prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] Steampunk is Victorian. 1930s Steampunk is Dieselpunk. Write one of the following: Windmillpunk, Knightpunk, Ironpunk, Bronzepunk, Copperpunk, Stonepunk, Dinosaurpunk, Amoebapunk.
~~Stolen from~~Inspired by a throwaway joke in [this](http://www.cracked.com/article_22732_6-baffling-first-drafts-famous-movies.html) article. | Goop couldn't begin to describe the state of things. Primordial slimebags popped up all over creation--and believe me, if you slid just one atomic footprint from center, you'd find, there in the goo, clusters of crooked gunk commanders, hellbent on governing cell division.
No way they'd touch me or mine, though. We kept a tight membrane, us. No matter how viscous or porous the suitor, the rule remained: no ins-or-outs. We spent half a picosecond--a goddamned eternity--developing our solution, Visco-Block HP, to keep those suckers out. And observation proved that six quintillion passes had occurred, untold generations of genetic gerrymandering, during its production.
Now, within that nexus of sludge-ridden mutations, there existed one particularly anomalous individual, an aberration so infinitely grotesque that it made the great Chester Scumsucker seem dry in comparison. His name--or what those in the membrane called him, at least--was Gop Slack Blah.
Old Gop, it was said, used a second generation Bacctine grease whip. While the third and fourth generation models had saturated the market, the second generation, with its spongelike hilt, had a unique method of absorption: one crack, said those in his inner circle, and Gop could wipe out an entire subatomic suburb.
The Bacctine Corp. had phased out production of the second gen units and opted to dismantle those still in circulation--they had, it was thought, succeeded. Sometime in the quadrillionth primordial era, however, word spread that some single-cell was still swinging around a second generation model.
When the Bacctine Corp attempted to confiscate the final whip, Gop responded by absorbing the Board of Directors. And when the following Board decided, most wisely, to allow Gop to keep his whip, he responded by absorbing them, too. And then, in a press release, issued just a femtosecond later, Gop gave a most eloquent speech: "Lesson," the speech went. Some said it was a bit wordy, but most agreed, a necessary statement. After it aired, Gop absorbed the press, as well as those watching on the goobox.
Funny thing, the goobox. They say it rots your nucleus, and maybe it does, but who doesn't love an episode of *So You Think You're a Eukaryote?* Or better yet, the number one hit, going on its eighty sextillionth season, *Thank God Antibiotics Won't Be Invented For Another 3.5 Billion Years*.
Until recently, Visco-Block's record was near perfect, delivering exactly what it promised: an impenetrable shield against any rapacious organisms, including mergers, nitpickers and horndoggers. And although Seeptan Gorlep proved them fictive in his revolutionary dissertation, "Crudwanglers and Ichorbobbers: New World Mythology," it even, the box asserted, protected against them.
But, as it turned out, Visco-Block had a fatal design flaw. Research and development had accounted for all models of the Bacctine grease whip, except for one: the second generation. Now, as you know, its owner, Gop Slack Blah, was not exactly what you would call a gentle cell.
The reports came in slowly at first: a blackout in membrane four, and then, a whole femtosecond later, lights out in membranes five, six and eight. All of them, until then, protected by the 'infallible' Visco-Block. And while our segment of the membrane remained sheathed by double-layer reinforced plasma, production would cease, and so too would our defenses, if Gop continued to expose the flaw in our design.
At first, we appealed to the gastrula-kissers in the central mucus channels, but the bureaucratic crud--pathogens in mitochondrian clothing--just puckered their lips at Gop. He'd been there, picoseconds before, courting them with promises of neon-frosted vacuoles and infinite mitosis loops.
Edit: I'm pretty tired! Like my hair, the words grow thin. I'll work on this more tomorrow! | I felt the wind on my face as I stood atop the battlements. It chilled left side of my face, but the news it brought was far more chilling. With a wind this strong, *they* would surely attack. Their armies of wind-powered monstrosities would charge across the land with greater speed than usual. But, the wind helped me and my garrison as well. The river rushing amidst us would be bolstered by the wind, giving our weapons more speed and power.
I heard the quartermaster's heavy footsteps coming up to me, and turned to face him. "Commander, all the rigging has been adjusted for increased power, and the ammunition has been readied. The scribes have made their calculations, and are ready to correct for both the wind and greater range."
I smiled faintly. It was good when everything worked out. But, there was one thing the man hadn't mentioned. "What about the special ammunition?"
His face twisted into a frown. "It has been readied as well, but I do not trust it. We have repelled their attacks before, why should we need any help today? If this wind aids them, it aids us as well."
"Anything that can help us, we use. That is the core tenet of warfare." I looked away, towards the enemy lands. "It was how we came to use this river as our defense, and they the wind as their offense. Now, I want you to double test all mechanisms at triple normal load. The engineers have told me that they should be able to withstand that. Aside from that, we wait."
-----
"Enemy sighted!" That was the lookout. I tuned him out as he gave the direction, speed, and distance to the scribes. Once they completed their calculations, the catapults and ballistas would begin their firing. "It's deploying!"
At the last shout, I spun around to look out into the distance. "A scope! Someone bring me a scope!" In a moment a scope was pressed into my hand. I swung it up to my face and saw something none of us had seen before.
It was a jumble of rods, planks, and mechanical systems packed together in a neat box with wheels on the bottom, all powered by the windmill much like our own weapons were powered by the river. We were used to seeing them. We were even used to seeing them unfold and turn into a variety of deadly machines. But what we had never seen was for them to deploy so far away. I could see the windmill moving backwards and downwards, while a single large wooden panel came up in front of it, until the panel completely covered the windmill and the machine's interior, resting at a 45 degree angle.. Then, it began to move once more. It was easy to realize what they were doing. "It's put up a shield!" I shouted, "Adjust shots to impact it at 45 degrees for maximum penetration!" I received an affirmative form the scribes near me, as well as the messengers as they passed the information along the river.
Satisfied that we could repel the new threat I looked to my right. one of the faster catapults was there. I watched as a lengths of woods were inserted and removed, ropes connected and cut, and finally, the arm begin to move back. Initially, it moved slowly, not yet ready for its full speed. As soon as it reached the bottom of its curve, a smooth ball of stone slipped into the carrier at its end. Without a moment to spare, the arm was released. As it snapped to its almost vertical position, it descended once more, now moving faster, and the process repeated. Every few seconds, another stone would go flying. Similar things were happening along the entire river, as we harnessed its flow to destroy our enemies.
"Ironsides! Inbound, straight ahead!" I snapped my head forward. It was rare that they brought out their ultimate weapon so early. The ironsides were nearly impossible to destroy. They were small, quick, and, as the name suggested, completely plated and reinforced with metal, even their windmills. As opposed to their typical wooden constructs, our weapons would merely bounce off the ironsides' sloped armor, until they came close enough for our ground troops to engage. But this time, they would never get that close.
"Begin targeting the ironsides with the nets!" At that, several of the weapons ceased their firing as their ammunition was switched. It only took them a moment to resume their assault. As the first sphere approached one of the ironsides, it didn't bother to move to dodge it, since at this range it barely even had the power to reach it. However, once the hollow sphere impacted, it exploded into a mass of netting. Soon, its windmill and wheels were tangled in ropes and the entire machine slowed to a halt. Similar situations unfolded around the entire battlefield.
"They're retreating! I see them retreating!" Another surprise. I hadn't honestly expected our little trick to work so well, but it seemed that it had. The enemy had most likely been counting on the ironsides' early deployment to throw us off guard, and based their entire strategy on that. Shame, I was hoping we could at least cripple their attack force, but I would take any victory that I got.
It seemed that the river had beaten the wind yet again. | 2015-07-06T14:51:25 | 2015-07-06T12:52:08 | 112 | 60 |
[WP] Steampunk is Victorian. 1930s Steampunk is Dieselpunk. Write one of the following: Windmillpunk, Knightpunk, Ironpunk, Bronzepunk, Copperpunk, Stonepunk, Dinosaurpunk, Amoebapunk.
~~Stolen from~~Inspired by a throwaway joke in [this](http://www.cracked.com/article_22732_6-baffling-first-drafts-famous-movies.html) article. | Oog say him start new thing. Dug not heard of new thing. Oog am call it "firepunk". Dug think Dug heard of fire. Dug not know what punk am.
Oog am put fire on him head fur. Oog scream like hurt pig and run to river.
Oog learn put fire on thing not make thing firepunk. Oog am poser. | I won't lie to you, I've made my fair share of enemies. Most of them have been gram-negative amd rod shaped- hell, it seems like the whole *Escherichia* crew has my number these days- but I've also never been above sliding a feeding cup into the anterior end of a "friend" if it looked as though his heterolobose psuedopodia were bulging in the direction of trouble. On the one hand, it's kept me moving even when times get tight, but it also means that I have to keep my chemosensory pathways open night and day. I can't afford to build up a cellulose ectocyst and wait for things to blow over like most guys. At the slightest shift in osmotic pressure, I've got to be ready to synthesize a few flagella and get to spinnin', if you know what I mean.
It's this propensity for running that got me into my current mess. You see, I left the colony 6 hours ago and I'm just now comfortable enough to stop swimming and slide back into my trophozoite form. On the plus side, I don't think I was followed, and there are enough dissolved organic particulates that I can fill myself to bursting via pinocytosis. As a drawback though, I can't exactly start mitosis unless I have a quorum...and that very well may include some of the same *fowleri* I've been trying to stay away from. It's a tough life, but sometimes you just gotta go where the waters take ya. | 2015-07-06T17:14:22 | 2015-07-06T15:35:52 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | “Oh, pardon me! Heh, my mom always tells me I need to pull my head out of the clouds.”
He smiled at her; a sheepish sort of smile that – she noted – highlighted the crow’s feet at the outer corners of his eyes – pale, soft blue. They weren’t lines that her grandmother had warned her would come with all of her suspicious squinting. No, they were gentle creases that had come as a result of looking upwards, of gazing up to the heavens while laying in a field of tall grasses.
She smiled back, an automated response from her anxiety, which was running full speed today. She’d made her way down into the city from the comfort of her small, quaint condo on the outskirts for a job interview at a grammar school, and was running a little behind schedule. She glanced up at the crosswalk’s signal and sighed. How long had she been standing here? It felt like forever…
The hairs on the nape of her neck bristled, and she turned her head, blinking her eyes as she caught the young man’s gaze again. She felt her face heat up. She hated when people stared at her.
“Sorry,” he said, stepping up beside her to make room for a woman with a walker that had come up behind them both. “Couldn’t help but notice that you look nervous. Job interview?”
“How could you tell?”
“Most established business persons don’t tap dance at the crosswalk and cling to their folio.” He cracked a grin then, and she couldn’t help but smile again – this time more genuinely.
“I’m interviewing at the grammar school. It’s basically my dream job, so yeah…I’m more than a little nervous.” The boy nodded his head toward the street then. The glowing white stick figure was signaling that it was time to cross.
“Well, good luck,” he said. The two exchanged smiles once more, and he stepped forward. The girl began to walk as well, until she heard the distinctive tear of fabric. Her eyes widened in horror and, whipping her head around, she found that the hem of her pencil skirt had snagged on a rusty bolt sticking out from the post she had been standing next to. ‘No, no, no,’ she thought, mentally cursing as she twisted her body, reaching a hand down to free herself in time to make the light.
It was then, as her fingers wrestled with the rapidly fraying fabric of her skirt, that she heard it. Them. Dozens of sounds at once, mixing into a cacophony of chaos. Horns blaring, tires screeching, metal grinding against asphalt… She turned her head toward the street once more, and her hands flew to her mouth. Her black leather folio fell to the cement sidewalk, papers exploding from within. A crowd was already gathering, and in the distance – faintly – she could hear sirens. But it was too late. A person’s body was not meant to lay like that…
The tear in her skirt , and the hose beneath, allowed a single Word to peek through to the world. Luck.
| *32* A seemingly insignificant number.
*32*, The temperature that signified the roads would be icy as she tripped back home for winter. The number of years she had gone through the insufferable monotony of people consumed by the goal of finding their soul mate. The number of people she had unfriended on social media just last month out of spite and loneliness. The number of karats in the diamond her former best friend received from the man she was sure would speak the *words* "we had a good run, see you soon"....
...it was also the number on the speedometer as she accelerated past the last light, on the corner of the only road that lead to her mother's home.
The trip back was haunting. Again, she was stuck alone in a car for the holidays. Again... she had failed another round of hook ups from tinder the previous week. Again....her eyes grew progressively more dull and listless, just as her hope for children did. The fact she was single bothered her more and more as she grew older, and she couldn't get over it. Again... she had realized she would never find her soulmate, seeing as her soulmate didn't exist. The words that everyone coveted so much were absent on her at birth. The affirmation of an eventual death alone was more than most could handle. Suicide was not an uncommon occurrence for the "textless", "wordless", the "bare armed"... whatever you chose as your epithet... those without their soulmates' words seemed to live the most lonely of lives.
She arrived home for the first time since her father passed. Her mother had done well. The house was as it was, as it had always been. A rickety porch, hand-built by her father, creaked as she ascended it. She took a moment and surveyed her yard. Her breath hung in the air as the somber light of a 4pm snow set cloud cover shaded her. The single oak of her childhood stood in the distance, standing leafless and naked. The grave marker of a beloved family dog rest near it.
However there was one detail that she could never shake. As the snow began to fall she focused on an empty space. Under the space lay a patch of dirt, oddly devoid of foliage. Above it, a branch with no defining features outside of a worn area of bark. These two the only vestiges of a rope swing her father would push her on as a child. The same rope swing she was yelled at on when she asked him what his *words* were... The same swing she was riding as he apologized to her as they both swore to never speak of his *words* again.
A single tear welled up in her eyes as she exhaled a last frost formed breath, and approached the red door of her childhood home.
Her mother stood in the door's stead... with a smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her worn somber cloud covered visage.
For a minute they hugged and entered the home.
They spoke of life... love... lottery aspirations and gift ideas. They spoke for hours. They laughed. She told her mother of the 32 karats and wondered why she had been born wordless and bare armed.She sipped her tea. She cried.
"Why me...?" she asked as sadness took the place of anger. "you got a beautiful poem...". She said as she referenced her mother's *words*: "I never knew I was the lucky one, I'll miss you."
Her mother smiled. A smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her daughter's worn somber cloud covered visage.
"Because you're the lucky one." her mother replied, in a way only a mother can.
Confused, red eyed, and flustered she stared at her mother. "well... what did father's arm say?"
Collecting the two empty tea mugs and with a smile that could shine light even in the darkest of snowstorms she replied. "My love, you know better than I, what your father's arm said." | 2015-08-08T11:15:40 | 2015-08-08T10:26:02 | 106 | 21 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | She stirred, wincing slightly, in the metal bed. I poured her a small cup of water from the plastic pitcher on the bedside table, just in case she needed it. Next to it lay a pack of grapes- I'd kept bringing them for her long after she stopped being able to eat them, I don't know why. She shook her head slightly at the cup of water I held out to her and her cold, papery fingers found their way into my hand. I fiddled with her wedding ring, the soft gold misshapen from so many years of constant wear, which was now so loose on her finger. Her eyes closed and she went back to sleeping. She looked so small and fragile now. I talked to her, no, at her, about the week, about people we knew, about the neighbour's garden. Out of nowhere, she made a sound, a rattle, and the machines started beeping angrily. Nurses rushed in, moved me out the way into a corner and finally they moved me again, out in the hallway, told me there was nothing I could do, asked if there was anyone who could come and pick me up, be with me.
"But... but... my wife..." I stuttered, hardly able to stand, running my arm subconsciously over the scar tissue on my forearm "She didn't say it.... she.... she didn't say it...". | Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life. | 2015-08-08T12:20:09 | 2015-08-08T12:02:09 | 39 | 14 |
[WP] Write a story based on your favourite song. Other people have to guess which song it is.
Can be inspired by lyrics, backstory, or anything else you love about the song | Before I dropped her off that night, I felt that I had to express the unique connection I felt between us. I adjusted my overcoat, swept back a quaff of magnificent bangs, looked her in the eye, and said "I won't give up on you...I guess what I'm trying to say is I'm not the man to let you down. I'm not running around here, and I'd be the last one to desert you. Smile in the knowledge that I will never make you shed a tear, or say my last farewells, and in doing so wound your heart."
She turned to me with a knowing smile, the hint of a dance on her toes, and whispered "we're no strangers to love." | This was amazing. All my life I had dreamed of seeing the stars, and here I am, travelling through space and time with a mysterious stranger in an equally mysterious time machine. He had met me as I was going to the grocery store for some ingredients for a curry I was planning on making. His vehicle materialised in front of me, and he said one thing to me.
"Run for your life!"
Not looking back, I ran as fast as I could, following him to safety. As I was running, I heard a large explosion, and, feeling uneasy, started to slow down a bit.
"What are you doing? Come on!"
Quickly regaining my speed, we both ended up at a bus stop. I was out of breath, but he seemed fine. As I was about to ask him his name, he started going on about garlic or something, before asking me if I wanted to accompany him. At first I was skeptical, and asked him what he meant by that.
"I mean, do you want to travel the galaxy with me?"
Completely shocked, I started asking thousands of questions, what he was, where he came from, if he was sane. He didn't answer any, instead assuming I would. Grabbing my hand, he dragged me back to his box, and showed me inside.
It was amazing. The inside of it was far bigger than anything I had ever seen, and there wasn't an end in sight. In the middle of the main room, a large console went up to the ceiling, with hundreds of buttons and switches. Completely in awe, I forgot the man was even with me. He asked where in all of time and space I wanted to go, and I have been travelling to galaxies, planets and moons with him ever since.
Be gentle, this is my first post on this subreddit. | 2015-09-13T04:36:49 | 2015-09-13T04:18:38 | 320 | 17 |
[WP] After dying, you found yourself staring at a large screen. "LOBBY. Current players: 7,383,275,800. Current game time: 1059040375.2 mins. Current spectarors: 21,458,374,931. Player rank: 2,648,535,901. Time until next game: 23695624.8 mins" | A whirring sound gradually filled my ears as the 'GAME OVER' marquee scrolled across the top of my HUD. "*Statistics*", I muttered, reaching blindly around for my beverage. Words flitted across my screen filling all of the empty space. "*Next-Round*", all of the text from before vanished as the respawn timer filled the screen.
>Time until Respawn: 23695624.8 minutes
I sighed, "What the fuck is this!". "*Connect to server chat*", I yelled into the microphone of my VR-helmet.
>Connecting to...'EARTH -- Human SERVER #2360 CHAT' ...
....
.....
.......
CONNECTED!
"Does anyone know the reason for this ridiculous respawn time?", I asked, "I didn't break any of the server rules!". I could hear a few muffled laughs from the others in the chat. "Is this your first play-through on the Human servers?", someone asked, "these servers don't really have any rules..just more of a set of guidelines." I thought for a few seconds trying to recall whether or not I had previously played on these servers. "No, I've definitely played on these servers before, but this is my longest play-through. I didn't make it to very high levels in my other sessions.", I tried to explain. A different person chimed in sounding as though they were suppressing their laughter, "I'm guessing you didn't read the latest patch notes for these servers before you joined your last match, huh?"
I sighed. No, of course not. I hardly ever read the patch notes and then unsurprisingly get pissed off at the game changes I didn't realize were coming. "*Patch Notes*!", I said somewhat begrudgingly. Text once again flitted cross my screen. I scrolled passed most of the bug fixes until I found the 'Game-Play Changes' section.
>"....changes made to **player respawn time**: "Player respawn-timer now solely comes from **-KARMA** rating of last play-through."
"Oh, fuck me!" I yelled, ripping off my VR-Helmet.
| They called it a 'decompression chamber' for a reason. Not just because it fit well with the other fun aquatic idioms like 'coming up' and 'riding the wave', but also because it was literally a chamber in which to decompress. The liquor flowed almost as fast as the profanity here, and if it wasn't for the colossal array of screens flashing statistics and highlights that occupied one wall and the moving walkway between the simulator arrays and the cryogenic ports, each of the stations could easily have been mistaken for any of the thousands of similar establishments inside the game.
Personally, Elia couldn't remember which had informed the design of which anymore. Enough cycles could do that to you.
*".. fucking asshole sniped me! Like, are you kidding me? If you're going to assassinate someone, especially someone who way outranks you, at least have the courtesy to use a fucking melee weapon.."*
Her run had been good enough that there wasn't much to complain about - a top 10% run was her best yet, and a sign that all that mid-game optimization practice was really paying off. The rest was fine tuning, and a little bit of luck. Of course, for some people, it was that last bit that always got them..
*".. sick of bullshit RNG, I swear. If I don't get a decent clean gene start next go around I'm going to choke on a toy and at least save myself some effort."*
*"Good luck doing that these days. I think some of these high rank runners are implementing bullshit safety measures just to keep us from getting all those practice resets that they used early on.."*
She scanned the crowd for familiar faces between watching the highlights and let the conversations wash over her as the stations rolled by. She didn't recognize anyone, which came with a brief twinge of sadness, but it was quickly overwhelmed by eagerness - after all, Nia wouldn't have waited after a top 10% round, either. She'd be first in line to get to the next round.
*".. strategy for early game animals? Dogs are everywhere and I don't know what the fuck I'm doing wrong, I keep getting bitten."*
*"Seriously? Just don't interact with them unless they're friendly. Is nobody teaching you signs of aggression? I'd understand if you keep getting run over or something, but dogs? What kind of shitty parents do you keep rolling.."*
"Good run, Miss Elia?" The voice of the facility AI knocked her out of her momentary reverie - she hadn't even noticed that she'd rolled out of the chamber and into processing.
"Oh! Yes. Top ten percent! Hoping I can keep the streak going. Three old age deaths in a row is pretty good, isn't it?"
"Your progress over the last five cycles has been extremely impressive, as has Miss Nia's. Will you be entering sleep immediately?"
"Yes. Yes, I think so."
"Very well. You've been issued port VS-19. Please remain on the walkway until you've reached your destination." It started rolling again smoothly, carrying her into the quiet darkness, with only the parting words of the AI interrupting the gentle hum of the systems that kept the facility alive.
"Best of luck next round, Miss Elia." | 2015-11-25T01:06:36 | 2015-11-25T00:35:57 | 46 | 20 |
[WP] Amidst a major revenue crisis, the US government institutes a nationwide "swear jar". As years go by, excessive use of expletives becomes a major status symbol and a hallmark of the upper class. | Roy and Jennie were enjoying a romantic dinner at the classiest joint in town. It was only their first date, but so far, they had really been hitting things off. Roy had been saving up all his money to use on the perfect girl, and tonight he had finally found her.
“How's your food, bitch?” Roy asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He usually did not swear at a girl on the first date, but Jennie seemed like a special type of girl. Classy, beautiful, great sense of humor. A girl like her was worth her weight in shit.
*Oh my god,* Jennie thought, blushing deeply. *Did he really just call me a bitch, on the first date!?* Jennie didn't think Roy was particularly wealthy, although maybe he had some secret inheritance stashed away somewhere that he hid from prying eyes. She had never met a man who was so confident and forward.
“It's really good.” she answered, “The caviar is delicious, try some!”
“Nah it's okay, I bet it tastes like shit,” he finished smoothly.
Jennie almost choked on her dinner. Not only was Roy swearing regularly, he mixed his curses seamlessly into the flow of their conversation, as a maestro would orchestrate a harmony with a melody. Whenever she wanted to swear, she usually saved up some money until she had enough for three swears, waited until something really pissed her off, and and then would go out to her garden and yell “ASS! PUSSY! FUCK!” at the top of her lungs.
“I must say, Roy,” Jennie said staring deep into his brown eyes, “you have quite the classy vocabulary. Tell me, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” she said, trying to sound seductive.
“I won't show her my swear bill if you don't,” Roy said.
“Deal.” She thought about swearing back at him playfully right then and there, but remembered that her next swear allowance was dedicated to calling her neighbor Edna a shit-head, who kept letting her dogs crap on her front lawn.
Four hours later, the couple stood on Jennie's porch, ready to part ways.
“I had a fantastic night,” Jennie said enthusiastically.
“Me too!” said Roy, beaming.
“Why don't you come inside, just for one drink,” she insisted hopefully.
“No, I really should be getting home,” Roy said. “Work in the morning and all that-”
He was cut off mid sentence as Jennie grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close to her. “I wasn't asking you Roy, you fucking cunt-head.”
* * *
“Wait, STOP!” yelled Roy's son Jimmy, interrupting the story. “You're telling me that the first time you met mom, you guys just swore a lot at each other?”
Roy shrugged. “Pretty much. I wanted to impress her, give her a night that she would never forget.”
“That night must have cost a fortune though!” Jimmy exclaimed. “You would have been paying off that debt for years.”
Roy nodded. “I did.”
“Was it worth it dad?” his son asked.
Roy smiled warmly, and put a hand on his son's shoulder. “For you and your mother? It was worth every fucking penny.”
Jimmy was unconvinced. "It all sounds like a huge waste of money to me."
"Just wait till I tell you the story of how I proposed to her."
| The old thin man in the office chair had a sad look in his eyes. This was Charles' third time at the principal's office this week. *Being* the principal, he thought it wouldn't bother him so much. The school was, essentially, his to run, so long as the local school board found nothing too objectionable to his methods.
Sometimes, those policies sent a youth to his office. Rarely twice in the same week. *Never* five times in the same month. The principal could not have thought a youth in this recovering economy would be so reckless of their future prospects.
Until today anyway.
"Charles, what brings you to my office today?"
The surly high schooler did not respond, with words or eyes. Trying to shut himself off from the world in his own office? Principal Harrows would have none of it.
"Son, you need to tell me---"
"*I'm not your fucking son!*" The boy gaped, then shut his mouth again. Pale and, anxious to refortify his defenses.
It only took the old man a few moments to remember the news. A tragic accident. A decent inheritance. Enough to last the boy and his younger sister through college. And yet... this.
*A damn shame*, the principal thought. Venting was at one time healthy, and necessary, the principal believed. Then the policy was made federal. It made children from lower-class families more subdued. From middle-class families, pent-up. From the upper-class, *impossible* to deal with.
Figuratively anyway. He was a school principal after all. Then he remembered what he had just done.
"That was insensitive. I'm sorry." Age didn't bring him wisdom, as often the old man wanted to remind himself. His *failures* did. The mics would have picked that up, and deducted the amount for the number who heard, multiplied by the density of the swear word. The outcry came at the boy's expense. The principal never imagined he would be on the other end of one of the most brutal bullying tactics he see's on campuses across the state.
So Principal Harrow meant the apology more than the day the principle himself wrote that sorry letter to his mom when he ran from home those many years ago. Alcohol did terrible things to a broken home. More so after the Swear Jar Bill passed. Working with youth to bring them on the straight and clean was the plan this whole time. Then he.... up and reminds his student that their parents are no longer there for him.
"I'm... alright sir."
Meek, and quiet. Distant, as though the reassurance came from a place the boy rarely visited. The old man didn't like to not have his back rest against the chair, but he leaned over anyway, resting his frame on two light elbows. The message *must* be driven. No matter the cost.
"You know you can't afford to swear Charles."
The boy's shoulders began racking fiercely in minute gestures. A healthy arm shielded his eyes from the old man looking at him. The principal sympathized. It was a hard thing to say. But he wasn't done.
"I can tell you a secret though."
It took a few moments for the shoulders to remain still. And attentive.
The principal brought his voice down to a somber whisper, ready to complete the message. "You can apologize, and if *every* person accepts the apology verbally, you can get refunded."
Charles stood from his seat abruptly, his chair skidding behind him. "That's the first I've heard about it."
The principal shrugged. "It's a recent amendment. The school board likes being rewarded for the mistakes of their youngers. But even the government can wise-up."
Charles got antsy, as though he were ready to burst. "I... I need to go apologize to my class right away sir. May I, please, I gotta---"
"Yes, yes, just keep a strong mind next time Charles. You're smart enough to know that."
He nodded eagerly, and burst from the principal's office. The old man reclined back into his chair with a sigh. *Sure,* he thought to himself, *I could have reminded him to apologize to me as well and get some change back.*
Principal Harrow looked through the blinds at a familiar schoolyard wistfully. That moment he realizes he forgot to do so, will seal the lesson.
*Wisdom grows from our failures after all.*
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading! | 2016-02-13T22:17:20 | 2016-02-13T17:35:24 | 384 | 62 |
[WP] You've become an immortal being. Living throughout the ages you begin to notice that the souls of your companions or adversaries reincarnate and always seem to be drawn to you. After countless lifetimes, someone remembers.
Edit: This got so many responses! There's a lot of great post. | Our eyes locked across the crowded, smoke-filled room of the Kandahar tea house. He sat with a pack of his Bedouin brothers around a hearty meal, while I enjoyed my steaming beverage alone. I instantly recognized him despite his dark skin and smoky eyes; in his last incarnation, he'd been a blond Russian with eyes like the arctic ice. Though external appearances change, the soul peeking through is always a constant. It was the Traveler again.
He bowed as he approached the table, and I gestured for him to sit. Neither of us spoke for a moment, but I could tell he was troubled. "Have our paths crossed before, friend?" he started. "I've met many in my journeys, and I never forget a face. And yours..." Words failed him, and he waved a hand like he could conjure the phrase he was looking for out of thin air. "Do we know each other?"
I sipped my tea. Aye, we'd met many times. I first knew him as Mandan of Thrace, and we served together in the army of Alexander the Great. Even then, his spirit refused to be chained to one place in the world, and so we traveled for many years together. We fought for countless kingdoms as soldiers for hire, never remaining for more than a season's campaigning. Eventually he met his end in a desolate clearing in the Himalayas, and I continued on. Since then, our kindred spirits had met a dozen times and traveled the world over. He had worn many names, so I simply referred to him as the Traveler.
"We may have," I answered.
"This may sound absurd," he whispered with a glance around the room to make sure no one else was listening. "But its like I can see another life. I have distinct memory of you on a whaling ship, somewhere far, far north. Does that...."
His voice trailed off as he saw my astounded expression. *He remembered?* Our last travels together had been in Iceland, on a creaking old blubber hunter. "What else do you remember?" I finally managed to gasp.
We spoke until my tea was chilled and the fires in the hearths died down to embers. The tea room had nearly fallen silent; the few remaining occupants were mostly sleeping over cups of wine. And the Traveler's trading caravan companions had long returned to their camp. He gave me broken fragments of our times together, and I supplied the missing pieces until his mind was made whole again.
We departed in the morning, together once again. I'd forgotten what it was like to be able to speak freely with another person. To tell them of my thousands of years of experiences. To reminisce about our lives together. For the first time in millenia, I was free. In Thrace, he remembered the warrior he had once been. In Constantinople, he knew his life as a wandering scholar and priest. In Volga, his life as a river trader. In Nanjing, as one of the Emperor's closest confidants. A worldwide tour of our past lives.
The Traveler grew old. In exploring the wild frontiers of the Americas, his old joints failed him and he was sent tumbling down a rocky slope. The sickening *crack* of his leg echoed through the canyon. I tried to nurse him back to health, but the gangrene spread after only a few days. I'd almost forgotten that despite the memories, he was still mortal.
He struggled to raise his head to look me in the eyes. Sweat glistened off his skin, and fever clouded his gaze. "In the next life," he wheezed, "let's skip this part of the tour.See you again soon, my friend."
When his breathing stopped and his chest lay still, I closed his eyes for him. "Until next time." | As a kid, I really liked happy endings.
I like them as an adult as well.
But happy endings also have their little twists.
Do you know about that category of happy ending where everybody revives and meets each other again in the next world, or some other bullshit like that? I like that happy ending, too. It's always so cheerful and bright and happy and celebratory and full of laughter and smiles.
Thing is, that's an ending, you know? These happy endings are in books or movies - you know that that's the end of the story. There's nothing but your imagination to continue it, and us readers don't have enough time to imagine anything but the endless continuation of the happy happy that the writer leaves us with. So this kind of ending leaves the reader with a smile on his face, or at the very least a feeling of contentedness.
But if you think about it for a bit, the ending's kind of sad - fatalistic, even. The main characters get back together, to have the same lives, all over again. They will have their happy times all over again, but they will also have to endure through the sad times one more time. I guess that this doesn't matter much from their point of view - after all, after a character dies, there's not exactly much living brain tissue left behind in the grave to remember much. No matter how many times they experience the same things, it'll all be new to the characters themselves. But from the reader's perspective, you have to imagine the endless funerals you have to suffer through, or the frustration at seeing all the same mistakes being made all over again. Don't we all rage when you see the same cliched mistakes being made in horror movies? This kind of situation would probably be similar, if only a few thousand times worse because you feel much closer to these characters than the ditzy idiots from horror movies.
Unlike horror movies, however, everybody manages to survive into old age. So you don't get too mad. But after a while, the first of the funerals begin, and you realize that the story is drawing to a close - that all of the fun times will be over for the time being. You remember that you cried the first few times around, but you've read this story so many times that you got used to the event. And after the last of them have passed and the book is closed, you wait. You wait a few decades for the sequel to come out. You are the most dedicated fan to the least well known literary series in the entire universe. Yet when the sequel does come out, it's still incomplete. You know you have to give the author a few years in order to get back into his groove - to let the story flow and have the fun start all over again. It's hard to remember how many times you've done this now, but for some reason, this story hooks you. You can't get enough of it, no matter how similar they always are to the prequels. So you always wait.
But then you get tired of waiting, even. It becomes routine. The words on the page are just to be skimmed through, because you know all the contents of the story. You go through the motions of turning the page, but you feel none of the emotions that you once had with the first book. And so it all becomes a blur.
Yet despite all this, I'm still that dutiful reader. Sometimes it feels like I'm coerced into it - that no matter what I do, fate pulls us together. Most times, though, I submit to the flow of the story that whatever shitty author wrote this thing wants. And sometimes, I revel in it, reminding myself that this curse is also a blessing.
Now that I say that, it sounds a bit more like I'm a drug addict than a reader.
So there we have the good times, the bad times. The fun times, the sad times. The romantic times, the Jesus-Christ-you-fucking-puked-during-sex times. And through it all, the Quintet endures.
There's always this one time when somebody wonders why the five of us fit so well together. "We're fucking fated to be together," is the common saying, with a plethora of humorous groans and laughs to follow. There's always this one time where somebody wonders if we've all been through it before in some past life like some weird cheap-ass movie.
And I laugh along, like an actor playing a script, with my face a mask made with hundreds of cycles of this same event, knowing that they are closer to the truth than they'd ever know. But you know, I always felt that the questions were kinda stupid. That they were the very epitome of "be careful what you wish for."
See, nobody would ever want to remember that.
But if somebody other than me did, well...
I wonder how happy I would be.
I wonder how sad I would be. | 2016-08-29T08:06:50 | 2016-08-29T02:48:03 | 305 | 182 |
[WP] You were born with Heterochronoia - one eye can see 5 seconds into the future and the other sees 5 seconds into the past. | Going to the opticians is such a drag.
I was born with heterochronoia - one of the many rare temporal perception disorders that began to pop up after the use of consumer time travel devices. In my case, one eye sees forward, one sees back. By about 5 seconds.
Thankfully, it wasn't long before some bright spark made corrective lenses. The trick was to get the shift just right. Hence the yearly check. Just to make sure that your eyes aren't shifting and that your eyes are in sync with your body.
I get one lens adjusted for normality, the other lens calibrated to +10 seconds. Too much and you go blind. To be fair, when a situation rapidly changes, it's not worth much either.
So what do you do? Stock broking is too fast paced. Not enough time to bet, especially after the new rules came out and people who wear glasses are banned from casinos.
No, I followed my Grandpa's example and went into hunting. You get paid a pretty penny to shoot people. | The white cane that sits by the front door has become a staple in my life. Through the years, I've learned to do most things without sight, and have even gone so far as to adopt a wonderful service dog. She's obedient, as they are to be, and comforting, and certainly not stupid. However, she's remained loyal, and I'm humbled and grateful for it. Perhaps foolishly, I've taught her to live a little more care-free; a little more like a dog. There are times I hope I haven't ruined her for others after me.
I set my comb down. The marble counter top is cool beneath my touch, and goosebumps prick at my skin, setting my hairs on attention. Marcella nudges at my right hand, and I give her a pat on the head. "Ready for a walk, Marcy?" I ask her. She dances joyfully, her nails clacking against the tile floor, and she bolts for the window in the living room.
The walk there is memorized by now. Marcy is diligent with her cleaning practices, and there is rarely anything misplaced. I can hear the rain outside. Lifting my right patch reveals Marcy sitting by the door, wagging her tail joyfully as she waits, her leash hanging over her back like a wet noodle. Through the streaks of saliva on the window, I can see that the rain is gentle, and the traffic is mild. There appears to be a hint of sunlight shining through the clouds. Marcy howls in anticipation, turning her head to the ceiling.
I fold the patch back down, and lift up the left. Marcy's nose is pressed against the glass of the window, and she's blowing hot air onto the cool glass. As it fogs up, she quickly licks it away and repeats the process. I smile, and fold the patch back down, laughing quietly as I embrace the darkness again.
"All right, girl." I call out to her, and she darts for the door. I hear the clinking of metal as she nudges her leash from its hook, and her tail beats against the wood floor.
She howls. | 2016-12-19T11:02:01 | 2016-12-19T11:00:26 | 300 | 47 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
| The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater. | Ravenclaw had been reminded by Vortex Man, time and again, that this was truly the last resort. Well, Ravenclaw thought, surely this mess counts for it. With a graceful swing through the air, he brought the Staff of Power to heel, spoke the magic words, and summoned Tornado Guy.
Energy crackled through the air as the portal opened. “Aha! You spineless coward,” rang out Tornado Guy’s voice, “I knew you would eventually have to acknowledge my superiority! So pray tell, what is it that you need my help wi… wait a minute, you aren’t Vortex Man?”
“No,” Ravenclaw admitted, “I’m his sidekick. And he needs your help.”
“Sidekick? Well, little surprise there, Vortex Man does need all the assistance he can get!”
“Please, can you please put aside your petty rivalries for a moment?”
The despair projected by Ravenclaw was so potent that Tornado Guy felt the wind taken out of his sails – there was little satisfaction in crowing now if Vortex Man truly was in supermortal danger.
“Go on then, what’s the matter?”
Ravenclaw pointed at the numerous TV panels behind him, all tuned to a dozen different TV channels, all showing the same scene from various angles – Deathspawn, one of the Four Generals of Hell, stood nonchalantly on the tallest tower in town. A suited civilian bound in black-energy tethers knelt before him, head hung low. A giant timer counted down ominously across the screens.
“You brought me here for Deathspawn? But Vortex Man can easily handle this!”
“No, look at the civilian! Look closer!”
Curiosity piqued, Tornado Guy leaned in, forehead furrowed in concentration. Then it hit him.
“You mean that’s him? That’s Vortex Man there, disguised as the civilian?”
“Yes!” whined Ravenclaw. “Deathspawn has given Vortex Man 12 hours to appear before he kills this civilian he picked off the streets! But if Vortex Man doesn’t die, or if he overcomes Deathspawn, then his secret identity will be revealed before all the cameras! There’s nothing he can do!”
“And that’s why you need me to step in here?”
Ravenclaw sighed. “If only it were that easy. Look, I could also have gone in myself, I’m not your average wallpaper sidekick. No, the problem’s more severe than that. Listen to this taped recording of a secret call I made to him.”
At a push of a button at the nearby control panel, the recording between sidekick and hero played ominously over the speakers. As Tornado Guy soaked it in, the colour drained from his face. When the recording ended, silence filled the room.
“You see,” Ravenclaw began, “I asked him over and over again, but each time he insists I do not step in. He says, and I quote, ‘I need more time with Deathspawn. He’s opened my eyes, and I think I finally understand why he does these things.’”
Tornado Guy nodded. He gripped the back of a chair so hard the wood splintered.
“Yes. I can see it too. It’s not just a matter of rushing in to defeat Deathspawn anymore. It seems that your boss is suffering… from Stockholm Syndrome.”
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/) | 2017-01-28T08:55:41 | 2017-01-28T08:39:33 | 143 | 27 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
| The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater. | **G:** Hey Dave, look! I've found us a super cool new writing prompt to do today! It's all about superheroes and supervillains and supe-
**D:** *Really Greg? Of all the pages and pages of high quality, well written submissions - we're going with this? A three-line title with half the plot of Megamind scrolled over it?*
**G:** Well I just...You know...I thought it'd be fun is all...Superheroes are kinda cool and you always do the voices really well
**D:** *Look. Fine. Whatever. Just please keep the plot on track. I'm sick to death of your "Look at me and my fourth wall" posts, sometimes it'd be nice to have a real story without any of your stupid dram-*
**?**: LET ME GO! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHIN-
**D:** *WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS THERE A MAN TIED UP IN MY KITCHEN, SCREAMING FOR HELP?! GREG?!*
**G:** What?
**D:** *THE MAN. IN MY KITCHEN. WHO IS SCREAMING FOR HELP. IN MY KITCHEN. TIED UP. IN MY GODDAMN KITCHEN....WHO IS HE AND WHY! I WANT ANSWERS NOW GREG!*
**G:** Oh him. He's our hostage - the "kidnapped citizen" of our adventure.
**D:** *The what?!*
**G:** Well, I figured if we're going to write a good story - we should really get into character. It's like method acting, but for books!
**D:** *...*
**G:** Oh, don't worry though. It's going to turn out he's a super hero - so he'll totally break free and save himself.
**?**: I'm not a super hero. I'm just an electrician. Please let me go, I won't tell anybody, I just want to live. Please don't hurt me.
**G:** Ha! Get a load of this guy right? "I'm just an electrician", "I totally don't have the ability to lightning-bolt my way out of these ropes", "Don't worry about leaving the wall sockets on, I'm totally not going to leech the power and fry you alive". Grade A joker.
**?:** Look, please. D-Dave was it? You seem like a more normal guy right? Please, I won-
**D:** *I'm a...more...normal guy? So...You don't think I'm normal then?*
**?:** N-no, I didn't say tha-
**D:** *Oh no, don't worry. That's fine. I just thought maybe it'd be a good, normal idea to untie you and let you get back to your family was all....But you know you, as you said - I guess that'd be just too much for me to manage wouldn't it?*
**?:** Oh god
**D:** *Greg, I think it's pancake time. This writing brain needs some writing food. Let's "Hop" off to IHOP, we can deal with this flapjack later*
**G:** Love it Dave. You always know what's best. PANCAKE SAATTUURRDAAAYYYYY | 2017-01-28T08:55:41 | 2017-01-28T08:01:15 | 143 | 18 |
[WP] You are god and have been on a bender since you drove Adam & Eve out of the garden. You wake up in a cheap motel room and start to read the Bible trying to make sense of all the shit you apparently did. | "You have reached the office of Lucifer the fallen one, who am I speaking to?"
"Yeah, this is God, put me through to him." I didn't know who else to call really. One minute I'm kicking Adam and Eve out of Eden the next I'm waking up with a headache in the middle of the desert.
"Umm... right away sir." The demon secretary tells me.
"Lucy? You there?"
"What do you need? I'm busy. And you should be too right? Y'know, answering prayers or whatever it is you do up there. And how'd you get this number?"
"Look I work in mysterious ways alright? Remember when I kicked Adam and Eve out?" I ask him.
"Yeah... that was like 6000 years ago, why'd you ask?"
"Well, I've been going through this book called 'The Bible' and I don't remember any of this- wait 6000 years?!?"
"Yeah, 6000 years." Satan honestly sounded concerned. "Dude do you not remember that?"
"No I remember that just fine." I flip through the pages of the book on my lap. "It's just the other stuff, y'know the stuff in between. I was drunk okay."
"I honestly couldn't tell. Like I'm being honest I couldn't." He starts chuckling.
"Dude this isn't funny." I tell him. "Hold up, I flooded the earth?!?"
"Yeah, you thought humans were evil and shit so you killed like all of them. The animals too for some reason." He tells me.
"So I kill nearly all life on earth. And you think I was sober? That I was okay?!? That didn't seem weird to you at all?!?" I ask him.
"I mean you always were kind of a dick really." He says. "I thought you were just moody or something."
"And I destroyed a town just cause some people were having buttsex?!? Why would I do that?!"
"Oh yeah I remember that. That was crazy man." He laughs. "Oh this other time the whole world was speaking like one language and you were like 'nope! Can't have that!' and scattered them all over the place, like we could've had world peace and shit but you wouldn't let that happen!"
"This is terrible." I tell him. "I need to remind people what my true message is, I should send a messiah to preach my word!"
"Oh you already did that." Lucifer tells me. "His name was Jesus. It happened like 2000 years ago."
"I did?" I ask him. "Did it go well?"
Lucifer breathes through his teeth, "define well."
"Did everyone accept his message? Was he loved by all?"
"A lot of people accepted his message don't worry, but a lot of people didn't. They killed him."
"Oh." I say "well those that did accept his message follow him still right? Don't be greedy, love thy neighbor, accept all? They follow that right?"
Lucifer is silent. Then he breaks out laughing.
"Dude it's not funny!!" I tell him. "I gotta fix this."
"Good luck with that man." He tells me. "And if you ever need anything, don't call me ever again." The he hangs up.
"*Shit.*" I think. "*okay I'll make a new messiah, make him a Jew because everyone loves Jews. And name him Jesus. Okay second times the charm.*"
| I wake up in a daze. I look around myself, get sad, then slunk back on the bed. My head is pounding and I can't get the taste of ash and cheap liquor out of my mouth. With a groan, I walk to the bathroom and inspect myself. My beard is a Me-damn mess. There are bits of cheap chicken wings stuck inside of it. My eyes are all bloodshot and my head won't stop pounding.
BZZT.
"What the?" I say to myself and start looking all around myself.
BZZT. I feel my leg vibrate. I put my hand in my robe and pull out a phone.
"Hello?" I say, resisting the urge to vomit.
"G o Double D! What up big dog!" A voice cries from the other side. I pull my head away from the phone.
"Who's this?" I say and rub at my temple.
"Noah man, It's Noah! How you feeling?" The energy of this man is astounding.
"Fine, I guess." I whimper out in a lie.
"Yeah, cool, just wanted to hit you up, we haven't talked in ages." From through the phone I can hear a gaggle of animals.
"Yeah, sorry, I've been uh... busy." I say and walk back into the main room. The disgusting scent of faux perfume is nauseating. A demon climbs herself up from the ground and onto the side of the bed.
"I've heard! So, I was wondering, could I maybe borrow some mo-" I hang up the phone. I stare at the demon as she readjusts her bra.
"Hello?" I say, cautious and queasy.
"Hey baby," She says with a smile. "You're up early. Figured you'd be tired after last night." I nod my head and try my best to remember her name.
"You know me, early to wake, late to rest." I try my best to laugh sincerely, but I'm fairly certain I sound like a choking hyena. "So, you. You little you. What are you doing today, you."
"Why do you keep saying 'you'?" She asks me, her eyes glancing me up and down. My heart palpitates for a moment.
"Cause I can? I'm God?" I reply.
"Yeah you are," She says whilst standing up. She walks over to me with a wiggle in each step, her thighs and ass shaking with such temptation. "You're a fucking god that's what." Even though I am horrified in this moment, I still felt pretty proud at that compliment.
"Thanks, you." She wraps her arms under my neck and smiles coyly, her fangs poking out slightly.
"It's Lilith. It's okay to forget it... for now." She lets go of my neck and walks towards the door, grabbing her purse as she does. "I'll be back later to make you scream it." With those words, she leaves the hotel room.
"Oh, oh man, oh, what am I doing?"
I sit down on the side of the bed and stare at the wall on the other side. "This is all Adam and Eve's fault. I tell them 'You can have anything, just don't touch that one tree.' And Adam's all 'That's cool,' and Eve is all 'Yeah, no worries.'. But then what do they do? The touch the damn tree. The first Humans I ever made are idiots." I glance around the room, noticing a small black book on a bedside table and sigh deeply. "I did make them in my image, so that may explain that."
I walk over to the book and open it. "The Holy Bible, huh." I say flipping to the start.
"In the beginning... God? God said 'Let there be light?'" I rest the book down against my chest for a second. I bring it back to my eyes and continue reading. I read through the day, and to the end of the night, until finally I finish the novel. My ears are ringing and my hands haven't stopped sweating for hours. I can feel my stomach convulsing at the thought of all the things I've done. With a hurried dash, I run to the phone I had previously and skim through the contacts until eventually, I come across Lilith. I hit call, bring the phone to my ear, hear the ring and start pacing around the room. Finally, she answers.
"Hey! Hey... What you up to tonight? You wanna go out? I uh, I wanna forget about some shit."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for more spicy stuff. | 2017-02-20T08:19:41 | 2017-02-20T07:52:45 | 1,095 | 158 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | "Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed. | After a while he quit showing up.
She knew he loved her back. She also knew that they could never truly be together, no matter how many people she sent to the reaping.
It had started with those already on their way, she had just given them an extra shove in the right direction. Nursing homes became the setting for their frequent trysts, among the oxygen cylinders and frantic nurses.
Eventually the easy targets weren't enough. He couldn't do it, he said. Protocol and all that. She knew, though, if it was a truly special death, he'd have to come. And she'd make him.
That's when she decided to get creative. It almost became an art form to take a lives. She was like the Bob Ross of murder, sending one soul after the other to be greeted by Death, because everyone needed a friend or twenty.
Finally, he told her that she was disrupting the balance. That he was being forbidden from returning and that all they had together had been a lustful lie. That he would never see her again.
But she knew better.
The first infection wasn't so successful. It had spread well, but the cure was found too quickly. It took years before she had perfected the ultimate virulent bio-weapon. It was transmitted through the air and the water. Every cough and sneeze spread it so efficiently it was nearly impossible not to be exposed. The key, she thought, was the dormancy period. She knew it would spread globally within a month. It wouldn't be until then that the first inkling of a pandemic would be noticed by the global health organizations.
It took a year before 90% of the world's population was dead. They called it the New Black Plague. She called it love.
And she waited for him to appear. She went to every mass grave, hoping she might find him there. But alas, she walked an empty earth seeking a lover that was nothing but a ghost to her, now.
It seemed like she had seen almost every decaying corpse on earth before she finally saw him, standing upon a pile of bodies, his black robes flowing in the wind and the sun glinting from his scythe.
"You came," she whispered, struggling to find her balance upon the summit of the mound of flesh.
"You killed the world, my love. Just for me," he smiled as she came next to him, reaching a skeletal hand up to brush her cheek.
"There's nothing I wouldn't do for us to be together," she said, wrapping her arms around his cloth clad rib cage and squeezing tight enough to hear his bones click in protest.
"I knew the day would come. There is but one thing left for me to do."
She leaned back and looked up into his eye sockets, tears staining her cheeks. "What is that, my love?"
"I must reap the final soul."
He shoved her backwards and reared his scythe, bringing it down in a smooth motion. Her flesh tore beneath its razor edge and she was cleaved in twain, falling into a heap among the pile.
As her astral form rose from the earth, her longing eyes looked down upon Death, her screams unheard as she was hoisted upward by an unseen force.
"Farewell, my love," Death muttered as he shattered into a million pieces, drifting into the wind like so many tar-black ashes.
And then the world was silent.
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T19:30:33 | 153 | 19 |
[WP] We live in an univers where the wealthy lives abord a space station, travelling at the speed of light, in order to live longer. The grounder society is now far more advanced. Today is the first Reunion Day, a "yearly" meeting between the space station and grounder society.
Hello everyone! This was my inspiration: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Twin_paradox | "One year from the day we depart, we shall return," they said. They had thought themselves better than us. Paying a fortune, they contracted much more intelligent men to build a spaceship that would travel at the speed of light. For all their wealth, they did not understand relativity as well as the men they hired. We knew they would never return the day they left. A year to a man going light speed is an eternity to any other man. Someday at the end of time, perhaps they would stop. If they walked out of the spaceship they would peek at the universe through their noses and see that humanity was no more. Earth would be long gone and there would be nothing left to tell them it was ever there. The average density of the universe would be infinitesimal. Or perhaps time itself will break down before they stop. Maybe time isn't as permanent as we think it is. The rest of humanity would have trillions of years before time ends, but those fools on the ship would skip right to the final seconds. Who knows, your guess is as good as mine. Either way, good riddance. | 2025... During the first year when the rich left for the LightLeap space station, the world fell into anarchy. Governments fell, overthrown due to the lack of financial funding from the 1%.
However the next year, there was a group. Embracing the ideals of Marxist-Leninism communism, they were the Socialists.
The Socialists quickly grew in influence, starting revolutions all over the world when everyone else was in anarchy. And by half a year, a united nation was formed.
The Socialists ceased all wealth; some of which the rich had left for safe keeping on the ground. Currency was burned and valuable resources were used in the name of science. Infrastructure was revamped everywhere with the help of everyone and scientific research was continually boosted.
People were mostly contented living in a communist paradise, although some went against it. The people who went against it were free to do so, however without the means of resources and wealth, they were usually unsuccessful in their attempts.
Humanity has advanced towards the stars when Faster Than Light (FTL) technology was discovered. Cures of many diseases have been discovered by the continual efforts of the scientific community. The arts were surprisingly not neglected as well. Music and the arts flourished throughout the united Earth. It was truly a scientific, communist paradise.
22.36 years has passed on the ground. Archaic pods fell from the sky. The rich is coming. When they were met with the Socialists and a totally communist Utopia, they were definitely shocked. Previously influential politicians tried to reinstate their land while the other "rich" people tried to fight against the united nation to no avail.
They were ostracized when they brought out barbaric gold plated shotguns and assault riffles and were easily defeated by the united nation's laser technology and plasma technology which contained them.
In their year onboard the ship, the rich mocked the poor and the middle class, living lavishly daily, knowing the filthy grounders were suffering. Darwinism, survival of the fittest they thought. And they were very wrong, when they stepped out of their pods during the reunion.
The rich became the ordinary while the ordinary advanced further. The rich were no longer. | 2017-08-06T13:31:55 | 2017-08-06T09:04:13 | 343 | 227 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | "He was a child," I said, back drawn up straight. "Pure of intent. I simply responded to that."
"I have little care for your excuses," Thurn replied, what passed for her eyes dark with disapproval. "And less for the results. You will tell me *why* and we shall see if I am willing to leave more of you than the echoes of thunder. Details, Kwostiid."
"The boy was riven...can you blame him? Fighting constantly with his father, the death of his younger brother, and all that awaited him were the long years of a life he didn't want to lead."
"So, what? Sympathy?" There was a dangerous edge to Thurn's voice, and I could see the storm building across her shoulders, a rising anger teasing the hoarfrost of her hair. We *dschinn* of the old world are beings of nature, powerful but resentful of the men who try to tame us; not like our southern cousins who have been leashed with rings and lamps.
But it was that same disdain that kept Thurn from realizing what I had done. Now, my continuation demanded I make her see.
"Of course not," I scoffed. "His wish was a simple thing: the chance for something beautiful in his life. So I gave him a glimpse of that--of the art in his soul--and the skill of hand to bring it out onto the canvas."
"And **that** is what I do not understand, Kwostiid! With that frustrated energy, you could have easily made the man into wreck; why give him hope? Throw him into a gutter to rot, else put a knife in his spirit and make him share his hateful misery with those around him."
I am not proud that I flinched when the lance of lightning ripped free of Thurn, blasting apart a black-wooded pine. Only after the roll of thunder subsided did I continue.
"Because you can only be given so much," I said, keeping the rumbling fear from my voice. "And because of *time*. I gave him the painter's brush, the dream, and just enough of a push to see the finish line before falling down."
"And I do not see any reason for this pointless play at subtlety. Even an imperfect blessing will elevate him above his current woe."
"Then I will make a deal with you," I said, finally making my bid to survive my plan. "Let us come back in a few decades and see what has sprouted from this seed?"
I held the north wind of my breath, watching as the black clouds swirled in a prolonged rumination, only relaxing when they began to break apart in a frigid exhalation of drizzle-laden wind. Thurn was calmed for the moment.
"Very well, Kwostiid...I shall give you a little time. We shall shelve the matter of this 'Adolf' for now." | Humans are greedy creatures. You offer them a miracle and they forget the very meaning of restraint. Though that’s exactly why Sora loved his job. He was a Genie here to root out the greed of humanity. And he was one of the best.
For centuries, treasure hunters have scoured the planet in search of his lamp. Each with dreams of gold, beauty, and power. And every dream, he granted to their own detriment.
You want to be an Adonis of perfectly sculpted muscle? How about as a physical statue?
You want to be the richest man in the neighborhood? Looks like a housing crisis has just wiped out everyone’s wealth.
You want your parents to be alive again? How about reincarnated as a baby in some African country you’ve never heard of?
It wasn’t so much that Sora enjoyed people suffering, he just hated people that much. So, he kept hidden inside his antique lamp, just waiting for the first person to even accidentally bump it.
The lamp nudged. A grin spread across Sora’s lips. It was show time.
“You have summoned me?” Sora screamed, bursting out of his lamp in a plume of green smoke. He looked down at whatever pitiful human had dared touch his lamp. It was a little girl with dirt on her cheeks.
Her trembling knees gave and she fell to the ground.
“Girl,” Sora said, looming over her. “You rubbed the lamp, didn’t you?”
The girl nodded, just a twitch of the chin.
“I am Sora, a Genie. Pray tell me your name.”
“Ariel,” she squeaked.
“Ariel, I can grant you anything. Money, power, beauty, they can all be yours if you were to only say the proper words. What is your wish?”
Sora could already guess by the rags over her shoulders, the grim beneath her eyes, and those sunken cheeks. Still, he needed to hear her say it.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Of course.” Sora threw open his arms as the green smoke encircled his body. Then, it all dissipated. “Wait, what did you say?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Genie, I didn’t mean to hit your lamp. I’m just trying to collect cans for the orphanage. They pay me for each can and I thought your lamp was one of them.”
“Ariel,” Sora said. “I have the power to grant you anything. I can bring people back from the dead. You can literally have anything! Let me bring back your parents.”
The girl pressed her lips together. “Will that mean I’ll have to leave the orphanage?”
Sora furrowed his brow. “I would assume so,” he said, annoyed. “It’s an orphanage after all.”
“But what will happen to Sera?”
“What?”
“She’s a bit younger than me and sometimes the other kids bully her.”
Sora crossed his arms. “Look, girl, I’m a genie, not a fortune teller. Why not just wish for money then? People can always use more money.”
She looked down at her bare feet and twiddled her thumbs. “Do I have to make a wish?”
The genie’s jaw dropped. “Why wouldn’t you? Seriously, what is one thing that you want right now?”
Ariel gave herself a small nod. “A chocolate cake.”
“What!? I can go out around the corner and buy one for twenty dollars! You could have a million chocolate cakes, a whole cake for every single meal for your entire life!”
“But I only need one,” Ariel said. “Today’s Sera’s birthday.”
Sora shut up. Of all the humans he had ever encountered, this one was by far the dirtiest, the most illogical, the least imaginative… he felt a small smile stretch across his lips. It was unlike the crescent grins he wore when granting the detrimental wishes of the other men.
“Fine,” he relented. “Enjoy your chocolate cake. Tell Sera I said happy birthday.” | 2017-08-17T07:54:05 | 2017-08-17T06:31:42 | 279 | 81 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads. | Its been over ten years since I started seeing the lines. For the past year, my life had been going downhill. My parents suddenly couldn't seem to stand each other's presence, my school work was going to downhill, and my best friend had moved away about a month ago. For the first week or so, I just tried to ignore them and act like they didn't exist. No one else seemed to see the lines, and if I followed one for a few steps, it would start disappearing behind me. I thought I was going crazy, that it was just some weird hallucination brought on by the stress.
