelligent (8.11 out of 10)
\- Well-endowed (7.3 inches, erect)
------
**PERSONALITY**
*DISLIKES:* Dogs, anime, concerts, sports, drugs, tattoos, hippies.
*LIKES:* Twisted humor, collaborative projects, video games, camping.
Pro-gun, pro-choice, pro-equality.
Anti-religion, anti-Tumblr.
Skeptic.
------
*Complete physical profile, list of references, and description of fetishes available on request.*
^^^^^^.
^^^NOTE ^^^TO ^^^MODERATORS: ^^^There ^^^is ^^^a ^^^story ^^^in ^^^here ^^^if ^^^you ^^^read ^^^between ^^^the ^^^lines. | “There, chick by the bar in the sandals.” My wingman pointed out the blonde out to me.
“They’re all wearing sandals.” I start to say but he cuts off me.
“That mother does salsa bro. I’ll bribe the DJ to put on some salsa, you go get her on the dance floor before somebody else pounces on her.”
“But that’s not why I’m…” I start to say again, but he’s already pushing me towards her.
“Don’t over think it bro, you just gotta do it.” I’m frantically looking over my shoulder for our other friends, but it’s too late. I practically slam into the poor girl that he’s trying to introduce me to. My wingman doesn’t even give me time to excuse myself.
“Have you met Brian?” He asks, before darting off for the DJ. I can’t believe he pulled a HIMYM.
“No I haven’t.” The lady says, turning to address me. “How’s it going Brian?” She asks, knocking back a small glass of wine.
“Uh, alright ma’am.” I mentally curse my wingman for thrusting me into this. “How would you like to dance?” As if on cue salsa music comes on over the speakers.
“I’d love to dance.” She says, extending a hand for me to lead her onto the floor.
As I reach to take her hand, she suddenly jerks it back. “Tell me though, have you been a naughty boy?” She asks. I’m taken aback. That’s a pretty forward question to ask a stranger.
“Ma’am?” I ask.
“Are you a naughty boy? When was the last time you went to confession?” The mother superior asks me.
“Uh, last Christmas ma’am? About six months ago.” The mother looks down her nose at me.
“Young man, don’t you think it’s best to have a clean conscience when pursuing a vocation?” She asks.
“Yes ma’am.” I reply meekly. The mother looks at me for a second longer, then turns away, our little chat clearly ended.
Brian has been watching from the wing and swoops in at this moment.
“Dude, what are you doing. You’ve been praying for that seminary slot for a solid month! That’s like 3 novenas man.” I glare at him.
“Exactly man, so why are you trying to set me up with a nun. Do I look like a chick to you? Besides, she figured out I haven’t been hitting the reconciliation as hard as the friars be hitting it.” My wingman facepalms.
“Dude, that was your in! I knew you needed to be working on your contrition. That’s why I set you up with her. She knows friar Thompson and you know Thompson be rocking the mad absolution. All you had to do was get her to set you up with a little confessional time and you could’ve totally been in the seminary bro!”
Sidenote: OP, this prompt is awesome! I am issuing a certificate to you that may be redeemed at a later date for my first born child. | 2015-06-18T12:59:39 | 2015-06-18T12:21:29 | 164 | 35 |
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