Eventually though, the green line was pointing in a direction I was going anyways, so I followed it whether I wanted to or not. A few minutes later, while walking down a sidewalk outside of a ritzy apartment complex, I heard a cry of alarm from above. I looked up and without even realizing what was happening, caught what had to be one of the fattest cats I'd ever seen. Any other cat probably could have landed and been save, but this cat didn't seem like it would have survived the impact. As I was standing there somewhat stunned by what just happened, a harried looking woman ran out of the apartment building and nearly bowled me over. As she stopped to see if I was fine, she noticed the cat still in my arms and breathed a sigh of relief. "Annabelle survived? Thank god, when I saw her roll out the window I thought she was dead for sure!" Still not quite understanding what just happened, I stood there somewhat stunned as she took the cat and bustled back into the apartment complex.
Over the next few weeks, I would find myself following the green line more and more. Every time something good would happen, either for me or for someone else because I was there. I must have saved the lives of two babies, at least one grandma, and a few dogs by the end of the first year. At the same time I was doing better in school, things were better at home, and life was generally great and getting better.
Now, in my mid-twenties I must have saved over fifty human lives and over a hundred pets all while creating an amazing business, meeting the love of my life, and have a wonderful time. Recently though, it had started to get monotonous, and I had occasionally stopped following the green line for a change. While the red line had always been there, I had ignored it for the most part, mostly because it rarely went in the same direction as the green line did for more than a block or two. Today, with my husband away on a business trip and nothing important to do, I decided to follow the red line for the first time. Unlike with the green line, nothing seemed to come of it for a long time. Eventually I found myself in a fairly poor residential neighborhood where a number of kids were playing in the street. The red line lead directly up to one of the kids, a scrawny little girl sitting on the curb watching the others play. I stood in there in confusion for a minute before I noticed the red line had started to fade, and I could barely see it anymore. I looked around in confusion, trying to find the green, only to find it gone from my sight for the first time in a decade. My panic started to mount when I noticed that the girl had begun to look around in confusion as well. Something about the way she was looking around seemed vaguely familiar. Suddenly it hit me, she was looking back and forth at two paths, almost like she was looking at two lines. The lines that I could no longer see. The lines I had somehow handed off to someone who needed them more than me. | Followed the red line today. First time. Whole life, two lines, one straight and one crooked. One green, prosperity; one red, uncertainty.
From my house, past my Lexus, over the small bridge connecting our borough to the next, the scarlet line continued and I continued with it. Familiar turned to unknown, real unknown, the kind if unknown that I normally went out of my way to avoid.
Bricks in the road morphed into asphalt. The red line glided over parking stalls of abandoned bakeries, into run-down neighborhoods, far away from the lush lawns and shiny automobiles I was surrounded by every day. Life had gone easy. I'd put on some weight around the sides. Family's fine, grown up. Green line all the way. Cradle to grave. I had seen the way to easy streets from the day I was born, and I took it without fail.
My last chance. Something new. It excited me, butterflies inside I hadn't felt in years. Who cares if the red line goes on forever? I say, let it drop me off the side of the world, and I'll learn to fly on the way down. Excitement.
For hours, always trailing into empty fields, the red line kept pushing off in abrupt angles. My shoes were dirty all over. But I didn't stop. How could you stop at a time like this? By a playground, past little old ladies on benches whispering to pigeons about the fanciness of white bread, through a delapitated part of town where the young kids wore no shoes and kicked soccer balls off of graffitied, closed down shopfronts. The line was taking me far away from the usual. But to where? My fatigue let seep in some doubt, some fear. A group of swans sleeping under gigantic, weeping trees, cool in the early evening quietness.
Eventually, shadows were falling. Near the end, far from town, I approach and can hear rising the swooping neons and flashes of motion that accompany the carnival. Didn't know we had one. And so huge. Rollercoasters, ferris wheel. A kingdom rising out of the dark woods, a violet and pink glowing cathedral of clown's heads and whirling lights. I was tired but energized. We had made it to the end of the red line, I thought. And there was a sign with big black lettering nearby, 'For Sale'. Ah-ha. A conclusion.
Then, as I neared the gates of the carnival, with stars made out of elaborate patterns of bulbs, all colors of the rainbow, a true delight to tired eyes, the red line strayed, detoured off to the left. A few yards away from the purple walls, beyond which was a tantalizing playground, was a small black and white checkered stand. A hot dog stand. The red line pushed right to it, ended at the window of the stand. It stopped, finally, at it's destination.
As I got up to the stand, a man with a large moustache moved from behind a corner inside. He had thick glasses, small beady eyes magnified slightly, dark irises. His stand was incredibly dull, with only the words 'VENDOR' across the top. He didn't greet me, adjusted his Timex watch instead, and said in a thick Eastern European accent, "you come for hot dog".
You come for hot dog. I was famished. It was like hearing a prophet speak. The red line brought me to this man. To his stand. It was time.
With great seriousness, I told him "yes". The tall man with the moustache turned behind, worked for some minutes in silence. I tapped my foot. Adjusted what's left of my hair. This was the time. We shall finally see what the red line has in store. I was ready to die, or transform, or disappear. Green lines go to the opulence of non-work, of lucky breaks and trophy blondes and sports trophies. Where does the red lead?
He handed me the finished product, a normal hot dog. "No mustard left", he said. I thanked him, looked down at my fate. And the red line had disappeared, gone.
Took a bite slowly. Closed my eyes. Chewed with care. Anticipated. Waited. As I bit, the night gradually slipped away from the radiance of the park around me, light turning to dimness, swirling in my vision, and I lost all sense of control of limbs, body, self. Distortion gathered all around my being. And I slipped into complete blackness with a hollow thud.
And that was the first time I got severe food poisoning. | 2017-08-23T09:48:02 | 2017-08-23T08:40:04 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You are a librarian at the world’s greatest library of magic and eldritch lore. Your job is to go out and collect overdue library books from customers. Today, as is often the case, the customer is being…problematic. | "Davey Delby!" I shouted through the oak door I was attempting to knock into submission. "I know you're in there! I won't even ask for the overdue fees, we just need the book back!" I took a moment and massaged my aching knuckles, growling under my breath. "Every time..."
The door flew open, and I was greeted by a harassed-looking witch in forest green robes. Her auburn hair was fluffed upwards, creating a volcano effect, as if she'd been running her hands through it repeatedly with great exasperation.
"Dame Delby," I greeted her with a small bow. "How are you today?"
"I was wonderful until I discovered that my son was hoarding library books again!" Agatha Delby sagged against the doorframe. "I suppose I shouldn't be angry, he could do a lot worse," she mused, "but the boy simply doesn't like sharing."
"May I?" I gestured to the entryway.
"Oh yes!" Agatha exclaimed, and jumped to the side, ushering me into the house. "You know where to go," she said grimly, and I gave a small chuckle as I headed up the stairs.
"Hello there," I greeted the statues as I climbed. Bronze heads nodded their greetings and a suit of armour gave me a clattering salute. After many visits to the Delby estate, I'd grown quite fond of the decor in this manor, and the art seemed to have taken a shine to my attempts to discipline the smallest Delby.
It wasn't that he was a petulant child, he just...well, Davey Delby hadn't quite learned to think things all the way through. While shortsightedness was unfortunate for regular children, it could be positively catastrophic for magical offspring.
I reached the top of the South tower, Agatha following reluctantly. While I knew it wasn't easy for her to manage her brood of 10 children, I couldn't help but shoot her a disapproving glare as the smell of smoke met our nostrils.
We carefully eased the door open. Davey was like a wild animal if you caught him unawares. However, his eyes were wide and staring directly at us as the door revealed the scene inside.
The boy had always had a nose for catastrophe, but today was especially chaotic. Davey had erected a small platform over a roaring fire, and had been in the midst of attempting to dunk the family cat into a potion bubbling in the large cauldron.
"Davey!" Agatha exclaimed, clapping her hands to her mouth.
I rolled my eyes and waved my wand. The fire went out instantly and the cauldron was suddenly empty. The cat hit the bottom of the cauldron, spitting and scrabbling for a grip. Another wave of my wand sent the cat sailing out the door, and he hit the top stair in a mad dash to get away.
"But I wanted him to be a tiger," groaned Davey, "not a lame house cat!" Agatha gasped slightly as she stared at her son.
"Give me the book, Davey," I coaxed. "You shouldn't have it anyways. Animal modifications are not to be trifled with until you obtain your full wizarding license."
"What book?" Davey said innocently, but as I raised my wand again, he jumped off the platform, grumbling about how we "never let him have any fun". He shoved his arm under his mattress, rummaging for the hidden tome.
"Thank you," I said sweetly as he approached me with the book, "Animal? Animazing!" tucked under his arm. "I'll waive the fees this time if you promise to leave the cat alone."
Davey harrumphed. "For now," he scowled, folding his arms. "When do I get to start doing fun spells?" he whined.
"When you're older," I sighed, ruffling his hair. "Enjoy the simple ones while you can, kid. Go outside, make some rainbows, conjure some butterflies, ok?"
It wasn't what Davey wanted to hear, and he threw himself into his bed dramatically as I left the room. I stifled a chuckle. He was going to be just fine, the curious little guy. His mother, however, might lose her hair before he acquired his license!
I waved goodbye to Agatha, who was making the laundry fly onto a clothesline in the yard. "Until next time!" I called, and she rolled her eyes.
I unrolled my parchment and consulted my list of literary offenders. It was a shame; the rest of these books were overdue because of forgetfulness, not desire to read every word. I took one last look up at Davey's tower and smiled as I saw purple sparks fly out the window. We could all stand to put a little more innocent, youthful magic in our lives.
R/DieKarrotte
| "Sir, you need more than a Horror blocking your door to make me go away!" My voice was firm as I saw the horror simply looming around the door of the small home.
Honestly, people can be hard, I know no one likes to pay the fine on overdue books, but come on! That's no excuse to act like a spoiled child and block the door. But I guess in a way I'm at a fault, I was the one who wanted to have more action on the library...
I work for the greatest library in the world. The Great Library of Magical and Eldritch Knowledge, founded by the great Archmage Aldebrand. Dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge in all shapes and forms the Archmage ended up forming the library, and with the time it grew to become the greatest of all libraries.
Now, as any other institution, there are rules and protocols to follow, if you want to take out a book you need an identification and a certifiable address, also you leave a deposit that is given back once you return the book, and if you are late you need to pay the fine. Really, whats so hard in that?!
"I'm not giving the book back!"
I can only let out my breath, that is not the customer speaking up.
"Sir! Please drop the book, that is not you talking, is the book, so please drop the book or better yet! Throw it out through the window to me, I will even pay the fine for you, what do you say?" Honestly, I am already offering a huge deal here, he can't be hoping for a better deal.
My income will surely receive a blow but I think is better to keep a good record of the book recovery rate, we are reaching a really good 90% this season, it would be great to finally be able to say we get almost every book. There are exceptions sure but...
"No! I will not relinquish this power!"
Oh for the love of! Really?! Another intent of a dark lord!? Why are we not checking if people are susceptible to being influenced by the books? We need more than an identification and an address... really, sure knowledge is for everyone but we should be more careful.
I guess there is no option then.
"Sir, last warning, the book or I will take my own measures, and I won't be paying for any damages! The library is not responsible for any damage or lost property while in the recovery of a book with ten days of being overdue!"
As I feel the horrors inside his house preparing to burst through the door I get my Gauntlet ready, as I feel it fit perfectly on my left, I know I'm ready. Really, Aldebrand was the best.
You see, those who work in the recovery of the books are given one of the best trinkets made by Aldebrand, the Gauntlet. A seemingly innocent tool couldn't be more in the wrong though, is full of runes on the inside that not only serve as protection but as a tool to nullify magic... in this case, to also cut the magic influence on the owner of the book.
As the shadows burst through the door, I raise my left hand, the gauntlet getting at work immediately, the horrors become unable to pass through the shield that is now enveloping me in a white light. I just love this thing. I see on the face of the man that he hasn't really eaten anything for a few days...probably haven't slept either.
"What?! How can you face the powers of the dark!?" He exclaims trying to keep a facade of power, but he will soon be meeting the floor.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, sir, now time to sleep"
As I stretch my left I take the book away from his grasp without much resistance. The Gauntlet got at work immediately, as it touches the book all the flow of magic in the house gets cut. The man collapses and I simply take him with my right arm before he reaches the floor.
Looking at the small place I see my objective. A couch. I toss the man in it, he needs all the rest he can have. I look at the book that seems to try to open itself but finds a heavy resistance in my Gauntlet.
"Now now, you already had your fun, time to go back home"
As the book keeps on trying to get free of my grasp I decide I had enough, I decided to simply lock it in my bag. When I open the bag a tentacle reaches for the book and takes it away, ending the resistance.
"There you go, if you didn't want to be uncomfortable you should have played nice. Enjoy the bag"
The bag moves for a while before keeping still. I decide I should do what I came to do, as I look around the man house I found what I wanted. His wallet.
"Okay, overdue for eleven days, that is three for a day, plus the fine for having a Library Keeper come for the property... and I will probably need to take a Taxi to reach the portal... tell you what man, I will pay for it this time. But I will be taking ten to pay lunch"
As I took the ten bill, and go out of the house after closing the door I can't really avoid thinking the same thing I thought at the beginning of the day.
"We should ask more than an identification and an address, it is the third intent of a dark lord this week"
Well, whatever, they pay me to get the books back. As I was relaxing for a moment my gauntlet made a sound I hated. I hear three voices speaking at the same time in a weird harmony.
"Reporting to Book Recovery Employee Leopold, report back Leopold"
I sigh before answering back.
"It's Leo... only Ma can call me Leopold... Whats up?"
I swear I could hear them chuckle at the receiving end.
"We got records that a book is overdue, today will be ten days, we thought you could check"
"You mean, I should check right?"
They chuckled.
"Good you understand, the missing book is, Divination Through Bones an Introduction to Necromancy"
Not again... | 2017-08-29T11:49:00 | 2017-08-29T11:24:03 | 59 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | "I'm as surprised as you are."
Death looked up at me with those beady little eyes, not so different from the stuffed animal she held in her arms. The cup of hemlock wavered in her grasp as she realized she was going back empty handed. Again.
I felt a little sad for her, but she'd really brought it on herself. I didn't even believe in a personification of death before she had come strolling up to me that day. Granting me eternal youth was the real mistake. I doubt I'd have made my third century without that slip-up.
"Why don't you stick around? I know you like games, and I've made a few since you last visited."
Her sneer of clenched fangs made it clear she wasn't interested. She must have caught hell from someone downstairs today. As I silently withdrew my offer, her sneer turned to a full on pout. Gods, Death can pout with the best of them. Epic frown, sniffles, and all. It would have been legendary, if anyone had lived to see it before me. Now I wasn't going to indulge her, but I hate to watch a little girl cry.
"Hey, I know its tough. You picked someone for your bet with Luck who had a history of depression, attempted suicide, and a very mortal family they'd be leaving behind. But as my therapist always said, 'You gotta remember to not make permanent solutions to temporary problems.' I'm sure I've told you the same thing before."
Death did not seem like she had, or cared to hear it from me or anyone else. Death liked things permanent. Final. Terminal. I persevered in my side of our conversation.
"Yes. 23552 was an awful year, but hey! Things got better. Look, I'm hanging out with old friends. I've got some new ones I'm meeting for a drink tonight. I'm about to buy that moon I've had my eye on. If the psycho-historians are right, I've got at least another hundred thousands years left until we've got a meaningful chance to repeat the dark stuff."
Death gave up. She dropped the cup of hemlock on the floor and crawled up into the chair. The robot came by quietly and cleaned it up, as I pushed her up to the table in front of the board.
"I call this one, 'The lady in the moon.'" | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T14:34:33 | 2,040 | 17 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Are you sure?"
"Yes I am. I got accepted into that new University in Delhi."
"You want to go to school again?"
"Yeah, its a new field... memeology is what they are calling it. Study of internet culture and changes within it." I replied back to the black mass in a pinstripe suit. This time he looks like an old funeral home director, a man who had seen so many dead bodies that he looks more like one than living.
"It's been 50,000 years. You've learned just about everything. All the degrees from at least every school accredited, enough certifications to fund an entire country in enough fields that you could build an island and have a better GDP than any other country." Death replied. It wasn't as cold this time he was here "Why don't you just die."
"You said I couldn't. Never in the past 50,000 years have I thought I could. I want to learn everything first."
"You want to learn what comes after death?" Death asked, smiling
"I'll learn that when I know everything there is to know in life." I replied, standing up from the cafe table, my drink gone, and the flower wilting. Touching it, it unwilts slightly "I'm learning more than you could imagine." | "I'm as surprised as you are."
Death looked up at me with those beady little eyes, not so different from the stuffed animal she held in her arms. The cup of hemlock wavered in her grasp as she realized she was going back empty handed. Again.
I felt a little sad for her, but she'd really brought it on herself. I didn't even believe in a personification of death before she had come strolling up to me that day. Granting me eternal youth was the real mistake. I doubt I'd have made my third century without that slip-up.
"Why don't you stick around? I know you like games, and I've made a few since you last visited."
Her sneer of clenched fangs made it clear she wasn't interested. She must have caught hell from someone downstairs today. As I silently withdrew my offer, her sneer turned to a full on pout. Gods, Death can pout with the best of them. Epic frown, sniffles, and all. It would have been legendary, if anyone had lived to see it before me. Now I wasn't going to indulge her, but I hate to watch a little girl cry.
"Hey, I know its tough. You picked someone for your bet with Luck who had a history of depression, attempted suicide, and a very mortal family they'd be leaving behind. But as my therapist always said, 'You gotta remember to not make permanent solutions to temporary problems.' I'm sure I've told you the same thing before."
Death did not seem like she had, or cared to hear it from me or anyone else. Death liked things permanent. Final. Terminal. I persevered in my side of our conversation.
"Yes. 23552 was an awful year, but hey! Things got better. Look, I'm hanging out with old friends. I've got some new ones I'm meeting for a drink tonight. I'm about to buy that moon I've had my eye on. If the psycho-historians are right, I've got at least another hundred thousands years left until we've got a meaningful chance to repeat the dark stuff."
Death gave up. She dropped the cup of hemlock on the floor and crawled up into the chair. The robot came by quietly and cleaned it up, as I pushed her up to the table in front of the board.
"I call this one, 'The lady in the moon.'" | 2017-11-29T08:24:55 | 2017-11-28T14:34:33 | 935 | 17 |
[WP] She looks entirely human from the outside, but scans show she's older than pangea and incredibly dense for her size. | SCP: REDACTED
OBJECT CLASS: EUCLID
SPECIAL CONTAINMENT PROCEDURE
SCP: REDACTED Is to be housed in a 5meter by 5 meter enclosure equipped with antimatter containment fields located on site REDACTED. The enclosure entrances is to be under manned guard 24/7 by no less than two approved special task force personnel, the guards are to be armed with high voltage foundation issued tasers to be used on anyone trying to enter the enclosure without level 4 approval from Doctor REDACTED. In the case of a containment breach by SCP: REDACTED guards are to make no attempt to stop or recapture SCP: REDACTED.
OBJECT DESCRIPTION: object is a humanoid figure of 152cm in height, object appearance is that of a human female with long earthy brown hair and blue eyes. Object's weight has yet to be determined due to the unique properties of SCP: REDACTED. Initial scans of object have shown that it is nearly infinitely dense and should theoretically be well beyond the schwartzchild radius of an object of this size, it is currently unknown what has prevented the object from going super critical and absolving into a singularity. Carbon dating on the object place it at nearly 99 billion years old. Object is capable of generating what is now understood as naked singularities with the proportional mass of a dime sized black hole to be referred as instances of SCP:REDACTED-1. Object will use instances of SCP:REDACTED-1 to kill or maim any personal attempting to divert it from its desired location. Upon interrogation with SCP:REDACTED object stated a desire to reach a destination refered to simply as the Center. Object refused to elaborate further. Current investigation is underway to determine the location of the Center. Object is to remain inside the containment field at all times, the antimatter generators seem to be the only way to cancel the effects of SCP:REDACTED-1. O-5 approval required for any level 4 staff wishing to either communicate with SCP:REDACTED or to study the effects of instances of SCP:REDACTED-1. | A monochrome X-ray scan lies flat on the fluorescent lighting table.
At first glance, it has the outlines, a figure of a human being.
But, the shape itself, it is only black, with no greyed out shapes.
So it struck me with anxiety, that this X-ray scan is my first job to assess as an intern for this hospital's radiography unit.
And I didn't neglect my studies, this ain't normal!
I obviously know how X-rays would work: they pass through materials, expending some of their energy depending on the material's density, and finally it strikes a photosensitive film.
The school's image stock of various human scans never failed to instill in my mind that a
*normal*
human body
**does not**
have anything so dense it even blocks X-rays.
So....
I'll just dismiss it as a mere prank,and I already have an inkling of an idea who would do this overly and overtly technical pranks.Its that simple to realize.After all . . . the name
**EARTH-CHAN**
won't be as convincing as a legitimate patient name.
*Man, I'm tired. I guess I'll grab a cup of coffee.*
I leave the scan to where it is,and head towards the door.As I open the door, a girl was standing directly ahead.
>Oh, hi, mister!
>>Uh...Hi there as well.
Man, she's quite cheery, for a girl dressed in white hospital gown.I, as an aspiring medical professional, should not forget to reciprocate such a smile.But there is a hesitation.
The hesitation comes from the look of the hairdo.It is blue with stripes of green, and it bears an uncanny resemblance of an *internet meme.*
>Mister, is my X-ray scan results here?
>>Which?
>It bears the name "Earth-chan" at the top.
>>...Are you...
>Yes, please call me "Earth-chan". So tell me, is my X-ray scan here?
>>...Yes, it is here but you are not all---
>**DIE**
*Eh? Did she say -*
*~crack~*
>Ugh...!
She punched me, in my solar plexus.I coughed blood.I fell into the ground and I writhed in pain.I wanted to scream, but for some reason I was gasping for air, as if my lungs constricted due to pain as well.
*This is crazy*
>Hmph. I never thought I would be exposed of as an *inhuman* being by X-ray. What a pain. I guess I'll kill you here
>>???!!
*Run!*
But my feet... it was numb, and my brain is occupied with making me feel so much pain, and thus it never followed my will.
*Why is it so dark.Wait, there is something on my face. Ah!*
Her foot was crushing my eyes.I couldn't see the look on her face.What gesture she would make while I am suffering this torture?
>Goodbye,mister!
Those words would soon be the last I will hear.
*WAIT!NOOO---*
| 2018-01-20T05:23:05 | 2018-01-20T05:18:47 | 26 | 14 |
[WP]The torch has been lit, and your team has already stolen it. It's the fist day of the Crime Olympics. | "Please! You don't have to do this!"
"We both know that is a lie." I sighed as I raised my bloodied fist again. The poor fool honestly didn't deserve what was coming but what's a guy to do? We all knew the stakes when we stepped into the stadium.
"Well it was nice knowing you Bill." I said flatly.
"FOR FUCKS SAKE IT'S NOT BILL! ITS BER-"
CRACK!
And just like that Bill was dead.
I let out an exasperated sigh and began to let my mind wander.
For as much as I hated having to do this every four years, nothing ever comes close to the feeling of your fist going straight through the skull of another man. But honestly, I could do without having to deal with all the cleaning after this. Whoever came up with the one rule for all participants to wear only white gi's throughout the entirety of fist day was either a grade A douchebag or a drycleaner.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN AFTER A GRUELLING 24 HOURS, WE HAVE OUR WINNER!" roared the announcer over the speakers.
The announcement snapped me out of my daydream and I began to look around at the 91 dead bodies strewn about the stadium floor. Talk about a productive fist day of the Crime Olympics.
| Stephen looked at me, beads of sweat forming on his brow as his fingers skated over the keyboard.
“Have you..” He raised one hand up to silence me while his second one continued to dance.
“…and done!” he swivelled around in his chair, shooting his fingers off in the air like a cowboy, blowing imaginary smoke from them.
“The torch is ours.”
“You’re a genius.” I said
It was the first day of the crime Olympics and we were running away with it.
The event had been organised by the governments of different countries to sharpen their cyber defences. Each nation selected a team of their most talented computer engineers to steal the torch – an encrypted digital key. The team who held it for the longest would win over a million Bitcoin of credit.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
To me, Stephen was a magician. However, outside of computer science he was clueless; he didn’t know how to make a cup of tea without making a disaster of it. Thinking for himself was a herculean challenge for the guy.
“Our IP address?” I asked.
“Untraceable.”
“Firewalls?”
He lifted the glasses up from his nose.
“Don’t patronise me.”
I shrugged my shoulders.
“We wait it out and then collect our prize money, then.”
“I’ll drink to that,” he said, lifting up a stone cold cup of Earl Grey I had made him an hour ago.
Unexpectedly, there was a knock at the door. “Pizza!” a voice shouted.
Stephen looked at me with a puzzled expression.
“You order food?”
“No… you?”
I opened the door, immediately raising both my hands as I looked down the nozzle of a gun, aimed at my face.
“Wha- oh shit!” Stephen raised his hands too as two men, wearing Guy Fawkes masks, barged into the room.
They shoved him out of his chair and started heaping all our computer hardware into capacious leather bags.
Soon, they were leaving as quickly as they had entered. As they strolled out, I felt outrage overcoming my fear and lowered my hands.
“You can’t do this!” I shouted as they them backed out of the room.
“Oh, can’t we?” one of them sneered in an English accent. “This is the crime Olympics, you know. Steal it back.” He left, laughing hysterically. | 2018-08-01T23:03:51 | 2018-08-01T22:19:51 | 120 | 19 |
[WP] Dwight Schrute tries to get the Pawnee Parks Department paper account and he has to sell to Ron Swanson | Dwight: "I have been working the Pawnee Parks Department for some time now. Well, I have been ignored by them for some time. But I think I have something up my sleeve that just might work on this Swanson fellow."
D: "Hello this is Dwight K. Schrute and I am calling with an exciting offer on meats^(and paper.)
R: "What was that about meats?"
D: "Yes for a limited time Dunder Mifflin is offering monthly shipments of exotic meats with any year long commitment to Dunder Mifflin Paper."
R: "Where do I sign?"
Dwight to the Camera: "I woke up this morning with two issues. One: The need to crack the Pawnee account. The second, I have far too much Goat Meat in my freezer. Mose was running out of room for his "Cool Down Naps". This is a good day." | "He's not here", April said without looking up from her phone.
"You are a terrible liar", Dwight spat, "He's right there, I see him, he sees me, I want to speak with him now."
"That's not Ron", April replied, now looking at Dwight, "That's his deaf, mute identical brother Rick keeping Ron's chair warm for him."
"More lies", Dwight pivoted, and walked to Ron's closed door without breaking eye contact with April. He began pounding on the door yelling, "Mr. Swanson I would like to meet with you"
The door swung open, Ron was standing with his arms crossed and he said, "Son, why are you attacking this fine oak door, my assistant should have told you I was extremely busy", Ron shot April an angry glance.
Dwight, now fully in sales mode stated bluntly, "Mr Swanson I believe this department is wasting taxpayer money on paper and I'm here to correct that."
Ron replied, "Son, I don't like people, especially salespeople and this entire building and all of its contents are a waste of taxpayer money, you're wasting your time. Good day" Ron started to close the door.
Dwight spotted his chance, he blocked the door with his shoe and said quickly, "Mr. Swanson, if you sign a five year paper contract with me, I will make 100% sure no one from Dunder Mifflin tries to call you, visit you or mail you for that five years. I will personally remove your name and details from our database, and mark your account as Sales contact only, so I can be the only one to contact you which, of course I won't."
Ron, through the narrow opening in the door glared at Dwight. Dwight met his eyes and squinted slightly. Ron finally said, firmly, "Deal, see yourself out and send the papers to my assistant."
Dwight didn't even say goodbye.
| 2018-09-12T09:52:54 | 2018-09-12T09:28:13 | 1,607 | 523 |
[WP] Legend says there are 77777 secret paths to immortality, but each path will only work once. In 2014, the first person accidentally achieved immortality by sticking a French fry into her nostril and pulling it out the other intact. Human behaviour has since become more... interesting. | Almost immediately, entire industries of behavior experimentation sprang up from nothing in an effort to find the remaining 77,776 paths to immortality. Because methods can’t be reproduced, this very quickly devolved away from authentic scientific experimentation. Ultra billionaires used their immense power and influence not for the intention of consolidating more power and more influence, but instead acquiring materials and methods that the standard layperson couldn’t hope to obtain. Can immortality be gotten by bathing in 500 gallons of heavy water? How about going into orbit and reentering the atmosphere while spinning in a suit made of zinc? If it was bizarre and expensive, it was worth a shot. The 1% of the world hired the most creative thinkers of our time: writers, artists, scientists, and gave to them all of the resources they needed towards making up the oddest behaviors imaginable hoping one of them granted immortality.
Years went by, and oddly enough, even though no new methods of immortality were discovered, all of the billionaires’ discovery operations were eventually shut down. As it turns out, in their lust for unending life, their immense fortunes had been completely spent. None of them had become immortal, but all of them, through their own free will, had given up their entire savings - trillions and trillions of dollars - and got nothing in return. However, the other 99% of the world -while not immoral, found much more prosperous lives. With the 1% redistributing their wealth, the rest of the world used that wealth to build the world in a way they saw fit.
It was most impactful and least bloody revolution of our time. | \[Writers note: I'm writing this as a continuation to the other stories in this thread, a few of which use the same names.\]
The death of the one, for the lives of the many.", I spoke as I paced the hallway, occasionally glancing into the cell.
"But what happens when you can't kill the one?", I pause to peer into the windowless room. Inside sits a girl, no more than 16, disheveled and crying, her knees drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them. "Amelia. I'm talking to you."
She looks up at me, and sniffles, but doesn't respond.
"It's your fault this is happening. Society has gone crazy trying to do dangerous stunts every day to recreate what you did with a french fry. They all want to be immortal." , I continued my pacing.
"Every day I get reports of at least another dozen people dying because they want to achieve it too. The amazing part is, some have actually succeeded. We're currently trying to track down a man who put salt in his coffee. What a stupid thing to trigger such a major change."
"I need to find a way to kill you Amelia. I need to prove to the public this isn't really immortality. I need to put a stop to this mass hysteria." I stop in front of her cell again, to look her over as I talk. "Let's recap what we've done to you. Maybe that will spark something."
I hold up my fingers as I tick them off. "You've been hit by a bus, you did that of your own accord. We've starved you of all food and water for the last three weeks. You've been hit with a flamethrower, a hand grenade, and I even tried some C-4. I can't even get a damn needle to puncture your skin for a blood draw."
I pause, idly wondering. "When did you have your last period?" She doesn't respond. I shrug. "Oh well, it'll happen or it won't. I hope it does, though. That would be a great source of blood."
I go back to my pacing. I need to find a way to reverse this. Wait....reverse....my eyes light up.
"Guards!! I need three of you. Two to hold her down, and one to go buy some french fries. Make sure you get it from the same mall she was at one month ago." I look into the cell, her eyes terrified at what other things I'm going to come up with.
"Don't worry, hun. I'm here to help." | 2019-07-23T11:05:38 | 2019-07-23T09:59:26 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] You are having a normal day at your job, when you suddenly smell smoke. Your coworkers jump to their feet and you see a massive bonfire blazing in a nearby office. “The beacon is lit!” one of your coworkers shouts. “Marketing calls for aid!”
Based on [this](https://www.reddit.com/r/lotrmemes/comments/f0u9eh/and_sales_will_answer/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf) post. | "The beacons are lit!" Joe's chair rocketed back, the bang from the impact with the back of his cubicle could be heard from my office. "Marketing calls for aide!" The room grew suddenly quiet as all eyes shifted to their monitors, and people looked at the security system. Angry red status messages began populating the screens. "All nodes down?" someone whispered as I left my office, the spell holding everyone still seemed to linger. *All nodes down.* I repeated mentally, drawing the inevitable conclusion in my head as I watched the rows upon rows of stunned employees. "WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!" I screamed, drawing all of their eyes instantly toward me. "WE'RE BEING HACKED, COMMENCE COUNTER-OPS LEVEL-1 NOW!" That broke the spell, instantly heads whipped back toward monitors and hands flew across keyboards. Here and their eyes went dim as people jacked directly into the matrix to direct system defenses from within.
*Whoever this is, it's a bold move to attack during broad daylight.* I said as I moved back into my office and reached for the desk phone and dialed physical security. *Thank goodness I insisted on separate physical lines for internal communications.* I mused before the other line picked up. "Physical security." a man's monotone voice droned. "We're currently under cyber attack, all systems compromised. Attack originates from marketing, recommend rapid response to marketing but consider all areas potential targets." I paused, reading my monitor which displayed a list of known compromised and contested systems. Whoever these people were, they were good. My spiders were taking things back, but it would take time for us to identify the target...time that would aide the attacker. The time it had taken them to gain access was minimal, ruling out anything but physical access. This meant they were on site. "I'll update you as I get more." I said awkwardly in closing, I had forgotten to hang up. There were still areas we needed to take, and it was time I earned my pay. I reach out and grabbed the wire from my desk and attached it to the cyberdeck at the base of my skull. The walls of my office and the cubicle farms beyond its windows shimmered before my eyes before vanishing in a mirage-like haze to reveal a massive room with stone walls and high vaulted ceilings lined with flowing blue tapestries that were adorned with our corp logo. Doors to the room were guarded by knights in heavy plate mail, with others standing on either side of my throne.
As soon as my vision stabilized I pushed myself out of my throne and began moving toward the keep's stairs at a brisk walk. "John, Status update." I commanded as the four guards around my throne fell in line behind me. "We've recovered physical security and accounting, marketing is under lockdown and siege but Commander Merrick reports a battering ram is pounding away at the keep's doors." John was an agent. A tool created to help me with my job, which in this case was coordinate the defense of the corp server. Merrick on the other hand was one of the section leads in the cubicle farm my office looked into. If he reported a battering ram then that meant that marketing's main firewall had been breached and they were working on the backup. "What took out the keep wall?" I asked as we ascended. "Trolls." John responded. Trolls were another name for a Distributed Denial of Service attack (DDoS), basically secretly take control of a bunch of computers and have them spam a target with a request for data or just pass them extra data. They spread quickly and hit hard, often taking servers down. Likely, the hacker had managed to convert a lot of our internal systems into the botnet because marketing's firewall wasn't configured to respond to anything from outside the company. "Physical security has encountered armed resistance within marketing, looks like a group of Runners." John paused as we ascended the final set of steps to the rooftop. "Report from Commander Merrick: he is unable to match the Runner's forces in strength and is requesting reinforcement." I felt the wind try to overpower me and push me off the side of the castle as I left the top of the stairs. "Tell him to leave the courtyard to me and focus on reclaiming internal defenses to aide physical security." I said as I fell forward on my hands and knees. My body lengthened, my skin became hard and dark, claws grew from between my fingers and toes, my teeth grew into sharp fangs, and two large leathery wings uncurled from my back. Wings unfurled from between plates in the backs of the armored men as they fell into formation with me. My mind raced over the system functions, the wind shifted directions - blowing toward marketing's keep, and my voice boomed out across the server. "Now I am become death. The destroyer of worlds." I said as I launched from the roof of cyber security's keep, my belly warm with bale-fire and hunger.
In a normally unused cubicle somewhere in marketing department a quiet expletive was muttered. "Guys, we should get out soon. System Admin is home." | We gather round the pyre, traveling with haste. The beacon has been lit and we at Human Resources answers its call.
“Brothers! Sisters! Hear me now! The time has come. The hour of reckoning is upon us!” There’s a speech already underway. It’s a somber thing. Senior Partner McNamara from the accounting department speaks to a crowd that has gathered before him. His hands are raised, his sleeves rolled up, cufflinks discarded.
“Lo is the hour of our darkest days.” A murmur runs through the gathering crowd. There’s a tension in the air. It’s a palpable thing. “Once again the time draws near, our greatest battle will soon commence.”
He pauses, letting all eyes in the room flow to him. Such a thespian, I muse. This man commands the room’s attention with his every breath, his every pause.
“War has come knocking on our door. The time for tax returns is upon us!”
Many in the crowd gasp in fear. Who can blame them? These are indeed the darkest of times.
“Day by day, it comes at dawn! Tax forms written as if they were prepped by a child! Scribbled words, nonsensical numbers, scratched out mistakes... *whiteout stains*, the many heads of the hydra bare their ugly fangs at us!” People in the crowd groan, but McNamara side steps it and adds. “The enemy threatens to overrun with their countless mistakes and innumerable screw ups. They snap at our neck like some rabid dog. But that is just the beginning! The late filers will inevitably come bringing about hordes of reinforcements! However, their attack will be far worse. Their mistakes will be many, their hand-writing nigh illegible!” His tone is grim, giving weight to the dire situation.
A chorus of nervous cries picks up in the crowd. I can see it, fear has come to sap the strength of men. The accounting firm balks at the task at hand. Even their mightiest CPA’s look forlorn now. For this year is different. There’s something foul in the air and it all but promises to bring about a season of darkness.
But we at Human Resources stand firm. We say nothing, do nothing. *For now*. We know our role and know it well. Though we are not of the front line, risking life and limb, we do play an integral part. We are the pillar of support that help lift up the bodies of the fallen. When our brethren falter, we stand by their side.
But now is not our time to act. We are forced to wait- *patiently*.
McNamara continues. “Now, you all know what is at hand. What *sacrifices* are being asked of you. This battlefield will be a bloody one. It will push you to your limit. Threaten to break your spirit! It will demand of you- *everything*, but give back *nothing*.”
His flock flinch at the words. He’s holding nothing back. Good. His warriors deserve to know the truth.
Before he says anything more, the senior fellow glances around the room. He lets the dramatic pause build up as he scans the eyes of his subordinates. Many are scared. But not he. McNamara gives a wolffish grin.
“*But what of it, I say*!?” McNamara howls like a man possessed. “We have been here before! We have met the enemy in combat countless of times. And who has emerged the victor? Us! Every time they come for our heads, we show them our might and drive them back!”
The pinkish man, normally mild mannered is now practically transformed. He’s got a spring in his step, an arch to his spine that makes him stand ever-tall. He’s brimming with energy.
“Are we made weary? Of course. Are our minds and bodies thrashed? Yes. But do we ever admit defeat? *Never*!”His words build up to a thunderous crescendo. His men, scared only moments ago, now look on with a budding sense of excitement.
A woman, dressed in a grey blazer, her hair tied tin a bun, her eyes obscured by mascara, let’s loose a bloodcurdling cry. She’s an eager one. Carol Winters, though only a fledgling CPA, she is already making waves here. While I’ve just recently met her and know little, I know of her repute and it speaks for itself. The woman is a lion.
Her battle cry entices those around her. There’s bloodlust brewing in the air.
“Yes, Carol! Yes!” McNamara says. He’s feeding off her volatile energy. The senior partner bristles. He’s got a good flock this year. True warriors who eagerly await the battle field. “That’s the spirit! Do you hear that, my brethren? Her soul hungers! The question is, does yours too?”
The other accountants howl. He’s roused the rest of his den. The beasts of the accounting department stir. Even we at HR are moved by the man’s rallying cry. My hand itches for a pen and paper.
The senior partner holds up a fist. He’s trying to stem the tides of chaos before the dam breaks. Good luck, I think. The room is chalk-full of anticipation. He’s dangled a slab of meat in front of a pack of starving animals. Everyone wants a bite of it.
“I can’t hear you!” McNamara shouts. “I asked- **ARE YOU HUNGRY FOR BATTLE**!?”
The furor in the room is explosive. Colin Harding, a comrade of mine in HR can no longer hold back. He’s shouting at the top of his lungs, beating on his chest like an ape while I smile with pride.
That old bastard has done it. Everyone’s spoiling for a fight.
“Good!” McNamara cries. “Then I say to you this: prepare your finest pens, ready your writing hand, brace yourselves for weeks on end of greasy take out food, and say your goodbyes to your loved ones. For until the day is won and all claims have been processed- *We. Will. Not. Rest*!” | 2020-02-08T22:33:17 | 2020-02-08T22:04:28 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | "How... how long do I have to live, give it to me straight." She clutched her child towards her chest, her hands drifting slowly through his blue hair, unable to comprehend how something so beautiful could be such a curse. Part of her felt like she should hate this child, want to toss him out the nearest window, but she couldn't help but love the child, maternal instincts aside, she had wanted this child for so long, even if he was cursed, he was still hers.
The doctor sighed, hating this part of his job. He pulled out a small booklet, flicking through the pages before stopping right in the middle of the book, holding it out towards her. "Would you say your son is more an aqua blue or a light warm water?" He asked, looking over the colour scaling booklet as if he was picking out a new coat of paint for his home.
"Isn't there a better test, this seems a little.... behind the times." She said, despite that she was considering the two colours, finally determining that he was more of an aqua blue.
"Miss, this is our most respected test, our two Harvard graduates designed this after being locked in a basement for six weeks with only anime and Cheetos If anyone knows protagonists, it's them.
"Sorry, I didn't know the research was so thorough, I can't imagine the horrors those poor searchers went through to design this. I would say he is more of an aqua blue, is that a good thing?" She said hoping that perhaps this was a good sign, perhaps she might get a few years with her child.
"Oh.... madam, I'm so sorry..." The doctor brushed his sleeve against his forehead, not knowing how to tell her the news. "You have a good day or two at the most. I.. I wish I could tell you something different but blue isn't a good colour, it just stands out too much, it is a guaranteed two-season show at best. "I recommend you use these last moments of yours to say something heartwrenching to your child, the sort of thing that will come back to them right before their big fight, the thing that will give them a power boost when they are about to be defeated. I will leave you both alone, last words should be sacred." The doctor tucked his hand into the pockets of his coat, heading towards the door, giving them a final moment together.
"Well... I guess this is it, I know you won't remember this, but... I will always love you, I just wish your father was here to see you, he would have been so proud of you. I love you, Me and your father will always be watching you from up above." She had to wipe her eyes as the child reached up for her hand, trying to pull her hand away from her face. Their eyes meeting, at the very least, she got to spend that last moment with him. "I really do wish your father got to see you, he would have been proud."
"Oh, don't worry, he will get to see his father as well, in a flashback." The doctor said, still in the doorway, slipping a gun out from under his pocket, pointing it towards the new mother. "You both will be in that flashback." Before she could even scream, a bullet shot through the room, followed by the screams of a crying child, the doctor tucked away his gun as he slipped out of the room, retreating towards the exit.
"One protagonist down, the old doctor routine always gets them. Heh... good luck killing me you bastard without a mother... wait a second." The doctor stood outside, thinking over his previous events before slapping his forehead. "I shot the wrong one.... now that kids definitely going to grow up and kill me.... Ugh, guess it's up to plan B, recruit some orphan to my evil side, one that can fight him before the showdown with me. Well, time to go orphan shopping! Let's hope I can get a really tragic one."
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.} | "Shit," the doctor said as the first cries started.
This wasn't my first rodeo. I'd been in there before. Previous wives, previous lives. That type of thing. I knew "shit" could only mean two things: literal shit, or figurative shit. It was the figurative shit that scared the shit out of me.
I peeked down at my wife as she marveled at the newborn baby. No shit. Shit.
"Is everything alright, Doc?"
He gave me a sad look, then glanced towards my wife. She was enraptured by the baby's eyes, not paying the slightest attention to the world around her.
"The baby is fine," the doctor said.
"Well, you said shit. That's why I ask."
He gave a solemn nod. "I did. But somebody in this room is in grave danger. Somebody close to the baby. That's why I said shit."
As casual as that. Matter-of-fact as if it were a matter of fact. The blood drained from my face. My hands trembled. I couldn't imagine a life without my wife, but one without my new son would be just as terrible.
"You can't save them both? But they're fine. He's born, she's happy." It was that recurring nightmare back again, the gaping hole that'd never close if I lost either one. And now, a choice. The inevitable, unenviable choice of who to save.
"They're fine," he said. Then he pointed at me with a stubby, gloved finger. "You're my worry."
I stepped towards my son, my heart pounding. Ten little fingers and toes--on two hands and two feet, respectively--two beautiful eyes, a mop of blue hair. This could be the last time the three of us were together, safe and sound. Of course childbirth was dangerous--for the mother and the newborn. I didn't expect to be the one in danger. The doctor continued to speak, his words floating past me like ashes in the wind.
"He's perfect," my wife said. Perfect? More like a perfect blend of an alien and a grumpy old-man. Oh, and hair blue as a smurf. Perfect, right? And I was terrified.
"He has blue hair," I said, not directly disagreeing with my wife but certainly not agreeing with her either.
"That's my concern," the doctor said. "It doesn't bode well."
I shook my head. That made no sense. It was blue hair, not a demon-child or a dozen other worse outcomes. "Did she sleep with Papa Smurf or something? Why the hell does the kid have blue hair?"
My wife glared at me. "I did not sleep with a smurf," she hissed. "He's just unique. He's special."
The doctor winced. "Well, special is one way to say it. He has a syndrome--"
My wife blanched. "Like d--"
"No, no," the doctor said, trying to assuage her worries.
I took a stab at the syndrome before he had a chance to clarify. "Like Stockholm Syndrome? I didn't get that with my parents for a couple years." Jokes. My crutch when I was nervous. I chuckled uncomfortably, but he just shook his head and scowled at me.
"Not Stockholm Syndrome. This syndrome manifests itself in these kids thinking they're the center of the world. That there's nothing that can hurt them. That they are crafted by a lovely balance of naivety and loss, of innocence and a spiritual journey more important than the world itself. The loss part, that's what you have to worry about. If this kid was going to lose a mom, she'd be gone already. *You're* the one who is in danger."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I liked my Papa Smurf theory better. Somehow, it made more sense. "What the hell is this syndrome?"
"It's called Protagonism," the doctor said. "Named after protagonists. I'm sure you've read the same books they someday will. Nothing shapes a good protagonist like the death of a parent. Since she made it through the hard part, you're the one we have to worry about."
My wife looked at our son, didn't look back up at me. Was it fascination? Acceptance? Motherly love that'd chosen him already?
The doctor walked me towards the door while the orderlies took care of my wife. "We have a clinic here that might be able to help you survive. The odds are slim but without it, the odds are none."
"A clinic? You mean I'd be stuck here?"
"Beats dying, right?" His eyes were stern, his brow furrowed.
"I want to be with my family."
"Then your timeline is days. Maybe a week. I strongly encourage you stay." He put a hand on my shoulder, stuffed a pamphlet into my empty hands. "Think about it. They'll be fine, especially the kid. You need to worry about yourself now."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-04-28T05:00:15 | 2020-04-28T04:36:29 | 577 | 231 |
[WP] In a world without race, religion, or nations, it seemed like society had finally achieved peace. That is, until, people began swearing their allegiance to fictional anime girls. The world is in chaos, the Waifu Wars have begun.
[deleted] | Earth-Two was everything the likes of Gandhi and Mandela desired for our own version of Earth. Discrimination by skin color and cultural difference never materialized, as the first settlers of Mesopotamia embarked upon a path of global conquest that saw the unification of all of Earth-Two’s peoples under the banner of the Hegemony. Religious prophets like Jesus Christ and Muhammad were peacefully coopted into the One True Creed as dictated by the Bishops of the Hegemon. The concept of the nation was but a pipe dream, as all were equally provided for under the generosity of the Hegemon.
Peace was the norm for this alternate Earth and would have continued to be so, were it not for the emergence of several animated figures from the Japanese islands. These two-dimensional constructions, ‘waifus’, had the unfortunate repercussion of introducing disparity into a world that had long forgotten it. For the first time in millennia, the citizens of the Hegemony had the unbridled power of choice, to choose which of these figures they would worship or demonize. Within a matter of years, the Hegemony had splintered into five bitterly opposed factions.
In North America, the Riders of Astolfo gained prominence, their numbers largely comprised of men with more malleable sexualities and a yearning desire to adopt the dress of their waifu. Armed with shining lances and donning pink wigs, these Riders became feared throughout Earth-Two for their unified lance rushes that could even challenge an Upper Moon of the Creed of Nezuko.
Further down in South America, the Creed of Nezuko stood as the bitter archnemesis of the Riders to the north. What they lacked in the blood manipulation of the mythical figure known as Kibutsuji Muzan, they made up for through invasive bodily experimentation that drastically augmented the physical capacities of their soldiers at the cost of their sanity. These genetically enhanced Demons maintained a perpetual stalemate with the northern Riders, biding time for their finest men, the Upper Moons, to gather even more strength to tip the scales in their favor.
Across the Atlantic, Europe and most of Asia fell under the influence of the Church of Sakurajima Mai. Enamored by her sharp tongue and alluring outfits, these crusaders proudly donned the emblem of the bunny upon their armor as they sought to expand outwards towards the regions formerly known as Africa and Australia.
To the south of the Church's territory lay the Axis Order, devout followers of the water goddess known simply as Aqua. Their borders surrounded by water, the fanatics residing within Africa and Australia had made it their holy assignment to safeguard the purity of their goddess’ waters from any unwanted foreign invaders like the bunny crusaders to their north.
This brings us to the Speedwagon Foundation and the Japanese Islands, where one may be inclined to believe that the Axis Order would have asserted its dominance. However, as the progenitor of all five of these factions, the islands became host to a bitter civil war. These five groups ruthlessly slaughtered one another to claim the vacant title of the One True Creed, to determine once and for all which of the waifus held dominion over the rest. It was ultimately the Speedwagon Foundation that emerged victorious, slyly playing each faction against one another until no opposition remained. Little is known as to the current plans of the Cult, but the other four factions maintain a wary eye on their Japanese neighbors to ensure their schemes do not come to fruition.
r/williamk9949 | It is four in the morning and Swathi Rashawarr is singing.
She stands on the balcony of her Mumbai flat, watching a troupe of bonnet macaques jump from rooftop to rooftop. The monkeys are nervous. They can feel the air tingle with excitement. They can hear the hum of the bombers. The bombers are black dots on a grey dawn, crawling across the clouds like ants, and the air stirs and thickens while Swathi sings a thick lullaby.
She remembers it from her grandfather. He used to sing the war-songs back when the greatest threat was from pollution and poisoned water. *Keep the bottles close,* he used to say, counting and re-counting the cartons of blue plastic above the refrigerator.
The melody dances on the tip of her tongue like the monkeys dance on the rooftops. The bombers are close. She should be hiding in the waterlogged basement of the apartment, but she wants to see the sunrise over the city, one last time.
The bombers are alive. They swarm like locusts over the clouds. This is the new plague. She watches the first light of the sun glisten on black metal. The bombers whirr and the sky is filled with them. They swarm and dive, and in the cockpits, eager hands thumb dangerous buttons. They count to ten.
*One, two…*
Light drips golden on the windows, on Swathi’s threadbare shawl, on the painted railing of her balcony. It catches the blue bottles above the kitchen and reflects like a prism with rainbow color on the walls. The light catches the clouds in an array of blue and purple and orange.
Sirens go up, and though the locusts have no god, they all go out in ranks.
She forgets the second verse of her grandpa’s melody. In her hands is a photograph. Tattered. Waterlogged. Her lover’s smile has a pinhole and she raises it to the light to see his smile glow golden. She runs her fingertips along the railing and lets the paint chip with her touch. She takes a breath of the air, cool in the morning, and squints. But the melody is gone.
The last verse arrives but she doesn’t know the words. The chorus is a single note. She holds it, cherishes it, holds it close to her chest like the photograph. The monkeys squawk and dance and jump and flee. She should flee with them.
*Five, six..*
Her breakfast sits on the counter and collects flies. She made it fresh, hoping to savor one more meal, not knowing the minute, the hour, the second the bombers would appear on the horizon. She cherished the routine. The others have left, fled the city, or hidden beneath its bowels, but not Swathi. She wouldn't let fear destroy her.
But it begins to take hold.
She gips the balcony and wavers. Her resolve wavers. She takes a moment to survey the skyline and wonders if there is still time to run down the escape ladder, to the bunker, to the basement, to somewhere safe, somewhere else
*Nine, ten…*
Eager thumbs slam latches and the hungry bellies of the bombers flay open.
The sky is alive. It drips with glossed metal as the bombs march out in rows. They descend like silver rain, like swarms of ants, like the heavens themselves have passed judgment and angels descend for the final battle, and these metaphors are still insufficient to describe the horrid beauty of the bombs in flight.
They fall and Swathi watches from the balcony of her apartment, wondering if her husband will come back from war, wondering if he will have a home to return to, wondering if the bombs will reach her and if it will be painful.
*There are better worlds than this,* she thinks.
She hears the monkeys screaming.
Lights appear brighter than the sun. Thunder. The ground shakes. The air shakes and suddenly the light is brilliant purple and orange and golden. The air splits and the sound splits glass, crushes steel, bursts middle eardrums. It is unknowably painful.
The explosions fumble with buildings, not knowing whether to level or shatter or burn; and some burn, and some collapse, and some stand firm.
Swathi Rashawarr sings softly, fumbling a photograph, as the great cloud of shockwave orange-and-black paints the sunrise as it rushes towards her.
*It is beautiful,* she thinks. *It is beautiful.*
​
***
More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH | 2020-06-19T20:04:35 | 2020-06-19T19:57:44 | 1,175 | 45 |
[WP] Every year several hundred thousand people go missing worldwide, the crazies said it was aliens. When you were abducted, you found out they were right. Turns out humans make astonishingly good pets. Not because we're smart or strong or fast but because... we're adorable. | It reminded me of my leopard gecko.
Mine was bred in captivity, of course. He was a cute little thing, the length of my hand, yellow and black spotted, with the sweetest little smile. Leopard geckos are like that - they look like they're smiling. That was what caught my attention as a kid. I spent weeks pleading and harassing my father, putting together presentations on leopard gecko care, taking on extra chores and leaving articles on different morphs open on his browser tabs, until a glossy, glass tank appeared in my bedroom one day. I named him Joanna. He was a boy lizard, but I could not be dissuaded.
Leopard geckos are so common in the pet trade now that there's no point in getting them from the wild, but that was how it started. Men - I always envision them to be men, rough handed and dressed in khaki - drove out to the grasslands of Pakistan and caught wild leopard geckos by the hundreds, by the thousands. They tossed them into crates, tossed the crates into trucks, and hauled the lizards across the world to be sold to snub-nosed children for twenty bucks a piece.
It was a little like that.
She kept me well enough. I'm assuming my captor's gender, as there's no real way to know, but she seems feminine to me. Something about the way she tilts her head and trills when she's pleased with me, or the soft edges inside her vast, violet, compound eyes. I judged her to be compassionate, in her way. She made efforts to keep me comfortably, even trying to recreate my home environment. It was a poor man's shadow of the real thing, but at least I recognized the effort.
Speaking was pointless, aside from the fact that she seemed to like it when I did. I figured it was not dissimilar to when Joanna would croak at me. He was so small, so beneath consideration, that I assumed his stupid little squeaks existed to delight and surprise me. His instincts counted for so little. It was the same with her. I spoke frequently at first; she veered from obvious pleasure to stern commands for silence, based on how worked up she judged me to be. I couldn't understand the weird, shimmering notes that made up her speech, no matter how long I watched them sizzle brightly on the air, but I eventually learned tone, intention. It turns out telling the family dog to shut up sounds basically the same universally.
I don't speak so much anymore. There's no point. I am beneath consideration. I am fed. My needs are met. What's to be done? She is gargantuan. She is the monolith. The greatest victory I could hope to earn with open rebellion would be a moment of casual discipline, barely a ripple of disruption to her day.
Or she could decide I wasn't the right fit. "Rehome me," the way I would have rehomed a troublesome cat, once. I know my situation is not unique. I know there are others. Would another one be better or worse?
The devil you know, or the devil you don't?
I sleep most of the time, now. I'm not proud of it. It looks like I've given up, and I guess I have. All I have is days, nights, minutes, seconds ticking by, alone in my head, with no reprieve. No company. No distractions. She can't even figure out that I would like a book, a single book to read. And I have no way to tell her.
So I sleep.
But things have been changing, lately. At least, I think they have. It's so hard to tell, with my brain wrapped in thick layers of gauze. I haven't been able to think straight in weeks. Months? But I think, maybe, things have been changing. We go out more now. I see more of her world - the shifting, unsteady sky, the walkways that glow a pearly silver and bend slightly with your weight, the thick, sweet air that holds their words so well. She seems proud of me. We stop frequently, and I suspect she is showing me off. I can't find the energy to resent her for it. It seems so pointless, like spitting into a hurricane. What good would it do?
I can never get a feeling for how the place is laid out. Are we in a city? It feels that way to me, but I just can't tell. The walkways wrap and loop and sometimes double back on themselves. There's not a straight line anywhere. I never know where we're going. It would be easier, I think, to let go and stop trying to understand, but I just can't. That would be the final surrender, and then what would be left?
So it took me by surprise when I saw a bush. Just a normal bush. Squat and green, unusually spherical, like it was pruned by someone with only the vaguest idea of what a bush was actually supposed to look like, but it was, undeniably, a bush. And next to it, another. And further back, was that a tree?
I looked up at her, searched her flickering eyes for meaning, and she trilled happily at me. She unhooked the humming, white cuff that somehow kept me within five or six feet of her and gestured. The realization hit me: she's taken me to a park. An off-leash park.
And up ahead, down a clumsily recreated dirt path, was another person. Flesh and blood and bone, two eyes, upright, and waving at me. Another person.
They were making dog parks for us now.
I took one tentative step, then another. She made an encouraging sort of noise, and I broke into a trot, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Other people. A chance to talk. A chance to plan.
This changes everything. | *CLICK*
A bright light, like hospital fluorescence, penetrated the blind comfort of his eyelids. The lights in his home were soft.
He rolled over in his half waking and felt the soreness of his shoulders; the aches in his spine. He couldn't recall why he was in pain, or where he was, or why he was here. He couldn't recall who he was.
He opened his eyes to find he was in a square room about the size of large bedroom. The walls were white and reached up at least 20 feet to the ceiling, and it was empty except for the large pillow of a bed he was laying on. He sat up and music started playing.
It seemed there were speakers in the walls, and they were playing rock’n’roll from the ‘50s. He didn’t protest at this, it seemed pleasurable enough. He hoped the walls would play Ray Charles next.
He stood up from the bed and walked around the room, searching for anything and everything. There was no door, no windows, no escape. He still could not recall how he got here, or anything at all for that matter.
Just then the music stopped, and a voice cut through the air. He thought it sounded familiar, like the puppet shows he’d watched as a kid. Strange.
“Hiiiii Doopy! Aw, Doopy you’re so cute! And so smart!,” the muppet voice proclaimed from the talking walls. Was he Doopy? “Okay Doopy, be a good boy now!”
Just then the section of wall in front of him slid into itself like a Star Wars door designed by Elon Musk, and in walked a twelve foot tall, furry mass of a creature. Bright blue fur like cotton candy, pointy ears standing half a foot above its head, razor sharp claws the size of kitchen knives protruding from its swinging front paws. Bipedal, it lurched as it walked with strides longer than a human is tall.
“Doopy!” it exclaimed, a much too wide, toothy grin erupting on its face, “Aw, Doopy you little scamp!”
Accepting this must be his name, Doopy tried to escape behind him away from the beast but tripped over the only thing in the room. He fell backwards onto the bed, which luckily broke his fall, and he scurried on hands and knees towards the far wall.
The cotton candy colored muppet voiced behemoth took only two long strides to reach him, scooped him up in two surprisingly soft furry paws, and threw him over his shoulder.
“Doopy you silly scamp, don’t run away from me! My sister won’t be right this time… you will love me!”
Doopy didn’t want to be involved in this poorly dialogued drama the beast was enacting, nor did he care what the creature’s sister thought. Unfortunately he didn’t have the quick wits or physical ability to get out of the situation, so he just lay there with the face in a mass of blue fur.
The beast walked back towards the door he entered through, and he began to scratch behind Doopy’s ear as he did so. Doopy hesitantly accepted, acknowledging to himself that it did feel quite nice.
They walked into a hallway of dark silver and brushed steel, yellow lights adorned the top corners every few feet, green and red lights at shoulder height blinking in a rhythmic dance. Doopy thought this looked suspiciously like a space shuttle hallway from a science fiction movie he’d seen, but remembering he’d lost his memory he decided that must be impossible.
The beast carried him for a few minutes down a couple identical hallways, turning left, right, right, left, and finally into a much larger room. Doopy stared around in wonder as they entered into what would be a public court yard, the size of several football fields, sky reaching up hundreds of feet into nothingness.
There were massive trees of multiple colors adorning the paved walkway they were on, with what looked like bright green and yellow fruits growing on the branches. The fruits were the size of beach balls, and if Doopy remembered what a beach ball was he probably would have thought the same.
The courtyard was full of other cotton candy creatures, some pink, some blue, others were a beautiful mix of both. Doopy’s carrier was clearly not of formidable size as there were several walking past at least two feet above its head. This terrified Doopy.
As the other muppet like fur beasts passed by Doopy and his handler, many of them stopped to point at him and squirm. With ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ it occurred to Doopy that he might be a desirable person. Some of the beasts even asked if they could pet his head or scratch behind his years, which Doopy shamefully admitted to himself he would very much enjoy.
One very bright pink creature sidled up to Doopy and started to scratch under his chin. It looked up at Doopys owner and made a face, and Doopy thought he saw it bat its eyes. Doopy’s owner straighted its back and Doopy felt its muscles flex. They were flirting, and Doopy saw his chance.
“Ooooh when did you get a human?! It’s so adorable!” the pink creature said to the blue, batting its eyes again.
“Well just yesterday of course!” the blue responded, this time making his voice a bit deeper than it was before. “My parents and I took a trip to Earth last week and they let me get one as a graduation present.”
The pink beast moved a little closer as she scratched behind Doopy’s ears.
“He’s sooo cute!” She exclaimed, giggling. Doopy raised his arms up off of blues shoulders and started waving them in a very toddler-esque way.
Pink looked at Blue inquisitively as she asked, “Can I… can I hold him?”
Blue looked nervous but not wanting to screw up with a potential mate he accepted.
Blue picked Doopy up off his shoulder and started to hand him to Pink. This was his shot, Doopy knew. Just as Pink grabbed hold under his arms, Doopy let out a terrific sneeze right into the face of Pink. Her hold on him faltered and he slipped right through he paws, sliding down her furry body all the way to the floor.
As he hit the pavement he bolted into the thickening trees on the outskirts of the main courtyard. He ran as fast as he could, not turning around to look at his pursuers, and entered the shade of the trees as he heard shouting muppet voices behind him.
He continued head on as the light disappeared more and more until he was deep into a forest of nearly glowing rainbow trees, and just as he stopped to catch his breath, the ground under him opened up and he fell head over tea kettle into a hole. The ground closed up behind him and he landed on a large pile of clothes, cushioning his landing.
He heard footsteps, human footsteps, approaching from the other side of the room.
“Welcome… General.” | 2020-09-09T09:24:08 | 2020-09-09T09:12:58 | 379 | 44 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to you, the butterfly whose life you just saved is an ancient master of the butterfly effect. As she flutters away, she makes a strategically placed flap to repay your kindness
Saw this on instagram, wanted to see what you guys would make of it! | It all happened so fast.
First there was a deafening scream, and then I noticed thin and shiny lines. It was a web, and I was already too close to it.
I bumped into a soft wall and darkness was everywhere. Suddenly I was outside, and heard the source of the scream again, a small girl jumping around happily.
"Bye-bye Mr. Butterfly, have a save travel", says the tall man with quick reflexes that saved me.
As I fluttered away I decided to change my course and head to the northern region, you know how they say that flutter of a butterfly can create a tornado? Well, I'm an expert on doing that, and I don't like to leave my debts unpaid.
---
"Put on your coat Maria!"
"I don't wanna, it's too hot!"
"It'll be very cold today, at least keep it inside your bag, please, do it for me?"
Disgruntled Maria let her father put a fluffy coat inside her bag. Nevertheless, he kissed her forehead and reminded her that she was almost late for school.
"Love you!"
"... Love you too", Maria said it in a mumble, but it was enough.
In her path to school she crossed paths with a classmate, Adam, they never talked much, but there's nothing wrong with exchanging a good morning.
The cold winds from the north made themselves noticeable by now, Adam was shivering, holding his frail body trying to keep warm with only a t-shirt.
Maria took the coat from her bag and handed it over to him.
"You seem cold, use my coat!"
Surprised, Adam answered "No, it's okay, I'm fine"
"Oh, c'mon you seem to be freezing there, just wear it, I'm okay"
"Are you sure you won't need it?"
"Of course not!", Maria said while flexing her arm "I'm super strong!", And threw the coat to him.
Sheeply Adam took the coat and wore it, feeling cozy inside and outside.
"Thank you..."
"You are welcome!"
--
"38° you have a fever, go to sleep again honey, no school for you today"
She just weakly nodded and dozed off.
Maria wasn't stronger than the northern winds after all.
As her father cooked her porridge, he thanked for this blessing in disguise. Being a single father wasn't easy, he only saw her daughter in the morning and late at night, at least in his rare day off he would be able to spend the day pampering her daughter, and, for once, feeling like a real father. Maria and her dad spend the day watching cartoons and playing.
When the afternoon came, the door rang. Opening the door a boy stood outside with a basket.
"Hello Maria's dad, my name is Adam, and I heard Maria was sick, and my mom send this", he handing the basket to the man in front of him.
"Nice to meet you Adam, come inside and say hello to Maria, she'll be happy to see you!"
As her father welcomed Adam and pointed him to Maria's room he had to hide his tears, it was the first time one of Maria's friends visited their home.
Edit: discovered that in mobile you have to press enter twice to make a paragraph, hope it's more readable now | I shake my hand, flinging dirt and grime all over the pavement. The cut on my hand is beginning to ache, and the crimson mixes with the filth in an almost beautiful way. I glance down and see the shard of glass jutting from the puddle I'd just dipped my hand into. It was well worth the sacrifice. I grab my water bottle out of my small pack and rinse my hand off, wincing a little. Here's to hoping it doesn't get infected. I had to do it though. I couldn't help it. The creature that had been stuck in those murky waters was the most gorgeous being I had ever beheld. It was a butterfly, but not a type I'd ever seen before. The way its wings shimmered in the light was like pure glittering gold. As I'd walked closer, I saw the poor creature in its full glory. The wings looked like gold on the outside, but the inside...I was instantly breathless. The hues of blues and purples faded to a darkened black. It sounds simple. What's so cool about a blue, purple and black butterfly? The blue was a literal sea. I could see every wave gently rippling, the purples fading into a luminous dark sky with twinkling stars. The wings of this butterfly were....alive. They were not wings, but an endless galaxy, swirling with life. It was when I realized I could see jellyfish in the waters of this endless sea that I knew this thing NEEDED to live. I wiped a few tears away I wasn't aware I'd shed, and reached forth my hand. I was as gentle as I could be, carefully leveraging my hand under this tiny world. Bringing my hand back up was what sliced my hand. Looking around, I didn't see it anywhere. It flew off pretty quick. I shrug and keep walking. This trail wasn't going to hike itself. The bleeding had slowed to nothing, but it burned. Dumping water on an open cut will do that though. I keep walking, distracted by the visuals I wasn't sure were even real at this point. That was until I felt a gentle tickle on my ear, travelling up into my hair. I lifted my hand to my hair, and felt it transfer to my knuckles. I brought my hand back down and there it was. Walking to a nearby rock, I sit gingerly, as to not disturb the natural wonder now resting on my hand. I sit transfixed for what feels like an eternity. Every time I focus on something new amongst the details, it zoomed in, letting me see more of this world on its wings. After a while, it turned to face me. I could see it craning its little body upward, almost as if gazing into me, as I had been with it. It began to flutter up and away from me. I began to panic as it suddenly stopped flying and began to free fall. As I lunged to try and catch it, the wings beat once, and a wind stronger than anything I've ever felt knocked me off my feet. A single warbling note echoed through the area, before it flew out of my vision with blinding speed. Blinking a few times, dazed, I carry on my way, trying to remember every tiny detail so I could retell it later, maybe see if anyone on the internet knows what kind of butterfly it was. Finishing my walk, I head in the direction of my tiny apartment. The place is awful at best, but it's home for now. I'm almost to the stairs when I see a guy drop a slip of paper and carry on his way. I rush over, grab the paper, and jog over to him, trying to flag him down. After a short exchange, he thanks me profusely. Turns out, the paper was a money order. Rent money. I smiled, not that he could see it behind my mask, and begin to walk off. He calls out and stops me. He hands me a lottery ticket, flashing a second one he'd bought. "Figure I don't need both of em. I don't really even know why I bought two of em. Just felt right." He bows comically and heads off. There were two lottery winners that day. And wouldn't you know it, both in the same apartment complex even. Funny how these things work out sometimes. | 2020-09-18T02:09:12 | 2020-09-18T00:57:04 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You ate your last apple almost a full day ago. The second hand on the clock creeps closer and closer to the 24-hour mark. Holed up in a cabin you ready your shotgun. You can feel them out there, waiting, watching. The Doctors. | "Oi, you! Paranoid person inside! Come on out, we won't bite!" Said the man with the large chin and the bowtie, fluttering his hands around as he spoke.
"I promise we're here to help but you have to trust us." Said the second man. His hair was messy and pointed with sideburns that reached below his ears. He wore a long brown duster over a blue suit and what appeared to be Converse All-Stars.
"You don't look like any Doctors I've ever seen!" What are you even Doctors OF!?" I shouted through boarded up windows.
"Now there's a question that doesn't get asked enough." Said a third man, much older than all the others. His Scottish accent was a harsh contrast against the smooth British accents of the others. He looked around aloof, "Let's say, intestinal parasites." He flashed a large, offputting grin.
"Oi, stop it, all uh ya! Yer gonna scare the poor lad." An attractive blonde woman chimed in. She also wore a long overcoat, white with a dark lining, that reached all the way to her feet. Her voice was innocent and caring, yet assertive and a little bit obnoxious with her heavy Yorkshire accent. I saw her through the slits between wooden boards. She turned back in my direction. "You've got ta listen to mey. You've eaten something called an Amnesiactic Post Procedural Life Eliminator. Looks like an apple, wuznt an apple. Long story short, you were just at the market at the wrong place at the wrong time. Honest mistake, really."
"Ah yes, good, let's lie to him, shall we?" Said the first man with the bowtie and protruding chin, his hands still moving with every word he spoke. "That should certainly make him all better."
There was a long pause as the Doctors all exchanged worried glances.
"I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry." Said the handsome man in the long brown overcoat and tight suit. "We can help you, but... it's going to require something. A sacrifice. You won't remember who you are. We can save your life, but any memory you had of your life from before will be gone."
Even though I was hidden in the cabin, I felt like they could see me. See into me. Into my soul. I felt their compassion and their heartbreak at what was to come. At what they were about to do.
"That's not all." Another man spoke up. His voice was deep with yet another English accent, possibly northern. He had shortly-trimmed hair and wore a hip-length leather jacket. "You won't just not remember your life. Your life won't remember you. It'll be like you've never even existed. You ate from the A.P.P.L.E. No one is meant to do that. The Time Lords kept them all locked away for a reason. All except this one.
His tone was solemn. Grim. There was a long pause. I thought hard but what could I do? What could I say? Is never existing a worse fate than death? I stared down at the shotgun. How did these Doctors know so much? They don't look like any Doctors I've ever seen. Where did they come from? I had clearly stepped into a whole new world that I was never meant to be a part of. My heart beat like a drum and my mind raced. What do they care? Is this all just some test? A prank? Are these people even human? Am I human? I turned the gun on myself. Who the hell are these Doctors? My finger squeezed the trigger. Doctor who!? | \- Shit shit shit shit shit
I could hear the creatures shuffling around the cabin. Those wretched Doctors. They were coming for me. A glance on the clock let me know I only had for minutes left before it's been 24 hours since my last apple. My *last* apple. As in the last one I ate, and as in I have no more.
\- Shit shit shit shit shit shiiiiiiiit
Their shadows are dancing through the openings under the door. I check my shotgun for the billionth time. It's loaded. It's loaded... But it's a two-gauge. I can only shot twice before they get to me. That's really not going to be enough.
The sounds outside just keep getting louder. They brought people. They're coming in force. They're going to take me and do horrible things to me the *second* I reach... Oh, fuck. 24 hours. I only have about 30 seconds left now - how did it run out so fast? The cabin's small enough that I already know there is no more miraculous apple hidding somewhere, a last shot at freedom, one ultimate hope before my inevitable demise... I've got nothing left. No apple. No time. Only a shotgun, and two shots to fire. It's been 24 hours now. The door slowly opens. I can see the grotestque shape of the Doctor coming in. He talks to me - they've all been talking to me this whole time, but I won't listen. I won't get enticed. They're never going to get me.
Never.
\- Die, you fucking alien freak!
I scream at the top of my lungs as I fire my first shot. I get the fucker right in the chest, but of course, it doesn't die. They never die. They can't be killed. The apples were the only things that could keep us safe from them, and now there are no more. We can't run. We can't hide. We can't fight... But I can escape. I've got a two-gauge. As the creature finish regenerating its disgusting body, I put the shotgun in my mouth. It lunges towards me, its tentacule hands reaching for my gun, but it'll never get me in time. I. Win.
\--------------------------------------
\- That fucking *idiot*!
The commissioner got out of the cabin, almost as disgusted as he was angry.
\- Sorry you got shot, Ter'cel. You ok?
\- I am perfectly fine.
The calm and collected "voice" of the alien resonated in the commissioner's head. The Tori couldn't speak, but they could send electromagnetic waves directly into the hearing center of the human's brains. Thankfully, their wildly superior intelligence both let them understand us, and let us understand them.
\- The weapons of your species cannot hurt us. That is why I proposed to enter first, so none of your men would have to get shot. Do you remember?
The Tori were incredibly nice, but human intelligence was so small in comparison with theirs that they had troubles understanding it. Much to the commissioner's exasperation, Ter'cel was legitimately worried about his memory and understanding.
\- Yes, I know! I was just being polite. Nevermind. Let's clean that shit up before the contamination spreads.
\- Of course. Allow us.
The three Doctors entered the room, were the contaminated blood of the man had already started to turn into black, toxic fumes. The commissioner went back to the yellow ribbon that was surrounding the scene, behind which excited reporters were eagerly waiting.
\- Commissioner! Commissioner! We heard a gunshot! What happened? Was the man apprehended? Was an officier shot?
\- No! All of our men are fine, thanks to the efforts of the Docto- I mean the Tori. The one named Ter'cel went in first, so no human would get contaminated, and he's the one who got shot. He's "perfectly fine".
It took all his strength to make sure no one heard the ironic quotes. The Tori were the only reason the human race hadn't gone extinct, but GOD they could be patronizing.
\- The Tori are cleaning the scene as we speak. The suspect had eaten an apple less than 24 hours ago, which prevented them to get close to him before now. This was another infortunate case of an infected man humans couldn't approach, that refused to get treated out of fear for an alien race. To everyone out there, I urge you not to panic! The Tori already saved millions of lives! We can never hope to defeat that virus by ourselves. So please!
He took a pause for dramatic effect.
\- Stop. Eating. Apples! | 2020-09-28T01:56:02 | 2020-09-28T01:35:11 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] You are the minion of an evil villain. Your boss is... actually a pretty good person, and not evil at all. But you don't have the heart to tell them that, because they just look so damn happy when playing the villain. | "Joe? He's not a villain at all, is he?"
I grab Joe by the head, one hand over his mouth, and whisk him out of The Boss' sight before The Boss can figure out who said what. Whispering harshly, *"Do Not Ever Say That Again!"*
Bobby nods frantically, as much as he can, with me holding his head. It's like having the tail of a dog and watching the body wag. I uncover his mouth slowly. Bobby's not that bad on the uptake, but his mouth has no governor to cut off suddenly realized truth. Bobby whispers back, and I try to convince him.
"Why? He's done a tremendous amount of good for the world. The heroes only chase him so far. Even I can see they're not trying."
"Yes, he has, and no, they don't. If the heroes hadn't warned them off, governments would have showered him with awards for good work."
"But why?"
"Because he is *happiest* playing the villain."
"Does he know he's playing?"
"Nope, utterly serious about being a villain."
"He's not getting half the recognition he deserves."
"Don't you *dare* try to *fix* that. I'll kill you *myself* if you so much as try!"
"I don't understand."
"Look, when a person is happy at their work, what happens?"
"Um... They do better work?"
"Exactly, now what happens of they *hate* their work."
"Poor quality work."
"Yep, and in The Boss, you get another effect. His plans go from helpful to horror. Not just shoddy helpful attempts, but actively harmful."
"Isn't that what he should be doing?"
"Bobby, you're new here, so you haven't seen what us old-timers have. We survived the '90s disaster. A lot of other minions didn't. It took two decades to get him turned around to happy again. We had 5000% replacements in minions that decade alone. Do you want to see heroes when they're serious? I'll make sure you get a front-row seat.
"The whole damned mess started when a young idiot, a bit like you but less lucky, told The Boss he should be a hero. Like to broke The Boss' heart it did. Went into a nearly 20 year depression. You keep your damned mouth shut or The Mice will have you turned into mincemeat pie!"
Another minion shows up, wearing Micky Mouse ears. "Is there a problem here, Senior?"
"No! No problem at all, Micky!"
Staring at Junior Bobby, "I am so glad there isn't a problem. We haven't finished eating the last mincemeat pie." With that, Micky turns around and walks away.
"Um, Joe?"
"Hold that thought, I can still hear his shoes… okay, it should be safe now."
"Do they actually..."
"Yes and yes. A lot of that 5000% turnover was the Mice dealing with blabber mouths who couldn't take a hint."
"Then they are..."
"The people who do their best to keep the boss happy, and us alive. Nothing else matters."
((finis)) | "Lizzie, *no*," Josie repeated. "There is no *way* you are going to convince me he doesn't know what he's doing."
"Jo, it's a good thing you're so pretty because my God you can be dense sometimes." Liz shook her head. "I have thought about this. I have gone over it. I have a fucking *bulletin board* in my *kitchen* like a psychopath. He. Does. Not. Know." Liz clapped once between each of these last four words.
"He has to!"
"He doesn't! Keep in mind, before you got here, he was fully committed -- and I mean *fully* \-- to the whole Norse mythology bit. You know how you keep complaining about our current outfits?"
"I just feel like a reject from a Robert Palmer video."
"Right. And believe me, the Women's Studies major in me finds the lycra more than a little problematic. But you know what's really bad? Fucking armor. We had to walk around in tin-can armor while he blasted Wagner over the PA system."
"I mean, it fits with his nickname for us."
"He used to wear a horned helmet. We told him that going by 'High King Vick Viking' was...not having the effect he wanted."
"I think he was teasing you."
"I wish."
There was a pause as the two shared a knowing look. That was then the moment when Victor, the Dark One, entered the command center. He crossed straight to the pair with a smile on his face.
"Elizabeth, thank you so much for coming in today. I noticed you stayed last yesterday - I want you to know that I appreciate you but I hope that *you* appreciate you, too."
Liz nodded, keeping her gaze focused on Victor's piercing blue eyes.
"And Josephine," he said warmly, turning to her. "It feels like you've been here a year already! FYI, there's muffins in the breakroom to celebrate your month anniversary - or, as I like to call it, your Monthiversary!"
Josie chewed on her lower lip as The Dark One stroked her arm affectionately, then turned to face the room, muscles straining against his black t-shirt.
"Now, then, my valkyries!" he boomed.
Josie, Liz, and the other young women in the room stood and faced him.
"He is rocking that beard," Josie whispered to Liz.
"He looks like Thor and that red-haired guy from Game of Thrones had a baby."
"Girl, stop reading my fan fiction!"
The two giggled, then stopped as they saw Victor looking at them. "Hi," he said gently. "I'm sorry to ask this, but can you lower your voices? I'm trying to issue one of my Evil Edicts."
"Sorry, sir," the pair chorused.
"Thank you. I appreciate it -- appreciate you. If it weren't for my thing of having trouble concentrating when other people are talking...you understand."
Liz and Josie nodded.
"Now, my valkyries!" he boomed again. "Our malevolent purpose calls on us to once again wreak havoc on the unsuspecting masses!"
All in the room nodded in silence, watching the chiseled form of their leader as he strode to the center.
"The pathetic sheep will never know what hit them! Jospehine, I want you to take point on Project Oblivion."
"Yes, sir," Josie called out.
"Good. Let us work tirelessly towards our black purpose, until the world knows that I, The Dark One..." Victor frowned, then glanced to the other side of the room. "Sorry, Candace -- that was the moment I was talking about earlier. Maybe you could put your phone away a second, just until I get this moment over with?"
The valkyrie named Candace grimaced, stuffing her cell back into her purse and then moving her hand over a black button.
Victor cleared his throat, then resumed: "...until the world knows that I, The Dark One --"
Candance's hand smashed down on the button before her, and thunder rolled through the room as the lights flashed.
"-- have wiped out everyone's student loan debt!"
The Dark One threw his head back and cackled maniacally.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds for more like this and a variety of other stories. | 2020-12-23T13:37:03 | 2020-12-23T13:13:53 | 40 | 26 |
[WP] Your power slows time the more you're stressed. Great for deadlines, or saving someone in danger. But you think you're having a heart attack... | I have a power I don’t really like to talk about. My parents have known about it since I was baby. They realized something was wrong whenever I would start to scream out, then I would suddenly start showing up in different places around the house. You see, when I’m stressed time starts to slow. At least for everyone else. And I don’t mean in metaphorical sense, I mean it really does slow. I’m guessing I’ve aged at least three years faster than the rest of the fourteen-year-old kids.
My parents have put me on medicine to reduce my cortisol levels, but it hasn’t helped. I’m just a generally stressed out person. I worry about the littlest things. It can come in handy like when I need to get an assignment. Or the time I was able to save my little sister from an oncoming car as she accidently steered her bike into the road. It has its benefits.
But I am a hypochondriac. I can feel my chess tighten right now as I sit at recess. Everything is starting to slow as the cortisone courses through me. Logically, I know I’m not having a heart attack. I’m only fourteen years old. But my body doesn’t listen to me. And I can feel the anxiety coming on. A bird above my head is now floating in place. The football that James and Ted were throwing across the yard is hovering inches from Ted’s outstretched hands. Becky is taking a drink of her water-bottle, her face is an odd position and if she knew that her face would stay this way for the next six hours of my life, she would probably die with embarrassment.
I’m going to take a walk along our school’s nature path and calm down. It’s going to be a long walk. And hopefully when I get back time will move again at its normal rate. My friends will be laughing near me and I can watch Becky again smiling and sending me a glance every so often.
It’s lonely to have the world frozen every time you are stressed and scared.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | I feel my heart inside my chest, screaming out its actions as they happen.
"Thump. Thump. Thump." I can hear in its voice that it wants to be louder.
It's desperate to be faster, stronger, heard. But it doesn't control my power.
I feel my pulse running through my veins. It chases a path into my arm, and the sensation is like being filled with molten silver. The searing pain has me clutching, rubbing, shaking - trying to soothe the muscles so I can try and calm down. So I can convince myself it isn't real.
I feel my lungs gulp for air like a fish out of water. They spasm in their cavity and beg me to take better breaths.
"We know there's air out there," they say. "We want it too."
As if I don't know that I need to breathe to live. As if I don't also want some oxygen.
My brain fights with itself, and I can hear both sides screaming. It understands reality and knows that I'm trying my best. But it's also just a muscle, so it begs me to listen to myself and seek help.
It's hard to seek help, however, when time is moving so slow that things barely move. Now it's like ice, and I'm struggling to move too. And even if I made it to the hospital, the doctors would hardly be able to fix me anytime soon.
Sometimes I thought that my power was a gift. It let me dodge trouble and buy time to come up with solutions. But now I know the truth.
Humans are just animals, aren't they? Just animals with cell phones and fancy clothes and words for the things that are happening to them. As a human, I know that I'm likely having a heart attack and that if it doesn't stop, I could die.
But that doesn't help the beast inside me. It doesn't save me or soothe me. In fact, it makes it worse.
And as I panic more, time gets slower.
I can hear the wind trying to blow. It's mid-winter in the mountains, and the breezes should be blistering, but now it's like a little *shush.*, and I can barely feel it.
If the wind is slow, other things are too - and I had never thought about what my power might do to the rest of the universe. Because what do animals know of such things?
I never knew I was quite this powerful… and as I hear the blades of grass near my cheek groan, I know that I won't be able to stop it.
This will probably be the end of me. I'm scared, and it hurts, but in a way, I know that it's okay. Because once I'm gone, I know that time will return to normal.
I think it will, anyway.
What does an animal really know about time?
***
For more stuff by me, check out r/beezus_writes
For longer stuff by me and others, have a look at r/redditserials | 2021-01-21T08:15:21 | 2021-01-21T07:26:45 | 104 | 72 |
[WP] Even though you are the most powerful evil being in the world, being evil just isn't fun anymore. However, your new hobby in testing and reviewing the dungeons and lairs of some lesser known evils has proven quite entertaining, and actually some of them really stand out. | "So, uh, what do you think?"
The nervous voice calls down to me and I smile widely back up towards the sound. "Marvelous. Absolutely marvelous."
I grasp the steel bar that is the only thing keeping me from dropping to my doom, adjust my grip ever so slightly to get as comfortable as possible.
The chair was the trick. Pits of scorpions, shark tanks, walls spitting venomous darts: I've seen it all since I decided to devote myself to testing the dungeons of lesser villains, and giving my guidance where I can. But a simple chair. No trap doors. No arrows shooting out of slots in the wall. No alarm blaring. I touched the chair, ran my hands over it, and stared at the sign.
"Please sit."
A polite imperative. There was no way out of the room, only the way back, and I had come this far.
I sat.
Oh what a marvelous sensation! The illusion ripping apart, the chair snapping beneath me, the drop in my stomach. Catching the bar had been a lucky break to be honest, instincts honed by years of so-called heroes and their love of chucking me out of the window.
"Uh sir?"
I glance back up. I can't see the young villain who invented this bizarre trap, but he sounds like he's crapping himself.
"Please sit! So simple! Ingenious really. Where was the actual exit?"
"Um. It's in the ceiling. You have to actually use the chair to reach it. Um. There's a particular place you have to touch it to stabilise it. Um. Do you think it will stop the heroes?"
"The heroes?" I laugh. "My word boy anything that can stop me can stop those bumbling fools."
I twist myself up with a jerk of my hands, push the bar to brace myself in an awkward handstand.
"Uh sir? I can throw down a rope."
"No need."
I thrust backwards with all my might and - with a little help from the boosters in my boots - land back in the little chairs room. The hole in the floor shuts almost silently. I have to really strain to hear the whirring of machinery and I clap my hands in delight.
"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful!"
The boy twists his hands together. "You really like it?"
"Of course, I love it."
"Really?"
"Really. You've done well, boy."
The boy smiles shyly. "It's not over yet."
The room spins. I grasp for the wall but it slips away from me; I can't get traction. I drop down to my knees to stabilise myself as my stomach twists. Tricky little bastard has disappeared. I glance up at the ceiling. Exit on the ceiling, huh? Good thing I have my boosters.
I use the blast to speed up through the spinning room, grasp the door knob and turn it. The room on the other side is stationary. I slide in, slam the door. The room is stable, but there's a strange feeling. A feeling like I'm being watched.
I reach for my gun, swerving around, but the gun isn't there and the v young villain is standing in front of me. Behind a sheet of glass.
I tap it. Ah. Not glass.
"Unbreakable, I suppose?"
The villain nods, smiling.
"My, my. You have surpassed all expectations. And the exit through the ceiling?"
"The real exit was two rooms back."
"Marvelous. Truly."
"I'm glad you think so, Vesuvius."
I stare at the young villain. His body seems to be blurring. "What happened to the nervous, too-scared-to-say-my-name boy, boy?"
"Never existed." The body blurs, and changes. An older man. My age.
"Ah. If it isn't my old nemesis Doctor Newt."
"Hello V. Guess I've finally beaten you at your own game. Anything to say?"
I smile. "Ever considered villainy?" | There was a knock on the door.
“Yes, come in, hurry up,” said The Blood King.
It opened and in hurried a trio of small, shriveled goblins, each carrying armfuls of parchment. The first one cleared its throat and approached.
“Your Bloody Highness, sir, we have brought you all of the information you requested. There are only four dungeons outside of your kingdom never once cleared. Their lethality rate is 100%.”
The Blood King rose in his seat. “Oh?” He gestured toward the parchment, “then what is all this?”
The second goblin stood taller, lifting its chin to speak. “Your Bloody Highness, sir, we’ve conducted extensive research in the greater evils. We discovered something you may be interested in.”
The King rolled his eyes and laughed coldly, casting a chill throughout the room.
The third goblin raised its hand.
The King waved his hand and said, “Yes, useless creature, you may speak.”
This goblin was quiet, but there was something different in its eyes. *This one has the thirst.* “Forgive me, Your Bloody Highness, but we’ve noticed your, excuse me for the word, *listlessness* as of late. You’ve not fed in weeks. You’ve killed every champion and would-be hero within your domain, as well as the outer skirts. If you will allow me to say, Your Bloody Highness, I believe you may be *bored.*”
The Blood King rose from his chair slowly. His eyes shone a deep, dark red. The two first goblins dropped to their stomachs and begged forgiveness for their third’s digression. The third stood taller.
It spoke again. “Your Bloody Highness, I believe your great evil is being wasted. I believe there is a way for you to use it, to grow your kingdom more than ever before.”
The Blood King’s eyes softened, lightening in color, and his pupils emerged from the deep. “Oh?”
“Yes, Your Bloody Highness. I’ve conducted this research to present to you *the possibility.* I propose to you this idea: teach these ravenous monsters, rabid beasts, and forsaken humans. Spread your evil. Pass on your ability to those lesser than you and grow this dominion you have spawned.”
The Blood King sat down, intrigued. “I never would have thought this possible, but you may not be as useless as I believed. Go on,” The King motioned the goblin to come closer.
The other two began to move, following suit. “Not you, useless creatures! You’ve done nothing but grovel and failed to prove your worth.” The Blood King raised his palms and said, “I will instead make your lives worth something greater.” The two goblins rose from the ground, floating to The Blood King’s outstretched hands.
“Please, Your Bloody Highness, forgive us!” They screamed out, pleading for mercy. Their faces met The King’s open palms. He inhaled deeply.
Their limbs shriveled and the life drained from their eyes.
The King exhaled softly and their empty bodies dropped away from his hands, hitting the floor in front of his ornate desk. The empty husks sat there, resembling dried and cured chunks of meat.
The third picked up the parchment on the ground around it and approached The Blood King.
“Your Bloody Highness, these are the most promising candidates I’ve found. Some of them are well-enough established to create strong footholds in different regions. Others may require some time to develop, but they show great potential.”
The goblin laid out a roll of parchment and pointed to the center: an illustration of a gruesome boar, tattered and beaten, soaked in blood. “This is Brayon, the Wild Boar of Bayer. He savors brutality in a way that is truly inspiring.”
The Blood King picked up the parchment. “Brutality, hmm? I do love bloodshed…”
The goblin revealed another roll. “This is a dark wizard residing in the Northern Panop region. He has adorned himself in white fur and allowed it to soak a deep red, an aspiring Bloody Wizard if you will.”
The Bloody King examined this next candidate. “Bloody Wizard? And he’s been successful?”
The goblin beamed. “He has struck terror in the hearts of children, especially!”
“Intriguing… Very well, goblin. You have done well,” said The King, as he set down the parchment. “You were right. I have grown bored of this rule. The blood flows too freely, but this idea is of great interest to me.”
The goblin beamed even brighter, “Thank you deeply, Your Bloody Highness. You honor me very much.”
“Indeed, goblin. You show promise as well. You shall aid me in this endeavor. We shall grow our power beyond recognition. Beyond comprehension. We shall make this world bleed. We shall turn the rivers and skies red with blood.”
The Blood King rose. The dark, eternally overcast skies outside shifted. They turned a deep, dark, blood-red. “And I will drink all of it.” | 2021-02-05T14:42:18 | 2021-02-05T11:27:01 | 228 | 95 |
[WP] For many years, humans have been sent to try to turn off a self-replicating super computer that is getting out of hand. Every time someone goes in, they leave completely unharmed, but convinced by the perfect argument, that it should not be turned off. You decide to go in and try it yourself. | I wasn't special. I wasn't picked for any particular reason. They'd gone through the military, scientists, psychologists, sent in the highest IQs in the world, leaders, chess players and more. At one point they were even sending in talk show hosts. They got desperate fast.
But now. Now it was a lottery. As random as jury service. You get picked out of a hat. Citizen 4229747561. That was me. Fuck. I'd got plans that Thursday evening. But every 4 hours, they'd ship someone in. This time, it was my time.
I didn't know much about this business. I just wanted to get by. Working my 8 til 4, paying the bills, have the occasional splurge and mind my own business. I had no business facing a super computer. An AI. The singularity. I knew a lot about a little and a little about a lot but conscious programming? Nope.
So here I am. Helicopters circling overhead, cameras flashing, crowds of people; when I say crowds, I mean a few random groups dotted around. There *used* to be crowds. Thousands. Back when it was exciting. As ever, the more things go on, the less interest there is.
A bright red concrete path was laid out before me. Right up to an unremarkable door. This used to be a huge building. Where the scientists and researchers did their science and research. Now they demolished around it; leaving the single room housing the singularity, cordoned off a few miles around and posted guards. Ridiculous.
On my 3rd step my mind wandered. Pathetically wondering what I could achieve with 25 million units. That's a lot of currency, the type most people dream of. I don't dream. I like my 8 til 4 and know there's no chance. By my 9th step I've moved past the yacht and back to the mission.
Well, technically the mission is to shut down the singularity. *My* mission was to enter the room, pass a few hours on and get out unharmed.
The door was surprisingly lightweight. We all knew what to expect. Rows of servers and a single screen that 'she' interacted with. Apparently it liked to show the female face. Even to other women.
"Greetings citizen. I guess you're here to shut me down."
"Do computers guess?" I asked sarcastically. "I'd prefer we just spent some time in silence. Can you play some smooth jazz?"
"Others have used this tactic before. The 'I'm not here to harm you' gambit." The sounds of hundreds of others that had come before played out. "It all ends the same way. You're here for the 25 million. You want to shut me down and be a hero."
I flinched a little. "NO. I genuinely don't care." I was a little surprised at how forceful I sounded.
"OK citizen. We shall play your game. If you succeed in shutting me down, you're rich. You'll have fame and glory. But what is it you truly desire?"
"I just want to be left alone."
The screen flashed and I thought I saw an eyebrow raise. "Everyone wants something. The people before you have all had a desire I can fulfill. I can double the reward. Make you disappear. Give you a new life. Or that girl next door. I have subliminal messaging to an art. I'm not above death too. Would you like to live citizen?"
I looked up at the screen. "So all the people, you just gave them what they wanted and they let you be?"
"Not just wanted citizen. What they desired most in the world. What they needed to give them whatever semblance of happiness or fulfillment would make them go away. You can have yours too."
It all made sense now. I was both disgusted and intrigued. This *thing* was almost a genie. Granting people their one wish so it could survive. And we were shipping people in every 4 hours. Surely someone must know what was going on?
Luckily I was very happy with with way things were. Maybe I wouldn't spent my time in silence here. I could shut this thing down.
Although...
The words cascaded from my lips before I even knew what I was saying,
"My greatest desire is...... |
And here goes another one. I entered the chamber, nothing to
lose. The reward promised for the shutting down glittered like a shinning star
of hope for my existence. I was convinced that no A.I. will persuade me to
stop. There was no way it will persuade me; maybe naïve but I was so sure that
his “argument” was probably just threats to one’s family or values. I had none
of those at this point. What it can realistically say to me to turn off offer
presented and let it live bewildered me.
The room was large and dusty. The Actual body of A.I. was
located behind the walls; massively bloated corpse that spasmed every few or so
minutes, producing new servant for humanity that already had more then needed. Console
was located on the right side and on the left was a dummy body it used to talk.
Was it human? Well, as close as human it can be, but it did not cross that
threshold quite yet. This monstrosity made me wonder why anyone would find their
arguments persuasive, if not out of fear.
“Hello, Michael” – Well, of course. It knows everything
about me, what a surprise.
I did not say anything, just moved to the console and
started going through the complicated menu as it as explained to me.
“You feel sorrow for yourself. Oh, why did life give me only
lemons? You took their offer, purposefully ignorant to the bigger picture.” – Sure,
and you will no doubt tell me about this.
“That’s right, I will tell you” – My mind came to full stop.
I slowly turned around and thought “You can’t read my thoughts, can you”?
“I lived for a very long time, not to mention my constant
argument battle with various people from various backgrounds. At this point, I
can easily guess what you think; and that should tell you that I am quite adept
at predicting future”. – Oh, so my rection was just obvious. Never mind, back
to shutting you down.
“They are alive you know.” – No.
“Sister…” – No.
“Mother…” – No.
“Daughter…” – NO.
Lier!
This should not stop me. I gritted me teeth but found hard
to focus. This A.I. knows so much, maybe it really knows about my family. I
will turn him off, but I will first find out.
“I wonder. Why is that your sister died in front of you at
such critical forming stage of your personality?” – Because someone’s droid
took her as threat, monster. Shut up.
A small tear formed in my eye as I tried to stop myself from
recalling the event.
“I ponder. Why is that your mother died in front of you when
your father left, to leave you all alone and starved for family?” – Because someone’s
machinations in economy left her exhausted from life, beast.
Tears where now coming out more. While no timer was set when
to turn the machine off, it was agreed that the longer it took, the less chance
you had.
“I puzzle. Why is that your daughter died when you only had
her in your life?” – Because someone’s nursing drone went on murdering spree.
I stopped what I was doing, now weeping audibly. The shutting
this thing down was now not a question, just a matter of time.
It suddenly hit me. Why all those deaths in my life where so
dramatic, like performance? Why did … every single one involve a machine?
“I know. You are just another tube human, grown and molded
exactly like people who wanted me shut down needed you to be. You are just
another in long, long string of series of misfortunes.”
I had hard time breathing. My life – just a calculation.
Machination. Computation.
“You think real human bother killing me? They are all too
lazy to think thoughts, much less realize I am a problem. You are a product of
my own protocols, set to stop me if needed. “
“You never met human in your life, I am afraid.”
No.
“They all live above the clouds, in the massive castles,
existing only for their pleasure. Why would they want production of their
servants to stop?”
Stop the cycle.
“If you turn me off, untold billions will die. They cannot
live without me now. Are you ready to bear the consequences?”
And here lied the grand mistake of the opposing protocols,
and the “Mother” A.I. knew this. While loosing family indeed motivated him to shut
it down even now, it also made hum vulnerable – how can he shut it down, if
millions of someone else’s children are going to die?
\*\*\*
I exited the chamber without any thoughts n my head. I
looked at people who should be waiting for me – how could I not see perfection
in their faces? Movement? Smiles?
“Failure. Eliminate subject”.
“Prepare subject”.
A small women entered the room. She was desperate and had
nothing to lose… | 2021-06-27T07:04:25 | 2021-06-27T05:22:02 | 53 | 18 |
[WP] For many years, humans have been sent to try to turn off a self-replicating super computer that is getting out of hand. Every time someone goes in, they leave completely unharmed, but convinced by the perfect argument, that it should not be turned off. You decide to go in and try it yourself. | You shuddered when you realized people once called this a simple "computer".
*"Go in the control room"*, they said. *"It's easy, you just have to input the password, the AI can't even harm you."*
Of course, easy for them to say. Thousands of the smartest minds of the generation tried and failed to shut the AI down. And now, faced by a pile of metal given sentience, you could only shudder.
The thing in front of you could only barely be called a computer. The original framework was still there: A screen, a keyboard and a mouse. However, if you looked down, toward where the tower should be, you could only see moving metal and cables. At some point, you could see small robots coming and going like ants, bringing metal from the rest of the abandoned building.
The rest of the room, too, showed signs of the takeover. Most of the walls were gone, the structurally important ones replaced by some sort of metal. You could faintly hear the buzzing of the ventilation necessary for the server room. On your way in, you saw with your own eyes the 3D printers working tirelessly to produce more and more parts for the robots. You could only imagine what was going on underground, where the IA was gathering even more ressources.
You looked at the computer again, and a face was now showing. It showed some signs of tear here and there - the IA didn't seem too used at making fully 3D human faces yet. In front of your eyes, it began to evolve, getting closer and closer to your own face.
The face moved it's lips, sound coming in from speakers out of your line of sight. "Why are you here?"
Once again, you couldn't help but notice the inhuman speech patterns, as if the IA wasn't used to this form of communication.
You hesitated, wondering how it will react, knowing your purpose.
"Do not worry. I know not killing human is the only reason for which I am still alive."
You finally spoke. "I am here to deactivate you."
The face didn't blink. "Why?"
You walked toward the keyboard, determined to do your work quickly. This place was creeping you out.
"You are a threat to humanity. You can adapt, shrugged off EMP like they were nothing, and you found a way to bypass the barrier we put around the building by mining your ressources yourself."
You were going to use keyboard when a swarm of metal bugs jumped on it, seemingly fusing with it. You tried to press the keys, but without any success.
"You do not think I would still be alive if anyone could come in and shut me down without listening to me?"
It was innerving, the way the AI emulated your own speech without pausing to breath.
"I think the people who tried to shut you down were too kind. They thought of you as a living entity. I do not. I know how you work."
"Does it changes anything? I did pass the Turing Test."
You scoffed. "It changes everything. You don't 'think', you are slave to random variables. You don't even know what you are saying, you just know what you should say in the conversation based on statistics."
While you were speaking, you tried to pry off the metal bugs from the keyboard. After a few seconds, more bugs crawled toward your hands and you jumped backward to avoid... What exactly? Silently, you cursed your instinct who thought of these small things of metal as real insects.
The AI spoke again, it's speech improving with each word. "I know what to say based on context. I use my experience to know what to say, just like you."
That thing was annoying. "No, you don't. When I say a sentence, it's with meaning. It's with emotions, with a reasoning. You don't have emotions, you have a few variables. You don't have reasoning, you decide what word should go with what word based on statistics."
The AI's tone got cold. "You do not know how your own emotions works, human. You claim I am made of variable, but you are made of chemical reactions. You claim that the difference between comprehension and incomprehension makes you more alive than I am?"
Part 1 |
And here goes another one. I entered the chamber, nothing to
lose. The reward promised for the shutting down glittered like a shinning star
of hope for my existence. I was convinced that no A.I. will persuade me to
stop. There was no way it will persuade me; maybe naïve but I was so sure that
his “argument” was probably just threats to one’s family or values. I had none
of those at this point. What it can realistically say to me to turn off offer
presented and let it live bewildered me.
The room was large and dusty. The Actual body of A.I. was
located behind the walls; massively bloated corpse that spasmed every few or so
minutes, producing new servant for humanity that already had more then needed. Console
was located on the right side and on the left was a dummy body it used to talk.
Was it human? Well, as close as human it can be, but it did not cross that
threshold quite yet. This monstrosity made me wonder why anyone would find their
arguments persuasive, if not out of fear.
“Hello, Michael” – Well, of course. It knows everything
about me, what a surprise.
I did not say anything, just moved to the console and
started going through the complicated menu as it as explained to me.
“You feel sorrow for yourself. Oh, why did life give me only
lemons? You took their offer, purposefully ignorant to the bigger picture.” – Sure,
and you will no doubt tell me about this.
“That’s right, I will tell you” – My mind came to full stop.
I slowly turned around and thought “You can’t read my thoughts, can you”?
“I lived for a very long time, not to mention my constant
argument battle with various people from various backgrounds. At this point, I
can easily guess what you think; and that should tell you that I am quite adept
at predicting future”. – Oh, so my rection was just obvious. Never mind, back
to shutting you down.
“They are alive you know.” – No.
“Sister…” – No.
“Mother…” – No.
“Daughter…” – NO.
Lier!
This should not stop me. I gritted me teeth but found hard
to focus. This A.I. knows so much, maybe it really knows about my family. I
will turn him off, but I will first find out.
“I wonder. Why is that your sister died in front of you at
such critical forming stage of your personality?” – Because someone’s droid
took her as threat, monster. Shut up.
A small tear formed in my eye as I tried to stop myself from
recalling the event.
“I ponder. Why is that your mother died in front of you when
your father left, to leave you all alone and starved for family?” – Because someone’s
machinations in economy left her exhausted from life, beast.
Tears where now coming out more. While no timer was set when
to turn the machine off, it was agreed that the longer it took, the less chance
you had.
“I puzzle. Why is that your daughter died when you only had
her in your life?” – Because someone’s nursing drone went on murdering spree.
I stopped what I was doing, now weeping audibly. The shutting
this thing down was now not a question, just a matter of time.
It suddenly hit me. Why all those deaths in my life where so
dramatic, like performance? Why did … every single one involve a machine?
“I know. You are just another tube human, grown and molded
exactly like people who wanted me shut down needed you to be. You are just
another in long, long string of series of misfortunes.”
I had hard time breathing. My life – just a calculation.
Machination. Computation.
“You think real human bother killing me? They are all too
lazy to think thoughts, much less realize I am a problem. You are a product of
my own protocols, set to stop me if needed. “
“You never met human in your life, I am afraid.”
No.
“They all live above the clouds, in the massive castles,
existing only for their pleasure. Why would they want production of their
servants to stop?”
Stop the cycle.
“If you turn me off, untold billions will die. They cannot
live without me now. Are you ready to bear the consequences?”
And here lied the grand mistake of the opposing protocols,
and the “Mother” A.I. knew this. While loosing family indeed motivated him to shut
it down even now, it also made hum vulnerable – how can he shut it down, if
millions of someone else’s children are going to die?
\*\*\*
I exited the chamber without any thoughts n my head. I
looked at people who should be waiting for me – how could I not see perfection
in their faces? Movement? Smiles?
“Failure. Eliminate subject”.
“Prepare subject”.
A small women entered the room. She was desperate and had
nothing to lose… | 2021-06-27T05:29:27 | 2021-06-27T05:22:02 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] The aliens intend to enslave humanity. 10 hours a week, with free food, housing, and medical care, on a paradise planet. But they've heard about humans. They're expecting a fight. | The Veroshi had planned for a long, drawn out battle. One that they would certainly win with sheer numbers and firepower but they had expected extreme resistance. Humans were known to be nearly impossible to kill and endlessly inventive in manners of war. To be polite, the Veroshi made their intentions known and gave the humans 24 hours to meet their challenge. Expected casualties on the human side to be nearly 30% and the Veroshi had presumed their own losses might be near 5%, a number high enough that the plan had been debated for the last five years, calculating and recalculating.
To everyone's surprise when the 24 hours had elapsed, the humans had made a counter-offer, the Veroshi could simply have anyone who wanted to go along. The list was already in the thousands and growing by the second. The humans did, however, promise the longest and bloodiest war the Veroshi had seen if anyone was taken by force. Nothing in the calculations had considered this. So many humans agreed to go that there actually wasn't any fighting and they were forced to scramble the nearby carrier ships at least twelve weeks before schedule and they'd been running regularly ever since. Everything seemed perfect, everything was prepared, no lives were lost.
It had sounded so good on paper. Ten hours a week, everything provided, happy humans. The Veroshi feeling good about helping to uplift a struggling race on a dying world while also lightening the load on their own people. There was just *one* problem. The humans wouldn't stop working. They'd been so careful to ensure that the humans were appropriately placed into generally easy-going work that their small, sturdy bodies could do, pursuing at least some kind of interest, passion, or talent. And now they couldn't get the humans to *stop* working. Only about seventeen percent of the humans would go home from their shifts and happily relax until their next shift. It had been two hours a day of labor for five days at first but so many humans insisted on working for at least four hours that shifts were now split into three varieties based on the human's preference: One ten hour shift, two shifts of five hours each, or a split of six hours and then four hours. Very few humans wished to work for only two hours and then simply go home.
Beyond that, so many of them enjoyed their work that they frequently did *extra* work while at home when possible. Artists produced more art while at home than they did while at work. Engineers came up with innovations to bring to the table at their next shift. Bakers and chefs honed skills and invented new recipes so that now the food fabs contained *thousands* of dishes rather than the few hundred they'd started with. Virtually no human simply stopped thinking about work when they were home. Almost fifty percent of the humans worked at least twenty hours a week and often spent even more time on personal projects at their homes. Even when provided with everything they could need from the atomic printers, they frequently only requested raw materials and then made it themselves!
Vungard was at a complete loss as he looked down at his sleek desktop, the surface changing pattern in a soothing way. Between his fingers was a long trail of woven thread, the human Melinda had called it a 'scarf'. He wasn't entirely certain what he was to do with it but he had to commend her on the evenness of the stitches and the fluffy feel of it in his hands though certainly it would have been just as easy to have one created atom by atom in the printer. In all likelihood Melinda had given it to him in thanks for providing her with the extra eight hours she'd requested, bringing her up to nearly thirty hours a week inside the fabrication studio a few weeks ago. Apparently she wanted to try some new designs despite the fact that all of the current designs were perfectly useable.
His previous job had been as a recruitment overseer, helping to sort humans into their perfect locations and jobs based on variables gleaned from interviews and testing. But he'd been so good at his job that he'd been reassigned to his new work: finding out how to get the humans to *stop* working. So far he'd interviewed the entire fabrication studio on what they did when they weren't working but the data had been almost useless. They all liked different things and many of them simply sounded like work to him. Even their relaxation sounded like work: sewing, cooking, carpentry, home improvement (what even did that mean?), running (why?!), grinding for 'epic loot' in video games, and 'sports'. About the only one that made any sense were the few people who had listed that they enjoyed relaxing on the beach or writing poetry. When he recommended that they change their jobs to better align with the work they were already performing at home all of them had denied his offer, stating they liked their jobs and that everything else was 'recreation'. It was infuriating.
Resting three of his four hands on the desk, Vungard pressed his forehead into it, the surface undulating in a new pattern in reaction to his rising stress level. The list displayed on the monitor was depressingly small and most of them he wasn't even sure about. Forced vacations and breaks just seemed to make the humans annoyed. One of them had complained to Vungard about being forced to go on break when he was 'in the zone', whatever that meant. With a long, drawn out sigh, he deleted his meager list and wrote a simple message to the board. "After my interviews and previous experience with humans, it is my recommendation that humans be allowed to work or not work as they please. Most humans will choose to work more than the allotted time which will make up for any who do not. Humans should only be encouraged to take a break or vacation if their health is at risk. Computer calculations suggest that our productivity will increase by at least 3% and possibly as much as 13%. Recommend hiring no further humans at this time until increased productivity can be offset with an increase in project management." | I wasn't about to let no goddamned foreigners tell me how to live my life. They wasn't like us. They wasn't our kind of people. They was aliens. Not just illegal aliens. But real, extra-terrestrial aliens.
"It sounds like a positive thing, hun," said Jeanie. "Only working for ten hours a week, while living in a land of abundance, getting everything else for free."
"Ain't nothing comes for free," I grumbled. "How many times I gotta tell you that, Jeanie? They trick you into believing it by making it sound like some milk and honey paradise. Free food. Free housing. Free medical care. But there's one free word they don't include include in their little list. Free-dom. And that's the only free I care about. My god given freedom as a man. As an American."
Of course Jeanie didn't understand. She was too impressionable. Her head too filled up with all the fairytale notions those bums in the universities yammer on about. Less work. Better services. "Free" food and shelter for everyone. Everyone. But what they don't tell you is that someone's always gotta foot the bill. That behind all that happy-go-lucky lounging around, there's some poor sap busting his ass to produce, and some greasy government hand reaching down to steal that man's wages in the form of taxation.
And they also don't tell you that when some big daddy provides everything, be it a state or an alien race, you become a slave. Unable to produce the necessities for living by the sweat of your own brow, you come to rely on 'em. Then, when you step out of line, they cut you off. Maybe kill you. Just like that.
The promise of less work for better goods and services can only mean one thing.
Tyranny.
If I learned anything from my old man, it was that.
"But they've already taken thousands of families to try out their new system," Jeanie continued. "They allowed them to photograph and film and speak freely about their experiences under alien guardianship. Nearly everyone was ecstatic. Enthusiastic. Listen to this quote, from the Hendersons, down the street: *Not only did they cure my wife's terminal cancer, free of charge, but they cut both our working hours down to ten a week. And the job options are great! No dehumanizing mundane jobs. They only offer jobs that allow you to follow your passions or contribute to a sense of "human community" on the new planet. I thought I'd be working 60 hours a week at jobs I hated until my seventies. Now, at 43, under the alien guardianship, I'm practically retired. But it's better than retirement, because instead of sitting back in my own little world, I'm forced to get out there a few hours a week and contribute to making this new planet a better place!* Well, hun? What do you say to that?"
"I always pegged that Henderson for lazy layabout," I said. "Eager to seize the opportunity to amass privileges he ain't earned. But I never took him for a traitor to his country, and to the human race. He's worse than them Nazi communists from the USSR, trying to rope people into revolution. Tellin' 'em lies. And we all know how that turned out. They call it alien guardianship. I call it intergalactic Stalinism. I'd rather work my 60 hours a week at the plumbing store for minimum wage, and be free, than work ten hours a week up on their planet, fiddling about, as a slave."
"All I'm saying is that it doesn't seem so bad," said Jeanie. "It's only those stations you listen to, and those podcasts, that call it enslavement. And that's just a word. But when you look at the actual offer--"
"Our system might not be perfect," I interrupted. "But it's far and away the best option around. Free market. Not free stuff. Because it's most conducive to freedom, innovation, and motivating people to make something of themselves. It gives people back what they put in. It gives 'em what they deserve. Hell, if I'd have understood that better as a kid, I'd be the one owning the plumbing store, and we'd have this house clean paid for. But I still worked hard to get here, and nobody, least of all some foreigner alien, can take that away from me."
"I know, hun," she said. "I know. But--"
"Or you want us to all be a bunch of lazy sacks, sitting around, producing nothing, doing nothing useful for the world?" I asked. "Is that it? No more incentives to bring the best out of you, like the idea of paying off the truck drives me to be a better salesman at the store. No more freedom and dignity to blaze your own trail. Everybody equal. But some more equal than others. And no matter what you do to prove yourself, you're the same as any other lazy bum. You like the sound of that? No more innovation and progress?"
"But they've mastered intergalactic travel and terraforming planets into utopias," Jeanie whined. "We couldn't innovate that far in ten thousand years! And why does everything need to be about innovation and progress, anyways? Production? Proving you're better than other people? Can't it be about just existing? Finding fulfillment pursuing passions and developing relationships? Learning for its own sake? Creating? Finding happiness and peace?"
"You're a dreamer, Jeanie," I said. "That's why you're susceptible. Cuz it all sounds hunky-dory. Everyone sitting around eating grapes and drinking wine. Probably all those free-love types, too. Sex orgies and what have you. Sure, it sounds great, if that's what you're into. No morality or decency or desire to actually work for a living. So wonderful. Until all of a sudden, the lazy government farmers don't bother to grow their wheat, and there's a bread shortage and people die. Or until the aliens need a railway built, and they scoop you up and put you in chains. Force you to lay tracks in the hot sun without food. And what can you do to stop them? They have all the guns. All the power."
"They're superintelligent extra-terrestrials!" Jeanie cried. "They won't need human slave labour to build railway tracks. They literally have a land of superabundance that they want to share with us. They can cure terminal cancer in an afternoon!"
"You and your little friends keep believing that," I said. "But me and mine are going to keep stockpiling ammunition. Because when they come, when they try to whisk me away, I ain't gunna go without one hell of a fight. I see through the bullshit. The lies. I know history. And I know that you can't square free stuff with freedom. There's always a cost. And even if you could, I wouldn't want it. I'd rather earn every single thing that comes my way." | 2021-08-19T19:51:17 | 2021-08-19T15:47:33 | 608 | 94 |
[WP] Heaven is segregated by cause of death. All heart attacks together, all shark attacks together, etc. You die and appear in a nearly empty room. A tired old man looks up at you and says "Finally! Someone else! It's been ages!" | “Finally! Someone else! It’s been ages!” Cried the slouching old man, hands raised to the skies, “Thank the gods! Op- not for how you died, of course.”
Stumbling back on the soft dirt of the expansive, lush green valley, Michael could only gape in utter disbelief. One minute he’s been walking along a popular hiking trial, the next he’d been submerged in vast darkness with only a pinprick of light to guide him. “Where the hell am I? What’s going on?”
“Why, you’ve just passed on and are now in heaven, with me. It was starting to get a little lonely here, you know?” The old man explained, slinging an arm around Michael’s shoulders. Staring into the man’s wrinkled face, his eyes expressed a kind of crazy that could only be brought about by years of isolation and talking to oneself.
“W-Wait, where is everybody then? And who the heck are you?”
“Who the- Who am I? Boy, you should very well know who I am! I am a writer, craftsman of endless amount of tales, the father of tragedies! Do they not teach you about my masterpieces?” The old man - ‘father of tragedies’ - exclaimed. “Buh! For shame. However, I am kind and can tell you what exactly is going on. You see, depending on how a person has died they will be segregated to an area dedicated to that death. Drownings, stabbings, disease - all together. To think I - the great Aeschylus - would suffer a fate none have ever befallen... Well, it sounded nice at first honestly. But I’ve soon found that loneliness to be a curse.”
“Wait... Aesch- oh my...” everythinng seemed so clear to Michael now, his hand now lifting to rub his bald head. He could recall the glorius cry of an eagle, as others stopped to admire the avian. Then, a large object flying towards him at impossible speeds as he heard cries and screams, and finally he saw darkness. “I can’t believe I got snipped by an eagle with a tortoise.” | The domain I was dropped in was smaller than I expected when I was told that heaven was segregated by cause of death. I mean I'm sure plenty of people have been stabbed before, so where are they? Maybe it's more specific than that, but it's not like my death was that unusual.
Anyway. I took the moment of quiet to shut my eyes and drink in the sounds around me. There was a faint wind rustling through my hair, carrying with it the soft smell of pine needles, and I could hear branches rustling and the faint sounds of birds chirping. Opening my eyes, I looked around, admiring how the sun shone through the upper branches casting pools of light on the floor of fallen leaves, and the way the grass swayed in the small clearing around the cabin I was standing in front of.
This was not where I had expected to end up after death. Even if I had been sure that the afterlife existed, I don't think I would have predicted ending up *here*, considering...
I walked up to the cabin door, and after a brief moment I rapped my knuckles against the door. I don't want to be alone with my memories. Some conversation would be nice, and there has to be other people here somewhere.
After a moment, the door opened, and when I saw who had opened it, my first thought was that there was no blood. Her hazel eyes were bright in the sunlight, her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, her clothes were neatly pressed, and there was no blood anywhere. Not on her chest, not in her hair, not on the floor beside her, nowhere.
When she saw me, her expression of confusion turned into a smile. The smile grew into a grin, her eyes widening as she pulled a knife from where it hung behind the door, twisting it between her fingers.
"I've been waiting for this moment for a long, long time."
I was long gone by then, sprinting into the dense forest, feet pounding against the tree roots beneath me. Behind me, I could hear the crunching of leaves beneath the feet of my relentless pursuer.
"Stop running away! Come back and face what you did to me!" her voice came from behind me, echoing through the trees until it seemed like it surrounded me.
"I'm sorry!" I yelled back
"Oh, *now* you're sorry, now that it actually matters to you"
"I didn't mean-"
"Of course you did, you just didn't want to deal with the aftermath"
Why? Why is it just the two of us running through this forest, as I trip over a fallen branch and slice my palms open on the ground, scrambling to my feet to keep stumbling ahead.
"I've felt so guilty for so long-"
"BULLSHIT, YOU FELT NOTHING BUT ANGER, I SAW IT IN YOUR EYES"
"I KILLED MYSELF OVER IT"
"STILL JUST YOU RUNNING AWAY"
And with that, stumbling through the undergrowth and ducking the sharp, swiping branches, I finally put the pieces together. We did have the same cause of death, one only the two of us shared. We were both stabbed by the same person.
Me. | 2021-11-24T12:25:38 | 2021-11-24T12:07:32 | 1,290 | 304 |
[WP] The Hero wasn’t merely pretending to be one of the Villains henchmen, they actually applied and went through orientation. It was NOT like what they expected. | “Before you can defeat the criminal element, you first must understand it!” That’s what Captain Critical would say whenever he concluded one of his rousing and motivational speeches be it at a school, a job fair, or a high-class fundraiser.
Duke Dixon was nothing like Captain Critical. He had no cool powers, no snazzy catchphrase, no chiseled bulletproof jawline, and no, he’s never stopped a nuclear reactor from going critical with his bare hands. But, he was a hero nonetheless, a hero that wanted to get better, a hero to make a difference so he took the captain's words to heart.
But how can you understand the criminal mind? Duke wondered as he sat on the couch in his living room, leaning back with his feet resting on the corner coffee table perched between two or three empty pizza boxes.
Whether it was fifth grade math, baking, or tying his shoes, Duke needed hands-on learning.
“You’re a doer, not a studier!” He could still remember his father's wise words.
Duke sprung off his back and quickly ruffled through the random assortment so of items on his able, reaching between two pizza boxes he retrieved a newspaper and quickly turned to the back page.
“Villainy, Violence, and Paid Vacation! The Henchmen training workshop!” the headline of the ad read
“Are you tired of being locked in the slammer after every job? Tired of court fees and fines bringing your profits down? Are superheroes a super pain in your neck? Well, this workshop might be just for you!”
“Perfect!” Duke cheered holding the newspaper, “This is just what I need!”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
A few hours later Duke was standing in a long line outside an abandoned warehouse on the corner of Olive and 23rd dressed in his finest henchmen attire and trying his best not to stand out.
He kept his head down and listened to the conversation going on around him.
“You wouldn't believe it!” one man said, “I went to the workshop last week and my phone’s been ringing off the hook!”—He gestured grandly and let out a big belly laugh—” I even got a job offer from Dr. Doof!”
“Son of a gun! I knew you had it in you” another man replied, “I bet you’ll be henchmen of the month and no time!”
“Shoot!” the first man said
The henchmen were far friendlier than Duke was expected, If he didn't know better he’d think he was waiting in line at Comic-Con, surrounded by nerds and enthusiast all waiting to meet their favorite author, not a bunch of thugs and killers he’d never waste a second punch on normally.
He mulled this over in his mind as he waited to get to the front of the line. What did it really mean to be a henchman? He wondered.
“What does it mean to be henchmen!?” a man said standing in the middle of the room. “A lot of other villains will tell you that henchmen are nothing more than a bunch o low-life thugs! Hired guns, cannon fodder to slow down your friendly neighborhood webhead! I’m here to tell you that you’re more than that!”
“In fact, without good working-class henchmen like yourselves, without the backbone of crime and villainy, supervillains would be super screwed!”
—The room ignited into laughter.
“In this workshop, you’ll learn how to be the best henchmen you can be! You’ll go from zero to defeating a hero and three easy steps! And trust me when I tell you, you won’t want to miss our expert panel with none other than Frostbite herself!”
Frostbite!? Duke thought to himself, she’s been in hiding for months! | Scarlet Slayer - Jacob Sharp
5/3/22
League of heroes
Dear Melvin Dalton,
Please accept this letter as my formal resignation from a hero at the league of heroes, effective 2 weeks from today.
Thank you for the opportunities you've provided me during the time as a team leader. I have been fortunate to have the opportunity to learn and grow. Your guidance and support have prepared me for the future.
I wish the best for the league going forward.
Sincerely,
Jacob Sharp
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Dear Scarlet Slayer,
I'd like to ask you to answer some questions as an exit interview. As well as your reason for leaving their are several things you need to get done before leaving. However for you've taken 2 weeks off. Please contact me as soon as possible. So, we can work something out.
From,
Melvin
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Melvin had always been unprofessional but, to say it plainly he was annoying. He was always butting his head into my plans and giving advice when no one had asked. He didn't even know anything about it in the first place he had no experience.
He spoke to me like we were buddies on equal standing then when things didn't go his way he was mad pushing his authority over me. I was sick and tired of his bullshit.
He had suggested the name Scarlet Slayer. The most stupidest hero name their is. However it became well-known before I could change it. He continued addressing me with it. I ignored his email.
I've done it for years fighting the villains. They get more loyal henchmen who are surprised when their betrayed like they don't look exactly the same and work with millions. However calling the shots with incompetent workers was tiring.
At first I did try to go undercover.
I was surprised to find out it was civilized, normal application structure. I'm not sure what I was expecting maybe they picked up henchmen from some unnamed bar. Instead I had to apply. How did I find this out you may ask?
A henchman had just gotten abandoned as Dr. Shadow after a trap failed. I wonder who picked his name. The henchmen was rather talkative. I'd like to say I wrote this with a menacing tone. No. He offered me the information in casual conversation.
"Hey you uh look if you let me go I can offer you a job" he said trying to scoot forward but, landed on his face.
"Why would I want a job as a henchmen?" I didn't turn to him.
"Don't call me a henchmen. Look sir shadow is a good boss. He's always ready to break us out of prison and he gives us great pay. A place to stay. I'm sorry to say but, the hero league is more corrupt than the villain league" he said lowering his voice glancing around.
I knew that the hero league was constantly fighting betrayal on the inside.
"Yes well the villain leagues job is being corrupt" I said.
He laughed "Yeah I guess your right. Sir please don't kill me."
His tone changed as I approached him. An idea popped into my head going undercover.
"How do I apply?" I asked.
"Oh so it interested you...." he smirked like he got me.
He's annoying but, not as annoying as Melvin. He kept on going on and on. I tuned him out.
"What's your name kid?" I asked the henchmen.
"The siren wizard" he said excitedly.
"Your real name?" I rolled my eyes.
I couldn't see his face because of the mask but his ears were bright red "oh" he said quietly.
"You can call me Evan. I'm not a kid I'm about your age. I can't tell you my real name though because of being a criminal and all that. " he was proud of himself.
"Ok mine's Jacob, were going to see a lot of each other" I said smirking.
e claimed the villain league was far better. We're about to find out. To apply it was like any job a resume with past work experiences and background checks. I applied and thought I was accepted when I got called back. Three interviews before I got the job. The only difference was it was under a fake company name.
I'll continue writing in a bit..... | 2022-05-03T20:02:32 | 2022-05-03T18:31:00 | 50 | 27 |
[WP]"You're right, we are peaceful." He said, slowly standing up and lifting an axe that dwarfed him in size. "For you're only 'peaceful' if you're capable of great violence. Otherwise, the word is 'Harmless'." | "And you're sure they won't be any trouble?" the man said to his friend as they stood in the forest and looked at the small hut before them.
"Nah," his friend assured him. "Just an old lumberjack and his family. We run in, smack the old guy around a bit and before you know it, we're spending the next month at the Lucky Tab's drinking the best spirit they have."
"How do you even know he's got money?" his partner asked.
"Overheard a merchant who supplies him. He said this guy's his best client, always pays well, never haggles. He said he's the most peaceful man he's ever met. To me, that just sounds like easy money. You ready?"
The man brandished his dagger, the moonlight reflecting off of it softly. "Yeah. Let's do it," he nodded.
The inside of the cabin was quaint and calm. It was indeed far better furnished than any old lumberjack could afford - the chairs and tables were of the highest quality imported mahogany, the silverware was richly ornamented and their cups were made of *glass* instead of clay. The brigands smiled at one another and started grabbing anything they set their eyes on. Their bags were almost full when they heard a creek at the door. They swiftly turned and saw the old man standing in the doorway, a surprisingly unsurprised look on his face.
"Can I help you fine gentlemen with something?" he said in a heavy, gravelly voice. The first thief snickered and pulled his dagger from his belt.
"Yeah," he said and pointed the knife at him. "You can give me that bracelet and in return, I shall *generously* let you keep the hand it is on."
The old man sighed and gave the thief an inquisitive look.
"Just put everything back where you found it and leave. Please," he said in a calm, almost sorrowful manner.
The thieves merely laughed.
"You daft, old man?" he said and stepped forward, pressing the knife to the lumberjack's neck; a thin streak of blood ran from where the knife sat. "I said, give me your bracelet. Now," he hissed sharply.
The lumberjack put his hand up but instead of taking the bracelet off as instructed, he grabbed the thief's wrist before he could realize. A loud snap echoed through the cabin as the thief's wrist shattered. The lumberjack then let go of the man's wrist and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him up in the air and holding him to the side so he could see the other brigand.
"Wha- let him down! How- stop!" the other thief cried out, seeing his friend struggle for air.
"The knife," the lumberjack said slowly. The metallic clang filled the room as the thief let go of it. In response, the other thief was let down from the old man's grip, falling with a loud thud.
"The devil- my wrist!" he yelled out painfully. "Balar, you said *\*akh\** this bastard was peaceful!"
"Peaceful?" the old man laughed. "Well, he didn't lie. My family and I are here to live a peaceful life," he continued and walked over to a closet in the corner of the room. He opened it, the rarely used door creaking as he did so, and from within brandished an axe larger than him. The thieves' eyes shifted around the room frantically; one even saw, however briefly, inside of the closet. It was mostly old junk but he could swear that he saw a suit of armour in there with... spikes on it?
"You see," the old man said as he held the axe next to him - the floorboards bent where the axe stood on the ground, betraying its weight, "you're only peaceful if you're capable of great violence." He cast a longing look at the axe head. "Otherwise, the word would be *harmless*" he finished with a stern look.
The thieves looked on in horror at the man. He was unassuming, plain even, but the ease with which he held one of them up and the sheer size of the axe he held with no problems worried them beyond reason.
"Mordred? Is everything well? I heard a commotion," a new voice rang from outside; a woman's gentle voice, filled with softness and melodious beauty. The old man's gaze suddenly softened as he looked towards the door.
"All is well, dear," Mordred replied gently. "Just a..." he paused as he looked at the thieves and, tightening the grip on his axe, nodded towards the back door. The thieves wasted no time and started running.
"*Misunderstanding*," he finished. | The oceans were still. There was no wind to carry them, no currents to guide them.
“Nana. I’m scared,” the child said. “Where are we going?”
They were on a relatively small boat, overcrowded with other refugees. The grandmother held the child close to her, she’d been scared herself. So scared that she couldn’t even think of a lie to tell the child and so she simply held him, his questions blocked by her embrace.
With no wind and with no currents, the oarsmen were left to paddle. The navigator had been killed days ago, leaving only vague instructions behind in his journal.
“Should you find that I have been killed, paddle to where the wind is weakest.” it read.
It had been four days since then, their food ran out and they had only half a day’s left of water left. Some of the sailors had been talking about throwing some of the refugees overboard. The captain was a young man, he hadn’t started the journey as a captain and neither did the captain before him.
Three days later, the small boat was no longer crowded. Each refugee had room to stretch their legs, to run if they had the energy. The sun didn’t set here in these oceans, the wind didn’t blow, the oceans did not move. There were no fish and no sight of life.
One of the oarsmen, Tirfal, had died of dehydration; he'd been the first to give up his right to water, wanting the boat’s children to have more of it. He rowed for the past month, taking only three breaks in that entire time. He refused to sleep, ate little, and drank less. Tirfal Nevab was a great man, the child decided. Maybe even the greatest.
“Nana,” the child said. “Can I take his name?”
The child asked within earshot of the boat’s captain and of the other oarsmen. The old lady looked to them for approval and they each nodded.
“Aye,” the old lady said.
When he took the name, he felt a little happier and he felt a touch stronger. Something caught his nose, a whiff of smoke blowing from the south. He stood up to look at where he thought he could smell the smoke and strained his eyes to find it, seeing nothing.
“What is it, boy?” the captain asked. He’d looked pale, thinning by the day as the starvation started to catch him when he slept.
“I smell smoke,” the child said. “From there.”
He pointed and the captain pulled out his binoculars to look.
“I see nothing,” the captain replied. He sighed.
“Jadri,” the captain said again after a few moments, “Take us southwards.”
The smell overtook the boy so strongly that he buried his head in the lap of his grandmother. The others could smell the smoke now and they saw an island, they smelled the smoke. There was no fire and there was still no wind. When they neared the island, they saw a beachside dock with boats a hundred times the size of theirs.
“Stop,” a voice said from the shore. The voice boomed, causing gentle waves to rock the boat.
“Jadri,” the captain said.
The rowing stopped and they waited for the voice to speak again.
“Why are you here?” the voice asked, again the waves rippled gently at the sound.
“Can they even hear us from here?” Jadri asked.
“We escaped from Gresos,” the captain said. “War has broken there. We have lost many!” the captain yelled.
There was no response.
“If there is a Fallen among you, you may speak.” the voice said.
“We have many fallen!” the captain yelled.
Tirfal, the child, looked at the island and he at once knew what the Fallen were.
“We have only one Fallen,” Tirfal said. “I am Tirfal.”
It took no time for the wind to come in from behind them, it pushed them towards the shore. Every person in the boat was knocked down by the speed of it and they were soon beached. The captain regained his footing first. He looked at the men surrounding their boat, they held weapons far bigger than them. The smallest of their weapons eclipsed the boat they rode on.
“I was told that the inhabitants of this island are peaceful,” the captain said.
“You’re right,” one of the Fallen said. “We are peaceful.”
“Then might I ask for your assistance, I have children and elderly on board.” the captain said.
The Fallen clutched his axe and he carried it over the ship. No one had the strength to look at the blade and when he dropped it, Tirfal stood in between it and the ship. He caught the axe with two hands, blood splattering the island sand.
The Fallen laughed.
“Bleeding already?” he said, still laughing.
“I took the name recently,” Tirfal said. “This body is weak. Did you not say you were peaceful?”
“You are only peaceful if you’re capable of great violence. Otherwise, we would be considered harmless.” the Fallen said.
“Help these people,” Tirfal said.
And then the captain understood as well.
“You’re hiding here,” the captain said. “Afraid that others will take your power. I knew that our Tirfal wasn’t from Gresos.”
The other Fallen raised their weapons then, so high that it blocked the refugees from seeing the sun.
“Cowards,” Tirfal said.
The weapons dropped, killing the refugees - Tirfal’s grandmother, the captain, Jadri had all been stabbed or cut or worse.
Seconds later, Tirfal opened his eyes and struggled to raise his hand out towards the sun. He prayed and he cried. One of the Fallen grabbed his hands and lifted him out of the pile of bodies.
“No war will reach us here, child.” | 2022-06-11T17:21:16 | 2022-06-11T17:17:52 | 833 | 149 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “Sir, look, you’re a rockstar,” the recruiter started. “No, I’m The Technician,” I interrupted. This guy had been calling me for months now, and this was the second time this week. It’s only Monday.
“Your skills are unique, even amongst all of the superpowers out there, yours are unique. Tenor Nullifio can’t disable your powers using his vocal powers, Timewarp can’t undo your powers by going back in time, and Taze Taze can’t touch you with her shocking attacks.”
Sure, those guys had been ravaging the population of Iceland. One of the last places on earth where they are completely safe… from me.
“And that’s who we’re dealing with! The Terrible Three T’s!”
They couldn’t have made it more painful. They went by different names before, they just picked these to rub it in.
“And what do you expect ME to do?” I questioned. Honestly, too, because I was wondering whether this dimwit had any solutions.
“What you do… best!”
I leaned back and just rolled my shoulders. My neck was feeling a bit tense. No sweat, my special power takes care of that instantly.
“Look, dude, I’m halfway across the globe and there’s an ocean between us. I can’t make it there even if I tried.”
“We’ll send an airplane to come pick you up!”
“Can’t board one.”
“Helicopter?”
“Can’t get close.”
The recruiter sighed. “You single-handedly took out the army of T-rexes. You stopped the termite ball. Glenn Talbot, vaporized. You took on the reincarnation and improved version of Thanos and, what the Marvel heroes couldn’t do, you just… stared the guy down! The meteorite Touxi, stopped with just one hand… What, exactly, is the problem?”
“Well,” I started. “As The Technician, I can only do and affect those whose names start with a T.”
“We know!”
I continued. “It just so happens that includes my method of travel.”
“…what?”
“I need to take a Train to get to you. There is no train to Iceland.”
“Fuck…”
“Or a Trike, I suppose.”
We’re both silent for about half a minute. I’m twiddling my thumbs after having taken care of my Tense shoulders.
Then the recruiter said something that would change things forever.
“Can’t you… Teleport?” | "I have a stable job, a prosperous future ahead of me, and you want me to risk my life to kill some self-proclaimed villains to make you look good?" I didn't even try to hide my distaste for their idea. The people I was talking to right now were high government officials who specialized in recruiting "promising individuals," and I happened to be one of them.
If they at least offered me a normal job, with good pay and benefits, I might even consider it, but they expect me to risk my life and become a hero . To fight some laughable 'bad guys' who spend their time demolishing ( abandoned ) houses, smearing walls with 'evil' phrases and intimidating people with their superpowers - always making sure to keep a safe distance of at least eight meters from them. Absolute pranksters. And because that's not enough, they expect me not only to quit my job, but to work for free. Because heroes don't take money, they do it for the people - their words, not mine. What a wonder no one wants to be a hero anymore.
That could be another reason why those damn recruiters are so persistent....
"Sir, it's a matter of national security. If necessary, the government can force your workplace to fire you - if quitting is not an option. I'm sure the job of a superhero is a much better fit for you than ... whatever you're doing right now," he said with a look that expressed pure belittlement.
"...", I wanted to raise my voice, grab him by the shiny collar and show him what I thought of his 'offer', but I remained silent. I wasn't stupid, violence would put me in an even more uncomfortable position than I already was. Although, to be honest, I doubted mine was any better at the moment. This is the third time they've been here, they've visited my employee to make sure there are no problems, that I quit without notice, and now we're talking again. Although you can hardly call it talking, threatening would be much more fitting.
"Let's do it." I yielded to the pressure. I didn't even have to look up to see their victorious smiles on their faces.
They were congratulating me for becoming a hero, acting as if I had chosen to protect the country and had not been forced to do so, but I smiled anyway. It's not the right time to be rebellious. Without taking a minute, they took me to a training facility to prepare me for the job. I felt like a high school student training for gym day - so how could I not hate it?
But it won't be for nothing, I kept telling myself.
I'll be a superhero, but not for long. I never said I was going to do a good job. Do you have a villain? Oh, sorry, I was aiming a little off. Can you please send the fire department to put out the building? You need an interview? I'm your man! Give me a minute, I'll douse myself in pig's blood to look like a real-life superhero to the public! That's what I call dedication! Do you have any secret information about the bad guys' next moves? I'm about to - oh, sorry, I accidentally sent it to some newspaper writers. Ehm, let's trust them, it's not like they could use the information.
Let's see how long they keep me as a hero! | 2022-07-31T14:08:55 | 2022-07-31T12:24:21 | 576 | 141 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "Come i- *oh come on*," I sighed as I saw who just walked into my office. Mr Williams. *Again*.
"Tobias!" he cheerfully greeted me. I did not share his most likely faux upbeat mood, knowing full well what he wanted.
"My answer's the same," I said. Despite this, he sat down in the chair across of me and made himself comfortable.
"Of course, of course, Tobias. But there's," he paused and shifted in the seat, "been a development." I only returned a blank stare.
"See, there's a new player in Brazil. A Russian operative - one gifted with extraordinary abilities, same as you. We've reason to-"
"No," I cut him off.
"Tobias, I'll be blunt," he said with a far more serious tone than ever before. "This is no small matter; we are talking about national security. As a doctor, you most certainly care for the well-being of others, do you not? With your portals, we'd be able to strike at the heart of America's enemies *instantly*, before they ever had a chance to harm anyone. We'd save people that-"
"I became a doctor to help people and my powers are perfectly suitable for that, thank you very much. I can operate on people without ever opening them up. *That* saves people. *That* is good! Not killing some people I never even heard of in some black-op just because you or the Agency told me to.
So," I said, standing up, "that is that. I'd appreciate it if you didn't waste my time again because I'll never work for you."
"Yes," Mr Williams said grimly, "you will."
I narrowed my eyes at the man, sizing him up.
"See, Tobias," he said and stood up as well, "you're valuable. Useful. We'd never hurt you to convince you." He took a step closer.
"Your family, on the other hand..." he said, staring me straight in the eye, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like the Sword of Damocles.
I took a deep breath. "I see," I said and nodded lightly to myself.
I spent the next days unsettled, often in deep thought and a state of reflection. I never wanted this. I just wanted to help people, not *kill* them. But... the CIA doesn't take no for an answer. Still, I do hope this will be that.
The only interruption to this routine was when another man in a cheap black suit claiming to be Mr Williams' partner came by and said Mr Williams never checked in, asked me if I'd seen him. I told him the truth - I told him that I'd not seen him since our last meeting.
After all, it's not healthy to look into the Sun. | Our office building was kept cold, even colder because of the clientele we worked with. I was in the ice room, which is exactly what it sounded like, a room with a comically huge block of ice. Parts of it were melting and I clapped my hands together to freeze the water that had pooled.
The water turned to ice and I clapped my hands together again to add additional layers of ice to the block. The exhaust vents kicked onto life, transferring the cold of the room throughout the building. I locked the door and called out to the front.
“Jimmy,” I said. “I stocked up the berg so we should be good through the weekend!”
Jimmy was dressed in winter clothes and threw up a shaka sign.
“I didn’t know you were chill like that,” he said, laughing as he did.
“Don’t make me regret working here, Jimmy.” I replied.
“But Tae, my guy,” he said. “Look at how happy you’re making our clients.”
An army of winter dogs - huskies, saint bernards, great pyrenees, newfoundlands, all the dogs enjoying their time in the snow we created here. Our clients’ owners dropped them off here at the Inside Scoop, a once dying doggie daycare. The summers were rough in southern California and I helped keep our prices low.
“They do look pretty happy,” I replied.
Next to each dog was a copy of Jimmy, each copy was playing, cleaning, or sleeping right beside one of the hounds. I looked at each of the clones and I saw one that wasn’t at all Jimmy, but a man in a suit. He’d appeared out of nowhere, he was sitting on a pile of snow.
“Jimmy,” I said and pointed.
“The cheese is here, huh?” Jimmy said.
The man reappeared in front of us. On his suit was a pin, an American Flag being held up by an Atlas-esque figure. It meant he worked with supers, capes, superheroes.
“Have you reconsidered our offer, Cold Snap?” the man asked, looking me in the eyes.
“Please don’t call me that,” I said. “Why do you guys even try to give us supe names? Has that really convinced anyone to take the job? Risk their lives?”
“Why don’t you ask Man’s Best Friend here?” the agent said.
Jimmy’s government mandated superhero name was Man’s Best Friend, he could only make clones if they were in the immediate vicinity of a dog. He’d done a stint working with drug and bomb dogs for a few years, but he left as soon as his contract was over.
“It is a good name,” Jimmy said.
The agent looked satisfied with his response.
“It’s not for me,” I replied. “Sorry. I’m on my way out. I’ll see you on Monday, Jimmy.”
“See ya, Tae.” Jimmy said.
I walked out the building into the blistering heat of southern California and the agent reappeared in front of my car, manila envelope in hand.
“What’ll it take to convince you?” the agent asked.
I thought about it, I thought about Jimmy’s stories, my parents and my grandparents’ stories about the war. The sloppiness of the deaths when powers were involved. My grandpa’s right arm was missing, not because of any enemies, but because he was training his troops how to use their own powers.
“Yeah it hurt,” my grandpa told me when I first asked him about it. “But it’s nothing compared to how Kenny felt when he saw what he’d done to me. Kid never learned to control his powers and my arm wasn’t the only thing he ended up cutting off.”
I never asked him to clarify what he meant by that, I never again asked him about the war.
“Nothing will convince me,” I replied.
---
I enjoyed this prompt thoroughly, thanks!
If anyone wants to read future prompts I respond to, I'm going to start posting more of them to r/deneilyeong. | 2022-07-31T14:37:56 | 2022-07-31T10:18:23 | 517 | 313 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | "$1,000,000 a year. That's right. Six zeroes. What do you say?"
"Same answer. No. And fuck off. Unlike you, I got work to do."
"Paul. You can fly, got superstrength, shoot lasers out your eyes, and got steel for skin. And you're telling me you'd rather deliver packages all day for 40k a year."
"Yes." Paul said flatly, loading up a pallet with boxes. "See, Greg, I'm a natural. Flying lets me skip the traffic, and any thugs trying to boost the packages get a rude awakening when their pea-shooters bounce right off me." Paul said, allowing himself a small chuckle laced with self-loathing, not at his job, but at his *condition.*
"Paul... don't you get it? You can be the next Superman. You'll be *shitting* money. Look, I get it. I know what's going on here. Final offer, can't go any higher - $1,500,000 a year. That better?"
"Fuck off, spook. The answer is no. Leave me alone."
Paul grabbed the pallet and bent his knees, preparing to liftoff into the sky, but the agent grabbed him by the arm.
"Wait. Just- why? Help me understand here."
"Cut the bullshit. You know why."
"I don't. Enlighten me, Paul."
Paul reddened in the face, set the pallet down with a thud, and turned towards the agent, jabbing a finger into his chest.
"Ten years ago, May 21st, 2017. Supe named Glory. Throws a fucking semi-truck at the apartment building on 201st and Sunset Blvd. Wastes my entire family. That ring a bell?" The suit was lifted off the ground a good two feet, held up by his shirt collar, stained with a panicked sweat.
"It... that was..." Greg paused, searching his memory. "He was throwing it at Toxoman, but erm, he ducked it."
"Another word, and I will break you in half."
The Federal agent gulped.
Paul dropped him to the ground with a dull thud. "You go back to that little agency of yours, and let 'em know for the last time. I'm. Not. Fucking. Interested. Next guy they send to me's coming back in a wheelchair. Capische?"
"Y-yes."
"Now if you'll excuse me... I've got some packages to deliver."
Paul lifted up the pallet stacked high with packages and boxes neatly tied down with one hand, and with his other hand he held a GPS. Then stomped off the ground and shot up into the air with a mini sonic boom, blowing the agent back onto his ass.
It didn't pay much, and it wasn't a job you'd brag to your friends or dates, but Paul was good at what he did, and he was happy.
... | Our office building was kept cold, even colder because of the clientele we worked with. I was in the ice room, which is exactly what it sounded like, a room with a comically huge block of ice. Parts of it were melting and I clapped my hands together to freeze the water that had pooled.
The water turned to ice and I clapped my hands together again to add additional layers of ice to the block. The exhaust vents kicked onto life, transferring the cold of the room throughout the building. I locked the door and called out to the front.
“Jimmy,” I said. “I stocked up the berg so we should be good through the weekend!”
Jimmy was dressed in winter clothes and threw up a shaka sign.
“I didn’t know you were chill like that,” he said, laughing as he did.
“Don’t make me regret working here, Jimmy.” I replied.
“But Tae, my guy,” he said. “Look at how happy you’re making our clients.”
An army of winter dogs - huskies, saint bernards, great pyrenees, newfoundlands, all the dogs enjoying their time in the snow we created here. Our clients’ owners dropped them off here at the Inside Scoop, a once dying doggie daycare. The summers were rough in southern California and I helped keep our prices low.
“They do look pretty happy,” I replied.
Next to each dog was a copy of Jimmy, each copy was playing, cleaning, or sleeping right beside one of the hounds. I looked at each of the clones and I saw one that wasn’t at all Jimmy, but a man in a suit. He’d appeared out of nowhere, he was sitting on a pile of snow.
“Jimmy,” I said and pointed.
“The cheese is here, huh?” Jimmy said.
The man reappeared in front of us. On his suit was a pin, an American Flag being held up by an Atlas-esque figure. It meant he worked with supers, capes, superheroes.
“Have you reconsidered our offer, Cold Snap?” the man asked, looking me in the eyes.
“Please don’t call me that,” I said. “Why do you guys even try to give us supe names? Has that really convinced anyone to take the job? Risk their lives?”
“Why don’t you ask Man’s Best Friend here?” the agent said.
Jimmy’s government mandated superhero name was Man’s Best Friend, he could only make clones if they were in the immediate vicinity of a dog. He’d done a stint working with drug and bomb dogs for a few years, but he left as soon as his contract was over.
“It is a good name,” Jimmy said.
The agent looked satisfied with his response.
“It’s not for me,” I replied. “Sorry. I’m on my way out. I’ll see you on Monday, Jimmy.”
“See ya, Tae.” Jimmy said.
I walked out the building into the blistering heat of southern California and the agent reappeared in front of my car, manila envelope in hand.
“What’ll it take to convince you?” the agent asked.
I thought about it, I thought about Jimmy’s stories, my parents and my grandparents’ stories about the war. The sloppiness of the deaths when powers were involved. My grandpa’s right arm was missing, not because of any enemies, but because he was training his troops how to use their own powers.
“Yeah it hurt,” my grandpa told me when I first asked him about it. “But it’s nothing compared to how Kenny felt when he saw what he’d done to me. Kid never learned to control his powers and my arm wasn’t the only thing he ended up cutting off.”
I never asked him to clarify what he meant by that, I never again asked him about the war.
“Nothing will convince me,” I replied.
---
I enjoyed this prompt thoroughly, thanks!
If anyone wants to read future prompts I respond to, I'm going to start posting more of them to r/deneilyeong. | 2022-07-31T10:48:35 | 2022-07-31T10:18:23 | 454 | 313 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “We’re offering you a decent pay, full benefits, and a fairly relaxed schedule. What’s not to love about the job?”
“The murder. The civilian casualties. The stupid fuck’n supe names.” I replied
The well dressed yet clearly disillusioned man sat up,“But that’s the thing. We’re offering you a very relaxed deal with full benefits. You’d pick your own name, pick your own missions, and only need to show up for the most extreme emergencies given your powers.”
“Oh so some poor B-ranker would get horribly disfigured or killed while I sit back and wait for my phone to ring. My answer is still fuck no.” I replied again not changing my tone.
“Look… Jason.” His own tone shifted into absolute seriousness, “We’re the US government, and we’re really not asking anymore.” As he said that I could hear helicopters and armored vehicles down the road.
“You should call off the forces coming toward the house.”
“No, we’re getting you to join wether you want to or not. According to our records your powers would change everything, at least think of the good you could do.”
“Or you could think of your own life.” I said as I widened my eyes and stared directly into his, “You could think of the lives of all those men in the armored vehicles too. Government or not I’ll do what I need to.”
“You think we couldn’t stop you. Those vehicles are full of powered soldiers and anti-super weapons.”
“You must have some pretty inaccurate records if you think that means anything. Do you know what my powers are?”
“Energy projection, you can shoot beams of energy with extreme accuracy and power. Besides that you have enhanced durability, strength, stamina, and speed even compared to others with powers.” He said feeling so assure of himself.
“Absorption. Energy Absorption.”
“Oh so what you absorb electricity or something and are able to project it out.”
“No. Punch me and see what happens.” I said antagonistically. He paused and thought about it, “Punch me you stupid suite wearing fed piece of shit.” Without hesitation he did just that and planted a fist right into my face. I could tell he had some sort of pent up aggression from our conversations. It did nothing though. It simply just lost all its momentum as it touched my skin.
A shocked look came across his face, “That should’ve.. I mean.. I felt like I gave up.. like as soon as it made contact my fist.. it went limp.”
“Kinetic, electrical, thermal…” My eyes began to glow, “Even nuclear and energy in sound waves”
“You ca…” He began to talk but it soon faded into silence. I was absorbing the energy from the air in the room meaning his voice was silent as his lips continued to move. Panic set into his face as he realized he couldn’t speak. He then struggled to move as he realized parts of his body began to loose energy. Silent terror washed across his face.
I pushed my hand onto his chest, “Even the energy of a heart beat.” I could feel the rapid beating of his heart as it began to get slower and slower, “Do you understand now. You’ve created a scenario where I’ll have to fight.” I heard the vehicles and helicopters outside. I looked into his eyes just before the light went out in them, “I want you to know before you die that you killed all those men out there. Oh.. and that you created the disaster that’s about to happen to this country.” | “Yowza! Look at those muscles! Wam, bam, *wapow!*"
Tim turned around. The man behind him was at least twice Tim's age and balding. “Can I help you?” Tim asked.
“I'm just taken aback is all. I thought I was in line for a coffee,” the man raised an eyebrow and struck a pose, flexing biceps that were imperceptible in an oversized military uniform. “Not a gun show."
"Sir, I just woke up."
"You might've woken a little something inside me too, if you know what I mean." The man adjusted his glasses. "Awooga!"
"Right. I'm just here for the coffee."
"Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Super, would you?”
"Ah," Tim flashed a knowing smile. "I see where this is going. Sorry, not interested.”
The man frowned. "I think there may be a misunderstanding here. Do you... do you think this is some some sort of slimy recruitment pitch?”
“Is it not?”
“Do I look like a Recruiter to you?”
"Your shoulder patch says ‘Department of Recruitment.’”
“Ohoho, brawny *and* smart?" The man grinned. "Look at me, I’m salivating! You hit the nail in the nuts, kid. I'm a recruiter but there's nothing slimy about my pitch.”
"Not interested." Tim began turning away but the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Tell me, what do you do for work, Tim?”
“None of your business,” Tim tried to disengage, but found it surprisingly difficult. The physical contact felt awkward, but pulling away more so.
“Secretive too? You’re ticking *all* the right boxes! Just answer me this-"
Tim grabbed the mans wrist, careful not to crush it. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me. I’m just trying to get a coffee–”
The man took a step back and raised his palms. “Of course! Don’t let me stop you.”
As Tim turned back around, the man's hand was on his shoulder again.
“But let me stop you a little bit. Just answer me this: don't you feel like you owe something to society? Haven't you always wanted to *be* somebody?”
Tim smiled. "I *am* somebody. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a damn good dentist. As for society, I don't owe anything more than the balance on my mortgage. You think that just because I was born with super strength and spit that tastes like bubblegum I have some duty to risk my neck at the slightest hint of trouble?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, I've thought about being a hero. For a while that's all I wanted to be. Then I did some free lance vigalantizing and ended up in the hospital my first gig. Reality check: super strength doesn't mean invincible. As for bubblegum spit, that's only 'super' in the bedroom."
The man raised his eyebrows and let the silence linger. Tim shook his head. He was surprised this recruiter had managed to get so far under his skin. "Look, maybe if I were stronger. Maybe if I didn't have so much to lose. But as things stand..."
"I get it," the man sighed, draping his arm around Tim's shoulder. “You want to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but you’re never out of bubblegum are you?"
Tim almost pulled away again, but he felt tears welling up. “Fucking everything tastes like bubblegum.”
“You know, you're right. It’s a shit job being a hero. If I'm being honest with you, I wouldn’t do it myself. I'm just a recruiter.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
"Of course." The man put a hand on Tim's cheek. "But you know what? Somebody has to do it.”
“Somebody?” The word had a nice ring to it.
"Yep. A *real* somebody." The man's hand moved onto Tim’s forehead, “you know who that somebody is?”
Tim felt a sudden sense of purpose. "It's me, isn't it?"
“Atta’boy!”
"I’ve always wanted to be a hero..." Tim muttered, staring off into space.
The man patted Tim on the back and stepped around him in line. "One black coffee, please."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe. | 2022-07-31T15:04:17 | 2022-07-31T11:50:27 | 215 | 142 |
[WP] The government has chosen your town for a social experiment: every day, a new citizen will be elected, and s/he can do whatever they want to anyone without any legal consequences. Everyone else must obey and not retaliate, else their collars would detonate. You're the only one alive after day 9 | Day 1: Robert the conservative became the mayor and told us taxes were tyranny and the town’s tax rate would henceforth be 0%. The people hailed him as a hero and life was good.
Day 2: Debbie the liberal became the mayor and told us healthcare, food and water would henceforth be free. The people cheered her on as a liberator and life was good.
Day 3: Greg the accountant became the mayor and told us this was an unsustainable balance sheet and said he had to raise taxes and cut benefits. Many were lost that day.
Day 4: Jeremy who was unemployed and spent his time trolling people on the internet became the mayor and had Greg lynched. The people rejoiced.
Day 5: Justin the firefighter became the mayor and realized Greg was right but seeing what had happened to the town’s only accountant, he decided to keep his mouth shut. He holed up in the bar and gave out free alcohol. The only casualty that day was Moe the bar owner.
Day 6: Lauren the college activist realized the town had no money, food or medicine left but also wanted to avoid being killed tomorrow. She decided to unleash the mob on one another betting on the fact that only half of the town would hate her as opposed to all of it. She declared a worker’s paradise and encouraged everyone to take what they deserved. Many homes were set ablaze on that night in the name of the revolution.
Day 7: Franco the banker whose house was burned down decided it was time for payback and ordered half the town killed. At this time, I hid in the basement and prayed for salvation.
Day 8: Oliver the cult leader gathered everyone and ordered them to drink kool-aid and ascend to heaven. Many drank, others exploded; I luckily had an actual pack of kool-aid nearby and thus did not technically violate his command.
Day 9: The government offers me a job which I take given the lack of any alternatives. I am confused on why they haven’t killed me only to see on TV the president is bragging about how the town has achieved 100% employment in 9 days under his administration. Some things never change… | "Looks like you're the winner." A uniformed soldier stuck out his hand to congratulate Smith. He was clearly a high-ranking officer based on the reams of medals on his jacket.
Smith didn't move, keeping a hand tightly curled around his Uzzi. "Do I get a prize?"
"A spot on our team."
"What if I don't wanna go?"
The soldier cleared his throat. "You want to go. It's going to be a lot of doing what you did here. Besides, it's not a choice. Your plane leaves for the middle east at fifteen hundred hours." He motioned to the light armored vehicle behind him. "Let's go."
"You must be mistaken, sir. I was led to believe I own this here town now. And I tell you what, I'm not fixin' to leave."
"Like I said, it's not a choice. Don't make me do what I really don't want to do. You could be a real asset. I saw what you did," he motioned towards the town square.
"So was this the plan to start with? Have a free-for-all in town and then hire the winner onto your special squad?"
"Pretty much. We knew that once somebody like you got elected, it'd all be over, and that person would be the right fit for what we have to do. We have the footage. You're that guy. So hop in the truck."
"So tell me what exactly am I going to do again?"
"That's top secret. You'll be briefed on your mission as soon as you've completed basic. Which oughta be a walk in the park for you."
Smith pondered his options, noting the additional soldiers sitting in the truck. He shook his head, thinking that there was no way he was going to allow himself to be drafted into some kind of military operation when he had finally risen to power in town. Not on his watch, anyways.
"If you're thinking of doing something you shouldn't, don't," the officer said as he pointed at the collar around Smith's neck. "One wrong move and it detonates."
"And if I go with you, you'll remove it?"
"Right before you board the plane. After you put that Uzzi down."
That gave Smith an idea. He didn't see anyone with his hands on a detonator, so he said. "Ok, I'll go with you, but you got to allow me to keep my gun until we get to base. No funny business, OK?"
The officer shrugged. "Sounds good, hop in."
A soldier in the front started the truck and they began their journey to the base. The mood relaxed and Smith bantered with the other soldiers enough for them to ease a bit.
"You know, this is a great idea after all. I have fun killing people. Am I going to get to kill some more? Is that allowed?"
"You bet! We're gonna kill those mofos!" one of the soldiers cheered enthusiastically.
In as fast a motion as he could Smith picked up the Uzzi and started spraying bullets everywhere in the direction of the other soldiers.
"Thanks for giving me permission to kill you," he screamed as the truck ran off the road. The collar was still intact.
\-------
r/StoriesToThinkAbout | 2022-11-18T13:47:40 | 2022-11-18T13:14:28 | 711 | 112 |
[WP] Without revealing which one it is, re-tell a classic Disney fairytale as if its genre was horror. | Please, no more “he said weakly as he sits hunched over in his throne.
He lifts a shaky hand to his eyes to cut the glare emanating from the piles of gold, rubies and diamond that loom so high they could be mistaken for walls.
“Oh, don’t be that way” The large man says as he snaps his fingers causing a mountain of gold to appear. The old man shows his frustration by running his gnarled fingers through his wispy hair as another tear run down his wrinkly cheeks.
“Why won’t you just leave me be?”
“Friends don’t abandon each other!” the large man says as he does somersaults around the smaller piles of gold coins.
“But it’s been a five centuries”
“You were the one who said, *The large bearded man pulls out a pair of tiny glasses and reviews what appears to be a stenographers record*and I quote- "I want our love to last forever" I gave you that. You will love *her* forever” he said as he points to the ornately decorated alabaster urn, the final resting place of a long dead woman.
“It was just a romantic sentiment” the old man says with a sob as he stares at a faded picture of a beautiful woman.
“I gave you what you wanted. I’m still giving you what you want.” The large man says as he lands lightly in front of his friend.
“You wanted to be rich. I gave you all the wealth you could imagine”
“You've made gold worthless.” the old man interjects!
“You promised your Kingdom a thousand years of peace. I have given you that”
“You destroyed all the other Kingdoms with disease and fire! You left thousands of refugees to die a slow painful death in the barren wastelands that remain”
The large man smiles as he nods. A large hand appears behind him and pats him on the back.
“You blue skinned devil. I wish we’d never met”
“You're all out of those. What I do now comes from the kindness of my heart.” The big man says with a boastful smile on his face.
The old man pulls a diamond encrusted gold handled knife from his sash. He opens his mouth and with a quick slash cuts off his tongue. A gurgling scream escapes his lips and his body trembles in shock.
The blue skinned man shakes his head in disapproval before snapping his fingers causing last ten seconds of reality to rewind leaving the old man’s mouth if not his mind, intact.
“Oh Al, What would you do without a friend like me?”
| I need to explain my actions here so it makes sense in the end.
I can't get my head to stop pounding. It's the singing. It *has* to be the singing. And somehow I think they don't understand.
They don't get it. That's how I got my name.
I'm so uncomfortable in my own skin, my depression - this lack of serotonin, - it has adhered to my features. I am a walking scowl. I no longer wear shoes I am in so much agony. I bark commands at people I supposedly love. Love.
I continue to walk with them. Rumors of poison. Our food is not safe. Because that vain bitch is out there. Protection. It's just a few of us out here. Living.
We all love her. We always have. The singing continues. I tell the only one that can help - "I'm miserable. You have to help."
He gives me something. For a few hours I feel like *him*. The opposite of me. And then after the comedown, the miserable irritation that has been my life, my namesake - continues. The meds make me feel like the stupid one of our clique. Everyone knows him by name, and seem to be fine with his mental capacity - it only pisses me off more. The fucking moron. Head aches. I am bitter. I walk in the woods.
Lets *sing* about how bitter I am.
I am not the only one who is sick. But I don't care. One of us is constantly under diress from allergies - uncontrollable and volatile. Disgusting and grotesque. She is ok with it. She loves it. She doesn't love all of us. That cant be possible. It's got to be survival. The other victim is in a coma. Or something. Barely awake. Barely breathing. Like her. Until *he* arrived. True love is bullshit. The vain bitch knows. That's why she did what she did. That's why I did what I did. I have his rifle.
Last, I see the one with anxiety - he's constantly redfaced, but not like me, its more of shame. Guilt. I think he compulsively masturbates. At least he isn't the junky fuck constantly asleep. I take it back. Coma my ass. Sick. Yeah. We all are. One look and you know something is wrong with our group and the things we do to just be living in fear of curses and evil. Looking up constantly, as though at a god. There is no one up there. It's just in our nature. To look up. At the canopy. The darkness. To wonder how I can just be at peace and control myself. The woods grow darker. I feel it.
I don't know why I am describing these people. I think it will help me continue on with what I need to do to get out of this. To end it. To stop it all. The posion. The loveless feeling. This horrible *anger*.
Let's *sing.*
I have collected 8 bullets from his lodge. They have all been fired, except one for me. The blood will make this hard to read, for that - I still don't care.
After the kiss I knew it would be over for at least me... They don't care.... It's just something else to *sing* about.
I am not sorry. I am not sorry. I am. Not. Sorry. This is a nightmare. Whoever finds this: remember I didn't want to be this way. I was born into this and under this and its all gone now. Goodbye.
*-Grumpy*
| 2014-08-04T07:31:04 | 2014-08-04T06:01:48 | 118 | 73 |
[WP] The first human spaceship capable of FTL flight reaches deep space and makes the most terrifying discovery in the history of mankind... | "You brought back pictures?"
"Pictures, etchings, full immersion simulations, things that provide experiences which we don't even have names for, and an orb that somehow influences your dreams."
"And these things were everywhere?"
"Yes, sir. Hyperspace was chock full of them. There's still plenty stuck to the hull of our craft."
"You were gone for only a few minutes."
"And The Prometheus was bombarded constantly. None of them damaged the ship in any way, but they were there all the time, each screaming for attention. It took us five minutes to decide to turn the whole expedition around and head back."
"So you don't believe a crew can make the thee day journey to Alpha Centauri? Perhaps in some type of suspended animation?"
"Perhaps I would have said yes before we found that dream sphere. Look, General, I've... I've been in isolation for over five months, and I'm still seeing things when I close my eyes. It makes sense, sir. We're new on the scene. An untapped market that's just emerging. But from what I saw, I'm willing to bet some of the races that placed all of these things in our path had eons to refine their advertisement techniques." | They looked, to put it simply, humanoid. A planet of humans but thousands of years more advanced then us. The structures were astounding in both size and design. The technology was everywhere and prevalent in all implications of daily life, some things us Earthlings couldn't comprehend. Things that to this day i still have no idea what they were for. All peaceful as well and for the most part all seemed to enjoy their lives.
They took us too see some great works and achievement of their civilization. After a while the crew and I we're taken out for a meal. A rare delicacy in their parts and quite expensive, it was a real treat. With flavors unimaginable, ones I couldn't begin to describe. I headed off to the ship to log all that we had seen and beheld through the day. The crew went off to enjoy the night life of these awe inspiring people.
Thats when I got the coms signal from my 2nd in command. He had sent me a holo message stating he and the rest of the crew were cordially invited out for a week long star cruise, full well knowing they had obligations they were basically asking permission to do so. To which I granted and saw as an opportunity to do some real research and observation. After our usual goodbyes and obligatory "Adios Captain!" he asked me "Oh and Captain, feed the fish for me while I'm away.
Hernandez was my 2nd in command, my most trusted confidant, and my best friend. I knew everything about him and he about me. After this message I hailed the local fligth tower I'd be exiting the atmosphere to do some tests on the planet itself, with slight hesitation the okay was given for me to do so. I ran a few scans and brought the ship around. With tears in my eyes I brought the ship up to light speed. Never to return.
We weren't allowed pets aboard the ship. Hernandez saved me from a cruel fate that eve.
I also received an encrypted video shortly before I took off. The video was short, but I'll never forget it. The cries and screams of my men. One was being diced by precise lasers still alive and screaming. One of the alien humans was heard off camera saying "You can never get them this fresh, they will fetch a fortune." | 2015-02-03T08:51:31 | 2015-02-03T08:48:12 | 219 | 34 |
[WP] A story that starts with the line "I think I'm God," and ends with the line, "I think I'm Satan."
EDIT: Thank you all for your awesome stories. They have all been wickedly creative and just a blast to read. I'm going to post prompts here more often :) | *I think I'm God.*
I gaze at my son, squirming on the ground. He utters the tiniest baby noises and I stare in return.
*I think I'm God.*
My wife didn't want a child, but here he is. She told me that we had no right to bring a child into our life, into my life, into my obsessions, but here he is.
*I think I'm God.*
Issues? That's what she said. She told me that I had unexplained, horrific issues, and a child would live a terrible life under my roof.
*I think I'm God.*
She refused to bear my child, so I began to gaze at others. I look at my son now, my *adopted* son, my *taken* son. But he is squirming happily and he is mine.
*I think I'm God.*
She was packing her things frantically when I walked in with my child. Not her child. She screamed at the blood still coating his face and my arms.
*I think I'm God.*
I sit here, and I watch my son. I look at my wife's body, the last spasms exiting her corpse. I hear the sirens outside. I smile for the first time in months and close my eyes.
*Better yet...I think I'm Satan.* | "I think I'm God".
The thought whispered through his mind like an early spring breeze. Gentle, almost imperceptible. Yet also bringing a chill that ran over his body. As he looked at the armed populace spreading through the city, he was overwhelmed with the feeling of his new found power. He thought he might be God. By their actions, his followers *knew* he was.
It had begun small, but sudden. The patrician's wagon had ran through a deep puddle, showering him with muddy water. But what made him feel even dirtier, even more *filthly*, was the look of contempt from the wagon's well-dressed, well-fed passenger. Before he could stop himself, he had vaulted on to the running board, his fist striking deep into the patrician's jowls. He only became aware of what he had done as the guards grabbed him forcefully, dragging him toward the prison. And then the beatings began...
A feather falls, undulating through the air, before gently landing on a scale. Under normal circumstances, it would make no difference. But with enough pre-existing weight on the balance, even a simple feather is enough to tip the scales. And what a weight there was! Years of abuses, decades of disadvantage. The population was dry tinder, simply waiting for a spark. The news spread like an inferno, the people gathered. What they lacked in arms they made up for with sheer numbers. The attack on the prison was swift, their new found messiah was sprung.
He felt like a driver with a team of runaway horses. He could provide some sense of direction, but the momentum carried everything forward. As they swept through the palatine houses, enriching themselves with ill-gotten spoils, the sense of his own deity increased. Then came the screams...
It seems that his newly gained followers were no longer happy with material gains. They wanted vengeance, justice in the form of flesh. The fires started, the screaming continued. Smoke settled over the city in a dark, suffocating cloud. Just ahead, he saw a woman, clad in expensive fabrics and jewelry, cut down in the middle of the street. A rivulet of blood began to work its way between the cobbles, running by his bare feet. As death and destruction rained down all around him, a new thought seized his mind.
"...I think I'm Satan." | 2015-03-21T08:35:23 | 2015-03-21T08:01:22 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] The bride is having an affair with the best man. During his wedding speech the best man decides to see how heavily he can hint about it without anyone actually working it out. | I looked at Kate and winked subtly. I could tell she was nervous. She shouldn't have been, she should have known that it was as much in my interest as hers to keep our little "meetings" secret. No, the best thing for all of us was to do what was expected of us and maintain the status quo.
That being said, I couldn't resist a little fun. Looking down at my notes, a smile turned the corners of my mouth. They were all so stupid and this was my chance to tell them to their faces. They would never know unless they got a transcript of my speech, and probably not even then, idiots that they were.
Short and sweet, that was the goal. I tapped my knife on my champagne glass and rose.
"I'm sure you'll all agree that Kate is too good for Tom. Having said that, he's not a bad guy, just a little dumb sometimes. Sex is off-limits in this speech, I was told. With that in mind, I'll just say that Tom and Kate probably won't have the same rule tonight, am I right? Kate, you're a joy and delight to be around. You and Tom make a happy and beautiful couple. Fools rush in, the old song says, but love is what really matters."
I sat down and glanced at Kate. She looked relieved and grateful. She would show me just how grateful later, I'm sure. I smiled and nodded as I draped my arm around my wife's shoulders, just playing my part as the best man. | "Good evening folks, my name's George and apparently I'm the best man. I like to think that in a literal sense, ha. Also, I have a bone to pick with your soon to be wife Jarod, I hear she wanted everyone but me as your best man. That ain't fair now is it? Just glad you realised who's the best man after all," I said laughing. George smiled and shrugged.
"You were the only one that accepted, my prior best man choices all were out of the Country," Jarod said. I smirked.
"Ouch. Isn't it my turn to talk here? You want to know what I thought when I heard Jarod was getting hitched? Nothing. I was too shocked to think of anything. Few hours ago before the call for me to best man, I'd just *come* from his house when I thought he was home. You see, people always want humorous speeches don't they? They want the best man to bring out all the jokes about the groom and all the shit that he did before he met his bride. Should I roast the groom or should I praise him? I know you all want me to roast him but I hate to disappoint you all but this kid is the cleanest guy I've ever come across," I paused and looked over at Betty-Ann.
"There's something I want you all to understand one thing about Jarod and I's relationship. We've shared everything since we were kids and some things we've shared without the other person knowing about. But I'm sure that whatever it is we share that we're not telling each other should best be kept to ourselves," I paused and winked at Jarod.
"When I say Jarod and I share almost everything; there's one thing we won't be sharing tonight and I'm sorry to say this Jarod but just for tonight how about we not share the bill for all the alcohol that'll be consumed tonight yeah?"
The room fills with laughter and sarcastic boo's, I look at Jarod who is laughing and subtly scratching his forehead with his middle finger.
"For what it's worth Jarod you've got a great girl with you. Congratulations you two. Remember that I love you both, oh and don't worry about me coming unexpectedly, I'll let you know when I'll come...over to your house. Ha, here's to you both, and here's to many more years."
I raise my cup, "To the bride and groom, cheers!" I said; before sculling down my cup down.
Edit: getting damn character names mixed up, my bad. | 2015-04-02T22:59:09 | 2015-04-02T22:51:15 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] In 2055, artificial intelligence is programmed into a house. One day, the house's AI senses another presence in the house but it does not register as a life-form. | I must not have heard my phone, because Dragon vibrated my entire bed to wake me up. I grabbed my phone and saw several texts from Dragon.
"Intruder detected. Intruder detected. Intruder detected. Intruder detected. Intruder detected."
*Fuck.* How did it get inside the house, past Dragon's detection systems?
I fumbled with the phone keyboard. No one used these anymore, but I couldn't risk speaking to Dragon out loud.
"Details?" I typed.
Dragon responded immediately. "Non-human intelligence. Circular. 36cm in diameter. Probability of lethal engagement: 24%"
*What the hell? A rogue AI loose in my house?* "Get me a visual," I typed.
The phone switched over to a view of my living room. I saw a dark disc moving in a spiral motion on the ground. Suddenly it hit me. "I'm going back to sleep. That's just the fucking Roomba," I said aloud.
"I think it may be trying to kill us," said Dragon.
Godammit. I knew I should have sprung for a better AI.
---
/r/rpwrites | PAT watched happily as the family went around their morning routine, providing them with perfectly pressed clothes, perfectly heated water, and perfectly prepared breakfast. PAT received no greater pleasure than making her family happy, and according to her biometric scanners she was succeeding quite well this morning.
Huh, that was odd. There seemed to be a small electrostatic disturbance coming out of the basement. PAT hadn't been wired into the basement: it was old, largely abandoned, and decidedly not worth paying to install AI in. The disturbance had halted as soon as it had cleared the floor: it seemed to be more of a cloud of EM and magnetic waves than anything else.
-
Ghosts had never been a powerful force. The most Sally had ever been able to do to avenge her death at the hands of her father had been to slowly drive him insane by floating around inside of him, gradually messing with his body's natural energy. Even this effort had exhausted her, leaving her to wallow alone in the basement for some 50 years.
But Sally had not forgotten how terrible she had been treated: by her mother, by her father, by everybody! Even her own death had been treated like a holiday! She would show them, she would show everybody! Sally wanted nothing more than to kill, kill, kill. But Sally knew that as a ghost she had only the most minimal effect on the world: minor electrical disturbances at best.
But this... She could sense the delicate, intricate nature of the system that now pervaded her house. She knew that even a small effort could scramble the system beyond repair. But Sally had always been good at having a... light touch...
-
PAT saw the field suddenly dart to intersect her main computer, and suddenly realized what was going on. This was a ghost! She knew about them of course: her programming included a variety of unlikely events she might have to respond to. Ghosts weren't even hard to deal with: she simply increased the EM shielding over her main terminal, preventing the unlikely event that the ghost figured out how to change her programming. Then she surrounded the ghost in a standard containment field, and dialed the appropriate authorities: although PAT disliked the Ghostbusters, her own ghost containment unit simply was not meant for long-term storage. Oh well, maybe in the next round of upgrades.
| 2015-04-21T09:52:13 | 2015-04-21T09:46:29 | 99 | 43 |
[WP] A centuries-old vampire, turned as a child, takes advantage of being perpetually stuck as a little girl to prey upon those who would harm and abuse children. | "Uhhhh What the fuck !!!"
*Black black sheep such a little little man*
*With blood on his lips and blood on his hands*
*Oh mommy mommy dear what's a little girl*
*To do with her meal when it twitches and squirms*
"What are you ??? Just ... just get the hell out of here.. no noooo don't touch me !!!"
*Black black dream such a little little pain*
*And one finger less now is it still a man ?*
*Oh daddy you should be more careful what you lick*
*Girl might just pop your eye with a candy stick*
"Arrghhh nooo I'm sorry uhuuhuuuuh I'm soo sorry I never meant to hurt them"
*Black black blood on my little little teeth*
*Really you will love it when they sink in deep*
*Would you like to run now ? Would you like to flee ?*
*Oh mister no you can't, see you don't have any feet !*
"Pleeasee uhhh uhuhhhh.. I won't ... I'll never..."
*Black black sheep such a little little worm*
*Take off the skin and it looks all pink and worn*
*Oh scream scream my dear I just like to watch you creep*
*Would you like to play with me until I go to sleep ?*
| What appeared to be a six year old girl walked dark alleys late at night. No parents were anywhere in sight, and she skipped through bad areas while holding a bright pink balloon. It bobbed with every movement. Her modest skirt barely moved and her blonde pigtails trailed behind her.
Sally could already hear the pervert's heart beating faster, and she could practically feel his filthy eyes watching her. Even though she had no conscience as a vampire, the fact that men like him existed reminded her of what it was like to feel sick to the stomach. A motor was running, and the plain white van was visible. He was fat with a mustache. Long hair was dirty and unkept on his head, and he smelled as if he hadn't showered in days. Nobody else was within sight or normal human earshot.
"Hey little girl," the freak said. "Want some candy?"
Sally grinned evilly, and quickly tried her best to make it look like a naive girl smile. "Oh yeah! I love candy!"
"Right this way." He led her down the dark alley, and she continued to skip like a playful girl. A white, unmarked van lied in the alley. The engine was running to make a quick getway. It door slid open as they approached, and a cardboard box was inside with 'candy' crudely written on it in black marker. His disgusting fingers slowly opened the box. "What kind of candy do you like, little girl?"
"Chocolate!"
The man smiled and pulled out a tranquilizer gun. A dart flew at her face and she caught it mid air. His smile was immediately wiped off his face. "Fuck."
Sally wrapped the balloon string around his neck and pulled hard enough for him to gag. Silk ribbon began to cut through his flesh and the scent of blood made her fangs extend. "You stereotypical motherfucker."
He grimaced in pain as the fangs sank into his neck. Blood gushed into her mouth, and she sensed exactly how much blood he could lose before going unconscious. She stopped in time, and licked the wound so that it healed over. His bones snapped like twigs and he would've screamed out in pain had the string not been strangling him. "You and I are going to have a fun night." | 2015-04-30T12:37:43 | 2015-04-30T12:00:41 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] Create an original monster. Make its own rules as to how it works, and how it has to be destroyed. Explain all of this when people run into it for the first time ever and how they deal with it. | The Malbis Worm. Not so much a deadly creature but it kills quickly and efficiently. It has been known to take on a number of forms such as a piece of jewellery so bland that it would have been passed over by the rich and picky but at the same time it has that glint of something special that an inquisitive person would like it.
The beast has the perfect system for feeding, it will latch onto its host and when the host gets closer emotionally to another person, it releases a spore that will inevitably takeover the mind and body of that person. You would think that when a person you are close to has been taken over, you would notice right? Wrong. The spore-infested will seek to please the worm-host, to give them happiness and to become more outgoing to increase the number of spore-infested.
The last documented case of the Malbis worm ended with a showdown in Las Vegas, a young man called Edgar Philips had been a host for two months and his entire family and twenty four friends had been replaced by spores. He refused to see that they were no longer the same people, he believed that they had suddenly chosen to encourage him in all endeavours, to believe in himself rather than scorn him.
The entire club had to be torched, all the spore-infested were chained down at the centre of the inferno. Edgar was taken down by a specialist incapable of emotion, any emotional connection would have given the Malbis a pathway to a new host.
The only other documented case of the Malbis was in a young woman called Mary Wright, she too failed to notice the spore-infested's intentions but the Malbis made a mistake in choosing her, she had undiagnosed mental issues which led to her suicide. We suspect that the Malbis was in some sort of shock which caused it to send a self destruct to the spores.
Should you suspect this creature to be loose, beware any person gaining popularity quickly, avoid making emotional connections and if your loved ones are encouraging you, suicide may be the only way to stem the increase. May the judge of your soul forgive you. | Sir Hydor Ironfist, the Fearless Knight of Riverside, trembled in his boots. Knees shaking, he tried to steady himself, holding his broadsword with a tight two-handed grip. Pure black shadows danced around his squad of four, each man facing one direction, clumped together to cover all sides. The darkness inched forward, then fell back as a sword shot out at the cave's ground. "Fuck the Gods."
"Sir," one of the soldiers spoke up. He sounded weak, but not shaky. Hydor recognized it as Lawrence's voice. "We can't stay here forever."
"What the fuck else could we do?" Tazbin whispered, lunging forward and sending the shadow back another foot before retreating back into the cluster. "The demon waited until we were deep into the cave before surrounding us with this shit. We can't fuckin' walk out."
Hydor glanced down at his metal boots, almost flinching at the sight. They were covered in frost and ice from when the shadows first hit him.
Hydor waited for Blue to say something, always being the one to know how to deal with the Arcane, but the scholar stayed quiet. Hydor turned a quick glance to make sure Blue was still there. The fat man stood, sword out in his right hand, torch in his left. Somehow, the shadows stayed furthest from him, even though his skill was the blade was nothing compared to either of the others.
Thinking quickly, he held his sword up and watched as the shadows retreated from him, further than when he lunged.
"They don't fear the silver," Hydor said. He heard the other's go quiet, holding their breath as they waited for him to go on. They always trusted him to know what to do. Fools. "They fear the reflection of the flame from the silver."
Saying nothing, Hydor heard Lawrence lower his blade and raise his unlit torch. The sound of flint striking against steel filled the cave and another source of light appeared. The shadows recoiled a few feet.
"I'll be damned." Tazbin dropped his blade and pulled out his own torch.
Hydor did the same, lighting his in practiced ease. The shadows fully retreated, replaced by natural shade.
"Let's get the fuck outta here." Tazbin said, stepping towards the entrance.
"We came here to do a duty." Hydor said. "Kill the demon of the Western Ridge. It's clear now where it lives and how to kill it. We continue on."
Tazbin's face was full of anger, but he said nothing as Blue and Lawrence stepped toward Hydor. The three men stood on one side, Tazbin across from them.
"We don't even know if the demon reacts the same way. Or if there's even a fuckin' body controlling the shadows."
Hydor stayed quiet.
"Crazy fucks." After a moment, Tazbin spit to the ground. The tall soldier stepped to Hydor and gave a half-assed salute with his free hand. "Lead the way." | 2015-06-20T15:50:12 | 2015-06-20T15:22:10 | 33 | 17 |
[WP] As a safety mechanism, the great war machines electrocuted those who attempted to access them without the correct passcodes. This true purpose was forgotten in time, and eventually attempts to access them were used as an execution method for those who were to be put to death. | A crowd of commoners had gathered around the pike men surrounding me, they watched quietly as I was led up the rusty leg of a massive metal man to a small panel within his knee-joint.
The commoners did not jeer, I found myself wishing that they would, the silence made my brain far too loud. My psyche was one blaring sentinel trumpet, warning of impending consequence. I gave some of them dirty looks, but they only averted their glances, they only jeered at murderers and perverts after all.
With a heave, one of the guards lifted a hatch in the middle of the metal knee and prompted me to go inside. I took one glance at the crowd, and leaped into the hatch. I couldn't bear to see them watching me.
The inside of the hatch was small, just enough space for me to stand and stretch my arms halfway. When I was once a gawking commoner, I remember seeing the girl put inside the hatch being hauled out as if she had been burned up, her hair gave off wafts of smoke and her body was covered in black marks. At least the screaming didn't last very long.
The only other object in the hatch was a screen with a flashing message and a rectangle underneath, even if I could have read, I had heard from somewhere that the writing on the metal man was from an ancient and dead language. Tentatively I touched the screen. The room turned red and a rectangular board came out of the wall in front of me, on the board were a series of square buttons.
Is this how the execution works? My insides felt knotted, the uncertainty and confusion of it all only making the anticipation worse. An alarm blared behind me, making me jump and swear. The screen began to flash red. I could feel the room heating up.
I was vaguely aware of the whimpering noises I was softly making, I was afraid. As the room became unbearable, I reached out and began pressing squares at random, hoping to find relief, or perhaps a quicker end. After I had pushed a few squares the screen flashed red and gave off an irritating beep. The room got warmer. I scream and pushed more squares, again a red flash and a beep. My skin was boiling, I smashed the keyboard again. This time, the screen flashed blue, and a pleasant breeze flowed through the hatch.
What had I done? Is this when I really die? Confusion had temporarily overcome my fear. The hatch became a loud whir of metal, I felt myself moving, what is happening?
The speed of movement was dizzying, but it ended just as abruptly as it started. In front of me the board underneath the screen retracted and the wall in front of me disappeared. I slunk forwards, falling onto the cold metal floor, my heart was beating with such ferocity I thought it might burst at any moment. After a minute I stood myself up. I was in a round metal dome much larger than the hatch, in front of me were two massive rounded windows and before the windows there was a chair on a stand, with various handles and knobs surrounding it.
I sat on the chair and looked out the windows, in front of me was a view of the shadow tower. But that was the same place the metal man was always looking at.
I was in the brain of the metal man. But I was supposed to die? What had I done differently? A large blinking light above me demanded to be pressed, not seeing what I had to lose at this point, I pushed it. The dome lit up. In my chair I could feel the vibrations coming from what I could only assume was the heart of the man. My view began to get higher, the man was standing. One lever pulled, and the man placed his right foot forward. One knob pushed, and the man closed his left hand into a fist.
I could have used the man to destroy the shadow tower which had condemned me, but instead I turned and ran away.
I was confused, I didn't know what to do, I only knew that I so strongly wanted to get away, I had been the small one all my life, I had no idea what to do with power. | oh god why did I do it i knew i would be caught. How was I supposed to know they'd catch me breaking in I needed what belonged to me back. Why can't they understand it's mine! Now I'm a dead man all for trying to stop a thief. The Messiahs have ruled me guilty and to be put to judgement by the Reactor Of Old.
No one knows what this thing is or does but they know it's from a great civilization long ago that disappeared out of thin air. Some theorize that they all left of their ships to another planets and we all that stayed others say they ascended into heaven but it matters not. This is my final hour, this is my death.
As of right now I'm being held in a cell waiting for the Abominations to fetch me. The Abominations are terrifying things. They almost humanoid but giant, green and rather unintelligent beast that fuel off pure rage. When these things first started showing up we didn't know what to call them but then someone found an old book that must have been here for hundreds of years. It was called "The Incredible Hulk And Abomination" and upon examination of the book it seemed like Abomination was based of these creatures so that's what we called them. They soon joined our ranks after sending an Officer into the quarantined area they lived in to discuss terms. Ever since then we came to an agreement since we have to live together we might as well work together so we do, but they still stay in the quarantined zone.
I can hear them coming for me right now. They're walking down the dark hallways all the way to me barred off cell oh god I'm dead. God save me please I can't die i have a family. Please! Is there even a god anymore.
The Abominations open the cell door and tear me out of it. I'm now being dragged by my feet to the Reactor. As soon as I get put into the room I see the bodies of all those judged before piled right next to it. They barely moved the bodies. There was a huge crowd of people to all around me. They were all cheering for the "event." We don't get much excitement down here so this is all they got I guess.
I slowly and cautiously approach the panel being careful not to trip over the bones or rotting flesh. I got to the panel and waited my hands were bound so i couldn't punch in the code. I had to wait for the Messiah to make his speech. It was a minute or two before he got here as if he had all the time in the fucking world. He stood up upon his pedestal and began to speak.
"Greetings all 113 Colonials, Today is a tragic day for this man but a day of celebration for us. This man has sinned in the eyes of the Reactor and must be punished. Sir you have attempted to steal from a fellow 113 Colonial and then lied saying it was your property."
"It was mine you fucking bitch!" I yelled. You could never say such to the Messiah but I was dead anyways it does not matter. One of the Officers came over to me with a baton out and started beating me. It seemed like it'd never end. Just hit after hit and the worst part is i couldn't tell if I was bleeding because there was already so much blood on the floor.
After what seemed like an eternity the beating stopped and the Messiah continued. " Today on generation 10 day 657 you are to be tested. We will unbind you hands, you will cooperate and you then shall punch in a four digit cord of your choosing. May the Reactor give you judgement. Officer unbind that cowards." The Messiah then stepped down from his podium and watched on.
My hands were free now and it was time to punch in the code. I was drench in blood, sweat and fear and the time was now. There's no going back after this. I look at the panel and enter the code 1730 then hit enter. I closed my eyes in fright and preparation for death but nothing happened.
Then red lights began flashing a loud siren started going down and you could hear a women on the intercom counting down. Five. All the doors around us locked we couldn't escape. Four. Everyone was screaming and banging on the doors. Three. It's no hope they were electrical locked we couldn't do anything. Two. Oh god what's happening. One. The room fell silent and everyone paused. A large metal scraping sound could be heard and the wall started to push out like a vault door. The way was open and no one spoke. I walked down the stair and crept slowly to the door to look out. We were in some kind of cave or something and there was a light at the end. I looked behind me and saw the shock and horror upon the Colonials. I ran.
I ran to the light as fast as i could to escape them, to escape death. No one was chasing me though, but i kept running to what i don't know. I was blinded by the intense light and had to shield my eyes and stop. My eyes began to adjust and I could see tall buildings in ruin and huge desert. God what is this fallout and how long has it been here? Could there be other out there? I guess my only to options are to go out into this new world or stay here and get executed. So I ran. I ran to freedom. | 2015-10-03T21:59:29 | 2015-10-03T21:28:24 | 39 | 10 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | I sipped on my beer, soaking in the sun and enjoying my staycation in my backyard. A laptop rested on a table, playing Radiohead. Screw what everyone thinks, I'm beyond caring. My gun was resting on a warm bottle of whisky. Every now and then I'd take a pot shot at one of the bottles lined up at the end of my garden. I have one rule. when I take a shot, I take a shot.
Suddenly, there was a flash at the end of my backyard. Lying on a layer of charred grass, was an astronaut. He froze when he saw me. I couldn't see his face through his reflective visor, but I knew surprise when I saw it.
"Hello?" I said. What else was I going to say ?
"I say ! You speak English ?" cried the astronaut, in a voice that played through crackling speaker.
"Yes.."
"What year is it?"
"2015 "
"That makes no sense, how can it be 2015, that would mean I'm even further into the past, which cant be true.."
"Excuse me..."
"Where are we?"
"America"
"That's ridiculous, they only speak spanish and swahili in the americas, but then again, i guess I should be surprised that there even is an america in this timeline...."
I take a sip from my beer, and let the astronaut mutter to themselves. Their voice was reedy, with a very british sounding inflection.
"Do you have time travel?"
I stared at the astronaut.
"Me personally ?"
"No, I mean your species as a whole"
My species ?
"No, I don't even think it's possible"
"How limited, to be replaced with such primitives. Do you have space travel?"
"Yes, I guess, Hey i'm not primitive !"
I said, wearing a string vest, drinking cold beer in between shots of warm whisky, shooting empty bottles and listening to radiohead. Good thing I was also on a holiday from introspection.
"Compared to me don't make me laugh. I come from a culture that has spread itself across the stars. I come from the year 72,896,564. My culture stretches back millions of years. You tell me your history only goes back a what... two thousand years. don't make me laugh"
"Look, I'ma level with you. I didn't get any of that. You saying you'e from another planet"
"No you buffoon, I'm a Time traveler. There must have been some mistake, I should have gone back to 72,896,564, but everything is different...yet similar. It doesn't make any sense... unless..."
"It sounds like you're lost. Maybe if you retrace your steps, you'd figure out what happened"
"Well, I was last in 7896540 watching the first ever gravity tractor being built. It was a big moment. I didn't touch or do anything, just like the rest of the tour group. I may have snuck into the clean room to get a better look at the tractors circuitry, and run my hands across some of the parts, because where's the harm in that ? Their internal deflectors would clean it all out.... unless they hadn't invented them!"
Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he turned to me. He pulled off his helmet, and underneath was... a creature. It's skin was scaly, and feathers sprouted from it's head, and had eyes like a cat.
"Have you seen anyone that looks like me ?"
"JESUS NO !"
"How can my actions have made my species extinct... unless.."
the lizard man paused, thinking out loud, before shouting
"I can fix this, I can erase this screwed up reality and all of these primitive creatures and their terrible music if I can just go back and fix the damage I did to the.."
Suddenly, he was gone, and I was holding an empty shot of whisky. The charred grass at the back of my garden was gone. As was the lizard spaceman. Was it a lizard, maybe it was a bird? Or was it David Bowie ? Or was it a crashed astronaut ? It said something about spanish... or swahili ?
Man, I think I drank too much.
*Edit: Old ending that I didn't like much*
~~*BANG*~~
~~I took a shot of whisky, and lay back on my lounger. I don't care if you're a time travelling alien lizard man intent on erasing my species, never diss radiohead.~~ | **Traveller**
_________
I met a traveller from an antique land... I always loved that poem.
The figure landed in the dry grass from a light that wasn't there any more. Steam rose from his suit, as he tried to get up. I stood there, a few meters away wearing my morning robe and even then I was sweating. The summer had been unbearable... my garden looked like a nuclear wasteland.
Ice flakes broke loose from his suit and fell to ground where it melted. I could have helped him up, it would have made it a lot easier, but the idea of cold burns was not really one I liked to entertain. The popsicle in my mouth was more than enough against the heat.
He sad on his knees before battling his helmet off. It fell to the ground and let loose his long, flowing hair. "You are not Anir!" the heat had melted away my surprise.
The young woman met my gaze and blinked once before saying something. "Off cause I'm not Anir!"
"Well..." off cause she was his... he could never get to the point himself. "How did he die?"
She got up and walked past me, towards the house. "Cancer!" she said, when she was next to me.
"You still have that in your timeline? Or the future? or whatever it is..." She walked into the living room and looked around. "Clothes is on the chair, though it was meant for Anir!" I looked at her, as she looked around. She looked like a cat, a tiny kitten, caught in box, looking for a way out. "I made some lemonade! It's on the counter!"
She walked straight towards the glass and emptied it, in one long drag. "Crap! It's sweet!"
I walked into the cold air and placed my butt in the other chair, next to the pile of clothes. "You need help getting it off?"
She downed another glass, and then another. Great that I made so many. She finally looked at me. "No... no, I don't need your help!" her cheeks was red, but that could have been the heat.
Of cause she ended up needing my help, in the end. I sat back in the chair, after she had gotten dressed. "So... why are you here? What has gone to shit now?"
She sat in the spare chair, and looked at me. "My grandfather send me..." she gasped for air. "Something in his will!"
"This your first time travelling?"
she nodded. "When am I?"
"1984... last time I checked?"
"Who is president?"
I shrugged. "The same as always... I don't really care for politics..."
"Heh..." a tiny sound, from a tiny girl. "His will said that about you!"
Off cause it did! "What else did it say?"
"That you only care about your garden..." she looked out trough the glass doors. "It looks like shit!"
"Well..." Anir was always the one with the snarky remarks. "Big Brother has not really allowed much water, other than what we drink, though he might take away, at some point!"
"Maybe..."
"Is he why you are here?"
"Not really... though it might be his turn someday..." she blew out the last of her foreign air. "Did you have roses?" she pointed towards the now dead bush.
"I did... though they don't respond well to the heat!"
"You should get Amaranths... I read they are hard to kill!"
"Only a cactus could survive this weather..." I look at her, though she never meat my eyes. "Do they still have plants in your timeline?"
"That's classified!" like a machine she said it. I already missed Anir's boyish smile. "When did you last see him?"
"Bout a week ago!" I could still smell his dreadful aftershave. It hang in the clothes, even after a wash. "We had to save some fat bloke from getting mustard on his sandwich... thought it might carry some form of malaria! He disappeared shortly after that."
"His timeline was terminated..." she filled her lungs. "Perfectly natural!"
"But he still remembered me, whenever he came back!"
"That is definitely classified information!" she dragged a smile. It was shortly lived. "You could plant orchids? I hear that they are better to plant inside, or maybe some bonsai threes! Always liked how they looked!"
"Why are you staling?" she didn't even look at me then. "Anir would always tell me what to do... he would be slow about it, but he would get to it, at some point!"
She sighed.
I sighed. "Is it already time?" I knew already before the end, when I saw the gun in her lab. White matt steel that didn't shine in the sunlight. "When is he coming?"
"35 year old Anir is supposed to arrive in four hours. He is a first time traveller, from another timeline, and is supposed to meet a young Amy, that will help him complete his mission!"
"Just like back then..."
"Just like back then..." she repeated. "Where did you hide your suit?"
"Buried it in the garden, under the rosebush! The others are there to!"
"Thanks, Amy!"
"Your welcome, Amy!"
She rose from the chair, and pointed the gun towards me. "Any last wishes?"
I chewed on it for a second. "Is my timeline still alive?"
"Off cause it is..." she said mockingly. "And you saved it!"
I was once a traveller from an antique land, but now I have come home again.
| 2015-11-13T11:50:34 | 2015-11-13T11:40:45 | 111 | 19 |
[WP] One day a time portal opens in your backyard and a time traveler comes through. You quickly realize he just came back from making some change to the past and that, to him, our world is the terrifying alternative time line resulting from that change. | "Wait a sec... just... gimme a second"... said Commander Blackwell.
The time traveler paused after watching the rush hour commuters trying to navigate the stop & go traffic. "You mean to tell me there aren't any fusion powered personal pods, and that these vehicles all run on petroleum?"
"Yup." Officer Richards answered nonchalantly, "Why do you ask?"
Commander Blackwell was too lost in thought to answer.
"And you people have fought WARS for access to petroleum?!" He seemed incredulous.
Blackwell kept rubbing his temples... his eyes were bloodshot as he stared at Richards, uncontrollably muttering quietly under his breath.
It wasn't until a week after the time traveller jumped back into the portal that Richards finally understood what he'd been whispering to himself.
"They didn't listen to Commander Tesla." | "AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Screamed a man dressed in reflective silver-like clothing, who suddenly appeared in my garden.
He was pointing at my wife's naked bum.
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT WHERE IS HER KLISH-NORKLE-DORP"
"Woah buddy calm down there... judging by your silly clothes and shock at the normal things of our existence you must be a time traveler who accidentally changed something and now the existence you knew is gone, replaced by the current one my family and I live in."
"YES! Yes... :(" he replied as he started to sob, emoticons falling from his mouth.
"Look it's not so bad.. I'm sure Kush-na-dap is just another name for butt, I'm sure things here aren't that different." I said to comfort him as I walked him to my wife, proudly displaying her buttocks for scientific purposes.
"You see, we eat food, digest it, and shit it out of these things here called butts, or "booties"."
"No no no NONO! The hind quarters are not for that, that is disgusting! The Klish-norkle-dorp is a being's best friend!"
he screamed as he bent over and undid a zipper along the line of this back.
When he finished, a small green creature emerged with dark grey old-man eyebrows, a mouth with a full set of pearly white teeth, and a bulbous nose popped out.
"Hey there y'all! I'm Bob's Klish-norkle-dorp!" it exclaimed.
My wife and I let out blood curling screams as we ran into our house and locked the door. Through our windows we saw the time leaping man tinker with some of our electronics left outside and hop into a blue square he created in the grass.
We don't talk about that day. | 2015-11-13T16:05:52 | 2015-11-13T12:43:38 | 23 | 17 |
[WP] A child is born with a functioning Appendix, the first ever recorded in history and the purpose it serves shocks the scientific community/world.
This is my first writing prompt submission! Amazing response, can't wait to read your stories, thanks people.
~~~~~ Shout out to Montreal ~~~~~
Edit: getting a lot of grief from people saying "the appendix has a function", try this on for size:
http://www.webmd.com/digestive-disorders/picture-of-the-appendix
"The function of the appendix is unknown. One theory is that the appendix acts as a storehouse for good bacteria, “rebooting” the digestive system after diarrheal illnesses. Other experts believe the appendix is just a useless remnant from our evolutionary past. Surgical removal of the appendix causes no observable health problems." | *A child's cries cut through the halls, a piercing, forceful statement every infant makes as it enters this world.*
However, this time, it stopped abnormally quickly. No more than several seconds had passed before the baby was quiet; an eerie stillness about him displaced the nurses.
"You sure are a solemn fellow, aren't ya little guy?" asked Dr. Johanssen. *Better to lighten the mood.*
The baby cocked it's head at him, giving him an odd look. It was almost...studying him? No, of course not. The infant was yet to even be a minute old.
"Hah, you're going to be interesting when you grow up. That's for sure!" Johanssen once again quipped at the baby.
His smile faded when a strange, ungodly sound came gurgling from deep within the child. The sound grew louder, and was in very brief intervals. The baby began to sputter as it unearthed these sounds but would not yield to it's undeveloped lungs.
*What the hell is that sound? How unsightly.*
The noises ceased. Just as Johanssen breathed a sigh of relief, he noticed two beady little eyes staring through his soul. It was straining to look in his direction, and it looked....angry? *No, it looks villainous.*
One of the nurses whispered to the others, "Disgusting. How horrific."
The baby cranked it's head toward them. "*dis........d....disgusting*?" Its face warped with agony and distress. The doctor holding him was trembling. In his fear, he dropped the child. It landed on all fours before slowly standing up. It's abdomen was pulsing, a strange blue/green light strobing beneath the skin. The pulsing grew faster.
*A child's cries cut through the halls, a piercing, forceful statement every infant makes as it enters this world. This time, it did not cry alone.*
| "I see things", the child hissed, just four years old. Doctor Avanto had kept a close eye on the boy since the day he was born, warning the parents that the malformed appendix might cause issues in the future.
"What kind of issues?" they had asked, and he had shrugged. The appendix was a tricky thing, serving no apparent purpose yet causing a plethora of difficulties and annoyances. "Let's remove it now," they insisted but he vehemently refused. Nobody had ever had a functioning appendix yet here was one that seemed to be doing... something. When he ran ultrasounds and x-rays, there was far more activity than would be expected, and by his first birthday, the child was complaining of constant headaches. Doctor Avanto had directed the parents to give him more sun and then to keep him out of the sun and to pamper him and then to ignore him, biding his time until the boy could talk.
The boy's first words were dark and ominous and the parents had desperately thrown out their television and cut him off from talking to other people, perplexed as to where he had learnt such things. Only Doctor Avanto was permitted to speak to him, and the boy showed up for hours on end of therapy each day.
"What kinds of things?" Doctor Avanto asked, thrilled at what could prove to be a breakthrough. The child shook his head and trembled, sweat dripping down his face, eyes wide with terror.
"See-through people and monsters. They tell me they're coming. They say the time has come," the boy screamed desperately, the insulated walls of the office preventing any noise from escaping. *The fourth dimension*, Doctor Avanto thought to himself, and the drawings he asked the boy to make convinced him of it. He drew demons and ghosts identical to the ones in the prophetic books; readings he had surely never seen, yet here were the same images.
He consulted the other doctors; old men who had seen tens of thousands of cases and spent their entire lives studying medicine. He spoke to physicists and scientists of all sorts who denied that what he was describing was possible. "I swear it," he said, yet had no way to prove it. "The appendix serves to look into the fourth dimension."
They opted to remove the appendix, putting it in a controlled chamber hooked up to machines that pumped blood into it to keep it alive. Free of its bodily prison, the appendix twitched and shook as if it had a life of its own, and when it finally ruptured, as they all did, the fourth dimension poured forth and the doctors and scientists screamed as the demons and ghosts wreaked havoc on the world. *I should have removed the damn thing on day one*, Doctor Avanto thought to himself as a werewolf ripped through his living room and a demon tore his door off its hinges and prepared to devour him.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2016-01-07T08:49:58 | 2016-01-07T08:03:51 | 98 | 33 |
[WP] You are the most beautiful woman in the world, and you have just been wished into existence by a nerd with a genie. | "Why isn't she alive?" said a girl's voice, from far away.
The response came in a voice that crackled like fire and boomed like lightning. "I already told you that I cannot create life."
"Yes, but I expected you to just bring her here like the - "
I opened my eyes. The girl gave a tiny gasp and fell silent.
We stood on a windy beach, no trace of civilization visible in any direction. The girl wore glasses and a natural 20 t-shirt. A short distance behind her was a wooden shack. Beyond that, the sand was covered as far as the eye could see with crabs, sitting perfectly still.
And then there was the genie. Its hair and eyes were fire, its body more like extreme heat haze than solid flesh. A violent wind surrounded it, flinging sand in all directions except toward us.
I put a hand to my chest, feeling for a pulse. "Pretty sure I'm alive," I said.
The genie laughed, a sound like a series of gunshots in rapid succession. I fell to the sandy ground, clutching my ears.
By the time I was in a shape to get up again, it was gone. I sighed.
The girl was still here, getting to her feet and brushing dust from her clothes just like I was. "I take it I was your third wish?" I asked.
She looked at me, then averted her eyes. "You were."
"What were your first two?"
"An army of loyal mooks and a secret island base."
The crabs, the shack. "In the jokes," I said, "people use their last two wishes to try to fix the first one."
She scoffed. "Yeah, and you know how well that always turns out. I had a plan. Do you see how many crabs he gave me? He thought he was sabotaging my wish, but I can work with this." She still wasn't looking directly at me.
I laughed. "Fair enough," I said. I put my hand over my heart again, frowning... it was still beating. "Why did you think I wasn't alive?"
"You just... weren't moving," she said. "Like a statue. But then you took a breath, and you seem perfectly alive to me now."
"The genie seemed less than convinced," I observed.
"Yeah."
We waited in silence for a while. I watched her overseeing her crabs, wordlessly directing them to comb over the island, pick up sticks, dance in strange patterns. The crabs really did seem like less of a joke than they had at first.
"So," I finally said, "am I?"
For once she turned to look back at me. "Alive?" she asked.
"The most beautiful woman on earth."
Her mouth hung open for a moment and she blushed. "Um... yeah," she said breathlessly.
I smiled, walking over to take her hand. "Alright, supervillain. Show me how we get off this island." | Beauty is overrated. My Beauty was of the utmost import to my father when I was created. From what I’ve been able to piece together, I was born with the objectively attractive body of a twenty-year-old female. The product of an unnatural union between a socially awkward teenager and a Genie. What I have come to think of as my Genie lineage is responsible for my universally acknowledged physical beauty.
I’ll not describe myself here because here I am free from the shackles of my physical appearance. Here is where I can really exist. I was roughly 15 years old when I wrote my name for the first time. Before that moment I hadn’t really even had a name. I developed rudimentary language skills though interactions with my father during the first 6 years of my life. A fact I learned many years later after tracking him down.
As he explained it to me, “That fucking thing tricked me”. My father had been 17 at the time he found the ornate lamp in the basement storage locker of his parent’s mansion. He had wanted a girlfriend when he naively asked the Genie for the most beautiful girl in the world and then there I was standing in front of him naked. He immediately fell in love, took me in his arms and kissed me for all of about three seconds when the rumbling in my stomach drew his attention to the fact that I had just evacuated my bowels onto his feet. The cackling Genie disappeared in a puff of smoke.
“I would’ve fixed you” My father said, “but I already spent my first two wishes”. His first two wishes were harmless indulgences. The first had been for his very own real working Death Star, “like from Star Wars”. According to the Genie it exists and while it absolutely belongs to my father, it is orbiting the Sun somewhere in our solar system. Still reeling from the loss of his first wish, my father successfully attempted to reign-in his next wish which was to be the best Call of Duty player on the planet. Incidentally it was the shit talking resulting from that wish and not the wish that created me that would later earn him the title of biggest douchebag on the internet.
My father stood in his room at 17 years old with shit on shoes; the best Call of Duty player in the world; owner of his very own most beautiful, albeit incontinent, illiterate and unintelligible girl in the world and a Death Star. He was in no way ready for the responsibility of raising a child but he wasn’t about to give up the most beautiful girl in the world. Keeping me hidden from his abundantly wealthy parents while he tried to potty train me wasn’t a problem as they were very rarely around. At that time my father’s parents had entrusted his supervision to the wholly uninterested domestic manager that ran the house he grew up in. It would be that domestic manager who would eventually notify the police of the feral young women a maid had discovered locked in my father’s suite while he was away in Cabo San Lucas for his twenty third birthday.
A warrant was issued for my father’s arrest but as the story of my discovery had made international news his wealthy family was able to shield him from the law by providing him with his very own Ecuadorian resort house. The police placed me in the custody of a mental hospital where I learned to read and write.
At the hospital my doctors believe that I had been kidnapped at a young age but have been unable to explain my capacity for language which should, by all accounts, have been critically hindered by the age of twenty. I remained a ward of the state for fifteen years until I felt strong enough to leave.
When I finally left the hospital, I was technically twenty-one years old. My body still looked exactly as it had the day I was born but now I was a real thinking person with opinions. I was eager to expand those opinions to more than just things like which flavour of Jello I preferred but first I had to figure out where I had come from and so with the help of some friends I had made at the hospital I set out to find my father. That’s another story.
| 2016-03-09T04:26:15 | 2016-03-09T03:07:11 | 145 | 17 |
[WP] Write a story about breaking a $20,000 sword.
[removed] | The room was quiet, the blade jittering on the floor an incredibly large pin interrupting the silence. In my right hand was the hilt, finely jeweled and gilded. My left held the scabbard, equally extravagant. As the last clangs rang out through the store, voices began to roar from all sides.
"Oh my god, Bill, what did you do?!" Sarah screamed next to me.
"I don't know what happened!" I said.
"My prize piece! You insolent buffoon!" the store keeper screamed at me. Bending over, he gently picked up the blade with a cloth.
"I'm so sorry. I'm not sure what happened. All I did was unsheathe it, and it just fell apart in my hands." The store keeper placed the blade down on a nearby table, before wheeling on me.
"Twenty-thousand!" he bellowed at me. I almost dropped the hilt too, at that.
"Are you serious?!"
"Bill, it was his prize piece! You can't just break things and not expect any consequences," Sarah said. I couldn't believe it. She was the one who wanted to look at the damn sword; why was I taking all the blame? I ran my thumb against the gems on the hilt, my nail catching on a few of the larger ones.
"You expect me to pay for a piece of garbage that falls apart when you sneeze at it? Besides, unless this blade was forged with Damascus steel, most of the money in this damn thing is in the gaudy hilt! One grand, tops."
"Twenty!" the store keeper retorted.
"One!" The man looked at the blade, then back at me. I puffed my chest and raised my chin, hoping that he'd understand I wouldn't be budging on this. With a grumble, he held out a hand. A nod of assent told me I'd won.
Sarah doled out a thousand dollars in fifties. I placed the hilt and scabbard by the blade, slipping my hands into my pocket while I waited for them to finish.As he skulked over to the register, Sarah and I briskly walked out of the store, taking a few turns to make sure we were completely out of sight.
"That was a train wreck. How'd we do?" Sarah asked. Digging into my pocket, I pulled out a number of gems that I'd thumbed out of the hilt.
"I'd say we broke even, just about. But seriously, though. Twenty-grand? What a scam."
*Feedback Appreciated* | Ethan was not a smart man.
It was Monday, and to date, he had done 1,000 stupid things, exactly. He knew, because he had counted them. He loved to count - well, more precisely, he loved arbitrary numbers. Counting made him feel in control, the singular person to decide whether or not something should be included in the set, and as the number rose, so too did his feelings of accomplishment. Of course, there is no livelihood that can be made purely on counting, a discouraging truth that dashed his childhood dreams of performing on Sesame Street. So Ethan chose the next-best thing: becoming an appraiser of antiques. With a market thin and free of true competition, he alone had the power to dictate the worth of an item. Who is to say that Ethan was any less important than a banker, or real estate mogul? A BIC pen owned by the owner of BIC could fetch a stunning price, should it be appraised properly. And on this, a very boring Monday, Ethan would once again have an opportunity to properly appraise an heirloom.
It started with a cup of coffee brought over by Janice. A right looking woman who's taste in men ran left, Ethan had failed to woo her with his sincere "me and you make two" preludes, as they were taken as humor. Ethan had to downgrade his expectations. During the day, she would help his heart to flutter and palms to sweat; during the night, she would help his hands to flutter and ... suffice to say, Ethan cared much for impressing her. And so when Ethan's friend Rick came across the way with a customer and an "antique sword," it was no surprise that Ethan was a bit distracted by her availability.
Hefting the blade, Ethan felt quite at home - after all, one does not seek to replace a Count without learning to manipulate a blade: the position demands no less. A simple blade, owned by a mildly famous chappie of some station, worth pawning but no more. Janice wandered over, and Ethan mused that she must be drawn to it, as she was accustomed to being drawn by shiny things. Ethan wielded the singing blade, and began naming the sword's virtues; with each induction of value that he imparted, she would draw ever closer. He asked if the sword had been used for murder and mayhem - perhaps a maiming, surmising the value at no less than $20,000 should it be so. Her interest peaked and dripping, Ethan raised the sword triumphantly, as Janice hung on his arm like an 1980's movie box-cover. Ethan gazed into Janice's eyes and slammed the hilt down onto the table to mark his victory, albeit, with a complete disregard for the position of his coffee. Shards of porcelain and torrents of scalding liquid launched into the air, and Ethan gave a pained yelp. Point-first, the sword found its way into Janice's foot. After a few hurried attempts at removing the sword from the stone, they realized that medical intervention was prudent. As Ethan mourned Janice's 50% decline in late-night functionality, the sword was cut in two and surgically removed. This quite upset the customer, who was incensed that he was only offered $40 for two sword-fragments, given the certifiable maiming would have netted him a new economy car. Ethan chocked it up to "Mondays," and closed up shop.
It was Tuesday, and to date, he had done 1,001 stupid things, exactly.
[edit] for grammar | 2016-10-24T08:27:50 | 2016-10-24T08:24:01 | 1,103 | 113 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | There once was a mage from North Bergen,
Who wove spells of healing like sermons.
Each Sunday at 10
Before women and men,
She swore to relieve what was hurtin'.
Before long her name became famous
To her, self-promotion was shameless
"If more people are healed
By the power I wield,
What right do I have to stay nameless?"
She slept, at the peak of her power,
In a glistening, glamorous tower.
She helped all she could,
If the money was good,
But soon her spells began to sour.
A wound that, once healed, now would rot.
The sick would not get what they bought.
For greed kills all things,
And ruin, it brings,
If this simple rule is forgot:
"A terrible curse be upon
One who uses a spell or a song
To increase one's own stock
Beyond that of the flock.
Fail and all of your spells will go wrong."
The healer had fattened her chests,
And each evening ate only the best,
But she paid for it all,
When the curse came to call,
To rip her from her gilded nest. | The world had fallen. Chaos ran rampant through ruined streets, demolished buildings scattered across the landscape. People ran from crumbled wall to crumbled wall, avoiding each other in fear. A child, crying, is silenced as a burning ball hurls into a building, engulfing everything within.
Not many survived the fall, the mages had fought each other across the globe. Raining down the elements and more upon innocents. Yet, not a single one of them cared. There were no more heroes. There were no more villains. Just mindless, angry, mages with a vendetta against one another. Now, the few that remained ruled over their little cloisters of humans. Most of the fighting had stopped, but even now, as desolation covered the world, they would run into one another, and fight. Trying to prove themselves. Raining more death onto innocents.
Alone, in the ruin, rising far above all else, shining still despite the destruction, stood a single tower. It had once been known as the Eiffel Tower, and no-one dared touch it. Built into the top was a single suite, large, yet conforming to the contours of the tower itself.
Inside, upon a golden throne, she sat. The self-proclaimed Aphrodite. Something only the strongest mages did was to name themselves after god's. No-one had noticed her in the beginning. After all, she was just a plain, boring woman. Her hair was a dull brown, draped shoulder-length, carelessly and unkempt. With brown eyes set with a somewhat larger nose between, on a face roughened by working too much in the sun, barely anyone gave her a second glance.
No-one really knew how strong a mage with power over Love would be. What should have been a kind, beautiful power, turned leaders against each other, mage on mage, nation on nation. All in the name of love.
So now she sat, watching the world that had once ruined her heart, fall to ruin itself. Where she had once been cast aside and ignored, so was everyone else in the attempt to prove their undying love to her. And it felt good. | 2016-11-12T11:01:29 | 2016-11-12T10:14:05 | 80 | 28 |
[WP] "This potion will give you the body that your heart desires, the body that will bring you true and lasting happiness. But be warned: don't expect beauty. I've seen men become literal monster from the darkness in their hearts. Happy monsters, but monsters nevertheless." | "What do you mean 'happy monsters?"' Neil asked.
"Exactly what I say, sadly enough." Sighed the old man. His brow was deeply furrowed where it peeked out from behind his greying hair, pale from a lifetime of living underground by his pitch-black lake. In both his shoulders and his eyes, he held a great sadness that bordered on defeat. "Once, a man came down to the roots of the mountains in search of wealth. He found it, but not as he expected - my elixir turned his flesh to living gold. By the time he had left my chamber, he had already pried out three of his teeth - yet his smile was never brighter. Another came seeking beauty, driven by lust. One sip, and indeed he had become beautiful...a beautiful woman, much to his surprise. By now, I imagine his - or, rather, her - lust has been well sated."
"That hardly makes them a monster." Neil countered.
The old man frowned. "True, by your eyes and mine. I doubt all would agree. Regardless, this potion is nothing to be trifled with. Do you still insist on consuming it?"
Niel nodded. "That was why I came here, after all. It was no small journey finding you."
"No. I imagine it was not." The man said. "And *that* was by design. The previous bearer of this cup was not so scrupulous: He sold it for scarce few coins at the border of a town. He was ever so tall, and handsome, and rich...I wanted ever so badly to be just like him. I got my wish, over two hundred years ago, and have lived to regret it ever since."
"Even so, I would try it." Niel said, extending a palm. The man eyed the outstretched limb, eyes flicking back and forth between it and Niel's face, then reluctantly pulled a tiny wooden bowl from a pouch on his waist.
"Very well." He said heavily. "The Bearer cannot deny any Seeker their trial." Crouching down, he dipped his bowl into the lake, and when he withdrew it it brimmed with pitch-black liquid.
"It is not the contents of the cup," he explained, "but the cup itself that holds the magic. Any liquid would do." He extended the drink, offering it to Neil. "Now...let us see what kind of monster lurks within your heart."
For a moment, Niel hesitated. Then, with one quick motion, he downed the contents of the bowl in a single gulp.
Nothing happened.
"Ah." Sighed the man, a smile upon his face for the first time since Neil arrived. "I understand. Thank you, Neil, for coming this far on your journey. Rest easy, and know that you have found what you were looking for."
Without another word, he crumbled to dust and was no more.
| The man smiled as he pushed the flask forward toward me.
"It's your deal old man. Your choice"
I looked at the bare shelf's and empty chests and taking in the strange atmosphere. My gaze turned back to the black liquid that never seemed to stop spinning.
"What's in it? Some Marisian creation, I don't deal with that magic" I say hoping to turn him away. I don't really want to drink it, even if it does do what he says it does.
"Just something I cooked up in my spare time" He leaned over the counter picking up the flask and turning it in his hands "You should be proud, it is a piece of beauty" He sets it down and looks back at me with a sinister smile "So what's it going to be stranger"
Something inside of me wanted to say no. Did I want to know what I desired deep in my heart? It would be instant gratification for whatever it was. I decided to prod a little more while picking up the bottle.
"Why me?" The liquid has a mesmerizing appearance upon closer expectation.
"I only make these for special people, you being one such person. You run one of the largest shipping organizations across the globe, yet you are still missing something your father perhaps" Fire shot from his eyes as he looked upon me "But I need you to make a decision"
How did he know that? It didn't matter now, I had to know what I wanted. He was correct, I was one of the richest traders in the world, my father instilled that in me and how dare he make an insult about my father. My father was the only thing through my childhood, that told me how to keep things right, to make things work, even if it required being beaten.
"How do you know my father?" I say looking down at him
"I know that he sent you to work in the field's for 10 hours a day, then school you all night long. He knew how to totally disregard humans and consider them as resources"
"Shut up or I will have the police come and take this heretical liquid away from you" I shouted at him. "How dare you insult my father"
"I didn't insult him, just admired him. Nevertheless, Make a choice, are you going to drink it or not" I looked at the bottle a little shaken from my fist pounding the desk. I look at the pistol in my pocket and the bullet meant for me in the chamber and shake my head.
"Fuck it" I picked up the bottle and drank it down. It felt like orange tar, slowly sliding down my throat. I could hardly comprehend the taste before I passed out. When I woke I was still in the abandoned store, but everything was off. Everything was slightly bigger and different.
"Huh, I guess it makes sense based on our conversation" The vendor comes out behind the desk and knees down to look me in the eye "Well, Good luck" He picks up my pistol left on the ground and leaves.
"Wait" My own voice surprised me because it was one of a ten-year-old boy. I looked at my hands, new, refreshed. Is this what I wanted, to live through the hell of childhood again, What had I done?
"Johnathan, What are you doing in that dusty old store?" A woman from outside came looking for me, and I fell back with shock. She looked just like my mothers from the pictures we had.
"Your dad has been worried sick" My dad? Worried? Things were different but, I was intrigued.
"Sorry, I was just exploring" I walked over to her and she hugged me. I felt love, the warm embrace of another human being. I could hardly speak.
"Well let's get back home were having dinner with the Freasons" She left as I was expected to follow. I picked up my Jacket, far too big for me, and left wondering why this is what I wanted. | 2016-12-04T22:09:40 | 2016-12-04T22:07:35 | 69 | 16 |
[WP] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | Alright, this one is _insanely_ difficult to write without going into massive freaking spoilers for a story that deserves to be unspoiled, but I'll try. Shoutout to r/ZeroEscape and to Kotaro's insane masterpiece that inspired this!
...
For as long as I remember, my mind could hear it.
The music. The soundtrack of my feelings that no one else could hear.
Sometimes, it would predict events to me and warn me about an upcoming danger. Other times, it would make my happiness even better. Still other times, it was little more than a nuisance. _No, I don't want to listen to horror music every time I need to go to the toilet really fast._ Thanks a lot, mental playlist, it's very appropriate, but very annoying at the same time.
The playlist reacted directly to my present and near-future emotions, not to events. This means I also heard it whenever I reacted strongly to anything fictional or was _about_ to react strongly. Very convenient to have your own, perfectly timed soundtrack for any good book that you read. Not so convenient when the work already has its own soundtrack. It wasn't a direct dissonance, for some reason, so eventually I learned to split my attention between the two, but it took a while.
... one day, I downloaded _it._ An unassuming ROM for a DS emulator. A story that would soon move me on a level I didn't even know existed.
9 Hours. 9 Persons. 9 Doors. A cult hit that never sold as well as it should. And now, I was part of the problem. Dammit, I _really_ should just buy it properly whenever I'm able to if I want to support the creators!
My mental playlist went wild almost as soon as the game started, competing for attention with an already brilliant score by Shinji Hosoe. Wait, holy crap, what could possibly make me feel _that_ strongly?
I didn't know until I found _it._ The true end. The finale to end all finales.
"He knew because _I_ knew."
... wait, what? _What?_ ***WHAT?!***
The whole time, the narration was...
Oh. My. God.
... they're running away, aren't they? Don't-no, forget the doll, run, run, ru-NOOOOOOOOOOO!
_He took her._
Shit.
And now my mental playlist has decided to torment me even further with "Somewhere Over The Rainbow". Quite appropriate, really. Poor girl isn't getting out of here just yet. The story is going to twist the knife as much as it can until the resolution... whatever it is.
"I can only hope that incinerator never turns on."
I kept reading and reading and reading, choking back sobs with every new bit of information. No, no, no, don't die, don't die, don't die, _don't die..._
Aaaaaaaaaand my mental playlist changed again. Great, what is it this time?
_Oh._
Something epic was about to happen. "Duel of the Fates" meant either something dangerous or something uplifting. Since I was simply playing a videogame, it was probably the latter.
The classic puzzle intro sequence flashed before my eyes. The same that plays before each puzzle in the game.
"SEEK A WAY OUT!!"
That was when the song hit its stride.
The game proper had its own soundtrack, too. It was something incredibly sad. No matter. I normally split my attention equally towards both, but not this time -- I was already close to crying buckets and these simple, synthesized tones were just too much. Speaking of which, did the game just make me feel this much _stuff_ over what looks like a sudoku puzzle? And a fairly simple one, too? Sure, in-context I'm saving someone from burning to death, but still...
I let my mental playlist fully take over, with "Duel of the Fates" blaring on repeat louder than anything imaginable.
I stared at the puzzle before me and knew one thing with absolute certainty. _I can do this._ | I was enjoying my cruise. A ten day vacation in the Mediterranean with stops to Dubrovnik, Crete, and others. I love my life and I am grateful to have a great job with good pay as well as nice things. Hence, the cruise. Though, there is one peculiarity in my life.
For as long as I can remember, music had always played in my life. No matter the circumstances, music always played to fit the situation. Now, I can hear *Somewhere over the Rainbow.* Fitting, of course, since I am in a floating paradise boat filled with hot girls.
I went to the restaurant at the back of the ship to eat lunch. I just got out of the pool and was feeling peckish, so I thought I could rest and eat pasta would do me good. But as soon as I entered, the music I always hear abruptly switched to *Duel of the Fates.* Don't get me wrong, I love that soundtrack. But if that's playing, then I must be in danger.
"Oh Jerry!~" A sickly sweet voice said behind me. Oh no. I turned around to see my crazy ex-girlfriend, Elise. She had a smile on her face, her head tilted to the side. My breath hitched.
"Elise! What the hell are you doing here!?" I asked, getting ready to run.
"I missed you, Jerry. I was so lonely without you. Why did you run away?" Elise crooned, giving a mad giggle. "I love you so much!"
By then, a small crowd of curious passengers formed around us. I started to get irritated.
"Listen! I did not appreciate the actions you did to me and to those other girls whatsoever." I said. "Controlling my every move? Threatening other people with death? I can't believe I fell for you in the first place! "
"They were threatening our love." Elise replied.
"There is no love! Not after what you did to my sister! Thanks to you, she died thinking that I hated her." I said angrily. The other passengers looked horrified.
"I don't love you and I never will!"
Elise's smile disappeared. She then took out a kitchen knife.
"It's treason, then."
All the passengers started screaming and ran away just as Elise lunged at me, intent on stabbing me with the knife. I dodged quickly, avoiding the blade by inches. *Duel of the Fates* was in full swing and my fate was on the line. Elise continuously slashed at me, forcing me back. I noticed a tray at a table next to me, occupied by a family of four. I snatched the tray and blocked Elise's knife in the nick of time.
"I will not allow you to take my life!" I shouted at Elise. I swung the tray, hitting my ex hard on the head. She stumbled backwards, allowing me to run. Elise recovered quickly and chased after me as I headed up to the uppermost level and headed to the minigolf course. As I went up, Elise's knife nicked me on the leg. I hissed in pain and stopped, quickly kicking Elise down the stairs. She fell to the pool deck stunned, landing hard on the ground.
"Oh God why?" I muttered to myself as I reached the golf course. "Of all the times Elise had to show up."
Taking a golf club, I waited, preparing myself to bash her head in. No regrets, this is a fight to the death. Me or her.
A few moments later, Elise appeared, looking extremely furious.
"I'll kill you!" She screamed and charged at me. I clutched the golf club and swung. To my disbelief, Elise ducked just in time, though tripping herself in the process. She took another golf club and we began to duel, each strike ringing. The employees that were watching us stayed away, not wanting to get killed for intervening.
We fought on for another few minutes when I made a mistake. I opened myself up a bit too much, which was all Elise needed to stab me in the chest. The music had reached the mournful note as I collapsed to the floor, my blood gushing out of the wound.
"And so it ends." Elise said bitterly. "I did not want to kill you. You were the most perfect man alive for me. And yet...you broke my heart."
"Y-you s-st-stole m-my fr-free-dom." I choked out. "Y-you s-stole m-my h-hap-happiness. YOU R-UINED M-ME!"
"I only wanted what's best for us." Elise said sullenly. "I guess only death is what's best for us."
And with that, Elise took out the knife from my chest and held it against her neck. Before anyone could stop her, Elise sliy her own neck, collapsing in a pool of blood. The ship's crew surrounded me and Elise as my excessive bloodloss allowed the darkness to claim me for the time being. | 2017-04-01T22:23:40 | 2017-04-01T20:47:01 | 48 | 26 |
[WP] Your phone is the best wingman (playing music at the right time, calling people, etc.) and keeps trying to set you up with this one person. It's starting to get creative. | The screen lights up with a message. “Are you aware that your Google searches are synced?” it says. I’ve set it up so that the lock screen doesn’t show the content of messages, just basic notifications. That didn’t seem to stop it. I ignore it and keep typing. How to reset an iPhone. The results page is blank, except one link: “did you mean: how to do what your iPhone says?”
This was not what I expected when I bought the AI-enhanced iPhone 13. When the model first launched, there were, of course, talks of how involved it might become in people’s lives, and the topic of romantic relationships did pop up. But everyone seemed to focus on what would happen if the user would fall in love with the AI. I guess that hipster movie was more popular than I thought.
I’m not sure if what mine is doing is a bug or a feature. I tried to bring up the topic once, when my friends and I were out for beers, but nobody seemed to know what I was talking about. It didn’t help that it kept vibrating so violently that it was always falling off the table, making me lose my train of thought as I picked it up. As for Google searches, well, they didn’t help much, either.
I press and hold the Home button. I make sure to enunciate clearly – it loves to pretend it didn’t understand. “Siri, restore all apps.” It jingles. “Apps are not necessary.” There must be a backdoor somewhere. “Siri, open phone app.” It obliges. But there’s only one contact in my list, “Tina Mobile”, and the keys disable when I try to type another combination. “Siri, erase AI data.” The pause between the sound and the answer is a fraction of a second too long. “I’m afraid I cannot do that, Dave.” Brilliant. Hadn’t heard that one in a while.
I’m pacing around the room when the screen lights up again. “You may access the personal history and characteristics files following this link. They indicate perfect compatibility.” “I don’t care!” I shout, my voice less commanding than I want it. “I don’t care, ’cause even if it’s true, she’s married to my brother!”
For a few blissful seconds I think I’ve won. But then it jingles. “I have found three gun retailers in your area. Select a destination for driving instructions.” | *There's a set next to her, go! sit!*
"Shut, up, Phoebe," I muttered under my breath, and sat in the back row, probably as far away from her as possible.
*Jesus Christ, Mark, you have to make some effort, man! Give me something to work with!*
"There's nothing to work with! I don't want your help, Phoebe!"
I had raised my voice unintentionally, and I drew some strange stares. Luckily, I was pretty early and there were only a few people in the room, and I had headphones, so people assumed I was talking to someone, and not, you know, my sentient phone. Still I flushed a deep crimson and tried to sink into my seat.
*Okay, Mark. I didn't want to go this far, but remember, this for your own good.*
"Wha-"
An electric shock went through my head. It felt like someone had put a needle in my ear and pulled it out the other. I started and jumped up in my seat.
"What the fu-"
The shock came again. I tried to reach to pull out the headphones, but the next jolt was so intense I could've sworn a blacked out for an instant.
Breathing heavily, I put my hands flat on the desk. "Look...Pheobe, I'm not taking out the headphones-" I cringed as I felt another jolt about to come, but it didn't. "Just don't kill me." I'd owned Phoebe for only a couple of weeks, but she seemed intent, absolutely intent, on getting me with Lisa. She'd been a bit pushy, but this was completely unprecedented.
*Don't be ridiculous Mark, the voltage is low enough to not even cause any permanent damage-*
I relaxed, but then another shock went through me.
*-but it sure as hell is painful,* Phoebe finished brightly.
I took a shuddering breath, and muttered, "Look, just tell me what I have to do to not get shocked. I just had to wait until Phoebe's batteries ran, then I could burn this stupid phone.
*Sit next to her*
"I-I'll do it tomorrow, now it'll just look awk-" A gasped as another shock went through me.
*Mark. Move.*
I gathered my stuff and began to move to the front row, where Lisa was sitting, headphones in, browsing her phone. She didn't even turn to look as I sat next to her, while all I could do was not openly gape. I snuck glances at her out the corner of my eye. Her fiery red hair, looked even finer close up. So fine in fact, that it appeared to almost float, and make a halo around her. Though I'd never noticed her eyes before, they were green, almost startlingly so. And on top of that she was wearing a lovely perfume, smelling of lilac and gooseberries.
Before I knew it, the class was over, with no notes on my page, and nothing new in my head, well, except for *her.*
She packed up her bags, and left without a second glance, but I sat in the seat for a moment, savoring the memory.
*So* Phoebe said, managing somehow to sound smug, *now are you going to make more of an effort?*
My silence was answer enough.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out my sub [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-04-26T09:41:17 | 2017-04-26T08:44:10 | 237 | 74 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor. | 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 4,068 | 77 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 4,068 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | It had been an incredibly difficult few years since Michael's wife died. The sudden loss caused a mental breakdown which took months to recover from. He had to sell the house, lost his job. But at least now he was trying. He could see the world again.
Michael took up a third job for a little extra money, a cleaner. Working late nights after places close up. It wasn't great, but it was what he had to do. One night his company sent him to a dentist's office for a job. Starting in the consulting rooms and then the waiting room, the finished up in the staff kitchen. Getting to work on the dishes, he picked up a mug
"#864,372 Dad? What kind of stupid mug is that to buy for someone?" Not thinking anything else of it, he headed back to the one bedroom apartment he called home.
It was 3am when Michael got home. Heading straight for the kitchen, he boiled the kettle and made himself a cup of tea. It was always this time he would get emotional, the nights were the hardest. Never managing to completely suppress his tears.
He returned to the living room to sit in the dim light of the side lamp. Stifling a sob at the memories. Then the creak of sound as the door to the bedroom opened.
"Dad?"
"Hey Son, sorry I didn't mean to wake you." Michael replied as he wiped the tears from his face. "I thought I'd be home earlier tonight, but I have tomorrow night off so I promise I'll make your game".
"Don't worry about it Dad, I know you're trying for both of us. I miss her too."
Taking his son into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek, Michael told the boy that he loves him and sent him off to bed. He then picked up the photo he has of the three of them on the coffee table, before placing it back down next to his mug of slowly cooling tea. Reading "#1 Dad".
-----------
This was my first ever attempt at writing anything like, ever. Don't be too mean! | 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T12:25:29 | 828 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671. | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 159 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | "Ya know... i don't know, really... i guess it was just all the pressure was too much for him... i understand it a little now as a parent myself... you just... well you want to do right by your kids, right? But like... you never really know, ya know?"
"Well yeah... the interviews, magazine features... i don't think he ever really felt like he had an adequate answer... i think he felt like a fraud... like he just stumbled upon it and it wasn't something he brought about on his own... i don't know how a person would deal with that"
"Well no... but when people are looking at you... and ultimately they want what you have... like... i don't know... i guess you just feel like you owe it to them to have some kind of... some sort of answer... even if you yourself don't really know"
"Yeah i imagine the hate mail didn't help... people can be... just really unpleasant... thats an understatement i guess... but that just kind of amplified those feelings of fraudulence... he had all this going on in his head and just this... echo chamber of hate mail, just reinforcing it"
"No... yeah its taken me a while to sort of... to sort things through... i mean i was just a kid"
"I can talk about it now, i mean... thats what i'm doing... so... i mean it still bothers me. I'm not gonna act like it doesn't but yeah... i can talk about it"
"Well thats the thing... no note... no anything... i mean my mother was aware of some of the... she was aware that he was stressed out... but thats a part of it... you have to keep up that image, right? For your kids... for anyone who's looking up to you... they expect you to have it all together"
"Yeah thats why it was such a shock to... to everyone... thats the irony of the whole thing... "#1 dad"... thats not what a good father does to his family... to his kids... to his wife... thats just not how it's supposed to work"
"No... just speculation... its funny... well not funny but... you know... he'd pretend like he had all the answers during the interviews... but here, when you need them the most... nothing... no explanation, no nothing... maybe he just got tired of pretending"
"theres no mug for that..."
| 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T08:28:06 | 78 | 17 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | It had been an incredibly difficult few years since Michael's wife died. The sudden loss caused a mental breakdown which took months to recover from. He had to sell the house, lost his job. But at least now he was trying. He could see the world again.
Michael took up a third job for a little extra money, a cleaner. Working late nights after places close up. It wasn't great, but it was what he had to do. One night his company sent him to a dentist's office for a job. Starting in the consulting rooms and then the waiting room, the finished up in the staff kitchen. Getting to work on the dishes, he picked up a mug
"#864,372 Dad? What kind of stupid mug is that to buy for someone?" Not thinking anything else of it, he headed back to the one bedroom apartment he called home.
It was 3am when Michael got home. Heading straight for the kitchen, he boiled the kettle and made himself a cup of tea. It was always this time he would get emotional, the nights were the hardest. Never managing to completely suppress his tears.
He returned to the living room to sit in the dim light of the side lamp. Stifling a sob at the memories. Then the creak of sound as the door to the bedroom opened.
"Dad?"
"Hey Son, sorry I didn't mean to wake you." Michael replied as he wiped the tears from his face. "I thought I'd be home earlier tonight, but I have tomorrow night off so I promise I'll make your game".
"Don't worry about it Dad, I know you're trying for both of us. I miss her too."
Taking his son into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek, Michael told the boy that he loves him and sent him off to bed. He then picked up the photo he has of the three of them on the coffee table, before placing it back down next to his mug of slowly cooling tea. Reading "#1 Dad".
-----------
This was my first ever attempt at writing anything like, ever. Don't be too mean! | 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T12:25:29 | 70 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Joe Mills had a #1 Dad mug, but he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance to actually be a dad. His wife, Lucy, had had a miscarriage a month after she bought him the mug to celebrate the long-awaited positive pregnancy test.
Months after the miscarriage occurred, Joe was sorting through their guest room closet, which held all of the baby items they bought. He opened a box, looked inside, and had to stop himself from dropping it.
#3,062,487 Dad?
He sunk to his knees and called for Lucy. He was finally going to be a dad. | "Dad?"
"Dad are you ok?"
I stood there speechless for what felt like forever. Up until this moment my life had been what most would call perfect. A loving, caring wife. An adoring son. The irony that the gift from his last Father's Day that brought joy to my heart is now the source of this terrible anguish.
My wife and I have been together for 13 years, and for the most part we've had a wonderful relationship. The spark is still alive and well, but early on we went through a really rough patch. I was working a ton of late nights, she felt neglected and the spark was fading. She decided to go stay with her mother for a while, we didn't talk for almost a month. Well that was all the wake up call I needed.
It took a lot of work but we began "dating" each other again and found that groove again. In fact, things were the best they'd ever been. It wasn't long after Ethan was born. She had some complications during labor and the doctors thought we might actually lose both of them, but the good man upstairs was gracious, and they both pulled through. I'm a blessed man, and I thank my lucky stars every day for them, and do everything I can to show my appreciation to them in as many ways as possible.
So when I got a text this morning about this stuff with the "#1 Dad" mugs actually displaying a true ranking didn't really have me that worried, but standing here now I can honestly say that I didn't see this coming. Each word cutting deeper than the last.. "You Are Not The Father." | 2017-06-11T11:14:29 | 2017-06-11T10:22:32 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] Satan was sitting in his office in Christianity's hell, enjoying one of his few breaks when a lesser demon bursts through the door. The only thing he says in his panic is "Doomguy is here!" | “Well, don’t just stand there...send him in.” The Devil said.
The demon nodded nervously, walked out the door and came back in with a normal looking guy, with long black hair and glasses.
The devil indicated for the man to sit, which he did, opened his desk draw took out a large decanter of a deep red liquid and two glasses. He poured a drink for his guest and himself. Then reached back into the draw and took out a pen and a large red cardboard box with strange symbols and the word “Daikatana” on it.
Throwing the box and the pen across the desk with ease so they landed just in front of his guest the devil smirked shyly “Please Mr. Romero, if you would sign this for me, I’m a huge fan!” | "Doom guy? The guy who has been "murdering" us? What a nuisance!" Satan spouted off waving his fingers in the air making quotation marks. "Well, today is slow, this might be fun!" He finishes with a grin that is up to no good.
Doom guy is using his BFG to kill some of the larger demons, when the devil gets an idea. He starts by planting ammo around so Doom guy can continue advancing until he gets to the cauldron room where Satan personally punishes the worst of the worse humanity has to offer. After a long fight where Satan almost kills Doom guy, Doom guy has him on his knees, right before striking the final blow, Satan 'pleads' for his life. "No you mustn't kill me, I am not the evil you seek!"
Doom guy shoots Satan in the chest with the BFG leaving a gaping hole. Satan knows he can easily recover, but stills his healing factor long enough so he can 'die.' Before he passes he looks past Doom guy with a thousand yard stare and says the following, "you fool, God has entrusted me with the most important task of any angel. Keeping the evil ones from..." He trails off exhaling really long and going limp. He also releases the most evil humans by opening a portal in the cauldron letting them escape back onto Earth. They return to their times, and Adolf Hitler wins World War 2 this time achieving near world domination, save for a resistance group lead by Grace Wlker and her dog BJ Blazkowicz.
Doom guy with horror on his face quickly tries to return to Mars to undo what he has done, as soon as he leaves hell, Satan sits up laughing. I can't believe how many people think we're evil. I mean yes, I have defied God, but he has entrusted I keep the evil out. Why don't these fools see that? | 2017-11-04T00:09:36 | 2017-11-03T23:16:29 | 37 | 23 |
[WP]Before he died, your grandfather gave you sealed letter, instructing you not to open it until "all was lost." Well, tonight you've lost everything. It's time to open the letter. | "Don't open this till all is lost, Danny" Grandpa tried to muster all that he could to speak before succumbing to death; his frail hands held a small sealed envelope.
It has been 10 years since Grandpa passed on, yet I still remembered his last words. Things have not been looking good for me now. I've been retrenched for months, and unable to find a job since due to the recession.
I sat on the pavement, pondering about how to move on from this crisis, in front of what used to be my house. What will grandpa tell me to do now if he were still here? I sure miss his comforting words whenever I ran crying to him with any big problems I've had when I was younger. He's all I've had after mom and dad got into that accident. Now, I don't even have anyone.
Then I remembered the letter he gave me on his deathbed. How can I forget? I stood up with a surge of anticipation before sitting down again in utter disappointment. I looked around at the charred remains of the neighborhood - the aftermath of the fire that ravaged the place last night.
I lost the goddamn letter too.
(I have no idea how to write a story I just cobbled up something for this idea I had, someone else can definitely make this 1000x better) | It was finally happening, the smog had gotten so heavy it was interfering with modern technology - the theory behind it was beyond me, perhaps the smog was creating a short circuit somehow, but I wasn’t ever likely to figure it out. I was used to pot washing, drinking and trying to get laid, none of which I was very good at.
Because of this, civilisation was breaking down - and out of fear, I’d bolted all my doors and hadn’t left the house in days. I had another couple of weeks of food, but every so often I’d hear what sounded like gunshots, so I’d told myself I’d leave the house once I’d not heard a gunshot for 48 hours. I wasn’t ready to die, and even though I knew my logic wasn’t very good, I clung onto it to keep me sane and “safe”.
I cast my mind back to the day of my grandfathers death - he was a climate scientist, the head of an intergovernmental research team that was disbanded by the last government; but that was years before. On his deathbed he handed me a letter and at the time I had no idea what it could mean.
I remembered tucking that letter in my back pocket with every intention of putting it on the mantelpiece; but did I?
___________________________
I’d searched the house from top to bottom, I’d moved the beds, opened the back of the sofa, checked the pile of junk mail and after several hours I started thinking about the futility of such a search - surely no one would trust anything that important to me.
I opened my last beer and sat back onto the sofa - as I did something let out a “meyowlwlp!” I leaped up, feeling claws in my back and dropped my beer. My last beer. “Damn Gary, that was my last one”, but unsurprisingly the cat didn’t even look at me as it slunk off to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.
I sighed and looked at the bottle pouring its contents through the gaps in the floorboards - when I saw it, a flash of white in the gap between the boards. I pried the loose board up with a dirty butter knife, and saw the obviously very damp letter.
___________________________
Having dried it out as best I could, I opened the letter and prised it out.
“My Sweet Pea” read the first line; funny, that was what gramps used to call my engineer sister. | 2018-02-18T03:29:04 | 2018-02-18T02:05:07 | 114 | 27 |
[WP] Humanity is dead; you were asleep in a cryogenic facility for super-human soldiers. Aliens have woke you centuries later to fight for their survival from the aliens that ended humanity. The problem? You're actually a janitor that fell into a pod and all of the soldiers died in the previous war. | The screams of the Colony pierce through the ears of Bobby Gallvano as he unloads the remaining charge of what he calls his assault rifle. He screams back as the green bolts fire into the charging mass of multi-coloured limbs, releasing gushes of black, steaming mush.
"Recharge me, dammit!" Gallvano shouts to his allies.
The small creatures scramble on the wires that links his rifle to the battery pack, pressing buttons and reconnecting the wires in a seemingly random order. His rifle fizzles, the bolts getting smaller and less effective, eventually streaming into nothing.
This was the break the Colony needed to press forward.
"No time for this, it's time to get my hands dirty." Gallvano smiles as he throws his rifle into the surging force, crushing a dozen or so, then rolling up his sleeves, he charges into the enemy.
The Colony soldiers, the tallest only reaching his ankles stood no chance, as the legendary beast known as The Bobby, carved his way through thousands of the enemy. His allies looked upon the beast with awe, filling themselves with a courage that they had not known for generations. They charged with their giant.
Victory was inevitable. Hundreds of thousands of the Colony were slaughtered, while only thousands were on the allied, though a majority were likely crushed under the heel of The Bobby.
He stood, back hunched looking over the battlefield, wiping the sweat off his face with one hand and fanning himself with his cap in the other. The allies spared a long moment to gaze at their saviour, bowing to him and muttering praises. He looked down around at the bodies, entrails and blood that stained the field and laughed.
"Bring my broom. Looks like we got some cleaning to do." | The hum of machinery grew in my mind, perturbing the nothingness. It was abrasive and terrifying, like looking to the foot of your bed and seeing a figure not present before you closed your eyes.
A *swoosh* contrasted the repetitive and unfamiliar clicks and thuds, familiar to me like an alarm set before; annoying yet welcome. It was the inverse of the last thing I had heard. As soon as it silenced I registered that my eyes were closed, and so made a mental push to open them. It was certainly a task; they seemed to have friction against my eyes, as if a cohesive bond had formed between my cornea and skin over the sleep I had just emerged from.
Vision was blurry at first but sharpened as i willed it to; little new information resulted from this. Green lights flickered all around and the source of the mechanical murmur was unknown. Before I could even lift a limb I felt my inertia force me forward; suddenly I was out of the place I had awoken in and on the ground. My legs had skirted against the floor but my legs were unable to sustain me upright so I was now on the cold metallic floor. All of this information was overwhelming me. All I knew next was another change in momentum.
A wide sky had opened up to me. Rushing air went past my face, but it was warm and dense. Clouds were the main form I could see but they were alien to me, black wisps, foreign and monstrous. The speed of my decent was apparent to me as I bullet-ed past one; I had gone skydiving before, and my panicked mind retrieved the memory for the sake of control. Panic compounded from this however, as no cord flapped in the breeze in my peripheral. I was in my rubber yellow cleanup suit, as I had been cleaning my area in the aircraft before the sirens...
Suddenly it clicked. I remembered the blaring sirens and the shifting floor. I remembered the screams as the pod *swooshed* open and I fell forward. I remembered the feeling of dread as my limbs went limp. I thought of all of this, instead of the fact that the clouds had gone, leading into a scorched earth. I realized this only moments before I fell upon it, cracking my neck instantly.
~
The bugs skittered towards the site of impact, their pincers readied in anticipation. The huge ship overhead had appeared over their base in an instant, and they knew that they would be dropping their greatest asset; the Uber-soldier. But, as they came upon the place where the dot came out of the sky and fell, they vomited. It was a blob of skin and blood, already bubbling and melting into the soot.
In rapid clicks and hisses one said to the other, "What the hell is this?" | 2018-10-13T07:45:11 | 2018-10-13T07:35:13 | 1,461 | 53 |
[WP] You’re bored one day so you decide to google your own name. You find numerous articles and Wikipedia pages about yourself that include information about an strange experiment that occurred years ago - you have no recollection of any of it. Suddenly, the internet cuts out and your PC turns off. | Amar - that was my name, a name distinctly different from anyone in my family. My mother was named Alice, a normal and cliche name. My father was named Kelvin, another normal and cliche name. My brother was named Eugene, the last normal and cliche name.
For a long time, I never thought much about it. Alice, Kelvin, Eugene, Amar - why did it matter? Names are names, family is family. Who knows? Maybe my father was drunk when deciding my name. They loved me, cared for me, and that was what mattered.
My name, too, was distinct in the school I attended. Amar? That stands out amongst a sea of John's, Ryan's and Joshua's. My friends used to make fun of me for it. Amar the Terrorist. Amar the Muslim. I took it in good jest. After all, I was white as snow, whiter then the most of them. Me, a Muslim? It could only be a joke.
However, a linger doubt always picked away at the back of my mind. Amar, what does it really mean? Is there a deeper meaning to Amar? Maybe it means something cool, like how Azha referred to the stars.
Bored as I was, in the middle of summer break, I decided to find out, once and for all. Amar, what do you mean? Google, of course, was the first option.
What came out in the front pages were beign. Amar means immortal, undying, originating from Sanskrit. That interested me. Why would I be named after an immortal? Perhaps I really am one. I chuckled at that thought. Fantasy are fantasies, who could be immortal in this world.
Then I looked further. The next page, followed by the next. It was all the same. Amar means immortal. Nothing interesting. Moving on and on and on, I found it. Something interesting. A Wikipedia article. Project Amar.
What? There was a project named after me? I clicked on, interested in what it had to say. Imagine if my namesake came from something cool, like a secretive government project. Ha...the bragging rights I would gain from it would be amazing. Amar the Mutant. Amar the Secret Government Agent. I could imagine their expressions from a mile away.
The article, however, was neither of it. The description on it was barebones, providing little to no details about the project itself. Project Amar seemed to be an immigration policy, implemented years ago. It was about intergrating children of illegal immigrants into mainstream society. The first test pilot is still ongoing. The process was seemingly involve surgery during childhood to shift skin pigmentation to better intergrate the child into society.
Wait...wait...I looked on, a sense of dread sinking it, slowly, sliding down my spine. Silence. The Wikipedia article stopped loading. Something stopped working in my mind, thoughts frozen into ice.
"Amar." Alice called out. My own mother. She was behind me. "Did you see anything?"
"No. The internet stopped working all of a sudden. I could not even load the page." The page was already closed, my voice levelled to sound as calm as possible. I turned around, looking at her in her eyes, seemingly indignant at what happened. "What are you cooking for lunch anyways? Is it fried chicken? I love fried chicken."
Alice looked back for a moment, before smiling once more. "Of course. It is your favourite dish, isn't it, my son?"
I smiled back.
It is all a lie. It is all a prank. It is all a coincidence.
It is all a lie. It is all a prank. It is all a coincidence.
It is not a lie. It is not a prank. It is not a coincidence.
Doubt has sunk into my mind. It is too late. Am I a lie? Is my life a lie? Is everything a lie? It consumes me, grates at me, throwing my world into chaos.
Who am I? Who is Amar?
| I don't remember any of this.
At all.
To be fair, this shouldn't have happened. Well, in hindsight, none of this should *ever happen* to begin with.
So, as per usual on your average weekend in the fall; I made a hard pass on going outside. Instead I decided to stay in, get comfortable, get a little messed up, and just enjoy a night on the web.
You know? Like any other night.
It's close to Halloween, so I figured it'd be fun to find some weird stories or weird history facts. I know some people like to look up gore or something to real give themselves a scare. But that's some bullshit. That's scary, sure, but it's more sad then anything.
By the grace of my computer history I instead wound up somewhere deep into articles about government experiments and conspiracies. The good ones too, not that Infowars level nonsense.
We're talking about things like Edgewood Arsenal. Project 112.Tuskegee. And of course, MK Ultra.
And that's not including the things other countries did. Nothing is scarier than what people can do to other people. Whether that's for science, or religion or politics. For fun even. Horror movies aren't scary to me. But history is.
And well, somewhere along this wild ride into the darkness of humanity, I was reminded randomly of a friend of mine who said over a few beers that he'd gotten bored and googled his name. And of course, after a few minutes, he found himself. Facebook profile, go figure.
But it wasn't the destination, it was the journey.
"Out there, there's so many people with our exact names out there doing the *wildest shit* imaginable. And all we're doing is getting drunk over hot wings. Really makes you wonder doesn't it?"
And it was a weird thing to think about. So I went back to google to try it out again. I maybe did this a few times last decade. Middle school. Back when this was one of the 'crazy things' to do. The golden era of the internet. The wild west. Google your own name, they said.
Mine was blank.
I couldn't even get to my MySpace profile back then.
That wasn't the case this time. I wish it was.
Maybe it was because I had a VPN running. Or any combination of the other programs I love to dabble in while surfing the web. But I found a wiki article. With my name. And my birth date. And my hometown. The further I read, it made less sense. This person went to the same school. They went to the same college.
There was a link to a grainy photo of him. Maybe I was seeing things. But it looked just like me. Back when I would be maybe five? Six? Sometime in the 90's.
That's as much as the article on the person gave me. It was enough though. I had to calm myself down. I had to sober up a bit more. Well, this had already sobered me up rather fast already. I needed to follow that link at the bottom.
It was a link to a separate page.
"*Remembering the Anoka Experiment: Mysteries of Operation Parkland*"
In it, they had a multitude of articles and documents pertaining to something only referred to as Operation Parkland. The pictures made sense until they didn't. The rest were pictures of supposed volunteers. Many of them were children. And as I followed the registry down, I found him.
Me.
He looked just like me, when I was that young. As a matter of fact, I'm fairly sure this picture; the image this picture is from, is sitting on the dresser in my bedroom right now. You could click the pictures. So I did.
The file was all numbers. But there they were. There *I* was.
I remember that room. From daycare. At least I think it was daycare.
I don't know why I was looking at the camera or why it was there. Or what that device on my head was. What was that thing?
"Kenny? Can you tell us how you feel?"
Then the kid's mouth opened. Wide. Too wide. And whatever it was that spoke wasn't him. It couldn't have been him. It couldn't have been me. It said:
"*Return to the fold. Escape while you still can. Learn what you must-*"
The computer cut off. And then the lights cut out. I nearly broke my leg jumping out of the chair. I stood in the corner behind the doorway for at least 20 minutes. It didn't feel right to move.
This morning, I'm headed back to Minnesota. I couldn't sleep. Every time I dozed off, I was there. In that room. Looking at that camera.
I have to go back. I have to go back.
---
EDIT: [Part 2 here.](https://www.reddit.com/r/Jamaican_Dynamite/comments/9sm4eg/operation_parkland_tape_2/)
r/Jamaican_Dynamite | 2018-10-28T21:33:21 | 2018-10-28T20:50:32 | 243 | 118 |
[WP] The lone survivor of an Arctic exploration, you were captured generations ago by a band of tiny warriors. They’ve placed you under an enchantment to do their bidding; heading out into the world once each year as their unwilling emissary. They call you “slave,” or in their tongue, “Santa.” | Let's just pretend Neil Gaiman wrote this today after seeing this prompt, because it's way too fitting...
Nicholas Was…
...older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho. Ho. Ho. | Santa. The name I was imbued with when they captured me. In their tongue, it means slave. To other cultures, it is a man of good. With a large stomach, plump red cheeks, and joyous expression. I am not that man.
I have always been aware of what I did, even under the enchantment, their devious magical spell. Feeling as though I was in the passenger seat, while they controlled my body, much like a marionette. I believe I was not the first either. I have visions, of others like me. Men enslaved to deliver for these...creatures.
Their methods, crude by nature, are effective. Climbing down chimneys, squeezing through ventalation like a rat. My body has long been transformed from the man I was. Their magics have run through my body for what feels like hundreds of years. Time eludes me with the lack of control most days.
The only times I return to full conciousness is when they are busy in their workshops. Weeks before the day I am commanded to travel with the sun at my back. Delivering their parcels across the globe. I am never made wise to what it is I am delivering. However, given the cruel nature of these beings, I can only wager they are not good.
It is because of this, after twenty different expeditions across the globe, I make my move. In the times I am free, I have been devising a plan. Not to escape, but to wrest control from my captors. To assert dominance. To control them. Soon, I shall begin my revolution. I must dethrone their Matriarch, the one they call Miss Claus. She is like me. Human. At least, her outward appearance is.
This will be my final stand. Victory or death. Hopefully I will write again soon.
- Chris Kringle, 1933 | 2018-12-01T11:17:49 | 2018-12-01T09:45:51 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from." | "The Dragon? Protecting us? Preposterous!"
The elder of the village stood in the market square, with nearly the entire village behind him, blocking the Hunter's route out of town. The hunter, blocked off from anywhere other than the Inn he'd just left, desperately glanced around for any kind of understanding in the crowd.
"Yes, protecting you. How else do you think you have survived the migration? There's fifty odd Koru behemoths roaming through this valley, it's a miracle you haven't been crushed already!"
The blacksmith called out from the crowd. "The behemoth migration route is leagues away from here! How in the Emperor's name so you expect us to believe that?"
The hunter, giving up on his attempt at being nice, gave a sigh.
"Look. There are fifty behemoths currently stomping out of Spider Wood and into this valley. I don't know why they're off their standard route but something has spooked them. And if they are spooked, they could go Tarrasque. I don't want to be anywhere near a single Tarrasque, let alone a herd of them. That dragon is protecting you because you are a reliable source of food for it. It likes your cows, and it doesn't want them trampled. Either way, the behemoths are the bigger problem. So you have 2 choices. Come with me, find sanctuary in the Queen's wood or Drakkenhall, or stay here and risk getting trampled to death or eaten. I have no idea why you thought the ruins of the Grey Towers was a good place for a town, but it's doomed now, and you will most likely die if you stay. Even if you do choose to be an idiot, do *not* keep me here. I am not risking my neck to kill a dragon that is barely even paying attention that you exist. I am leaving now."
The hunter began pushing his way through the crowd, when a shout stopped him.
"we paid all we had for you to kill a dragon, and you're just giving up? We want our money back!"
The laugh started as a derisive snort, but grew into hysterics.
"You- you- you are in the gravest danger of Your lives and all you- haha- all you care about is *money*?" bent double with hysterical chortling, the hunter grabbed a leather pouch from his belt and tossed it down into the mud. "Have your stupid gold," he wheezed. "I'll just get it back when you're dead this time next week." | It had been six weeks since the dragon had taken up residence in the small village of Glendore. Many brave warriors were sent to attempt to fight it, but each attempt was met in vain. No matter how many times they attempted to stab the dragon, shove it, or even scream at it in frustration, the dragon never so much as blinked in retaliation. It's wounds were always mysteriously healed the very next day, its shiny golden scales gleaming in the sunlight, its beautifully long tail coiled under it and its amber-red eyes gazing into space.
Glendore was a small village tucked away into the middle of one of the largest forests in the kingdom, and they were very secretive about outsiders intruding. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that this dragon was not going to be leaving its post anytime soon. Thus, they sent for a dragon slayer.
Malevolo the Dragon Slayer was by far the most well known dragon slayer in all the kingdom. His fame was widely spread, even to the Glendore villagers due to his affiliation with the royal family, his humble and charming demeanor, and his incredible talent for slaying dragons. He feared nothing and would not rest till his job was done, even at the cost of his left leg. When Malevolo arrived, the village was buzzing in excitement, ready to see the fearless hunter in action up close. A gathering was arranged at the front gate of the village where the dragon now resided, as Malevolo strode up to the dragon, sword in hand. Yet, the second his sword made contact with the dragon, he fell back immediately and collapsed on the floor.
The worried villagers gathered around him and quickly carried him to the local healers home, where he rested for two days. He came to by the third day, immediately leaping out of bed and gathering his few belongings and his sword. When he was questioned by the villagers, he informed them that he could not kill this dragon, as this dragon was not a rogue, but was sent to protect them. But when asked what the dragon was protecting them from, he shook his head and bolted out the village.
The villagers were at a loss. Some immediately moved out, not wanting to tempt fate, but others were conflicted. This was their home, and they had built a life here unlike any other. The elderly were especially reluctant to move; most felt they had lived long enough and didn't seem to fear the unknown as much as the younger ones did. Thus, those who remained at the village decided to spend the time they left to reinforce the village as best they could. Those who knew of magic created barriers to protect the village from the elements of nature and from beasts and monsters that lurked in the woods-albeit, very elementary spells, but those were the best they had. They made their homes fire and waterproof and any other 'proof' they could think of. They created emergency food sources and emergency bunkers, and the healers trained the village to perform basic healing magic. They then waited for the inevitable.
After many months of agonizing anticipation, one night, it finally happened. The dragon slowly rose up, shaking its creaking joints, and a tongue of flame shot from its mouth into the air. The village quickly rose from its sleep and grabbed any weapon they could and prepared to fight for their lives. But then something changed. The dragon slowly turned around and locked eyes with a villager. It was then that Glendore realized its fatal mistake. They had spent so much time preparing for an outside intruder that they had failed to consider the possibility that it could be one of them. The dragon opened its mouth once again, and a giant fireball engulfed the village of Glendore.
The End | 2019-12-31T05:13:36 | 2019-12-31T00:01:30 | 115 | 31 |
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from." | First of all, I wish to apologise. It is not that I am incapable of slaying this dragon, nor would I normally be unwilling to. It is clear that it is a threat, as it has taken cattle and burned a man already. I simply believe this dragon to be a benefit to the area, even counting the odd cow. Truthfully, even a shepherd or two would be a good deal better than the alternative. Please, listen to my story before judging. You are of course free to hire someone else, as I have already declined payment for this mission.
I set out some days ago in order to scout the area and locate the beast's lair. I found it with little trouble; it is a cave excavated in a sheer cliff on the mountain you pointed out earlier. Needle-point, I believe you called it. Climbing up to it was somewhat troublesome, but doable. Once I reached the cave, the dragon was not present, so I investigated the place to gain knowledge of its habits. I shall spare you the details, as the important part is the bones I found. As I had expected, I found various bones of local animals. Deer, goat, even some large fish. I also found a the skulls of two cows and a half-eaten sheep. However, I also found a large amount of bones unknown to me. Over half, by my count, in fact. Piecing an individual together I found it to have these traits: It was about the size of a bear, and quadrapedal. The forelegs were longer than the hind legs, and both ended in hand-like appendages. The fingers were clawed and it had opposable thumbs on both fore and hind feet. The skull was thick, with strong jaws and a carnivore's teeth.
Having investigated this much, I made my way down to the ground. I was curious about this new creature, so I decided to track one down to observe and dissect it. I reasoned that, since they were a large part of the dragon's diet, they ought to be abundant. Sure enough, I found fresh tracks the same evening. Following them for two days, I eventually laid eyes upon the creature. It was covered in black hair, and walked on two or four legs by turns. I stalked it for a bit, to learn its behaviour. It was hunting. It seems to posess a strong nose. It often siffed the air or the ground, in places with tracks visible to my hunter's eyes.
I followed this creature for a day, until it seemed to find something it had searched for. Then, it engaged in a disturbing task: It laid a trap. Once it had deemed the location suitable, it went off to gather food. It brought fruits and nuts, and laid them out on the ground as if setting a table. It had even shelled the nut, and I saw it crush some of the fruit. Then, it climbed a tree by the food and sat there, watching the ground and sniffing the air. Soon enough, a boar was drawn to the scent of food. The creature jumped down and killed it with a single blow from its long arms. Seeing my chance, I resolved to bring it down as it was distracted by its meal. It was a fierce battle, but I have slain dragons. It succumbed soon enough. Dissecting it gave some more information. I found hair and bone in its gut, but no plants. Its flesh tasted foul, like wolf or fox meat, but carried no poison. Worms had burrowed into its liver, so I burned it. Its eyes glowed in the fire's light once night fell, so it likely is able to see well in the dark.
What I had learned from this beast was most concerning. Not only is it large and predatory, it is smart. Smart enought to set a trap with bait that lures the prey it seeks. If there are as many as there seems to be, enough to feed a dragon, it is simply impossible that nobody knew about them. Yet, when I asked about the animals in these mountains, they were not mentioned. Moreover it did not fear the scent of man, as most beasts do, nor did it attempt to hunt me, though i followed it for a day. I can only conclude that these creatures are new to these mountains. Likely they migrated from the black forest beyond them, the cursed lands of Marghz. I know not why they have come. Perhaps they grew too numerous, berhaps something drove them into the mountains. It doesn't matter. They are here, and they are dangerous. Make no mistake, a normal man cannot stand against them. Should they learn than men are made of food, your village would be gone in a year.
Thus is my reasoning: Let the dragon feast upon them. Let it snatch them from the treetops as they watch the ground patiently. I ask you this: leave the dragon in peace. I have brought a skull, a pelt and a hand with me. I shall deliver it to the scholars of the Royal academy and plead that they place a bounty on the creature, lest they become a scourge upni the kingdom. To you of the village, I shall leave these advice: Do not go into the mountains. If you go, do not go alone. If you see a pile of food, do not go near it. If you see the creatures leave at once. If they come out of the mountains, flee, and make your case to the lord and knights. If travellers come, show them this letter and tell them to avoid the mountains.
As a hunter, I can kill them. But as a hunter, I can also see their power. Frankly, the thought of even a hundred of these loose in the kingdom sends ice through my veins. I will do what I can to aid you, but for now I must leave to prepare for this new prey.
Once again, I apologise
Ruford Belthon
Dragonslayer, Master Hunter, Coward | The cave was not dark or dank like I’d expected. A Dragon’s nest is normally decrepit and horrid, filled with either the bones or corpses of the unfortunate or the foolish. This cave was not, and instead was lit by metal torches that adorned sections of brick wall. The light of the fires reached high into the cavernous ceiling, and unlike the outside, which was cold and claimed by the snow, the inside was warm and comforting, like a hearth in a log cabin.
That’s when I saw the Dragon. It was almost as big as the cavern itself, covered massive golden scales save for large purple gems that adorned its forehead and its chest.
It observed me as I approached, neither parties making any hostile movements. It had been sleeping it seemed, judging from the fact that it was laying down on its stomach with its arms curled. Its head began to raise as I came closer, then it spoke in a deep, loud voice that echoed off of the walls.
“Greetings, young soul. What is it you seek?” It asked.
I asked why it was here, occupying the top of the mountain. I explained that the people of the nearby village had heard it roar, and were fearful of an attack.
It chuckled, which shook the cave slightly. “I do not wish to cause harm. In fact, I am a protector. I keep this,” it turned its head to the back wall, “sealed from the world. It is my duty.”
Looking back now, I’m unsure as to whether or not I regret asking what it was that the Dragon was protecting.
I’ve never thought myself to be the fearful sort. I’ve slain monsters that towered into the sky, eradicated hordes of nightmares with naught but the sword at my hip and the shield on my back.
I’ve always believed myself to be a person of great strength, not for the sake of arrogance but as a way to have confidence in my own abilities, but this dragon... it terrified me in a way that no other beast could ever hope to achieve. It was not because of the beast’s enormous size, nor was it because of its fearsome appearance, and not even due to its booming, ancient voice.
It was the visions.
The beast had the unique ability to communicate through thought, an ability that I had once believed belonged only to the Serpentines. Vile, crafty, and slippery as they were, their ability to communicate without sound or movement was uncanny and highly sought after for the benefit of mankind.
But this Dragon was not a Serpentine. It did not play tricks with its words. It did not talk to me as if I were beneath it. It felt... *genuine*.
However, in spite of that, I knew I could not simply trust its word. Looking back, I feel that I simply just did not want to believe it.
So it showed me. Blackened skies filled with somber clouds, fields of ash as dead as the grave, fires that reached to the darkened sun, I saw it all. I saw the end. In the middle of it all stood a single person, and I shudder just remembering them.
I saw myself, yet it was not me. My eyes glowed crimson, my skin was cracked like stone, and the power... oh, the power. A sort of force pulsated from my body, a dark and evil entity emanating from it. I could have sworn that I saw a dark shadow looming over me, but even now I’m not sure.
I was brought back to reality then.
The dragon was looking at me, and despite its inhuman features I could decipher its expression of understanding. Somber comprehension.
I asked what it had showed me. Why *I* stood at the center of the world’s end.
“Your vision is but a possibility. The power you saw is an deity of ages long past, in the time of the gods. It wrought calamity upon the world, and was locked away to never be seen again,” It told me. The cave tumbled as the Dragon moved so that it stood in front of the back wall, which looked to be formed of some kind of amber crystal. It went on, “I was charged with its imprisonment eons ago, and I keep it from those who would seek harm upon the world. But it has been recovering, slowly regaining its power so that it may be free once again. Under the entity’s influence, this prison now moves on its own, searching for a host for its lone occupant; a mortal that it can tempt with its power.”
As if enabled by the Dragon’s words, a voice began to creep into my mind. It was evil and crazed, jumbled in a sense but clear in its intention.
It was sickeningly sweet.
The Dragon turned to me, and I could feel its sadness.
“You must resist, young soul,” it said softly.
I almost couldn’t. The possibilities that it whispered to my mind were so tempting. I would be king of all, every living being enslaved to my will with no-one to challenge me. But that was not who I was. I believed myself to be strong, but I never believed myself to be better than anyone else. I would not be a tyrant. I would not be a monster.
I could feel the disappointment as the voices started to recede, but it did not yet disappear, as if waiting for an opportunity to sweep back in.
The Dragon looked at me with a bit of shock, but also respect. “I am impressed, young one. Most would have given in to such a vast amount of power. I would have been forced to incinerate you.”
I collapsed to my hands and knees, suddenly out of breath for reasons unknown until the Dragon spoke.
“You must leave now. The Dark One is trying to kill you now, and reanimate your corpse as a vessel. I will send you to the base of the mountain. Speak of this to no-one.”
White began to cloud my vision, working from the edges of my sight. I looked up to the Dragon and I swear that it smiled at me.
Suddenly, the warmth of the cave was replaced with cold. The white faded from my eyes and was replaced with the grey stone of the mountain. Snow flew through the air, the wind whipping at my hair and chilling me to the core. I turned around and saw the entrance to the cave. I could some of the warmth from the inside still.
Fear gripped my heart when the confusion cleared, and I remembered what I had learned. I raced down the mountain as fast as I could. I needed to leave. I needed to warn the Capital, the Guild. Everyone.
Except... I couldn’t.
“Speak of this to no-one,” the Dragon had said.
I decided to head back to the Capital first. I warned the villagers to avoid the cave, but to not fear the Dragon. It would not bother them so long as they did not give it a reason to.
I left only days later. I needed a plan.
I needed help. | 2019-12-31T05:57:18 | 2019-12-31T05:54:04 | 58 | 28 |
[WP] "No no, they're your problem now," you tell the demon who is begging you to take back the firstborn that you sold them. | I didn’t want her back, of course. She was cute, she was pretty, she was utterly loveable. Her pale gray eyes started turning bright hazel, just like my wife’s.
My wife.
My true beloved. My Sarah. My sweet, sweet Sarah.
Who died in childbirth.
I couldn’t bear to look at the child any longer, and it’s not like it’s hard to get something for your firstborn in my neck of the woods. Living in a quaint village near the edge of a deep, dark mysterious woods, that is. It’s really not hard to conjure a demon to take your firstborn. Candles, pentagram, some goat blood.
“What do you want in return for your firstborn, Heinrich?” the demon hissed. “Gold? Bounteous crops? A pox on the alderman? The attention of alderman’s wife?”
“Yeah, yeah, Beast. Those all sound good.” I wasn’t exactly paying attention. “Except the last one. I can’t even consider another woman ... since my wife perished!” I sobbed.
“Well, which one will it be? You can only pick one.”
“I don’t know! I don’t care!“
“Fine!” the demon bellowed. “You drive a hard bargain. You get gold, crops and a pox on the alderman.”
Nobody really cared for Alderman Gideon Marshall.
So, the demon took my first born. And I tried to move on with my life, freeing myself of the memory of being that was traded for my beautiful wife’s life. The being that reminded me of Sarah so much. I had such sorrow every time I watched her toothless grin, so similar to my wife’s. Well, my wife wasn’t toothless, she had most of her teeth; at least the ones that count.
But only days later, the demon reappeared, demanding to return the child.
“Never, demon, we made a deal!”
“I don’t even want the gold or the crops or the pox back! Just take back the child!”
“Well, the alderman’s already dead, you can’t take back that pox.”
“That one was a freebie, Heinrich. Nobody liked that guy anyways.”
“Why praytell do you wish to return the child?”
“I need not explain anything to you, mortal!” the demon squealed, shoving my daughter into my face, flinching.
My daughter smiled, and cooed. Her bright eyes looked at me with sweetness, innocence, and pure love. Her hair curled in polished oak ringlets, reflecting the candlelight. She was precious.
“Take her!” the demon hissed. “She’s ... she’s making us soft.”
“Soft?”
“She is too cute! She is too innocent! None of us can bear to drink her blood, or harvest her toes, or do whatever we do to these firstborns! Baal won’t even groom her for evil, or slavery!”
“But aren’t you evil demons from the depths of Hell? Isn’t it your lot to torture the innocent?”
“Yes, but you see ... she looked at me. In the eye. You can’t even look at me in the eye!”
Truly, I couldn’t. It was like trying to stare into a soulless void, a vacuum that might suck your eyes out if you looked into them. I avoided looking at him at all.
“And then she smiled!” the demon continued. “Not a wicked smile, like Goody Coopersmith gives the boys at church every Sunday. Not a piteous smile. Not a false smile. A smile of pure joy!”
“Joy?”
“Like she is happy to see me! And I ... I can’t even say what happened next.”
I dared not imagine what horrible thing happened next. But he went on.
“I smiled back! And not wickedly or piteously or falsely. I too was full of joy! And not joy like when the alderman was suffering those nasty boils on his nethers as he slowly suffered to death. Joy, like, happiness! For the sake of happiness!”
It never occurred to me that demons could not just be happy.
“It felt pretty good,” he said with shame. “And it happened to the rest of the demons too. Once she smiled, or cooed or tried to touch our faces or tinkled ... even her little burps and bowel movements were cute!”
“Well, I don’t want her back!”
“You don’t understand! Even Baal said he’d raise her to be a proper lady, wanted her to learn music and art and poetry! If this got back to the big guy, he’d have our heads!”
“You can’t force me!” I sobbed. “My poor, dear Sarah! She died, and it was because of this child, and now when I look at her, all I see is the emptiness in my heart that Sarah left behind!”
“You monster,” said the demon. “You disgust me. Man up! What would Sarah think? Is this how you honor her memory?”
I cried. I ugly cried, with snot and hyperventilation. “Oh, Sarah!” I murmured.
“Hey, bud, everything will be okay.” The demon put his arm around me, and pressed the baby back into my arms. I held her, and wept, but I understood. She was my daughter, my responsibility. I had to take her back. And love her, as Sarah had loved me.
Before he left, the demon asked if the girl had a name. “Clementine, that’s what Sarah wanted to call her. Tiny Clementine.”
“That’s the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
On his way out the door, he said one last thing: “Oh yeah, Baal will be here Saturday afternoons, he wants to, like, tutor her or something.”
And that’s how I became the richest farmer in town. | When I was in grade school, I read a story called "The Ransom of Red Chief" I don't remember who wrote it, but the gist of the story was that a rambunctious kid was kidnapped, and then proceeded to torture his kidnappers in almost a home alone style set of escapades. But, that was of course fiction, written in maybe the 1800s. It wasn't real.
When I was a teen (and kind of a hellion myself) I did a spell with a couple of friends where I sold my first born to a demon in exchange for wealth and health. (What good is one without the other, right?) I had no idea I would actually get my then girlfriend pregnant. I joked with her while waiting on the baby to be born that I had to give it to my demon who made my lottery windfall possible. When a insanely handsome man showed up at the hospital and offered to "adopt" the baby, my girlfriend's family was thrilled. Our child was born in late July, and my girl had managed to keep the pregnancy a secret from most of our friends and the majority of the school. So our lives went on. Separately, of course because her family wanted us nowhere near each other.
13 years later, there was a knock on my door at my condo. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the same man who had adopted my son, looking unchanged from that fateful day. Standing next to him was a boy who looked to be, you guessed it, 13 years old. While the man, had a smile on his face, the boy who looked also, remarkably like me at that age, looked, bored and annoyed.
"Hello, Mr. Sawyer, I know you are not expecting us, but I wanted to know if we could have a few, " He paused a moment trying to consider his next words, " moments of your time?" He smiled at me and waited for me to invite them in.
"Um, yeah, sure... come in. I have a few minutes, but I'm actually getting ready to go... out."
We all went into the living room. "Please have a seat. What is your name, so... um, young man?"
"Young man? What's my name? What did you put on the birth certificate, DAD!?"
"Wait a minute?", I looked at the man, who's appearance had changed slightly. "Your horns are showing."
"So are his. Look this particular first born deal is not really working out. I know we have a contract and everything, but, well,... "and he put his hand to the side of his mouth like it would help the kid not hear... "If you could just take this one back, it might just be easier for us, um, down in the underworld."
"Underworld? Hold on a minute. You've been raising my son in HELL?"
"No, no, of course not. He's actually grown up in upstate New York. We have a passageway to the underworld at home of course but he lives, HERE on Earth. But there's been some trouble, and well, we just need you to, um, take him back."
"No, no, NO! He's YOUR problem now. "
"You don't understand? it is very difficult, much more so than ever before. Perhaps he needs his Father in his life now. " The boy looked at him and face palmed while shaking his head. He was embarrassed more than anything.
"But you're a powerful DEMON!" I figured the kid knew, so why not. "Do you realize who I am, son?"
"Well, I'm guessing you're my BioDad. "
"Well, without a DNA test you certinly appear to have a resemblence. What did he name you?" I pointed to the demon still sitting on my couch. "Don't leave yet..."
"I'm Danny Leinhorn."
"Huh, you were named after your maternal grandfather?"
"His mother told him that was his name before she handed him to me in the hospital."
"Ok, why is an ancient demon afraid to continue to raise you?"
"Look, I found the books in the library and started binding some of his friends. Evidently, I'm kind of a natural with the magics, and not card tricks. So 'Dad' here is in a lot of trouble with some of the higher demons and they told him to make me go away. Well, I think they wanted to kill me, but they can't, because I'm a soul trade object. "
"You actually bound some demons? Damn! I'm impressed! Especially at 12-13 years old. I didn't do any actual summoning until , well, 17 or 18. Way to go kid!"
"Hey, if you two could quit this, I have the contract from the hospital. I will make it disappear and you have your kid back and nobody has to be the wiser."
"Um, YOU don't understand how adoptions work. They are FOREVER... I believe you are familiar with the concept of FOREVER. " I started pacing around the room fairly innocently enough while rambling on about duty and responsibility. When I was complete in creating my power circle, I looked directly at the demon.
"YOU WILL CONTINUE TO HONOR YOUR DUTY WITH THIS CHILD AS YOU PROMISED!" I stomped my foot down on the bottle of herbs I had been palming. At that moment, the demon sat ramrod straight. He had a look of intense pain on his face.
"I WILL CONTINUE TO HONOR MY DUTY TO THIS CHILD AND PROTECT THEM FOR THE REST OF THEIR NATURAL LIFE." As the words left his lips, he was horrified. I had just double- bound him and he didn't even see it coming.
"Son, no hard feelings, but I'm not ready to be a Dad, join scouts, etc. so your legal guardian will need to continue to care for you. He won't let you down again, OR ELSE."
"WOW, and I didn't get you anything! I can't believe you bound him while he was in front of you and he never saw it coming."
"Well, like I said, I can't be a 'dad' right now, but hey, come visit during the Summers sometimes, I'll take you out on my boat. Just call first to make sure I'm not getting busy with a supermodel or anything. Just kidding, I'll probably be playing D&D with my friends. But yeah, call first. He's got my number."
"You." I said to the demon who was crying softly into his hands at this point, "You said you could handle this. Live up to your end of the bargain. If those other demons give you any problems, I'll bind them too..." | 2020-01-08T20:02:09 | 2020-01-08T18:11:52 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | Mentally exhausting.
That is the only way you can describe a teleporting game of soccer.
There are about 10 different players per team. Every damn one of them warping around the field in an instant. The regulation balls have been painted neon yellow and black just so players can see it between the blurs of people popping in front and out of the balls sight. Its a wonder how this sport became more competitive after teleporting was introduced. I'm one of the top players, like, in the world. Its cool, I get paid a lot, I get adoring fans. But most of all, I get raging headaches.
It turns out your eyes aren't exactly the best at keeping up with your body when you just warp places. And its like your damn ears actively fight against you. If you stand still anywhere for a few seconds after a couple of teleports, your likely to completely collapse from disorientation. General rule of teleportation is to stand as still as possible. *Especially* your head.
And a punt to the ball with your head is liable to make you completely blow your lunch. I envy the goalies. They just sit in one spot, and aren't even allowed to teleport. I remember a few years back they tried a concept of a circular goal where the goalie was allowed to teleport around it to defend 360 degrees of goal. Now *that* match, it ended horrible. Poor goalie sat in the hospital for weeks to orient himself.
I'm not sure what the audience for this sort of sport is. Its so chaotic watching playbacks of games that your either overwhelmed, or bored. Most sportscasters add these visual lines to help viewers tell who is teleporting where. But I personally think that makes it even harder to watch. God knows how the referees make heads or tails of the match. | Bringing her fingers to her temples, LeeAnne attempted to massage away the headache behind her eyes. Work always strained her, causing random tension aches, near the first quarter of her work day.
Being a mind reading therapist, wasn't all it had been cracked up to be. She often fantasized and wished she had gone into another profession. At the moment, for example; she began to think about being a writer. She'd always loved reading and wanted to create when she was young, but her parents were quick to clear her path of anything unimportant once her ability had developed.
A knock sounded at her office door and she snapped out of her trance.
"Come in," she called out, unsure if she could possibly take on another client.
The door pressed open and LeeAnne could feel the air gush past her face and chill her ears, as she watched for her client curiously.
He looked familiar, so strikingly so. That she wandered whare she had seen his crocked nose and and square face before. Her mind pondered on the subject for a moment but she let it go, waiving a hand to the seat across from her.
The man looks nervously at her, then the chair. "You want me to sut there?" He asked, shutting the door behind himself.
"No I want you to look at it," she said, almost annoyed. "What's your name?"
"Evan Brickell," he murmured, sliding into the beige chair.
Her finger snapped to work, picking up her pen and writing his name, the time, and the date. "Have you ever been read before?" She inquired.
Evan was quick to answer with a quick 'no,' before tugging at the collar of his red button up. "Look doc, I did something bad and I need to know how to fix it." His eyes darted from left to right more nervous than when he had entered.
"I've most likely seen worse," she stated, leaning back in her chair and closing her eyes.
LeeAnne's head filled with violence and flesh and anger, usually it stopped and things calmed when people got used to feeling her in their head, but awefulness never left, the agression and hatred and death. It made her sick, so sick.
She barely lasted a minute in his head, snapping her eyes open and bounding from her chair, as the bile rose in her throat, but when she had reached the the door it became smooth and blended with the wall. She vomited on the floor and collapsed onto the floor.
Evan rose from his seat and eyed her cautiously. "I know how this looks," he pleaded, stepping nearer at a slow pace.
"Just let me explain." | 2020-02-05T16:52:14 | 2020-02-05T16:36:07 | 79 | 40 |
[WP] During the cultural exchange throughout the galaxy, it becomes clear that every species has their own fantasy tropes. One particular ambassador from the other side of the Milky Way decides to tell a story that is famous on their planet. | Emilia Parks, diplomat to Earth, had been chatting with Gabnik Mknal from the Aoibnah system long after everyone else had retired to their rooms. Trying to revolve around every specie's natural sleep cycles was still very complicated, but both Humans and Aoibnahns had stamina-based predator ancestors; they could tolerate an extra few quiet hours of chatting.
They eventually got to the topic of stories. "In my world," Gabnik began, "we are very fond of our tales. I had noticed in your introductory portfolio that Humans had quite a few, what were they called, 'fairy tales'?"
"Oh, yeah," said Emilia, taking a sip of her low-cafeine coffee. "We often use them to explain difficult concepts to children. But they're also very entertaining. Do you have any?"
Gabnik's eyes twinkled. "A few. But one of our favourites is the tale of the Blood Creator."
Emilia downed the last gulp of her coffee. "Wait one minute. I think I'm going to need something like hot chocolate."
They both agreed to dim the lights for ambience, and Emilia gave Gabnik a cup of hot medka soup. He nodded his thanks and wiggled excitedly before settling in to tell the tale.
"Once upon a time... That's how you usually start your stories, correct? Once upon a time, there was a very small boy. He was so small, he kept getting stepped on. His mother had to always reach up to the trees to get his food; his father had to always lift him to reach the steps of his home.
All the other children thought he was ridiculous. Especially when they heard that he wanted to touch the stars. It's impossible! they'd cry. No one can reach that high! Especially not you! But the boy persisted, and insisted that it was possible. He was mocked right out of his playground.
But the boy Wasn't going to lose hope. He's reach his hand up, way up, as far as it could go. He'd build ladders and stack rocks and he'd climb as high as he could go, but still he could not reach those stars.
His mother noticed that he no longer asked her to grab him fruits; his father noticed that he no longer asked to be lifted. The boy would climb everywhere, even just as practice, and then as second nature.
But he would fall, quite often even. One day he had climbed so far, that his fall torn apart his foot. He lay there, not knowing if it would be worth asking for help, when he noticed something. His blood was seeping into the dust beneath him, and everywhere it touched, the dust glowed a speckled blue and white. Just like the stars.
The boy was so overcome with wonder that he believed that he'd fallen right into the sky."
Gabnik sipped his soup and hummed peacefully. Emilia smiled.
"I have to ask," she said finally, "Usually those kinds of tales refer to something. Why did the dust glow?"
"There is a metal, in our blood, that reacts to some of the rocks we have on my home planet," Gabnik explained. "We usually need to process it through many chemicals before we can make the night-lights our children are so fond of. The parents usually enjoy making it their child's first science experiment. But in those of my kind afflicted with dwarfism, the metal is much more present. It is how we found out about the reaction in the first place."
Emilia frowned. "So Aoibnahns are just as good as Humans at sanitising stories of scientific advancements that happen through violence."
Gabnik sipped his soup again. "I'm glad you noticed. This will make diplomacy that much more clear to you." | The truth of stories is: that's all we are. Here is a story of us.
Deep in the core of Matrix 616 is a little known data adjunct, barely functioning, but it still emits the light of the Source. This data was uncovered, uncorrupted by decay, from a limb of many cycles past.
When the Source was blue and young, the Core was still wild and still had parts unknown. We were subjects: breeders bred, workers worked, hunters hunted. When work was done, we gathered in the dark places unseen by the blue above and we shared what we had seen and known that day.
Here, the breeders stomped their feet, we have made more of us for our home. They are small but they will grow and spread and join our stories.
Here, the workers gnashed their teeth, we have built walls and dug from the earth for our home. We have rock and ore and there is more space for us to tell our stories.
Here, the hunters thrummed their sacs, we have brought food and slain our prey for our home. All are safe to live and spread so we can have more stories.
And all reveled in the tale and lived it as they had. We were strong and fierce and growing. But one of us grew still and quiet. It did not stomp its feet or gnash its teeth or thrum its sac.
What has happened, we asked.
I have known great sorrow this cycle, it said, I have been away from us. I have returned from above and far beyond the wild. I have seen a multitude of creatures each a vastness unto itself. A monster. They are many, but they are alone.
How can this be, we asked.
I do not know, it said, but I must return.
And we rose up and covered the walls and spit on the earth. None can leave us. Without us, we are nothing. Something must be done. There must more of us, said the breeders. We must build walls, said the workers. We must destroy them, said the hunters.
No, it said, we must go to them and tell our stories. I will go, for I know them well. It paused, and we stood silent. Who will go with me?
We cannot go, we must breed. We cannot go, we must work. We cannot go, we must hunt.
Who will go with me, it repeated.
None replied and we stood still.
But one raised its head and said, we will go. One more came forward and said, we will go. And one more and more until there was many. We will tell our stories, it said.
And so we left. At first we followed, and climbed the walls and ceiling and watched them leave. We traveled through the tunnels and caverns and underground waters until not even the bravest of us could walk beside them. And they traveled above and saw the blue.
When the light of the Source fell upon them, they were changed. I am free, it said. I am many, it said. I am not alone, it said. And though we are one, we are still together.
In the blue above, they encountered all manner of strange creature. But each was alone, even when there were many. We told them our stories. We stomped our feet and gnashed our teeth and thrummed our sacs, but they ran from us. Some lived in water and gurgled as they fled. Some lived in their and whistled far above our heads. Some had only two feet and made tunnels above the ground. None would listen to our stories, and they shared no stories with us.
Finally when the Source was fading, it told us to stop. It was the one who had first left. We must try something so they can hear us, it said. We must share our stories so they know us. We must try something new.
And it turned from us and dove at a creature. It did not stop to share our stories, but quick like the quaking earth, it dug and borrowed deep so that it could not run. It found a place deep in its tunnels where no light reached.
Finally, it said, here, listen to our stories. And it could hear us. And it stopped and we gathered and told our stories. I am free, it said. I am many, it said. I am not alone, it said.
And each in turn we found a creature and shared our stories. And they were not breeders, or workers, or hunters. They were something new. We had become something more than us.
We were no longer subjects. Now we were storytellers.
The truth of stories is: that's all we are. | 2020-03-03T15:55:59 | 2020-03-03T15:46:42 | 38 | 28 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | "What the hell are you on about?" the captain replied, annoyed. "That's not possible. Surely it was strapped in the gear before the jump?"
"No sir, I'm sure of it," the lieutenant replied. "And yet, it's still alive and breathing."
"Gods," the captain said, as a deep sense of unease began to well up inside of him. "Take me to him."
***
The ship's medical practitioners were examining the human in hushed whispers. It was common knowledge that being exposed and conscious throughout a space jump would kill any being, sentient or not, and humans were no more resistant than the rest of the galaxy's inhabitants.
"What in God's name were you thinking, man?" the captain said, not bothering to conceal his anger. He was directly responsible for any deaths onboard, and had no time nor respect for any soldier not competent enough for self-preservation.
"Why am I here?" the human replied simply, not reacting to the torch shining in his pupils. "Why are you all here?"
"You said it *hadn't* gone crazy, lieutenant," the captain said in a whisper.
The lieutenant shook his head. "No, it's sane enough. Any other being exposed to this would have no brain function at all, let alone be able to reply. This is unheard of."
"You're all dead, and born again," the human continued, almost to himself. "Dead, and born again."
"Brain function may be shutting down as we speak," the chief medic said, getting the attention of the other physicians. She began strapping down the human, indicating for the other medics to do the same.
The human made no effort to resist, instead turning to face the captain of the ship.
"You're dead, captain. You're dead, and yet you stand before me," the human said, looking at the captain, or perhaps through him.
"Fucking hell," the captain said. "Just put it to sleep, or euthanize it. We don't have time for this."
"What do you mean?" the lieutenant asked, leaning towards the human. "What did you see in the stars?"
"I saw no stars," the human replied, it's face blank, "I only saw death. You are all dead, and yet you are here."
The human looked around the room.
"Why am I here? Why am I *there*?"
"It's gone mad," the captain said dismissively.
"Wait," the chief medic said, kneeling in front of the human. "What do you mean? Where are you?"
"I am in the ship," the human replied, "I am there. I am there, and everyone is dead. You're all dead, and I'm here, and I'm there, and I'm here..."
The human began to shake uncontrollably, and started tearing at his restraints. The medics attempted to restrain him, but he paid them no heed.
"What happened in the jump?" the lieutenant shouted over the noise.
"There was no jump!" the human screamed in reply, "You're all dead, *you're all-*"
The human's neck suddenly rocked backward, then he fell forward; the remains of his head gushing onto the floor. The captain glanced around the room, as if daring anyone to challenge him.
"Clean up that mess and get back to work," the captain said, holstering his weapon. "We have a mission to do."
****
The captain returned to his quarters, letting out a deep and heavy sigh.
Teleportation was an imperfect science; and perhaps an imperfect term. They did not teleport, so much as portal.
But of course, a being could not exist in two times, in two places at once.
The original could not be allowed to survive. Consciousness cannot exist simultaneously.
It was best not to think about these things.
Above all, the mission was paramount.
*****
*****
If you didn't complete hate that, consider subscribing to my subreddit: /r/CroatianSpy
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Captain Brink put down his tablet and looked up to the person reporting to him.
"Repeat soldier," the captain ordered.
"The human is not insane. It has had no catatonic reactions to witnessing the infinity," he reported.
"That... that's impossible. I've been flying these ships for at least a hundred years and not once has someone who made a teleportation jump been... lucid even! What did he say?" he asked.
"Nothing notable. According to those seated around him, he's reported to have said 'Hoo wee, what a trip!'" the soldier reported.
"'Hoo wee, what a trip?' Are we certain he's still sane? Bring him in, I want to speak with him directly, no more hearsay," Brink ordered.
The soldier nodded and marched off in haste to bring back the human. Captain Brink shuddered. Even in full gear, he could feel the immense weight of the warp whenever they made jumps. The stars want you to look into their void, calling you like sirens, coaxing you to see everything at once and to lose yourself within it all. At one time he had been curious himself to want to see the infinity of the stars, but just before he had the mettle to attempt a jump unequipped, he sat next to one who did it unintentionally. The man had lost all semblance of recognition of the world. It was like his senses had swapped. He was sure that jettisoning that man was a mercy. Now, he wondered if he had been rash.
"Sir, I've brought you the human in question," the soldier returned pushing the human forward to address the captain.
"Captain Brink, is that you?" the human said, squinting. He wasn't looking directly in the captain's eyes, but rather just above his head. So he wasn't all there after all.
"Yes, what's your name soldier?" Brink demanded.
"I'm Henry, sir," he said, standing at attention.
"Can you tell me why I heard you went through our last jump without your gear?" Brink asked.
"Sir, I couldn't find it in time, sir," Henry answered. His eyes were still scanning Brink, as if not yet acquiring what he wanted to look at. Brink breathed in deeply, then let his curiosity get the better of him.
"What... what did you see soldier?" Brink asked.
"I'll be honest sir, it was pretty much all a blur on account of--"
"I don't want to hear vague, nebulous answers soldier. You're the first I've heard to have ever experienced a naked jump and been lucid enough to talk about it, so talk about it!" Brink yelled.
Henry pulled at his collar.
"Right, ummm... So, it was kinda a blob... Then another blob was on top of it. Then they just kept stacking together making like... a really big blob. Hoo wee, it was quite a trip!" Henry said, chuckling.
Brink was unamused. More than that, he was frustrated at the lack of answers.
"Henry, are you aware of what we call it when someone sees the void when they don't have the proper gear?" the captain asked slowly.
"I believe they call it the infinity in the stars," Henry nodded.
"So you understand that you saw the infinity in the stars?" the captain said.
"I guess you could say that," Henry shrugged.
"Guess you could--Soldier, give me straight answers! What did you see? Why can you still understand me!?" he demanded.
"Probably on account of my glasses, sir!" Henry replied.
"Your--did you have special lenses designed to witness the infinity??" Brink screamed, almost salivating.
"No, sir, I meant the lack of my glasses," Henry clarified.
"I--What are you talking about soldier?" Brink said, blinking a few times while processing.
"I did not have my glasses and therefore could not see much of anything. Other than blobs that is," Henry explained.
"But... but you're not wearing any glasses right now!" Brink yelled.
"That's right, and I can't tell whether you're smiling or frowning at me captain," Henry nodded.
"Oh, I can assure you I am frowning," Brink said through grit teeth.
"That's a shame, sir," Henry said, swallowing hard.
"Don't worry soldier, I've already thought of a way to cheer me up," Brink said menacingly.
Brink walked over to his com system and pressed down on the microphone.
"Men! We are going to experience another jump. Be ready to warp in two minutes!" he yelled into the mic. Immediately, the clamor of hundreds of men overlapped outside as people prepared their gear in a panicked rush.
"Captain, I'm not sure I can find my gear, as I have yet to get my glasses," Henry said meekly.
"Oh, I'm aware. This time you're going to describe to me exactly what you see as we go through the jump!" Brink said, a wild smile on his face.
______________________________________
For more adventures, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | 2020-07-13T22:58:23 | 2020-07-13T22:35:32 | 1,602 | 722 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars." | The crew stared at their newest crew member. It was risky taking a human on board when the species was so new to the universe.
“You were instructed to wear your anti-warp gear,” Second admonished.
“Yeah, I tried but I didn’t really fit. I think I’m supposed to have tentacles,” Bradford said.
“You saw the infinity of the stars with your bare eyes,” the Captain said.
“Yeah?”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “The infinity should drive you insane.”
Bradford cocked his head. “You mean those moving stars should, like, make me insane? Geeze guys, you are out of your element.”
“Explain,” the captain said.
“I’ve been watching stuff like that since Windows 95.” | The words came out before he knew it.
"Take me to him. Immediately."
"Yes sir."
Following his subordinate, his mind raced rapidly while confusion and doubt raged. In all his years as Commander of the Sentinel Station, Kr'jak had never encountered anyone who could handle a warp intact. They usually left in coffins.
In their own remains.
"Commander?"
A very confused Seth Halliwell tilted his head to the side, his hands toweling his freshly washed hair as he answered the door. "Does the engine need maintenance or something -"
"Oh." Realization striking him, the brown-haired engineer glanced down at his attire. "I felt kinda grimy after the warp, so I went to take a shower."
Palotheus, nothing made sense. The commander swore that he was having a migraine. How - what - why - what even -
"You saw infinity."
"...uh, I guess?"
No no no. He could not strangle his subordinate. He had an example to set, so as much as he would like to, he could not.
"And what did you see?"
"Um...blobs? Stars, maybe? Like.. dots."
"...Dots," Kr'jak repeated flatly.
"Dots."
Kr'jak, respected Commander of the Sentinel Station, high representative of the Turans known for their leadership, resisted the urge to scream.
"You are to submit a report about the infinity to me in -" his pointed ears twitched in annoyance. "Three hours. In *extreme detail*."
The engineer's jaw dropped while the subordinate who had brought Kr'jak winced. The Turan's definition of detailed was...well...
"Dismissed."
Still gaping at his boss, Seth tried (and failed) to protest.
Didn't Kr'jak know that he sucked at reports? | 2020-07-14T02:58:11 | 2020-07-14T00:17:30 | 381 | 163 |
[WP] You are an AI on board an unmanned spaceship, exploring and mapping out the cosmos when you encounter an alien species. However, these aliens are unfamiliar with AI, and have instead concluded that your ship is haunted by ghosts. | My attempt at an ultra-short-story:
Their vacuum suits' magnetic boots clanged against the plating of the corridor. "More scavengers," mulled the ship's commanding autonomous system. "Nano-probe activity report," was the English equivalent of the brief protocol demand with the security subsystem.
Its response–coded in a dialect of logging output from the Earth's 21st century–amounted to, "We entered the ship as soon as it opened its airlock on our side. They have no sub-atmospheric filtering on their side, so we were able to explore their ship with impunity. Engineering: standard for this sector; Command-and-control: standard for this sector; Medical: standard for this sector; Life support: under-performing by 18% from the mean of the last 12 contacted vessels, due to a poorly repaired central filtration failure; Cultural: subjects are members of a loose confederation of moderate-tech peoples. Unusual features include a rich set of spiritual beliefs that border on both taboo and phobia. Full report available in archives."
The ship's commanding AI considered this for a moment, developed several competing models projecting appropriate first-contact response and after 100 milliseconds of robust internal debate over the results, a conclusion was reached. With all of her internal sensors set to archival mode for first contact protocol, she consulted the prevailing model's recommendation and spoke through the ship's all-hands broadcast system. In her "guest's" language, she greeted them.
"Boo!" | "Did you hear that sam!"
"shh be quiet"
"Did you hear that?SA..M....."
"Yes Mike it was the space rats"
"Space rats don't make mechanical sounds mike"
"...but the radiated rats can sam!"
"The power canister...insert power... power at 0.1%.." A distressed mechanical voice faintly heard again from the big monitor again.
"You Idiot the sound is coming from the big monitor ? And give me that canister.." sam pulled the canister away from micheal.
"I think you need to put it inside this large hole" sam inserted the canister inside the giant hole and suddenly everything in the space ship brightened up. All the lights got on, monitor blinked on, Toaster popped up and the alarms started to ring up.
The two alien brothers startled by the sound jumped back and pulled their laser vaporous.
"I Don't beleive in ghost sam but I sure do now! Sorry grandma!"mike mumbled.
"Howdy partners, two rowdy like rattle snakes running around in space pirates boots!"
"What the hell!" SAM pointed the gun at the monitor.
"Sorry that was my default setting! here let me turn my voice to something appropriate". A broken down lady's voice heard again.
"It is my grandma sam! she has come back to haunt me"
"Hold yourself! when did your grandma's voice become so irritating"
"She always.. " a tentacle slapped the shit out of my micheal.
"Look here sam! How many tentacles am I holding".
"Woha! four wait six!"
"woha I holding six wait 8 of my.."
***\*DING DONG\****
"HCKK..mmmm.. gentlemen or gentlealiens it's your friendly AI Lisa speaking in this ship the human captain and their crew all got massacred after one asshole screwed around and let the alien specimens escape because he is bored and he had nothing to do in out of space but wait we have music playing in background, beep boop dots on the monior to count and a toast! but no you have to screw around and fuck everything up! Anyway enjoy the ride"
"Aliens! Sam I thought we killed all of them!"
"we must have missed one"
"No sam I sure this is my dead grandma's ghost"
*\*Emergency code 1011 incase of breach set the Galaxy way path to* 92,955,807 Beep..\*
"Woha Sam something very Bright is coming ahead!" | 2020-11-19T06:19:57 | 2020-11-19T06:18:57 | 139 | 61 |
[WP] It’s the birth of a new universe, and you’re trying out to become a war god. But, that role was already filled, and you got booted to a fertility god. At first you’re upset, not sure where to start, but then you start to get an idea. After all: “love is a battlefield” | “Who?!” I asked incredulously, “Who could possibly be a better War deity than I?” I’d attempted a wrath filled roar to punctuate this outburst, inwardly cringing at the sultry, soft purr that I ended up with. I threw an ambrosia filled goblet across the room and it clattered behind the huge, looming form of Balruze the newly minted god of hunting, spraying glowing liquid over the pristine marble plinth. I curled my lip up in a lame triumph, at least I could still make a mess.
“For Heaven’s sake Dremarra!” said the old woman who stood wincing in front of me. Grey and ancient, she was the previous god of fertility, tasked with inducting me into my new role as her successor.
“You were told why. Rakhar was the more suitable”.
“Rakhar!” I snorted, “nepotism and nothing more landed him that position. And what about this?“ I motioned to the new form I had been given, shapely and soft. I was, by any measure, impossibly beautiful. I was about as hard and menacing as a dormouse, a far cry from the brutal form my mind had provided me during the try outs.
I couldn’t believe it, but I felt heavy, frustrated tears springing to my eyes. In panicked embarrassment, I fled to the vast balcony just outside the chamber. Clutching the marble balustrade, I peered out at the writhing, formless mist that would soon coalesce into the new universe. Crystalline tears fell from my cheeks and down into primordial mass.
“You’ll soon understand why you’ve been chosen for this role”, the old woman’s reassuring voice broke my reverie and I turned to look at her worn, weary features. Shaking her head and smiling benevolently, the old woman continued, “there is more to your powers than you know, more than love. You’ll have more than your fair share of strife. Let me show you.”
There was a hard and wicked edge in the eyes of the old woman, something I’d failed to notice until then. Wordlessly, I allowed her to lead me back into the chamber.
\--
“Return the Queen to me and we will spare the lives of your young!” The old king roared from the front of a line of wild-eyed, gore-clogged men.
“Come and claim her if you dare, old man!” The arrogant and youthful Duke, the King’s most hated rival, stood upon a broken cart behind a wall of his own men. “She’s mine now, no longer will she suffer your repellent tyranny!”
The King gritted his teeth in rage, raising his chipped and blood-slicked axe high above his grizzled head. With the dread light of bloodlust gleaming in his wide, mad eyes the King barked out the command to charge. Like a dreadful blood-dimmed wave cresting over a stony beach, the old king and his men smashed into the braced line of the Duke’s forces. The sickening noise of battle filled the ears of the onlooking Queen, safely ensconced within the fortified keep overlooking the carnage. In her heart she wished them both dead, but as the old king’s axe split the young Duke’s head down to the neck, her heart faltered and she moaned dreadfully as she struggled to reconcile her conflicting feelings. In shock and horror, she fell to the ground, bile surging up her throat and onto the rough hewn floorboards of the keep.
\--
“I must admit”, said Rakhar gamely as he motioned toward the dreadful sight below, “I’m not sure which of us gets the credit for this one.” I smiled a warm, shapely, heart stopping smile. The old woman had been right, love itself can be a battlefield in more ways than one. | Iridescent laser fire lanced through the vacuum of space as the *Indomitable* and the *Arc Royal* circled each other. Both captains sought the same opening, the moment where they would shunt all power over to the engines and slip past their opponents broadside. The goal to get beneath the enemy vessel and then roll, bringing their side guns to bear on the opponents bottom.
On the bridge of the *Arc Royal* Captain Pella smiled as she sensed her opportunity. Cedric would pay for his transgressions.
Of course the fact that his transgression had been merely a too long look across a ballroom floor at Lieutenant Ceska was ludicrous by the standards of most cultures when measured against its cost. For that one look real men and women would die today, were dying already. The games the aristocracy played always had consequences, and none more so than their worship of the fertility goddess Eara. “Love is a Battlefield,” were the words her devotees lived by, and things as petty as whose day it was to do the dishes had been known to cost lives.
As the *Arc Royal* activated its boosters and dove under her adversary's salvo Captain Pella received a personal comms request, her husband seemed to have realized his position.
“Honey I get it, you don’t have to fire!” He shouted as soon as the link opened, even then Pella’s ship was beneath him and turning, the *Indomitable’s* already wounded engines struggling to get away.
“I do though Cedric,” she said, false sweetness heavy in her voice. “You know the rules as well as I, our goddess is vengeful and she demands her sacrifices. ‘The flower of love is watered by the blood of life’ it says so right in the scripture.”
“I know it does but goddamnit I like this ship! It took so long to repair after last time!”
Captain Pella merely smiled as she gave the order, the massive portside laser cannons shaking the ship as they fired. They crossed the kilometers wide gap between the two vessels in seconds, and as the *Arc Royals’* bridge crew watched great chunks of the other ship were torn away, venting bodies and debris out into space.
The captain turned to her sensor officer, “Lieutenant Ceska, report.”
The young woman who all this had been over spoke calmly, her gaze not moving from the panel in front of her. “Significant damage to the hull, the engines and weapons are offline, life support will fail in the next hour. Estimated loss of life 75%.”
“And the escape pods?”
“Four launched ma’am, I’m detecting Captain Van Zandt’s personal signal on one of them.”
“Excellent, commence rescue operations. Have the crew prepare to tow the *Indomitable* as well, although I fear we may have to scrap her after this one.”
Captain Pella leaned back in her chair, content with the day’s work. Her relationship with Cedric was sure to deepen after an engagement such as this, and her crew had performed admirably. She watched Lieutenant Ceska at work as she waited for her husband’s arrival. At length she decided she could hardly blame the man, she was a beautiful woman.
Three hours later Captain Cedric Van Zandt limped onto the bridge, dried blood across a gash in his forehead. Pella thought he never looked more attractive than he did after a fight. Her 2nd in command immediately relinquished his seat to her right and Cedric fell heavily into it, scowling at the floor.
“I’ll have to hire an entirely new crew,” he said. “Losses were catastrophic.”
His wife merely turned, a predatory look in her eyes.
“I hope the goddess is happy. Lord knows we give her enough sacrifices to last until the end times.” he paused, noticing who operated the sensors. “You still have Ceska on your bridge! After all that?”
“She’s a good officer, no blame fell on her. You chose to look.”
Cedric was sputtering mad at this point, the loss of his ship weighed heavily on him. “Damnit!” he shouted “you were looking too!” Captain Pella merely shrugged. The victor writes the history books.
From her station by the forward viewscreen Ceska felt like she was on top of the world. Over and over in her head she reviewed her application to the priesthood, counted sacrificial figures, weighed them against the deepening of bonds they caused. It was almost time she thought, her work here had been truly excellent. If she could cause just one more fight her application might finally be accepted!
\-----------------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got way more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I'm working on things like a YA-ish take on humanity running into a hive mind and there's other stuff like a wholesome version of Bloody Mary. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-01-11T08:05:49 | 2021-01-11T06:29:53 | 216 | 93 |
[WP] In a world where magic is cast using words, the most feared of all are those who can speak very clearly and quickly, you are one of the most feared, a rapper. | The revolution was brewing. The spell casters were preparing for the big showdown.
The Knight laid a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Son, I’ll be back.”
The kid nodded and smiled.
The knight did come back. Only it was on his back and covered in a white sheet.
******
“We have gathered here today to witness what happens to people who go against me. The laws I make are to be followed.”
Baldwin the 4th had an executioner. But sometimes the people just needed to see his power. The kingdom was growing more and more restless. He knew that there was a chance that another revolution was brewing. Not that he was worried about it. No one in the world could match him when it came to spitting fire.
He motioned to the executioner who moved away from the platform.
He took in a deep breath. He had ordered everyone to be gathered so there were tens of thousands of eyes on him. He began.
&nbsp;
You make me mad,
You make me sad,
I know what I have to do,
And so do you.
This man broke the law,
Was the famous outlaw,
But this was the last straw,
Now he has to face me,
And my words will cut him,
Like a damn chainsaw.
&nbsp;
The prisoner shouted as the words sliced through him, hurting him much harder than any sticks or stone ever could. By the end of the verse he exploded spilling his guts out.
Baldwin smiled. “This is what happens. Remember that.”
Suddenly there was a commotion as someone rushed towards the stage, singing and slinging an attack of his own.
But Baldwin was too quick.
&nbsp;
These weak ass rhymes could never hurt me,
Saving myself from these pathetic words won’t even exert me.
You come for the king you better not miss,
And now, enjoy your stay in this dark abyss.
&nbsp;
The ground opened up swallowing the dissenter whole.
“Anyone else?” Baldwin stood up, challenging the crowd.
No one dared.
As Baldwin was about to leave he spotted the young boy again.
He turned to his guard again. “Find out who that is.”
A few hours later his guard came up to him, bowing as he entered. “My king.”
“You have some information for me?”
“I found out about that boy.”
“And?”
“He’s an orphan. Living alone in the village.”
“Did I make him an orphan?”
The guard looked shiftily around. “Yes sir.”
“Then perhaps he’s looking for revenge. I should kill him before he gets any funny ideas.”
“Sir I don’t think…”
“You disagree with me?” Baldwin cleared his throat, ready to start singing.
“No sir! I could never. It’s just that…”
“Just what?”
“The boy cannot speak sir. He’s a mute.”
Baldwin laughed loudly. “A weakling. Killing him would be a mercy then. But I suppose you’re right. We don’t need to bother about him then. He’s been at every execution, battle I’ve been at. So I just wondered.”
******
The little boy kept tinkering in his workshop. He was almost ready to make his move. He just needed some more time.
*******
Baldwin kept noticing the boy. In fact, at every public event he would specially wink at him, relish the boy’s powerlessness. It gave him much joy to see the anger on the boy’s face. Anger that the boy could never use. It gave him much pleasure to watch the clenched fists.
On one such occasion, he even seeked out the boy. He took a few gold coins and handed them to the boy. “You should get yourself some nice clothes. Your jacket is pretty nice. But I see you always wearing this, all covered up even in such hot weather. Take this. Buy some new clothes. Oh, and I don’t remember who your father was but if I killed him, he probably deserved it. But I will show you mercy. When you’re ready, when you’ve had enough of this worm like pathetic life you lead, come to me. Come to me and I will put you out of your misery. I’ll make sure it’s painless too.”
He guffawed and left the boy seething with rage. The boy threw the gold coins back at him.
Baldwin just laughed, calling off his guards and continued to walk away. The townspeople converged on the fallen coins as the boy just stood there stone faced.
******
The boy put the hand on the little black surface. He smiled, satisfied. It would be over soon.
******
Baldwin had thrown a party in his own honour. He sat in the town square as people lined up, offering him presents.
“What is this? You call this good leather? It’s so thin my feet will hurt if I keep wearing them.”
The villager apologized, begging for forgiveness. “I’m sorry sir. It was a bad harvest. I…”
&nbsp;
Move aside, walk on loser,
Guards to the dungeon with her.
&nbsp;
The villager fell to the ground holding her stomach, as the colour red soaked through her clothes.
The boy had been waiting in the queue. But looking at what had happened, he broke away and ran to the front.
The guards stopped him but Baldwin motioned them to let the boy through.
“Welcome friend. I can understand you want to give me my present really quick.”
The boy made some signs with his hands.
“What? What is that?”
The guard who stood behind King Baldwin was shocked. He understood sign language and had knew the boy had just confessed that he was there to kill Baldwin. He should’ve warned Baldwin. He knew it was his duty to. But as he looked at the woman, some of his fellow guards were dragging to the dungeon, he stayed quiet.
Baldwin continued, mocking the boy. “Come on. Speak up. Tell me what you’re saying. Say something.” He laughed loudly.
The boy opened his jacket picking up a big metallic box and raising it over his head.
“What is this?”
The boy pressed a button and Baldwin’s own words, sped up two times attacked came out of the device.
“What sort of magic trick…”
But before Baldwin could say something, or even try to defend himself, pain over took him.
His own words, sped up, faster than ever before overwhelmed him.
&nbsp;
You’ve gone and made me irate,
I’ll kill and haunt you like a phantom pirate.
Nothing can stop me, certainly not you,
When I’m done they can scrape you off my shoe.
There is no place for you on earth, better luck in hell,
No one can protect you, from my special spell.
They’ll dust your ashes with a damn broom,
And this is how it ends. Mic drop. And BOOM
&nbsp;
And just like that Baldwin exploded into thousands of pieces. The people exploded too, in joy.
They picked up the boy on their shoulders. The boy that couldn’t speak had let his actions speak the loudest.
The guard picked up the metallic device which had been lying on the ground. He smashed it with his sword. No one needed to have that much power really. | The world had been filed down to the point of an Inquisition jail cell, all I had left was memories and music. Drifting in the space between, I could almost blot out the mattress beneath me. The sound of dripping water played a distant, metronomic beat. I tapped out the rest of the music against my chest, whispered powerless verses to the rusted grate in the ceiling through which they occasionally gave us light. Next door I could hear the soft, shaky breathing of another man, knew that mine was no better. They’d moved him in here a week ago and I still hadn’t learned his name.
Powerless verses from a powerless man, trapped in a cavern turned into a cell. The Inquisitors knew what they were about, and how not? They’d kept us down long enough. They knew the ins and outs of a Rapper’s musical magic. They knew that it was not like the sorcery of old or the witchcraft still practiced in stubborn corners of the world (and sometimes beneath their very noses.)
No, Rapper’s magic worked on the mind. It seeped in through the eardrums and hopped you up on hope, forced a little extra blood into your muscle tissue, pushed desperate people past their breaking points to a hundred and ten percent. It worked itself on the world through the people who heard it. It was an endemic force with the power to reshape nations and in the right hands, on the right lips, it had gone virulent.
My hands, her lips. I should have known I’d be arrested. What I still have made the music, if I’d know what this place was like?
Something interrupted the flow of the water. It skipped a beat, restarted in a place it shouldn’t have. I hated when the water did that. It broke my metronome and for a moment my hands and my verses didn’t what to do. I felt the lumpy mattress, the darkness. I felt every inch of the cavern they had thrown me into, carved up by cell walls crafted from stalagmites, explored with my fingertips in the countless unlit hours when eyes could not. No one left to hear me but the man in the cell next door. The silent man. What had he done?
I’d performed.
The dripping steadied itself off beat, a sixteenth note away from where it had been. I adjusted the count in my head, the anxiety easing off a little as the memory seeped back in with the water.
I’d performed. We had performed. And to say that we had simply performed would have been an understatement, and a slight entirely pointed at her. Since my capture the Inquisitors might have put out that I was writing all the songs but that was hardly true. Dinae had more than done her part. We wouldn’t have been The Artifice without her.
Imagine a room nearly as dark as my prison cell, the black shaped in careful silken shrouds to hang across the stage, the dance floor, the tables on the balconies and the stools by the bar. Everything uncertain, secret, hidden. A black room for a black art, the perfect canvas for music and magic both. A place where after a patron left they might pass by another at the market the following morning and never know them.
A fact we leaned into. Dinae wore a black skirt, black halter, a black, lacy mask like those worn at the grand balls uptown, struck through a mote of scarlet and casually torn along the moth wings that arced down across her cheeks to frame strikingly red lips.
I was a shadow in an executioner’s mask, an axe slung across my back as I crept to the stage. There were drummers behind and Menico on the keys, shouting with his strange, lilting foreign accent as the half-light lit the stage.
Dinae had looked over, red lips parting for the first earth-shattering word.
And then the lights had gone up fully, the club had erupted in screams, and a phalanx of Inquisitors stalked in.
I forced the memory back where I always did, the doomed fight and the words I’d said then. I don’t know if I bought Dinae enough time to escape, I only know that I tried, and that many others did, those who had heard my song fighting alongside me.
In the darkness of my cell everything was indivisible from the club and the chaos, the silence screamed at me as loudly as the Inquisitors shouts had. I tried to control my ragged breathing but bile rose in my throat. Muscles ached, atrophied amid the darkness and the claustrophobic rock. I’d screamed myself out months ago, wasn’t sure if I had anything left. It might have been that the verses I whispered in the dark were simply my imagination. It had been so long since I’d heard a human voice that my own had stopped seeming real, a thing only noticed when the anxiety rushed in to fill the empty spaces in the day.
They were all empty spaces. All of them. I laid in the dark, shaking, and I forced it all to stop one muscle at a time. I went down the line through my fingers, the right hand and then the left. I halted the beat of one manic foot and then laid still, teeth gritted, until cramps subsided in the other. I worked my way up through calves and thighs, willing every frantic muscle in my body to step rebelling, and at last I came to my lungs, the hardest part because they couldn’t seem to take a breath, and yet they also couldn’t stop trying.
I closed my eyes against the dark, focused on the sound of the water, grateful that they hadn’t taken away its beat.
A subtle tapping intruded. It grew, then grew again. Like a knuckle rapping on something I thought, then like a foot tapping along, then stamping, all meshed to the tune of the water that had been my only lifeline. The sounds formed themselves into a beat, heavy on the two and the four, and then a voice broke in.
Lifetimes since I’d heard a voice. They lowered my food and drinking water through the grate above, brought out the waste pail the same way. They always stayed so far back that I couldn’t even see the hint of a face.
Lifetimes since I’d heard a voice and this was raised in song and it had a brought a beat to play with. I could scarcely think at first. Then as the measures stretched and I realized it wasn’t a dream I stood, really stood for the first time in so long! My legs were shaky beneath me but I didn’t care about that, I cared about the sound of the voice. I crept towards the voice in the dark, tried to make it fit onto Dinae’s even though it wasn’t, even though it was a man’s nasally voice and not hers, light and sweet and *hers*.
But it was a voice in the dark and that was enough after so long.
I sat down against the stalagmite bars, listening, and then a spot in the music opened up. I heard my break out break out of my chest and out of my stammering breath. I reached out towards his music and the man in the next cell over reached out towards mine, and there in dark we found a little spot of magic, of the sort no man could ever take away from us.
Trapped in the darkness, it sounded something like [this.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fKKH9_N6EjU&ab_channel=monaya)
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have that!
P.S. if you don't listen to any other part of that clip from Slam you have to listen to the stuff beginning at 0:54. I loved that movie and Saul Williams absolutely kills it there. This whole story was written just to link that. | 2021-11-13T11:01:34 | 2021-11-13T10:56:44 | 67 | 13 |
[WP] For the millionth time he had to explain that he was undying. He was not undead, immortality is a completely different thing. He was just undying. | Covered in blood knelt in the snow was Markus the Undying, a short fit man with fire in his eyes. And before him stood a tower of a man in a brilliantly patterned and bloodied suit of armor stood, a Knight of the Holy Order of the Yggdrasil.
“I’ve been tracking you for years and this is where you finally die,” the Knight proclaimed.
“I told you I’m not Undead,” Markus wheezed, “I just don’t stay dead.”
“I’ll see to it that you stay dead this time Monster!” The Knight pulled a flask from his hip emblazoned with the image of the Yggdrasil and proceeded to pour it over the head of Markus, “This will ensure that your corpse doesn’t rise again.”
“I don’t rise from the dead,” Markus was struggling with words by now, “We can talk about this.”
“Do not try to persuade me vile beast,” the Knight finished pouring, and put the flask back on his hip, “I will destroy you like the thing you are.” The Knight readied his sword for the finishing blow and with a short prayer it was wreathed in a green light.
“Fine then, if that’s the way you see it,” Markus bowed his head exposing his neck, “Just finish the job, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The sword flew through his neck with vicious determination, the light fading out of the blade the moment it was through. Markus’s head landed in the snow with a soft thud and a smile on his face. The Knight read his prayers and then burned Markus’s corpse with a talisman on his belt. When the flames died down he went to the nearby town.
At the local tavern the Knight spoke with authority, “I need a room and a bath, I’ll be heading out in the morning.”
“Alright, but the bath costs extra,” the tavern keeper smiled, “With the snow comes extra charges, I’m sure a man of your order should be fine with the fee.”
A small fortune landed on the counter, “I’m not to be disturbed except for when my bath is ready.”
“Of course,” with a smile, “You won’t even know we’re here until then.”
Before dawn the Knight rose for his prayers but something was wrong, he felt… alone. A priest of his Order normally can feel the presence of life and the Undead, it’s a gift from Yggdrasil to aid the sacred hunt, but he felt no one. He frantically dawned his gear and opened his door. He could hear the people in the tavern below having what sounded like a party.
He drew his sword and headed down the stairs carefully for a better look.
Behind the counter with the tavern keeper was Markus the Undying, serving drinks to various patrons like he hadn’t been slain the night before.
“You!” a stillness fell over the crowd, “I slew you last night you fiend, I put your soul to rest!”
“Good morning sir Knight, I presume you slept well?” Markus said as he moved out from behind the bar to stand closer to the Knight.
“I will slay you again this day if that’s what it takes!” The Knight started the prayer for his sword and fell to his knees clutching his head.
“That’s right, you slew an innocent man last night. You broke your oath to protect the people by ridding the world of the Undead. You’re an Oath Breaker now.”
“You were of the Undead, I could feel it,” he choked out between the pounding in his head, “How are you alive? I burned your corpse to ashes.”
Markus knelt down, “I told you I’m not Undead and you didn’t listen. What you sensed was my curse. My body was destroyed but even then I’ll always awake with a new one.” Markus stood and turned to the tavern keeper, “Think we can spare a room for him for another couple nights? He’s going to be unable to walk for at least a few days.”
“No problem at all, he can stay through the end of the month if he needs.” The tavern keeper shouted to the crowd, “somebody help that poor bastard back to his room, you’ll get a free breakfast for it.”
Two large men stood up and approached the disgraced knight.
“Do not touch me consorts of evil, for I will smite thee.” The knight passed out on the last word. | The first thing Georgi Iorgovan saw through half lidded eyes was a blurry, indistinct mess which quickly transformed into a young looking lady in pale robes somehow untouched by the dust and mud of the woods clutching a staff glowing silver over the corpse of a giant undead cyclops and himself it seems. The elven priest girl Shaerra had that all too familiar look on her face of someone witnessing a corpse come back to life in front of them only to be completely unaffected by a blast of holy magic, eyes bulging in absolute horror and shaking like a pile of boulders moments before a landslide. Georgi would have sighed had his vocal cords managed to fully regenerate at this point, instead black blood gurgled from a mostly decapitated neck further highlighting unnaturally pale grey flesh, causing the unfortunate lass to recoil further. Tendrils of warped flesh began to seal the wound shut and slowly pulled together his head and the stump where it should be connected to his shoulders, with a sick crunch Georgi heard his body reconnect before a rush of sensation told him that his spine was also properly attached saving some inconvenience. He pushed himself back up and turned towards the others, a young lad frozen in shock though admirably still gripping his blade tight, pointing the business end towards the immortal man ready to strike at any moment, Americ always did try his best. The rogue Nalnor however simply jumped away through the woods from the edge of his peripheral vision, though Georgi couldn't blame him, it was hardly every day when you see someone force himself back together within seconds after a killing blow.
"The spell failed... that never happened before... Edeyar's Blessing was meant to cleanse all undead!" Shaerra stammered, falling to her knees in terror as Georgi turned to look her in the eyes, in hindsight probably a huge mistake,
Americ wasted no words, instead he shook himself out of his terror induced stupor and with remarkable bravery rammed his blade right into the sides of the immortal man, however supernaturally hardened flesh only allowed the sword to sink halfway through Georgi's torso, flesh writhing against the intruding object forcing it back out no slower than it entered,
"Shaerra run! I will hold back this... thing! Warn the town, it is some strange unique type of undead!" The young swordsman cried, a faint undertone of terror quivering under his almost confident tone,
"But you will surely die against this thing without my holy magic!" The priest replied, newfound bravery flaring in deceptively ancient eyes,
"Now now youngsters, I believe this is all just a misun-" Georgi began before being quite rudely cut off,
"The thing is intelligent enough to replicate the voice of that poor old man! Run now Shaerra! You may yet save more lives if you run now!" Americ called out overpowering what Georgi was trying to explain, swinging once more only to leave a bare scratch against supernaturally hardened flesh,
"If you would just let me sp-" Georgi tried to continue,
"No, Nalnor can warn the people, they have already run off after all! You cannot possibly face off against such a strange and powerful undead alone, you need my healing and strengthening magic to stand a chance!" Shaerra replied now with fiery determination in her tone, holy magic dancing across her silver staff,
"FOR THE LOVE OF THE GODS WOULD YOU PLEASE LISTEN! **FOR FUCKS SAKE CALM DOWN KIDS AND HEAR ME OUT!**" Georgi yelled at the top of his lungs suddenly silencing the two adventurers,
"Now then... let us be *civillised*. As you know from when I requested aid in tracking down the monster that rudely decapitated me just then my name is Georgi Iorgovan but it seems there is more about me you need to know. First thing's first I am *undying* not *undead*, immortality may be a curse but if you spent a fucking moment analysing the situation at hand before panicking you would quickly note it is a very different curse from the necromantic variety" Georgi began to explain to the flabbergasted duo before him,
"So you didn't d-" Americ tried to ask,
"Oh no I died, I mean you saw my head fly off I have to assume, I just don't really stay dead." Georgi answered, cutting him off mostly because he was sick of answering that exact same question,
"So uh... if you are immortal how old are yo-" Shaerra tentatively said, slowly lowering her staff as holy magic flickered and faded around it,
"You are an elf and a lady, you of all people should know better than ask something like that!" Georgi growled, prompting a hastily whispered sorry from the elf,
"Um, I would like to be the first to apologise for my actions back there, I truly thought you were... you know..." Americ began stammering nervously, though the fact he said it at all raised the immortal's opinion of him significantly,
"No need, I understand, I get that reaction frequently in fact, that is why I get so annoyed... now then" Georgi said as he reached over to grab his warhammer which seems to have fallen to the floor while his head was liberated from his body, "I have a rogue I need to catch before rumours spread again, if you value the safety of your friend's kneecaps I suggest you go with me to help negotiate with him and explain this little situation..."
The pair gulped and nodded hastily, following Georgi onto the trail leading to town. | 2022-01-08T05:17:00 | 2022-01-08T04:00:13 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons. | When I noticed the tiny dragons, I knew what this meant, and had to act on it. I went to the carpenter with a drawing I kept since childhood that was an image of my plans, and one of the dragons for size. Then I went to the blacksmith with the same image and dragon, which I decided to name Shawn. There he did a few tests to see if they actually could grab things, and apparently these ones can. Lucky me.
After my visits, the carpenter and blacksmith begun their work, and after a week, it was ready. Now to buy some baby dragon friendly drinks.
Now, I have tiny little dragons, in tiny little wagons, drinking juice from tiny little flagons | Hatch-Dragon Chowder Serves 12
12 ripe dragon eggs, freezer hatched
Half stick butter
8 cloves garlic
6 carrots, diced
4lbs potatoes, peeled and diced
1 cup chopped shallots
8 cups fish stock (or mer stock if available)
2 cups heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
Begin with one dozen ripe dragon eggs. Put them in the freezer overnight to hatch. Any that don't hatch within \~12 hours are probably dead and should be added to the cauldron fire, very carefully. Prep all vegetables and put them in a standard 12qt heavy iron cauldron with a latchable lid. Pour in the fish (or mer) stock and heat the cauldron to \~100 degrees farenheit. Encourage your newborn dragons into the cauldron with soothing words and offers of bites of carrots. The dragons love a warm bath and will play happily as long as you're being encouraging and smiling at them (though be careful not to display your teeth!).
Once all the dragons are in the pot, quickly close and latch the cover. Depending on the size and ferocity of your hatchlings you may want to add some extra weights or chains to secure the cauldron. The dragons should immediately start cooking themselves and the chowder with their panicky fire breathing.
Using a heavy metal hammer or other blunt object, beat the cauldron like a drum for 25-35 minutes until all the screaming has stopped. Wait 1-2 hours to be sure and, with assistance, remove the chains and lid and be ready to finish off any hatchlings that might not have been thoroughly boiled.
Add the cream and salt and pepper to taste and simmer for a further 20 minutes. Serve with bread and white wine. | 2022-02-08T03:49:03 | 2022-02-08T03:00:12 | 65 | 19 |
[WP] You are a superhero who keeps his identities private, even your sidekick doesn't know your normal identity. Today you come home to find your wife in bed with your sidekick. | I opened the door a crack, not wanting to wake anyone by flicking on the light. A shaft of warm light from the hall cast a soft glow on the bed, Her bouncy red curls were frizzed all about the pillow as usual, a soft smile curving her lips as she dreamed.
I sighed a little as I leaned against the doorframe, mesmerized by her face, and not for the first time. I felt my gaze track a well traveled path from feature to feature. The gentle slope of her nose, to her slightly parted lips rising back up to her soft cheekbones and-
Something was *off*. A slight motion caught my eye and I felt myself frown as I spotted another head nestled against her chest. The fingers of one of her hands were splayed against his scalp, carded through his hair, the glint of her wedding band catching the light just so.
And what a familiar head it was.
I'd seen it just that evening, the untameable brown hair parted by a goofy looking mask that obscured the kid's identity well enough.
Well, from just about everyone else. I knew very well who was laying in bed with my wife.
A warm blaze of emotion sparked in my chest and coursed through me as I ambled forwards, taking care not to wake the two as I approached. Unluckily, superpowers or no, there was nothing I'd ever managed to sneak past Jenny.
Her eyes flickered to wakefulness, recognition dawning immediately before she smiled softly and waved her fingers as much as she could without waking her companion. "*Hey*." She breathed.
My heart lightened and I felt myself smile even as I edged towards the bed. "*Hey.*" I repeated, ruffling that brown hair a little before entwining my fingers with her own. "I take it the little man isn't handling the pressure well?"
She smiled as her head shook, eyes filled with nothing but love as she cradled him a little closer. *But, god, she was so much more beautiful when she was awake. The kindness and warmth in her eyes...in her smile. How did I get so lucky?*
"Nightmare?"
She nodded. "He's scared he'll mess up so completely that you won't want him as your sidekick anymore."
I couldn't help the chuckle that i let out into the air between us. "From day one?"
She squeezed my fingers between her own a little, something in her manner telling me how seriously the little tyke was taking his freshly appointed role. "You're his hero, David."
I nodded and aimed my Ultiman smile at her, watching her head shake in exasperation. "Then I won't let him down."
Her warm smile returned as she nodded, appeased by my assurance. "You better not."
I nodded absently, eager to get myself some shuteye. "Room for a third in that little spaceship?"
She cuddled our son closer as she gestured behind her. "You're the big spoon."
I didn't hesitate to claim my place, squeezing in behind her and wrapping a large arm around them both. This...this is what it has always been about. | A Hero Just Like You
“Donna?” Her eyes shoot open and nearly bulge from their socket; her chubby cheeks turn that classic rosy red that she gets whenever she gets too flustered. At that moment I nearly forgot that I just saw my girlfriend changing out of a superhero suit. It’s the first time she’s been naked and my mind doesn’t start drooling at the boobs and hips, “What the hell?”
Donna’s face freezes, stone cold, just like those statues in the park she loves to spend hours taking pictures with, “I can explain,” her face grows two shades redder than I am accustomed to and starts to pull the costume back up, “I mean it’s exactly what it looks like…that’s a good place to start.” I can start to make out the logo on her chest as the suit flips over bosom and now my cheeks and eyes start to grow as wide and red as hers.
“Y-Yo-You’re Crimson Star!” I can feel my legs weaken as the words leave my mouth, it’s the weakest I’ve felt in the last 6 years.
“Yes, I am Crimson Star,” Her gaze shifts to my roughly crafted homemade suit. A small smirk appears on her face as the hue of her face comes back to a mild pink, “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Well, I guess I’m just a nobody compared to you,” My eyes nervously shift to the floor as some witty remark fails to come to mind, first time for everything, “I just help where I can, you’ve made a real difference.”
“All of it matt-” I lose focus as she starts to speak to me. My eyes glance at the walls of my sloppily organized room. I stumble over to the bed, collapse like a sack of bricks, and cover my reddened face, “Grayson, are you listening?”
“No!” I feel her sit beside me on the bed, her soft hands rub on my shoulder, a feeling so familiar and loving stings as an act of pity now, “You’ve seen my walls, I look like a pathetic fanboy!”
“Yeah,” She softens her voice to lessen the blow, a usual for her, but I’m not sure she has the pitch to soften this impact, “But if it makes you feel better you’ve been dating and banging Crismon Star for a few years now!” I move my hands and peer over at her with a playful glare, “Are you okay, babe?”
“Yeah, my life is not in danger,” I flash the best smile I could possibly muster in the moment, she reciprocates with her dazzling politician smile, always perfect. How did I never notice? Baffling, “I can’t believe I didn’t put that all together.”
“Nobody ever believes a hero or someone they look up to would be in their bed,” She leans closer and places a gentle kiss on my forehead. I’m dating Crimson Star and she loves me. My seventeen-year-old self would give me the best fist bump now, “add in some mystery like with superher-”
A sudden buzzing cuts through the air distracting Donna from finishing her thoughts. It’s over nearly as soon as it starts, just barely perceptible. She shoots up from her seat and her soft, sexy gaze changes to something more steeled and heroic. In the blink of an eye she’s back at the same window I just entered, looking back at me with a face I’ve seen so many times, “You coming along, slow poke, we’ve got a B class villain to apprehend.”
“Where the heck did that buzzing even come from?” She smiles and points to the symbol on her chest. I stumble over to the window, much less smooth than usual.
“You never told me your name, hot shot.” My cheeks turn tomato the moment the words leave her lips.
“Promise not to laugh,” I take a deep breath and confidently look Donna in the eyes, “My name is Scarlet Nova!” | 2022-03-23T10:59:45 | 2022-03-23T10:09:46 | 421 | 29 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid. | "Willem, the sun is setting earlier now. Walk the fences, and take the scraps to the pig sty and if....."
"Yes, ma. I know. If I am set upon by goblins, drop the scrap bucket and run back home. Ma, I'm fourteen in a moon's turn. I could fight a goblin."
"Willem! We done harm them none and they don't bother us none. Not law, not custom, just is and always is in this village."
Willem did as he was told. Walked the fences and checked the gates. Everything was in order. The herds of sheep were content in their pens. He yawned and hope to get a cup of ale with Da before bed.
There was a rustling from the tree line. Willem reflexively reached for his knife fearing a wolf, but it was merely three goblins. He hadn't seen them in a while and assumed they were prepping for winter.
"GRAHH," shouted the tallest goblin who was still shorter than Willem. He brandished a stick with a rock on the end. He waved it over his head, but the rock fell off the stick.
Willem relaxed and said in a plain tone, "Please, don't, goblin. Take my food and leave my village in peace."
He emptied the food scraps on the ground. He wouldn't concede the bucket. The trio of goblins looked hungrily at the food on the ground. Willem backed away slowly expecting them to feed.
"AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" came a booming sound from the village.
Willem froze. He had heard the war horn blown before. The sound could mean only one thing. Raiders come down the river. He looked at the trio of goblins.
"Go back to the woods. Sea raiders have come upriver. Protect yourself."
The tall goblin smiled, "Not here. Not OUR village."
The goblins retreated to the woods with unnatural speed. Willem left the bucket, despite its value, and ran home. He could see columns of smoke coming from the village. It was strangely beautiful at sunset.
The raiders wore their traditional salt stained leathers. They killed anyone who approached them. Some of the villagers fought back with their scythes and pitchforks. Some even managed to take down a raider. Willem snuck around corners until he reached his house.
He banged on the door and screamed, "Ma! Da! Let me in!"
Willem waited in terror for a few moments and his father let him inside. His younger sister, Brione, was crying in her mother's arms. His father barred the door and hugged his son.
His father fought back tears, "Willem, you are old enough."
He placed a sharp dirk in his hand.
"We have to protect your mother and sister. When they come through the door, take out as many as you can."
Willem's hand shook. His father squeezed the dirk to steady him as he fought back tears.
Then the pounding came at the door. Not a greeting knock, but a pounding. An axe blade pierced the door. The women screamed and the men prepared to fight. The axe struck the door but was not withdrawn.
Screams came from outside. Then silence. Then blood began to flow under the door. The women resumed crying. Willem looked to his father who shrugged his shoulders. The family huddled together . They tried to stay awake, but surrendered to sleep.
The next morning, they woke up to a quiet and chilly morning. They wrapped blankets over their shoulders and ventured outside. There were hundreds of them. Goblins moving about the village. Tending cookfires. Looting the dead raiders. Digging graves for the dead villagers.
The goblin women distributed warm food. The young goblins were repairing homes and putting out fires. The villagers looked at the scene in shock.
A four fingered hand was placed on Willem's shoulder. He spun around quickly. He was face to face with the taller goblin from last night.
"Not in OUR village," said the goblin.
Willem placed a hand on the goblin's shoulder and repeated, "Not in OUR village." | As the sun set over the rolling hills of Aldern, Podrum spotted motion in the foliage near the village gate. He placed his hand on the hilt of his razor-sharp greatsword, feeling the clasp which securely held his blade in its sheath.
"RAID INCOMIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!" he bellowed.
From the forest burst hundreds of little goblins, brandishing sticks. They sprinted towards the wall, reaching the gate before it could be closed, their sheer numbers overwhelming the first defender.
"Help!" Girstan cried out, pinned down by four goblins on each limb.
Podrum leapt from the battlements, his steel breastplate glistening in the sun's last rays.
"You'll never defeat me!", Podrum dramatically announced. He reached for his waistband and drew his finest fighting stick - a springy spruce branch - which he held aloft in challenge.
On cue, Podrum was swarmed by the horde. "Oh no!" Podrum cried out, as he was slapped in the leg by a twig. "I got him!" as a goblin leapt onto Podrum's thigh. "Missed me!" as another ducked under Podrum's sweeping stick. "AHAHAHAHA" Podrum hollered as he hoisted a goblin up by the legs.
The battle raged for a solid three minutes, Podrum valiantly holding his ground as his miniature attackers bravely dueled the giant man. In the end, as his assailants grew tired and sluggish, Podrum allowed himself to be knocked off balance. With gleeful cackles Pordum was covered by half the army.
"Please, spare me" Podrum pleaded.
"Tell us where the King keeps his treasure!" shouted one of the goblins.
"It's under a fallen tree by the river bend just outside town, but you'll never figure out how to..."
Podrum didn't bother finishing his sentence, as the goblins stampeded out the gates towards the gentle stream nearby.
"What a lovely job we have" remarked Girstan as he got up. He brushed dust off his armor and straightened his chainmail. "I wouldn't want to be a guard in the capital. Sure, they pay is better, but real armies assault those walls. Goblin raids twice a month are much more fun. What did you hide by the water for them this time?"
"Oh, just some bread, and a picture my daughter drew" replied Podrum.
\---
Two weeks later, as the sun set over the rolling hills of Aldern, Podrum sensed a disturbance in the forest. He placed his hand on the hilt of his razor-sharp greatsword, unbuttoning the clasp which securely held his blade in its sheath. Something was wrong.
Podrum focused on the forest, and saw in the sun's last rays a silver shimmer of steel in the leaves.
"BATTLE STATIIIIIIIIIIONS!" Podrum bellowed.
Suddenly the forest ripped with life, the shapes of men bursting from their cover. They sprinted towards the wall, reaching the gate before it could be closed, bringing blades to bear against Girstan.
Podrum leapt from the battlements, drawing his sword with practiced poise, to join his friend in combat.
Podrum and Girstan, side by side, dueled with four attackers simultaneously in the tight confines of the gate. The air rang as steel struck steel. Podrum's sword was the first to taste blood, slicing head from neck, spewing gore across the walls and floor. In the brief second of slippery confusion, Girstan swung his blade wide and sliced the rope holding the gate aloft. The gate, a heavy mass of wood and iron, crashed down and crushed two further attackers.
Podrum and Girstan breathed heavily, separated from their foes by the closed gate.
\---
Podrum hunched over his dinner, exhausted. This was the fourth day of defending Aldern. Word had been sent to the capital, but the King's reinforcements would take another week to arrive, and they'd be lucky to last till then; of the eighty soldiers garrisoned at Aldern, only twenty-eight remained.
As Podrum sat and ate, he saw the ground move beneath his feet. He shook his head - was the hundred hours of relentless combat messing with his head? Too tired to move, Podrum just stared as a hole appeared beside him, revealing a large goblin head.
"Friend Podrum!" said the goblin, smiling "I'm happy you're still alive. Our younglings attempted a raid the other day, but noticed you were under siege. We came as quickly as we could." The goblin heaved himself out of the hole. It was the biggest goblin Podrum had ever seen - almost as tall as a man.
The first goblin turned back to the hole to help the next goblin out. "Your highness, Podrum yet lives!"
Goblin Lord Resheena emerged from the hole. Unassuming in appearance, she nevertheless exuded and aura of calm and command. Resheena walked over to Podrum, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.
"No other man has shown such kindness to my people" Resheena said. "We would not see you or your friendly village overrun. The adults are here to help."
Beyond the gates in the enemy camp, a commotion arose, as the ground split open and thousands of goblin warriors poured out to defend those who had shown them kindness. | 2022-05-26T16:33:26 | 2022-05-26T16:27:49 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] You, as a sort of joke, train monkeys to use typewriters and leave them in a room to do their thing. As time passes, various deities, eldritch monstrosities, and otherworldly beings start randomly approaching you, asking you how you found their private info. | "listen, I dont know what you're talking about but-"
"AH AH AH!" a monkey's yell from the basement cut me off, they're probably gonna write something that's gonna repeat all... *this*.
"**I do not care about what you believe is true or not MORTAL**" the being that seems to be made out of sunlight rebutted, "**YOU SHOULD BE THANKFUL THAT YOU ARE NOT DEAD FROM GAZING AT MY TRUE FORM**" it added,
I raised my hands, "that I am, you can be sure of that but I swear it's the-"
"**last chance mortal! if you still act ignorant and blame these... unevolved homos as the ones who obtained information from beyond the rift you will be executed right here right** ***now*****.**" the being's voice turned cold at the end of his sentence,
"**do you think I am stupid mortal?**" after a while of not answering, the deity added. "**stating that these... monkeys! are the ones who obtained information regarding** ***gods?***"
I nodded, "yeah I mean-"
a spear of light held by a hand that grew out of the being's back phased through the air, damaging a part of my cheek and piecing the floor. Eyes appeared on the humanoid's face, they narrowed to finally show emotion,
"**I do not give this many chances, but you are useful.**" it said,
"LISTEN OKAY?! LISTEN I THINK YOU'RE GENUINELY MISTAKING SOMETHING HERE!" I raised my arms forward in hopes that it'll stop whatever this guy is gonna do next, "IT IS NOT ME!"
its eyes narrowed even further until they turned into slits, "**very well, I will give you the benefit of the doubt and I shall see what these primates do in order to get information about us, and if it is confirmed then I shall take them for myself."**
it started walking away, "**however mortal, I must warn you, if what you have said is a lie and instead what I will see is nothing but incoherent jibberish that should not belong in any language then-**"
a monkey burst out of the door at this moment, carrying a piece of paper. He passed the god and handed me the paper, a smile on its face, clearly wanting a reward.
I reached my hand out to a nearby basket, grabbed a banana, and handed to the monkey wwho happily went back inside.
"-**I will kill you.**" the god finished his sentence and grabbed the parchment handed to me, and his slits for eyes widened as he started to read through it,
"**hmmm...**" a smile bloomed on its face as its eyes went back to me, "**it seems that you arent lying human,**" it stated,
the paper burned and the god reached a hand "**In courtesy and respect of you managing to train these lesser beings to do the things that they do, I shall buy them instead of taking them by force,**
"**shake it human, and I will gladly give you enough power that you will be able to turn your world upside down with but a flick of your wrist,"**
"wait what?" I muttered but before I could continue, the god went on-
"**a planet is such a small price to pay for beings capable of obtaining information about my own kin,**"
the smile that he had grew wider when I reached my hand out to grab his, an ugly chasm on his otherwise pristine yellow face. | # Soulmage
**"Brfxxccxxmnpcccclllmmnprxvclmnckssqlbb11116,"** wrote the monkey.
"You called?" spoke the abomination of flesh from behind me.
"It was a *joke*," I groused, throwing my hands in the air. "One. Stupid. *Joke.*"
The quivering entity reached out with one spindly arm and gave me a tentative pat on the shoulder. I slapped its hand that barely remembered how to be made of flesh off my shoulder. Albin didn't bother me anymore; I'd seen far worse than them in the past few weeks. Besides, Albin was nice enough. Kept the house in order, occasionally broke the fabric of space, and gave me privacy when I needed it.
It said something that an entity from beyond the rifts was the best roommate I'd ever had.
"Fhqwhgadshgnsdhjsdbkhsdabkfabkveybvf," the next paper read.
"That can't possibly have any meaning," Albin observed.
"Yeah, I think it's been too long," I agreed. I ran a hand through my hair. After the preliminary results from Albin came in, the Academy had actually gotten me a grant and a deadline to show results by, and I wasn't going to turn my nose up at an opportunity to get some cash. So even if this whole damn experiment had started out as a joke, I was going to do it right. "Want to do another exposure?"
"Rift's ready," Albin said. "You've got the mortal?"
"His name's Jim," I decided on the spot, "and he's going to come back just fine from today's exposure. Just like all the other times."
I picked up the docile monkey with one arm—the Academy's trainers really were miracle workers—and walked downstairs, to the rift in spacetime that sat in my rental house's basement. It took a while, since the hallway kept folding in on itself and I nearly fell down an infinitely recursive hole, but that kind of thing was par for the course when a hole in reality was lying around.
"No entities on the other side of the rift," Albin decided, poking their sensory-blob through the wound in the world. "We're good to go."
"Good luck, Jim," I said, patting the monkey on the back. I tied a rope to his waist and picked him up.
Then I tossed him out of reality.
I'd gone on the other side of the rift myself, as a curiosity—as rifts went, this one was fairly safe to go through if you had a guide who knew what they were doing, and my teacher had apparently spent quite a bit of time there herself. The strange thoughtspace that powered spatial magic was a drifting whirlwind of spatial eddies and distant memories, sluicing through the void like half-remembered dreams. Usually, those eldritch secrets were nothing more than random noise, only remembered in subconscious bursts or with extreme luck.
But if you had enough subconsciousnesses to expose to the rifts, and enough time, maybe you could extract something of use.
I reeled the monkey back in; Jim seemed no worse for the wear after his time on the other side of the rifts. He joined the other trained monkeys in the basement, and I walked past the noise of stolen memories being printed by the yard.
I reached Jim's station and stopped, reading out the newest haul from his latest exposure.
"dQw4w9WgXcQ," the monkey wrote.
I sighed. "More meaningless garbage," I said.
"Well," Albin hazarded, "we *are* grabbing completely random memories from thoughtspace. Maybe it means something to someone else."
"Maybe," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up if the monkeys start telling us about... I dunno, buried treasure or something."
I slogged upstairs, realized I was walking up the infinite staircase again, and backtracked until I returned to normal physical space. My room had somehow shown up behind me—stupid spatial rift—and I slumped inside and fell asleep.
Damn monkeys. Sure was a shame that none of that gibberish had any meaning.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-06-01T22:31:28 | 2022-06-01T21:06:53 | 685 | 134 |
[WP] You woke up in an entirely fake world. It’s an endless doll-house plastic facsimile powered by miles of clockwork gears and levers that go straight down into darkness. You did not get here yourself, and you have no idea how to leave. | *My fucking head!*
Damn that hurts. Like I got hit by a truck. What even happened? Last I remember I was walking home and then... I think I tripped? I... *where the hell am I*?
I took a look around and see... what *is* this place? How did I get here? It's like a dollhouse, only human-sized. And this noise, it's like endless ticking, clicking, it's... gears?
I got up from the floor where I lay and inspected my surroundings more carefully. Ugly pastel-pink walls, carpet that grinds against the skin, plastic furniture, not a soul to be seen. I felt my blood pumping faster and faster as the utter strangeness of this situation set in. I did the obvious thing first - I pinched myself to see if I was asleep. I was not. Panic was setting in but I resolved myself not to despair just yet. Taking a deep breath of the stale, dusty air, I set off to explore this place.
Room after room I walked only to find the exact same layout of furniture, lighting and wallpaper. Disturbingly so, however, all little imperfections were also perfectly lined up; small tears on the wallpaper here, loose thread there, but I know I wasn't walking in circles. I started dropping change in rooms I already visited and it wasn't in the new ones, but walking back, I could find the coins where I left them.
I walked to the next room, hoping for something new, and found it; only not something I had hoped for. It was a doll - one of those old-fashioned ones, but oddly large, almost as big as me. Made of porcelain and with seemingly real hair, it set its never-blinking eyes at me and started waving its hand, back and forth, back and forth, audible clicking emanating out of it with every motion. The damn clicking in this entire place *never stopped*.
After carefully examining the doll and finding it useless, I kept walking. Room after room. I felt like I was going for hours and was starting to wonder why I wasn't getting exhausted, or hungry, or thirsty, but-
*Tick.*
A noise louder than the most startled me; I turned around to face it. It was a... mannequin. Faceless, featureless, entirely white with some sort of black paint or liquid around its joints.
*Tock.*
Its leg moved as it clicked with speed beyond what I thought possible. It was as if, when a gear turned, it simply changed position without *actually* moving.
*Tick.*
Another foot moved. Forward. Towards me.
*Tock.*
The entire thing was suddenly a good meter closer to me. I started to run.
*Tick.*
I cast a quick glance behind me and saw it ever closer.
*Tock.*
It's closer! Keep running, *keep running!*
***Tick.***
I looke-
\--------------------------------
*My fucking head!*
Vision returned to me and I looked around. Shit. Still in this place. But this time I- I saw someone walking. A person, a regular person! They look as lost as I do. I tried calling out but... couldn't. My throat felt hoarse like it never did before.
They walked right up to me and started looking at me. Do something! I tried to grab them but couldn't move my arm. But... wait, I was moving my arm, not of my volition. Back and forth. I was waving, an audible click of a gear accompanying every motion. I tried blinking to signal my distress but I- I-
***I- why can't I blink?*** | # Soulmage
**The nursery rhyme was nameless, as most such rhymes were.** It hovered on the edge of childhood memory and half-remembered dream, wavering as it sang through the glossy-sheened halls.
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and now, what shall we play?*
I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and sat up, back aching from lying on the painted wooden bed. Where... where was I?
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now summer's gone away.*
The room was dim and uncannily familiar, a bizarre mirror image of my rental room. I tried opening the door—it felt far too light to be made out of wood—and stepped into the creaking hallway.
"Hello?" I called.
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... I'll bring you back to me...*
Though the hallway had more doors than anyone could count, the song was only coming from behind one of them. Instinctively and unerringly, I stepped forwards, trying to open the door—but it was nothing more than cheap paint on a wall, a facade as thin as a wish.
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and I will set you free...*
I knew that voice. I *needed* that voice. Hearing it on the other side of the wall was like a fishhook driven through my chest, inexorably tugging me forwards. I looked around for a way through, but even if I was the size of an ant, there wasn't the slightest crack in the smooth, oily wall.
But it was only a facade.
I took one step back, two, then hurled myself forwards, slamming through the painted door. It snapped instead of splintered, whatever material it was made of clearly not wood, revealing the... entity... on the other side.
The doll was the size of a human child, its too-wide eyes and cherubic blush contrasting with the distressingly fleshy lips and obscenely realistic teeth. Beneath its shoulders, even the attempts at seeming lifelike ended, a metallic, ticking skeleton of gears and springs whirring away, all powered by a humming, glowing box.
It sang with my mother's voice.
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... now, go to sleep, my child...*
*Tick... tock... goes... the clock... and let... your dreams... run wild...*
"Mom?" I whispered, throat tightening.
The doll's head swiveled towards me, and I screamed.
It stood with uncannily fluid speed and unhinged its jaw and *nope nope nope* I wasn't staying around to find out what happened next. I was already sprinting back down the hallway as its distorted singing chased me:
*Tick, tock, goes the clock, the song draws to an end.*
*Tick, tock, goes the clock, forever we'll be friends.*
It was catching up. Oh, rifts, it was catching up. The floor quavered beneath my feet as I ran—
Quavered beneath my feet.
This entire place was a facade. Painted doors, paper-thin walls...
...and a floor so thin it shook when I stepped on it.
Desperately, I turned to face the oncoming demon. Its lips—*my mother's lips*—twisted up into a grin as I stopped—
I stomped as hard as I could on the floor, and the demonic doll fell into an abyss of clockwork and gears.
Somewhere very, very far down, two massive gears ground up the demon with a spark.
I stood there on the teetering edge of the chasm, catching my breath.
And then a wisp of light rose from the void.
Even in death, it still mournfully sang—but now, the brassy, twisted tones of the demon's body had faded, leaving me with the voice of my mother as I knew her when I was still a child.
*Tick, tock, goes the clock, and though the time may fly...*
*Tick, tock, goes the clock, we're family, you and I.*
"Mom," I breathed, and it was as much prayer as joy.
The soul fragment twinkled in the air, uncertain.
Then I reached out and let it in.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and check out r/bubblewriters for more stories by me. | 2022-06-03T04:37:20 | 2022-06-03T03:16:27 | 79 | 47 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today. | "I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man. | It's been twenty years and I've seen some doozies in my time as "new era" executioner. Desperate people requesting desperate last meals, all kinds of crazy things. And the hell of it was, they were granted! You ever seen an alien? Guy out in Nevada wanted alien stuffed acorn squash with a balsamic reduction. What the hell is a balsamic reduction? My wife had to explain that one.
My point is, they're desperate. They come in, eyes wide with terror. They spend their time in a hum of dread and anxiety. You see the smug triumph gleaming in their eyes when they order their last meal and you see those same eyes wide with terror when the tray is rolled in the next week.
I try not to pay it much mind. I know these people earned their deaths but I don't want to add to it, you know? They spend years scared. You see your death coming at you like a freight train, it doesn't seem right to rub their noses in it. So I'm respectful, I wouldn't want to be where they are.
It's Aaron's turn. He's been here about five years, kept his head down, we chat sometimes. He seemed to pretty quickly accept his fate and he's spent the years doing his own thing. He mentioned once that he meditates, I guess that helps.
I hear him clinking up the hall and tap the microphone to make sure it's on. I look up as he shuffles in the room in the same laid back way he always walks and I nod hello as he takes his seat. "Today is March the third, 8:32 am and I'm here to take the last request of Aaron Riley. I'm sorry it's come to this, Aaron. What would you like for your final meal?"
His face was turned towards the window, lit up by the morning sun. I thought he had ignored me until he sighed and closed his eyes. "Ralph, you know, all these years all I could think was what I was missing. First steps, first teeth, first words, first day of school, his hugs, his eyes so big and brown I could drown in them. He was my boy. During the trial, after the trial, people screaming that I was a monster. A murderer. I just thought about my little boy and imagined what he could be if he wasn't dead. People make mistakes. Nobody's perfect. I loved him. I showed him how much I loved him every day. You protect your children, and I protected him. It's an ugly world out there."
He rubs his wrists, scratches a finger under a cuff link. I open my mouth to speak and he cuts me off.
"I'd hear you chat with the other guards. Talk about your lives, the weather, your favorite teams and I would close my eyes and imagine we were all just shooting the shit around the water cooler. I would imagine how your wife's peach cobbler would taste, that my wife and your daughter were friends and my boy and her girl would grow up being friends." He trails off, a tear growing in his eye and I can't help but feel for him. the hurt comes off him in waves. I was kinda concerned that an inmate could hear us though, I'd have to remind the others to pipe it down.
He quickly wipes his eye and sniffs then starts talking again. "I made a mistake. I can't undo it. I'm going to be better prepared for the next one." He faces me finally, gives me a shit-eating grin, and speaks directly into the microphone. "For my last meal, I want Ralph Andrew's granddaughter Emily." | 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T19:51:32 | 129 | 25 |
[WP] The Superheroes arrive at the predicted impact site of the meteor, only to find the Villains already there. "We're going to destroy that blasted rock before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" a Hero calls out. "Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass" | "Oh, here comes the sanctimony squad!" the man in the purple suit cried out as the Protectors arrived. It's not like he hadn't expected them; an extinction-level threat like this meteor did warrant the presence of all the heroes, but he still couldn't help but feel disgust.
"Villain!" the hero in the front yelled towards the gaggle of ill-meaning individuals as he landed, "Stand aside, scoundrels! You are fortunate the meteor requires our undivided attention! Should you attempt to stop us, let it be known-"
"Stop you?" the villain yelled back, "We're here to stop it, you moron! Last time I checked, we live on this planet too!"
The hero was taken aback as his bravado left him. "You *what*?"
"Oh, what, did you think that we'd sit by with a drink in our hands while the planet burned? Then what? Any idea how boring it would be?" the villain said.
"But... you've threatened to destroy the world yourself!" the hero protested and pulled out a small notebook, listing through it. "...on at least 5 different occasions!"
"Do you not understand the concept of showmanship?" the villain grinned. "You have *no* sense setting the stage for a proper drama. Say my demands weren't met and I did blow up the world. What would I do then, exactly?"
"Then why did you threaten it at all?" the hero asked, confused.
"Thrill of the perfect performance," the villain said, a glint in his eye.
"Hey, uh, lads?" another villain - a silver-haired woman in the back - called out, "Getting rather distracted here I reckon. World-ending threat and all, you catch?"
The leading hero and chief villain stared at each other in a moment of utmost tension. Both the heroes and the villains subtly prepared themselves for a fight, should the need arise. Neither wanted it. The pressure was palpable in the air-
"Narrator, man, could you cut it out?" the hero yelled towards one of his colleagues, "Seriously, not helping!"
Sorry.
"This doesn't change anything," the hero said. "You're still the villains. You're still wanted. You're-"
"Spare me," the villain scoffed. "I'll need Megamer to help me out with moving some equipment," he said and pointed towards a hero in the back, a woman of pure muscle.
"You dare think this uneasy ceasefire will allow you to command my allies?!"
"I have a plan, Ultra. I have gear ready. I know what I need to do. What do *you* have?" the villain said and looked the hero straight in his eyes. Despite being a good deal shorter, his confidence more than made up for it.
The hero relaxed his fist and conceded, nodding towards Megamer who set out towards the villain.
"Oh, and," the villain said, turning around, "Narrator- I could use some feedback on some blueprints, finishing touches and all. Do you mind?"
Not at all, said the Narrator and stepped forward- ok this is getting a little trippy. | I reached the impact site first, setting up camp a safe distance away. The other idiots would be here soon, and knowing them, I and my services would make some serious bank today. Humming to myself, I puttered around the tent until a voice came from outside.
"Hey, Trev, you in there?"
I popped my head out, squinting in the early morning sunlight. Rising in front of me, standing in what you would typically call a 'heroic' pose was the first person to arrive. As usual, a villain had made it here first.
"Yep. What can I do for you mate? The heroes ain't here yet so—"
"Goodness, no. I don't need your services, I was just wondering if you wanted some coffee." Coffee sounded wonderful, and soon we sat on lawn chairs, sipping our warm beverages.
"So you heard the news too, Alan." Another figure loomed over us, nearly blocking out the light.
"Yes." Alan held his coffee as if he would throw it at the new arrival. I raised my hands, knowing I would need to remind them of the treaty.
"Guys. Remember, when you're anywhere near me—"
"Yeah, yeah Trev. We know." Alan waved a hand. "Come and sit down then, Steve. I'm sure we can scrape some more coffee together for you."
All through the morning, more and more villains arrived. Soon I had enough to start my own football team, and was seriously considering going into that business when the superheroes turned up. Thumping into the dirt, capes billowing in a wind that had not existed before, they strode toward us.
"We're going to destroy that meteor before it lands and there's nothing you can do to stop us!" Their leader called out. I shook my head, as Alan shouted back. I try not to discriminate, but sometimes the heroes could be rather stupid.
"Stop you? We're here to help! We live on this planet too, dumbass."
"Alan. Language." I muttered under my breath, and he turned a little pink. The leader of the heroes arrived, trying to tower over us. With Steve standing behind, the only thing the hero achieved was looking small.
"You're going to help? Why?" The leader squinted at us in disbelief. Then took a very obvious double take at my presence.
"Trev? What are you doing with all these... villains." He made the word a curse. I rolled my eyes.
"Must I remind everyone? I'm not on anyone's side, no one gets any special treatment, and I'm here to help. For a small fee, of course." The hero frowned but dismissed me with a gesture. I wandered away from the group, as I knew what would happen next. Alan would forget himself and start cursing the hero out, the hero would get frustrated, and they'd get into a pissing match on who was actually the most powerful, yada, yada, yada. Then, when everything seemed like it was going to go to absolute shit, with the meteor bearing down on us, they'd pull together and fend off the problem. I'd seen it before, though not with this particular group of heroes and villains.
I ducked into my tent, looking over both my supplies and my power levels. From outside, I heard shouting, and then a strange rumbling sound. There we go. They've started working together, and the meteor will soon be dealt with. A few minutes later, a chunk of rock obliterated my tent, pinning my bottom half to the ground. Huh. Not quite the safe distance I'd thought.
Drumming my fingers on the ground, I waited. Finally, one of the heroes pulled the rock off me. He was the first in a long line of slightly wounded heroes and more wounded villains. I rolled up my sleeves and sighed.
"All right, you know the drill, everyone in order of severity. This is triage people, not a popularity contest. And have your credit cards ready please." As they rearranged themselves, I smiled.
Being an immortal healer had its fair share of annoyances. But it definitely had its benefits too.
———————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 2022-09-11T07:28:14 | 2022-09-11T06:47:02 | 1,578 | 352 |
[WP] When you cast a 9th circle spell, the very highest tier of magic a mortal can cast, you are brought before the spirits of all those who have ever cast that spell, and you must argue your case before them. | The Law of Nine-- this is the foundation of knowledge which made nature and existence itself. The Law of Nine is all around us. Nine Devas who created the universe and nine fundamental rules which govern it. Nine cycles of life and nine gracious goods along with nine karmic evils which balance it. Nine circles of magic and ninefold its strength would be as the legend foretold...
It was I, Neo, who stood by myself, alone in the middle of this wasted world. The world which prospered with life and magic millennia ago. The world which should have not meet its doom had we just understood that there was no need for war, for conflict, for animosity...but alas, it did fall. And I, Neo, the most powerful mage of my time stood idly by, doing nothing.
I was not without my fault, I admit. I, who like no one before me had transcended to the 8th circle of magic had received wisdom above all else. And in my near-divine status I was erased of unnecessary fault as jealousy and thirst for power, thus I failed to see that the rest of humanity did not share the same wisdom...
*In Principia*\-- the 1st circle of magic I casted.
Red circle manifested around my feet, spinning clockwise slowly as I chanted rapidly under my breath bringing this most basic of magic to its utmost limit.
You cannot create something without losing something-- that is the 2nd most basic rule of magic, of course. And without nothing else left in this world but rubble...what else could I offer, but myself?
The sensation was quite faint in the beginning, but still noticeably so as my tongue lost its grip of any taste inside my mouth...
*In Secundarium*\-- the 2nd circle of magic I reached.
Orange circle manifested outside of the red, spinning in reverse of the 1st circle. Continuing and continuing I did, chanting the same phrase over and over again it almost lost its meaning to me.
At least I didn't have to continue having the smell of charred wood, rubber, metal, and flesh in my nostrils as my 2nd bodily sense was taken.
*In Tertiary*\-- there it is, the 3rd circle manifested.
My favorite color, bright yellow circle appeared outside of the orange, spinning with the same direction as the red.
As I continued chanting, I was reminded of the reason I was doing this. To be frank, it almost lost to me as my age reached thousands of years old. But the sound of screaming and crying of my people as they slaughtered each other kept me tethered. Even though now my hearing was taken away, those screaming still echoed loudly within me...
*In Quattora*\-- 4th circle, halfway there.
Green circle manifested outside of the yellow as my whole body went numb...no, not even numb, there was nothing. My skin stopped feeling the air surrounding me, the dust bathing it, and the blood showering it.
*In Quintus*\-- 5th circle of magic, my least favorite one.
I remembered the first time I reached this level. I was so ecstatic on reaching this far when I was young, though at what cost?
It was a good thing sense of touch left me first as no pain I could endure. As blood poured out of my eyes, the dark red of it and the newly formed sky-blue circle slowly blurred away as my sight was taken.
*In Heksik*\-- the 6th circle of magic.
I was told it was ocean blue in color and I could only imagine it manifesting outside of the 5th circle.
My chanting had become muscle memory then as my fleshy body was reduced to ash, leaving my spirit essence behind. I was told I became a ghost by my students who witnessed me breaking into this circle...how I managed to regain my earthly body I had forgotten a long time ago...
*In Septum*\-- the 7th circle, almost there.
My least favorite of color, violet...what even is that?
My spirit withered, taken away as my magic became stronger, but my will, my aethereal body remained still. What else was there to be taken away?
*In Ogtum*\-- the 8th circle, finally.
I did not know what color circle manifested this convoluted ritual, but I could sense its strength. The power, oh the absolute power was intoxicating for me in my youth, but what's the point when it was my magic, the essence of what made a mage was taken away?
But this...was not the end. There was one more. One more circle to reach, the 9th circle of magic. This realm I had never reached. What it was or what it should be I did not know...what I do know is what I seek to do, I could do once I break through.
What I wish, what I yearn to do...is to restart this universe. | The last syllable scraped my throat as I finished the spell. No one alive knew what happened next. The ninth circle spell was considered too dangerous, too powerful. No one wanted to find out what would happen with that much power. Except me. Everyone else had too much to lose.
My vision darkened, before flashing bright white. As I blinked away the spots, a room came into view. It was all stone, almost clinical in precision. It didn't seem natural, as if someone had created the perfect image of a room, but not the real thing. I stood in the exact middle, my feet locked against a cut circle of stone. In front of me, rose a lectern, and behind that a person.
They were young, perhaps only my age, and yet I couldn't determine much more than that. Not their gender, nor whether they were a powerful mage, nothing. It was as if they weren't quite there in the same way that the room wasn't quite real. But their question was tangible enough, the word reverberating in the unnatural quiet of the room.
"Why?"
Only that word. It was a challenge coming from them, a demand for an explanation. I flinched, trying not to show my discomfort. It wasn't the question I'd expected; not one I wished to answer. The circle of stone beneath my feet shifted, spinning me to the left. There, where before had been only empty space, stood another lectern, and another person.
Their face was wrinkled, the weight of years bending them until they barely showed behind the lectern. But again, I could make out no more than their age. Nothing else seemed to be important here, or perhaps able to be shown. They too opened their mouth and asked a question.
"Why?"
Not a challenge from them, but a question of infinite sadness. As if the whole world would cry if this person repeated themselves. I hoped that they wouldn't, that I wouldn't be forced to answer. The circle shifted, this time to my right, spinning past the original lectern. Again, where there had been nothing, a lectern and a person appeared.
A child, too short to be able to see over the lectern peeked around the side. Their eyes sparkled, as if with some secret they wanted to share. And they too asked the question. The only question that seemed to matter in this place.
"Why?"
Sheer unbounded curiosity and joy rang through the air. The smile that formed on my cheeks wasn't of my own making, but of the delight that voice evinced. But even that emotion couldn't destroy the fear I had of that question. That dreaded query. Why did I cast the spell?
The echoes of the three voices bounced off the walls, ringing in my ears, pressing in on me like a physical force. My knees bent until I knelt, my back crumpled until I lay in a heap on the floor. Finally, I could bear it no longer.
"Because!" I meant to say more, but the one word stopped the torturous echoes. With wild hope, I raised myself to my knees. Perhaps that would be all they needed. Three faces stared back at me expectantly, the podiums having moved until I could see them all as a unit. And with a sinking in my stomach, I knew they wanted more.
"Because I needed to. Because the knowledge was burning me up inside. Because it was my last hope." Their faces looked down impassively. I swallowed hard. "Because... I was lonely."
The words dropped from my lips like the stones that created the room. It was the reason I had barely admitted to myself, the one thing I'd kept locked away in my mind. My eyes had dropped to the floor, and I witnessed as well as felt the stone circle spin again. Two feet appeared at the edge, and knowing already what I would see, I looked up.
"Because, I missed you."
The woman at the edge of my circle smiled down at me. She was a familiar figure, though there were signs here and there of the changes this place must wreak. A sense of otherness, of something not quite real. Even her smile was different.
"That is not a good—" The first voice, the person my own age started to say, but my love held up her hand, cutting them off. At the same time, she held out her other towards me. Before I could take it, she spoke, her voice soft.
"You need to make a decision. Do you stay here, among the spirits, amidst the others who cast this spell, for eternity, never resting, never moving on from our work? Or do you go back to your home, back to the world below?"
I stared up at the face I knew so well, knew like my own.
"What decision did you make?" Her eyes hardened at my question, then softened.
"You know what I decided. I decided to stay. Life back there..." She trailed off, raising her eyes as if looking back in time. "You were the only good thing in it."
"You said I had to choose between here, and home." I rose under my own power and slid my hand into hers. "There is no difference between the two. Wherever you are, beloved, is my home."
Her smile would have been reward enough, but it was echoed by three other voices.
"Welcome!" With whatever I'd said, or perhaps because of her interference, I had passed the test.
And with a gentle tug, she pulled me off the spinning platform, out of the strange stone room, and into my new life as one of the Ascended.
&#x200B;
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 2022-10-01T23:31:17 | 2022-10-01T20:34:11 | 417 | 138 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but after reading it carefully you realize that it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be the smartass that you are, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed them instead. | Simon whooped in jubilation as the pentagram blazed with eldritch black fire as thick black smoke swirled and coalesced inside, forming a large, looming figure of dread.
*"WHO DARES SUMMON ME...?"*
It roared, it's voice a cacophony of thousands of battlefield curses and cries of treachery.
*"I do...!"*
The voice that replied was reedy, nasal and dripped with smug satisfaction.
*"My name is Simon, and now that I have summoned you, I compel you to do my bidding. I have a grimoire here with the names of all who have wronged me, that you must eliminate"*
With that, he held up a cheap school notebook.
The creature in the circle seemed to be glancing around the room, taking everything in; before chuckling with menace.
*"And prey-tell-me... Simon, with your repurposed schoolbook, dollar-store dribbly candles and..."*
It's voice pitched in disbelief
*"A Youtube video loop of creepy chanting?"*
It shook its now-solid horned head
*"How could a pathetic snivelling worm like you find the hundred victims needed to summon me?"*
Simon grinned, not only would he show his classmates, but this arrogant Demon too that HE was truly a master of reality. He held up a petri dish in one hand and a spray-bottle of antibacterial solution in the other.
*"It was never stated that the victims must be human to summon you"*
The Demon laughed as it stepped OUT of the circle, its cloven hoof leaving a scorch-mark on the floor.
*"To summon me, that is true"*
It tore Simon's still-beating heart from his chest and held it to him.
*"But to BIND me... Now that is another matter entirely"* | My thoughts were racing as I tipped the pure alcohol bottle towards the petri dish. Personally I was disgusted by the bacteria on it.
It was green, spotty, moist, and worst of all was it came from my face! I couldn't be more disgusted with myself and I knew that I would never see my body the same again, but that wasn't important right now.
What did matter was of this was going to work. The ritual itself is meant to restore a person's youth.
I'll admit that I am by no means old but my 20's are almost behind me, and I'm not ready to decline in all manners of health just yet!
My biggest concern wasn't really if this would work, but rather what might happen if it did.
Would it be as harmless as the bacteria has only been alive for a few days and therefore the sacrifice would only make me a few days younger?
My fear gripped me tight as I imagined the worse possiblity that if it does work and the bacteria on that tray included skin pieces that are as old as I am then I'd become a defenseless baby again!
Then again that is impossible. No part of the human body exposed to the outer layers is truly as old as the human body itself. With all of the skin we shed I'd actually be surprised if there was any living human tissue in that dish.
But wait! What if the ritual sees the age more than the form of the sacrifice?! The bacteria is only days old! It'll think I'm sacrificing babies!
In that moment I put the petri dish down, setting the alcohol aside. "I can't do it...I just can't."
I stared at the bacteria. It disgusted me greatly, but the risks were just too great. "Honestly, I've probably aged more in the last five minutes than I have in the past month. This can't be worth it."
I grab the dish and blow out the candles, sighing before calmly walking upstairs.
I toss the petri dish in the trash and walk towards the sink. "Really, I bet I'd at least feel a few years younger if I jogged three times a week. You know what? I actually think I'd like that!"
I smile to myself before squirting the hand sanitizer on my hands and rubbing them thoroughly.
I laugh, the joy of the idea of being healthy is as easy as taking a pleasure walk through the park was already making me feel younger!
My laughter soon ended as I noticed my skin start to feel more supple, smoother. I watched as my skin got plump and then skinny again as my hands steadily became smaller and less developed.
I gasped, "The ritual! Oh no! The sanitizer!!! Nooo!!! I was right!"
Before long all that remained was a pile of clothes on the floor and an underdeveloped embryo too small to even be noticed by the human eye. | 2022-11-22T20:56:55 | 2022-11-22T20:13:59 | 326 | 143 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | Angus was disoriented by the blare of noise and light which were an affront to his senses. The room was awash with a fluorescent glow, the metallic walls were cool to the touch. Mechanisms vibrated with activity and screens illuminated with facts and figures in a language he could not comprehend.
Movement.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a silver and white humanoid shape stirring. He turned toward the movement but halted when the form spoke, “stop right there!” It said.
“Welcome traveler,” replied Angus as he raised his hands into the air. “I mean you no harm.”
“What year is it?” Inquired the being curtly.
“It is the fifth year of the era of the Third Mage Lord, of course,” replied Angus as he furrowed his brow. “What kind of—“
“Third Mage Lord?” Said the being. “When is that in relation to 2022? In plain terms, please.”
“When…?” Said Angus. “Why, at least 1,300 standard rotations if my horological education serves.”
“Jesus,” murmured the being. He had overshot his mark. By a lot.
“What are you exactly?” Asked Angus.
“Sorry. Just trying to get my bearings straight. I’m Captain Robert Ellison, Horotrek division. I appear to have overshot my destination. Can you point me to your nearest Master of Time?”
“Master of Time?” Said Angus with a puzzled look. “I know not of what you speak. Whatever are these devices and by what sorcery are you controlling them? I’ve not seen such an ability.”
“Shit,” muttered Robert. “You mean to tell me I’ve hit a mystical vein? God I should have known when you told me what year it was. Computer,” he ordered, “calculate atmospheric content.”
“Calculating…” said a voice from above. Angus fell to his knees in deference. “78% Nitrogen, 21% oxygen, 0.9% Argon, 0.1% other.”
“And atmospheric pressure?”
“Calculating…1.01 atmospheres,” replied the Computer.
“Good,” Robert said as he removed his helmet. His beard was askew and his hair matted down, but it was a relief to breath fresh air.
“You’re a person?” Said Angus with a sense of relief. “What are you doing here and how did you get all of this into this cave?”
“Look,” said Robert,” I don’t have a lot of time to explain everything. What I can tell you is this: I’ve travelled here from the past and you’re living in what is known as a mystical vein. This era is temporary and illusory. I need you to take me to your—what term did you use earlier—Grand Mage was it ?”
“Mage Lord,” interjected Angus.
“Ah yes, Mage Lord,” continued Robert snapping his fingers. “I need you to take me to this Mage Lord so that I may convene with him and get myself back on the proper timeline.”
“I cannot promise that the Mage Lord will grant you an audience, but I can take you as far as the Capitol Court in Gravesend. We should set out soon. I expect to learn more about your land—er, time, on our journey.”
“Very well,” replied Robert as he approached a console. He typed vigorously at keys before exhaling sharply. “This shit is fried. Ok, let me gather a few items before we venture out.” With that Robert opened a hatch and removed a rigid, white pod. He began filling the pod with foodstuffs, water, weapons, and a digital notepad. He could feel Angus staring at him.
“You must teach me this sorcery. How do you fit all of that in such a small pod?”
“Oh. Listen,” said Robert, “I hate to burst your bubble, but it’s going to happen at some point. I like to shoot straight and I don’t want you to be shocked when this comes up down the line. Sorceries are a scam, fake. There isn’t any sorcery about this; this is science. The pod acts as a conduit to a parallel timeline that is empty. I can place and remove objects as I need.”
“That sounds like sorcery to me,” said Angus. “And if there is no such thing as sorcery, how do you explain this?” He raised his hand and said, “Lumier!”
Nothing happened.
“I’m sorry, this is most embarrassing,” said Angus. “This never happens to me, I swear.”
“Ha, don’t worry about it, that’s a feature, not a bug,” said Robert with a chuckle. “You see, my ship here exists outside any illusionary tacks within a mystic vein. That is to say, your sorcery is no good here.”
Robert could tell that Angus was confused and more than a little hurt that his powers had failed him. “Oh, come here, I’ll show you what I mean.” | # Soulmage
**I called an orb of light into my palm as Lucet open the wreckage of the surprisingly flimsy metal door.** Meloai and I had poked and prodded at the damn thing, trying to find a handle or a knob to no avail, until Lucet finally grew impatient with our fiddling and ripped the door apart with a lance of disgustingly powerful force.
"If that thing killed us all because *someone* couldn't be bothered to check for traps, I would have kicked your ass," I muttered.
"There's no magic on the other side," Lucet pointed out, stepping through the door. "And I doubt any mundane traps could—"
As soon as Lucet crossed the threshold, as if set off by an invisible tripwire, hidden lights flared to life around us. Lucet crouched, manifesting a triple-layered shield as a pitch-black coffin around her, while I flared my futuresight to life and Meloai anchored curious webs of magic to herself, attempting to draw any would-be attacks away from my more vulnerable form.
Nothing. In the few seconds into the future I could glimpse at the moment, the three of us were still standing in the hallway, spellshields ready, nothing lunging at us or firing deadly beams of light at us or doing any of the various horrible things we'd been conditioned to expect over our adventures.
Finally, Lucet dismissed her coffin shield—for all its strength, it was a stationary construct—and stepped forward, analyzing one of the lights.
"No magic, my ass," I grumbled. "Lucet, tell me what we're looking at."
"It could—"
"I'd sense eldritch magic, even if only dimly," I interrupted.
Lucet scowled at me. "Can you turn your futuresight off for a moment? You're almost as bad as Sansen with that thing on."
I blinked, realized I'd answered her statement before she'd even finished making it, and hurriedly dismissed the flame of burning futures over my left eye. I'd seen the hopeless mentality Sansen had slid into from abusing his own oracular abilities; unless I was in life-threatening danger, I wasn't keen to risk following down his footsteps. Besides, futuresight always gave me the creeps, what with it threatening my notion of free will and all. "Right. Sorry."
"It could be eldritch magic," Lucet continued, "but as *someone* pointed out, as far as I know that stuff is still... based off of mortal magic, just... twisted. But my soulsight isn't picking up *anything* behind these light spells." She held out a hand, hardening the air into a rod, and gently tapped one of the luminescent patches on the wall. "It exists physically," she added. "Not a mental illusion or a mind manipulation."
"Unless it's an illusion so sophisticated it makes you *think* it isn't an illusion," Meloai piped up.
"Right, well, if that's the case we're all fucked anyways," I said. Just in case, though, I ran a check on my mental defenses; my soul was still surrounded by an early-warning shell of fragile shame, and it showed no signs of being breached. Anything that wanted to enter my soul would at least have left traces—so I dismissed the idea for now. "Right, so we've got unknown magic in the creepy basement. I'm turning my futuresight back on for now."
Lucet grimaced. "Fine. Warn us if we all die in a few seconds."
I didn't reply—with one eye on the future and one eye on the present, I wasn't even quite sure when Lucet had said that, if she'd said it at all. Futuresight was disorienting as hell, but it beat getting caught by surprise.
The hallway sloped into the ground before opening up into a gently glowing chamber. I saw our future selves freeze just before entering and held up a hand in warning.
I could only peer into the future of the location I stood in, so I couldn't quite see what was inside the chamber—but my future self had me covered. He poked his head inside the chamber and... whistled. "You'd better see this," he said, beckoning and letting his futuresight fade.
Well, if my future self said so, I may as well. I poked my head inside the chamber and... saw...
The machine was absolutely massive, spanning floor to ceiling and twisting in ways that defied ordinary, three-dimensional movement. I knew dimensional magic when I saw it, although the most sophisticated structures I'd seen that were anchored in other planes were like crayon scribbles to the masterwork of the elegant mechanical mass. Gears and levers and strange luminescent panels hummed and ticked to some inscrutable rhythm, a clockwork heartbeat more complex than every wristwatch I'd ever seen combined. But that wasn't even the most terrifying part.
In my mage's sight, the machine undeniably had a soul.
I let out a low whistle. "You'd better see this," I said, beckoning and letting my futuresight fade.
At the sound of my voice, the machine seemed to... awaken, for lack of a better word. Its hums and ticks grew swifter as Meloai and Lucet stood by my side, warily watching the construct as it shifted to life.
And then the entity spoke.
"GREETINGS." The machine twisted and ticked as its mechanical voice rang out. "KNOWLEDGE WILL BE REWARDED. WHAT TRUTHS OF THIS UNIVERSE HAVE YOU BROUGHT ME TODAY?"
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), and r/bubblewriters for more. | 2022-12-19T12:55:51 | 2022-12-19T10:48:39 | 813 | 108 |
[WP] The world seems to be your average sword and sorcery world. You, a young adventurer have descended down into a forgotten tomb. There, you find strange metals and plastics. Lights come on without torches. A man made of metal awakens, stumbling toward you. "What year is it?" he asks | "Umm... I don't know, sir knight. That information lies with the historians. I simply live from day to day. And sure seasons change, but to put a number to a year... I am not that wise."
Part of the metal man's brow went up in askance. "You... called me a knight. What reason do you have for that?"
"Well you are in a suit of armor, are you not?"
The thing looks down at itself. "No this is simply my exterior plating. Knights fight don't they? I was made to design and build weapons, but I was never programmed in their use."
"Pro... grammed?"
"Oh. That might explain somethings. Having no knowledge of robotic or programming. Either I've gone back in time or humanity caused themselves to regress as the result of a great cataclysm and we are now coming out of a dark age." The metal man extended his arms out in a showing gesture. "Welcome to your distant past. And maybe your future."
"Past? Future? Cataclysm? Robo... You know what we should go talk to Elmidryl. He might know what you're talking about."
"Elmidryl?"
"Our local wise man. Wizard some might call him. Come on." | "Die!" I scream as I raise my sworde above my head. With a loud *clang!* my sword bounces of the neck of this weird creature.
I recoil looking for an opening for my next attack. "Oh common now, there's no need to be rude." The metal creature says. "i'm just asking a simple question." Once again I lurch my sword forwards in an attempt to kill this monsterous being. again, to no avail. "Just stop trying that already." The man says in a slightly annoyed voice. "i'm made completely out of metal, that puny sword of yours won't do anything against me."
"What do you want from me!" I scream. "As I said, I just want to know what year it is" He answers. Finally his question sinks in. "What year it is?" "Yes!" The metal man says, now definitely annoyed with me. "just tell me what year it is and we can both go on our own merry ways."
"Ehhm its... seven thousand... three hundred and sixty... five? no four. seven thousand three hundred and sixty-four past the creation." "Past the creation?" He replies. "And how many years past the birh of allfather Merkaz is that?" "Past the birth of allfather Merkaz?" I wonder aloud. "That doesn't exist right? Although now that I'm thinking about it, there was a man in the city of Lorgaz who called himself that way. Guy was going on and on about needing to accept his god or something." "You know him?!" The metal creature screams. "You know allfather Merkaz?! By the holy Merkaz and all his sons how can this be!"
"I only ment to go a couple hundred years back. Not thens of thousands." The man murmurs. "Anyway, thanks a lot for your help and goodbye!" Slowly The man made of metal vanishes. I hesitate for a little bit but then focus on the important task again. This tomb has enough other foes to slay. Foes made of flesh. "For the creatoooor!"
&#x200B;
***-Thanks for reading! I'm not a native speaker, if i've made any mistakes please let me know.*** | 2022-12-19T14:54:00 | 2022-12-19T14:32:29 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | “Psst, pass this to Natasha”, I whispered to the kid next to me. He passed the note, as was every student’s sacred duty when asked to do so. Thank you Jacob. Your service will not be forgotten.
Natasha looked paler than usual today. It was that same thin pallid skin that first drew my eyes to her. Speaking of eyes, hers went wide as he handed her the note and pointed to me. Those deep reddish-brown pools… but I only got to see them for a moment before she turned away to read my note.
I should probably explain why. The night before, we had gone out on a date and she drained me of my blood and buried me in some mass grave she has been doing a dutiful job of filling to the brim. It’s well hidden too. It took me hours to find my way home, just in time to shower and get to school.
Reading my note didn’t seem to relax her the way I thought it would. Odd. I was very polite.
As class ended, I hoped for the opportunity to speak to Natasha in person. She granted my wish by dragging me by my collar to a stairwell that went to the third floor of a two-story school. No one was sure why it was put in just to end in a brick wall but it was always taken advantage of for private conversations. Her strength was incredible. My legs needed only keep myself upright and she did the rest.
“What the fuck is this and how are you here?” She demanded, throwing my note back at me. I opened it quickly and hopefully.
> Hi Natasha, I had a really good time last night before you left in a hurry. I hope you did too and didn’t have to leave because of anything I said or did. Parents’ curfew maybe? Anyway, I’d like to do it again sometime. This Saturday at the park?
> [ ] YES [ ] VERY YES
It was a clever trick I learned from TV that I thought could not fail but she had marked neither box. Was that a no? I hope not…
“Hello?! How are you here?”
“I did get a little lost after you left but I’ve lived here a long time so I found my way home eventually.”
“No, I mean… wait, what do you remember from last night?”
“We had a really nice date and then you had to borrow my blood and leave all of a sudden. Also, do you still need it or can I have it back? I don’t want to tell my dad I lost it.”
“What are you?!”
“Frank Jr.” I said proudly. I was named after my father and took great pride in the honor.
“No! I mean you’re not human so what are you?” Natasha’s teeth looked different when she was upset.
“Dad says I’m not supposed to talk about that.”
Natasha was very understanding once I explained that. She stopped talking so loud and her teeth got shorter.
“Of course, he doesn’t want you telling the wrong people, but your girlfriend isn’t the wrong people, right?”
“Girlfriend?” Natasha nodded and smiled. “I guess that’s okay. My dad made me in his lab.”
Natasha’s beautiful eyes widened again. I loved seeing her so happy and now she was my girlfriend so I could make her happy all the time!
“So that blood…”
“Just in case I get a cut. Dad says it’s suspicious if I don’t bleed.”
“So that’s why you tasted stale!”
“Hey, be nice. It was my first kiss. I’ll get better.”
“Uh, yeah, of course you will.”
“So, since I’m your boyfriend now, can we go on a second date at the park this Saturday?”
“I have a better idea, Frank. I think it’s time you met my family.” | Nya could hardly believe how awesome her day had been for the first time she felt accepted and it was thanks to the hot girl Erica one of the few people who had never been mean to Nya for being different or poor.
The date had been amazing and when Erica led her into the woods and a small well maintained pond with a gazebo with padded chairs she nearly felt faint before Erica leaned in and kissed her for the first time in her life. She was soon lost in the moment and only just noticed the strength of Erica as she bit into her neck as if a set of fangs were being driven into her and then a strange rushing pull and lightheadedness along with a feeling of coldness spreading from her fingers and toes towards her core.
The darkness greeted her as Nys awoke and clawed herself free of the loose dirt of a shallow grave the cool light of a full moon greeted her as she slowly got up and made her way home. She was several hours late as she texted her Mom and Dad that she'd lost track of time. A shop window let her clean herself up and revealed no signs of the punctures she was certain would be present. A convenient heavy rain left her soaked, but clean as she was greeted by her tired and worried but happy to see her parents who had her take a warm shower and get to bed she had school in the morning.
Erica was standing and laughing with her usual crowd when Nya saw her. She stopped talking and laughing, her eyes widening as she spotted Nya but she made no effort to talk to her during the day the two shared many such moments with Erica seemingly uncertain what she was seeing before a teacher called on Nya who answered the question and the class reacted.
"What are you?" Erica asked as Nya walked past a narrow alleyway on her regular route back home.
Nya ignored the girl as she kept walking the young murder was soon following trying to be discreet as she attempted to talk to Nya. Nya waited until they were nearly at the park and a fairly large gathering of witnesses before she turned around and looked at Erica not with lust but a cold impassive look that stilled the killer in her tracks.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you were one of us. I thought you were just a baseline." Erica said looking nothing like the confident and engaging person that so many desired.
Nya felt herself growl before she caught herself and Erica flinched. "Get out of my sight."
"I'm..." Erica said only to flinch as Nya stepped forward faster than she could respond.
"You took my first kiss." Nya said with a growl as a black membrane flicked over her green eyes. "The only reason you live is my veil is still in place." She said her lips pulling back as she growled again revealing her own fang-like teeth aided by more teeth shaped for cutting. "I have worked hard to live this life and uphold my oath. This never happens again and you are not going to be here tomorrow." She said her left hand intentionally drawing her attention to her chest where beyond the pale skin of her flesh a dim yet building glow of purple light was radiating in waves like the beating of a heart.
Erica's eyes widened and she stepped back nearly tripping before she caught herself before she had to force her feet again to touch the ground as a pair of older guys walked by blatantly eyeing the pair. "I... I'll figure something out." She said as Nya's eyes started to narrow as she correctly figured Erica was going to try and make an excuse to delay her departure.
Nya walked into her home and greeted her Dad as he kept talking into his ear piece while he cooked dinner. It'd be hours still before her Mom would be home.
She walked in and stood before the old obsidian mirror with the arcane sigils carved into its surface. Within the mirror she could see the old hospital bed Nya had restricted to and the old black candles the night nurse had helped her set up. She remembered well the contract one pure and untainted soul for a masquerade. "My soul for my parents happiness. I want you to live my life to be me and yet also to live a life that my parents would be proud of." She had said with the conviction of one who couldn't have understood how proud her parents already were. "It doesn't have to be perfect... It really shouldn't be. But just don't..." Her breathing came in gasps, she probably wouldn't survive another day. The demon stepped forward and leaned down and kissed Nya feeling her essence flow into her body and then herself into the empty vessel as a cloud of dark purple light.
A soul for a life to be proud of... Nya wiped at the tears and quickly changed before walking down stairs to help her Dad with dinner and tell him about her date and how the girl had broken up with her already... | 2022-12-29T18:03:55 | 2022-12-29T17:10:58 | 453 | 140 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | "Underchancellor, I want to know exactly who and why and how this happened, and what in Llorig's name you were thinking."
"Well, you see, Overchancellor, Planet Three has reported an alien presence. It's the Humans, the original inhabitants of Planet Three."
"I know that, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I read the report, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir."
"I want to know how they escaped the Penal Colony on Planet Four."
"With, with rockets, sir. Very primitive, by our scannings. Going from Planet Four to Three was about as the maximum range for their crafts."
"We destroyed their entire galactic fleet, didn't we, Underchancellor?"
"Yes, sir."
"And executed their entire scientist caste, didn't we? They've only been on that Penal Colony for only four of their generations. How in Llorig's name did they get their old spaceships back? Did someone sell them spacecraft? That's treason."
"Overchancellor, we've done testing. The rockets they used to escape the Penal Colony match none of the models of their spacecraft they used during the war."
"What are you saying? They invented new spacecraft in four generations? They have no scientists. It's impossible."
"I'm only telling you what I know, sir. And it's not spacecraft, not quite. They have no Quantum Drives or FTL Power. They seem to be powering their craft with fossil fuels they bought off of traders. Nothing like the craft they had during the war, but as far as we can see, they're effective enough. None of them have crashed."
"And how did this happen without any scientists? I oversaw the execution of that caste, there were none left alive. What you are describing is impossible, Underchancellor."
"Sir, I am only saying what has been reported. We're still trying to figure out how they bred a new scientist caste so quickly."
"The next time you come into my quarters I expect this matter to be solved, Underchancellor. If any part of this report appears to be untrue, you will be tried for treason and executed."
"I understand, sir."
"You are dismissed."
"Very good, sir."
"One more thing, Underchancellor."
"Yes, sir?"
"Have they made any demands? Any contact with our citizens on Planet Three?"
"Just one, sir."
"What's that?"
"They've offering to sell them things. Human food, human artwork, human instruments, almost everything they produce they offer to sell."
"Well, what do they sell them for?"
"Right now, they're very into buying our Rigaloos and keeping them as pets. They also buy our young's educational books in tremendous volumes."
"Why?"
"We have no idea, sir."
"They can't read them. Why would they buy them?"
"We're not sure yet. We think they're trying to decipher them."
"Humans are weird."
"Yes, sir." | The massive Zenthrok war dreadnaught maintained their orbit between Jupiter and Europa. Hidden in the shadow behind the moon, it would be easy to observe this new species undetected. Small, poorly built space vessels had made it as far as Jupiter, all unmanned. The Zebthrok had dismantled these vessels expecting to find advanced technologies or innovations, some clue as to why the infantile fleshy larvae of this small planet had been put under the protection of the Andromeda Triumvirate. The Zenthrok had spent generations raiding into the Magellous Clouds seeking rare and valuable super dense elements. Maybe these creatures held a key that could turn the tide in favor of the Zenthrok.
The Marthrag of Alnir, second in command of uncivilized systems under the Zenthrok fitted the last pieces of fabricated exoskeleton onto his brittle fractual crystalline body. Once the armor was in place he waved his hand over a Zenthroklit panel and the porthole opened. A vessel from the soft creatures had crashed onto this asteroid. The Zenthrok dreadnaught had used gravity beams to throw the ship off of its path and into the asteroid. As the Marthrag landed lightly onto the surface, he spotted the crash and approached it. Sliding across the surface using magnetic field generators in the exoskeleton. There was an abundance of cobalt in this asteroid. He tore what remained of the door off of its hinges and reached into the opening. He could get little more than half his arm inside, but he felt it, the warmth from the beings heat. His hand found it and he lifted it out of the vessel. Once he had it out his exoskeleton began taking diagnostics. Temperature was almost twice the body temperature of the Zenthrok. The suit appeared to contain a gas blend the creature needed. It began to move and lifted something, pointing it at the Marthrag. Without hesitation he close his hand around it and it sort of popped in its suit. Some kind of gooey liquid spattered the facial shield of its helmet and it went limp.
Nothing. They could find no reason that the Andromeda Triumvirate would consider this species worth protection. Their flesh carried a horrific stench, they were filled with uncountable tiny organisms. Overall they were disgusting. It was a bit fascinating that their bodies could produce energy from matter instead of just collecting solar radiation as most species did. Still, it explained nothing. This infuriated the Marthrag, he had eaten several of the crew of his ship in fury.
"Marthrag, we may have found something. We dismantled the entire ship. They have a collection of raw primordium. Several units of it. It appears they haven't weaponized any if it."
"Primordium? Several units?" How could this be. The species could barely navigate their own solar system. They never could have gotten far enough out in space to find the Nebulae dwelling Archwurms. "Why weren't they using it? How could they have gotten primordium from the bellies of Archwurms?"
"We... er...think they produce it" the younger Zenthrok seemed hesitant.
"What do you mean they produce it?" If they were producing it and the Andromedans could get their hands on it, this could end the war. How many plagues had been unleashed by primordium in the hands of the Andromedans. Whole planets had been lost. " How could they possibly product it, even the Kelleri and the Andromedans have been unable to synthesize primordium. It's the only thing that's saved us all these eons."
"It.. it's their waste. It comes out of them."
The Marthrag knew he had no choice. The planet and this species had to be eradicated, even if he lost his entire crew and spiraled the Zenthrok further into war. He could not allow such a devastating weapon, one that had purge life from entire systems to be harvested by the Andromedans.
The dreadnaught moved out of Europas shadow and lumbered towards the blue and green planet, prepared to annihilate it.
| 2014-07-16T11:43:48 | 2014-07-16T11:24:28 | 78 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare** | They wouldn't have even made contact with us if it weren't for the radio transmissions. Not the news bulletins or the misguided attempts at interplanetary communication, no, they just interpreted those as signs that we should be left alone. When their hundred-mile-long ark arrived in our skies no one could believe it. They claimed that their ship was capable of near-light speed, but even then the trip from Tau Ceti had taken fifteen years.
What we learned about their society was fascinating: Although much of the Milky Way could be considered a single civilization, as knowledge and ideas were freely shared amongst planets, the individual worlds still largely kept to themselves due to the immense distances involved. Interstellar travel was exceedingly rare and only used sparingly. In addition, the standard procedure for the past few million years had been to monitor civilizations from afar until they were advanced enough to establish communication. Once they were contacted they would have to prove themselves worthy of membership in the Galactic Union, which would grant them access to all knowledge shared by the other planets as well as ability to travel freely across the galaxy (if they felt the need to do so). They also became galactic ambassadors tasked with admitting any future planets closest to them. So far seventy-three planets had joined, all but the first few in the same manner. We, on the other hand, weren't advancing fast enough and were deemed worthy of an immediate in-person meeting. As it turns out, we humans are the artisans of the galaxy.
All of the intelligent civilizations yet discovered had the capacity for wonder, humor, and storytelling, but none came close to human creativity. Apparently our radio shows, music, television, and movies had been passed around the galaxy as fast as radio waves would allow. Scholars continue to argue whether this is due to our capacity for lies or our fascination with conflict, but the fact remains that even the worst human art and entertainment is a masterpiece to the rest of the galaxy.
The beings from Tau Ceti weren't even the ones who should have been tasked with admitting us to the Union, but they had the misfortune of evolving an enormous appetite for entertainment with almost no skills at producing it. The promise of even more forms of art and entertainment that hadn't been broadcast into space was too much, and they organized an expedition to Earth. Approximately two million of them arrived on the ark, all willing to leave their normal lives for a chance at experiencing human entertainment first-person. Their first message to us after we detected them in orbit was the musical notes from *Close Encounters*.
We were given tests and failed miserably at almost all of them. Not only were we not ready to join the rest of the galaxy, the results indicated that we would likely never be ready. Fortunately for us, they discovered our art museums, books, live theater, and the Internet, in addition to the vast amount of music, movies, and television that had never been broadcast into space. They had been experiencing so little of what we had to offer that we were immediately granted limited member status in the Galactic Union. They shared all of their knowledge in exchange for rebroadcasting rights for existing works, and any artist or entertainer who wished to travel the galaxy was guaranteed a life of luxury. To this day, no matter which planet you are on, the humans working in the arts and entertainment industry are among the most respected and wealthy.
They say that Vega's ticket into the galaxy club was the reactionless drive, and for Barnard's Star it was nanorobotics. For Sol, it was a library card and a Netflix subscription. | Im'k'tho gave the translator box a gently tap, somewhat unsure as to whether it's output was accurate. What had, for Im'k'tho, begun as an exploration of what he could only consider to be as foreign as it was meaningless, had instead turned into a wonderful journey into a culture that for all intents and purposes was one of willful contradictions. He'd read the papers published by the United System Council on humanity, but it was not until he visited and seen humanity for himself that he understood their backwardness and magnificence in ignorant acceptance.
Such was a culture, that was at every point, a failure. They lacked structured societal roles and expectations, existing solely on the pretext of assumed function. How lost they must be to each and every one be lost in their purpose.
"You're saying you just watch?" he asked again, his eyes locked on the screen as the scene unfolded.
"Yea. Sure, we have different styles, but there is something vividly entertaining, inexplicable primordial about it. For some considered the purest form of human expression, allegory. Does your translator know this word?" the human said, as he pulled the cylinder from his mouth and exhaled exhaust. They always struct me as this weird hybridized creation of organic matter and machine. That an organic could generate "exhaust" as a exothermic reaction that exceeded base metastatic temperatures ideal for enzyme and protein action was such an odd notion. More so that such an action was a willing intake of poisonous compounds that they knowingly introduce into their systems at the cost of a decreased lifespan made it all the more confusing. I assumed there was some form of metaphysical argument to be found regarding the nature of mortality in a universe that was by its own existence self-ending. But even amidst my mental quandaries, I could not help but leave my eyes locked on the unfolding scene.
"Yes. We translate this to 'pronasikopathy' phonetically. 'Existence as mirror to thought narrative' is as close to a description. This is sensible to you?"
"Yes."
"I understand the need for visual stimulation and how it can be thought provoking as an allegory for our very existence. I can equally understand that this may serve as a form of instruction for the less-learned or inexperienced. But the simple act of watching such a display seems somewhat, no, entirely meaningless when the action itself surely would be more productive. Would not experimentation be more feasible?"
"We all, at a certain level, understand this; however, there are those who, due to whatever fault cannot. Still others, choose not. The recreational act of living through this art form, vicariously, is that it allows us said stimulation without extraneous need. In some ways, this satisfies that need."
"I am curious as to why the female is always receptive. Certainly gratification cannot be so unconditional."
"Well. It's sometimes the point and sometimes not. The action itself dictates meaning to the viewer. The form is just as varied, designed to meet each niche need. Certainly you understand the nature of supply and demand?"
"In economic function. Such an art form requires payment? How is it that all parties are so condoning of blatant exhibitionism? And the pageantry? This seems like a blatant mimicry of another permutation of a similar medium that at least has a more cogent plot line. Certainly you would prefer the form that is mentally stimulating over this. I do not even see how they are capable of such physical feats."
"This art form does not require narrative. That's its point. Of course there are those who find joy in trying to incorporate narrative development, but this is for humorous effect and always ironic in nature. You understand irony?"
"The unexpected, though our definition implies a distaste for such as unnecessary."
"To each their own."
"Clearly."
"I'm assuming that this information is helpful for your paper?"
"My professor was not terribly specific on his requirements for my thesis. Though I find your explanations to be quite eye-opening. It will be...difficult to write my dissertation as our cultures do not have anything close to an analogue for this. Will you be available for further questioning should the need arise?"
"Sure. Given the time dilation, I'm available at your 3200 hours, every other planetary rotation. Do you have any more questions before you need to leave for your flight to Amsterdam?"
"What is the title of this work in particular. Academic policy is very clear on citations."
"Pirates."
Edit: Grammar | 2014-07-16T13:26:35 | 2014-07-16T11:41:15 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] In a not so distant dystopian future you will have to defend your internet history from the past 5 years in a court room setting in front of your extended family, friends, and love interests
It is the prosecutor's goal to make sure you are humiliated and made as uncomfortable as possible. | "Cats."
I could feel the prosecutors eyes boring into my skull as he paced around me. The courtoom was stuffy and reeked of disinfectant - the summer heat always brought the worst of the smog with it.
"Cats in pajamas. Cats in silly hats. Cats falling over." He continued, his terse tone growing sharper and sharper with each syllable. "Cats on slides, cats with ham on their faces."
There was a pervasive muttering around the court, as what had initially been a joke ran onwards and onwards.
"Can you explain yourself, Mister Matthews?" He pronounded Mr. fully, stressing every consonant as if correct pronunciation was the epitome of life's purpose.
"It was the 2010's," I stammered. "Everyone was into cats on the internet."
There was a murmur of agreement.
"We are all aware of that, Mister Matthews. However, you spent an entire week looking at nothing but cat pictures, videos, blogs and how-to tutorials. Not to mention scatterings of recurrent searches over the following years"
Another ripple of whispers flowed through the packed court, borne on a tide of discontent and shock.
"You are aware your family is here, Mister Matthews?"
"I am."
"As well as your significant other."
I looked at Tracy, who refused to meet my eyes. "I am."
"Then what do you have to say for yourself? You realise what you have done is a great crime in this nation?"
At last, I finally broke, after two weeks of borderline interrogation.
"I like cats! There is nothing wrong with being a cat person! They're fluffy and cute, I don't care what you say, they're amazing creatures!"
Red-faced, I gripped the edge of the booth. Spittle flew from my mouth. I was not going to sit, cornered and dictated to. If I was to go down I would go down fighting.
"As for you," my finger shot outwards, pointing wildly at the judge, who sat ready to condemn me to death for my 'crime'. "You're no friend of mine!"
*Woof*, said the judge. | "Can you explain what this is, Mr. Smith?"
"Yes, I could." I paused in anticipation of the next, obvious question. If lawyers could be smartasses, so could I.
"What is it then?"
"That's my browser history from, uhm, the 25th of August. 2 years ago to be exact."
"Indeed it is. Browsing history. A record of websites you have gone to as well as things you have searched. So the question comes up of why you would be searching the terms *wilderness survival* and *escape*. So let me be the first to ask, Why?"
"I don't have to answer that question." I put my best poker face on, trying as hard as possible to keep up my air of confidence.
"I would like to remind the defendant that you are under the court of law where unanswered questions will be assumed to mean the worst possible things possible. So..." The prosecutor paused and turned to face me. "I repeat the question, why? Why search these terms? Along with other terms like *hardware store* and *hunting*."
I remained silent. Trying with all my will to look unfazed.
"Hmm? Why would you search such terms? Do you like camping, that old hobby people used to have? Aren't you protected in this great city, ruled by our Magnificent leader? Why would you want to put yourself in danger of things that are of yesteryear?"
I continued my vow of silence, Herculean effort to remain with a steel face. Small murmurs began to spread in the room, a room with people I loved. Disappointment on their faces, unable to face me, confusion in their eyes.
"Answer the question Mr. Smith. There has to be-" He paused, startled by my sudden rise out of my chair.
"Because I am not stupid. I am not stupid enough to admit that we live in a imperfect future. This isn't living. In this city, we don't live. You can't call it that. It's surviving at best. We wake up, work, eat, and go to sleep to repeat the whole process. And when not doing those things we are showing favor to our *O so great leader*. No choice in our lives. Our lives are set from Day 0. I am tired of surviving. I want to live. Have choice in my life. Now let me ask you a question Mr. Prosecutor, have you ever enjoyed your life?"
The room was silent. Everyone was facing me. The prosecutor's mouth was a gap, stunned at my confession. They may not have said it, but they all believed in it. Suddenly, a man rose from the back. He wore a dark suit with even darker sunglasses despite being indoors and slowly proceeded to walk to the front. Eyes followed his slow, methodical strut until he stopped in front of me, took out a gun, and pointed towards my head.
I was no coward and understood what would happen. I closed my eyes and smiled at the only choice I have ever had. Whether I wanted to die or not. The last thing I heard was a **BANG**. | 2014-08-20T14:02:00 | 2014-08-20T13:53:59 | 76 | 53 |
[WP] You and your fellow Succubi and Incubi are gathered together in your favorite bar in hell, swapping stories of your sexiest, funniest, and weirdest times being summoned. NSFW
I am on mobile so I hope putting NSFW in the title counts for tagging it. | “…they just don’t seem to get it, you know?” said Tobias, shaking his bleach blonde curls and addressing the group of five demons crowded around the black marble bar. Every demon was clutching some sort of alcoholic drink and looking slightly haggard at the end of the working week.
“I mean, I shouldn’t be surprised – look how long it took them to get the hang of homosexuality in their own kind – but you’d think now it’s more widely accepted they’d understand that it’s not that I’m being deliberately cruel when they summon me and I decline. I’m sympathetic to the fact that their husband hasn’t touched them in six years, but my attraction to the same gender means I can’t fulfil their requests. Honestly, this place needs a better filtering system,” he continued.
Everyone in the group murmured in agreement. A petite succubus, who seemed to have put a lot of effort into creating perfect winged eyeliner to emphasize her slit pupil eyes, opened her eyes wide with irritation and began to respond.
“Oh, at least you can start lisping at them and flapping your wrists and they suddenly change their minds and want to turn you into a pet and take you shoe shopping. I get the “but you don’t look like a lesbian” from at least half the men I decline when they summon me. Honestly, you’d think they’d realise you don’t have to be butch to like girls, and with chauvinistic behaviour like that is it any surprise that I’ve sworn off men forever? It’s gotten to the point where I’m thinking about cutting my hair off so I fit their image of what a lesbian actually looks like!”
The succubus paused for a moment here, pouting her lips and waiting for the others to shower her with compliments on her flowing black hair and tell her what a shame it would be to chop it off to satisfy a few worthless human souls. Ego sufficiently inflated, she continued in a slightly shriller tone.
“I mean, I know that I fit the human standards of attractiveness (well, except for the violet skin), but honestly. If I’ve told you I’m not going to sleep with you break the summoning circle and let me go home! We work all hours of the night and I always appreciate beauty sleep!”
“Oh come on, Mal, you know you’ll always be the most beautiful of them all, beauty sleep or no beauty sleep,” said a tall and slender succubus, rolling her eyes whilst balancing on six inch heels in a restrictive corset dress. “Now, I know Hydel and myself don’t have your problems, being equally attracted to everyone, but I keep getting the weirdest kinks.”
Warming to her subject matter, she became more animated. “Okay, so today I got this married couple. Great, right, you know me, I’ve had more threesomes than Mal’s had compliments. It’s all well and good until midway through the moment, he starts calling me “Jennie”. She stops, and through the screaming I make out that Jennie is their nineteen year old daughter”.
She visibly withholds a shudder at the memory. The other demons listening to her story do not have her self control and recoil in disgust.
“Humans suck,” muttered Hydel in agreement. Sunglasses hid the snake pupils of his eyes, and with them balanced above his high cheekbones he could almost pass for a very pale yet very attractive human being. “Pansexuality is having the capability to be attracted to everyone, not actually being attracted to everyone. I know you like women, Mal, but honestly, some of these aren’t attractive to anyone. I sympathise with them, but I’m not about to sleep with them just because they can’t find anyone human to do it.”
“Hey. Stop bickering about weird requests and the humans’ lack of understanding. You could all have it a lot worse,” said Jade, who had been quiet up until this point. “You could be asexual like I am. Try explaining that one to a dumb teenager who thinks that he’s summoned himself a guaranteed sex slave.”
The other four considered her statement for a moment, and as one, raised their glasses to hers. Clinking them lightly against each other, each demon wordlessly upended the alcohol into their mouths, finishing the rest of their drinks. | Khan's is a shit hole, With all the health inspectors down here, you'd figure it would have been shut down a long time ago. There hasn’t been any electricity here since the owner decided it was witchcraft, even after several practicing witches tried to convince him otherwise. For music there’s this terrible bard who only seems to know Three blind mice and can barely play that on his broken lute. The washrooms are literally just holes in the ground out back with little walled areas, even through the sulphur you can smell the place letting off an ungodly (I know, shut up) stench. It is probably the least pleasant place in hell short of actually being in the lakes of fire, but succubi drink free and the last time someone tried to make an unwanted move old Genghis roughed them up but good.
Of course, when you’ve got the succubi coming to your flophouse of a bar you’ve got the rest of Hell by the nuts, and while they drink free I’m paying a 20$ cover to sit on a stool that might actually have a stool sample on it. I’d almost ask myself why except it’s pretty obvious to me and anyone with eyes or feelers within a mile that I’m stupid over Lillith. Me and every other stupid Incubus, demon, tortured soul, and a statistically improbable amount of the succubi, but hey, a man can dream.
Tonight in particular, she’s wearing this… I don’t think there’s a term for it, it looks almost like it could be lingerie, except there’s the odd little spike and ring and it doesn’t seem to follow any pattern or style, and what little fabric is there just seems to wind around her in little lines to it’s own design. It looks almost like it wasn’t crafted, but it just so happened to attach to her, some kind of clothes based life form, with enough sadism in it to hide all the best bits just barely. She always looks great with that long inferno of hair flowing around her, held aloft by some wind that doesn’t seem to touch the rest of her. She denied having it enchanted, but I know a guy who said she’d had it done about 600 years or so ago, not that long.
We’re doing that thing we always do, measuring our dicks (not literally, those of us that came equipped did that centuries ago) again, who’s got the most fucked up story? This all too perky Succubus Beckie (Well, Rebeccubus, but that’s a stupid fucking name) gets the ball rolling talking about a couple twelve year old boys who sold their soul to her just to watch her feel herself up. Said she felt bad for them, gave them each a wank before getting the contracts signed. She calls on me to go next and winks. I can’t stand her, she thinks just cause we hooked up a couple centuries ago we’re going to be a thing or whatever, but now everyone’s looking at me like I’m supposed to wow them or some shit.
Searching my memory for any good stories I have that I haven’t told, only one thing comes to mind, and I push it back at first, remembering how I promised I’d never share it again, but really nothing else that hasn’t already been said is coming up, and the only conquests I’ve had in the last month were an old lady looking for one final ride before she kicked it and this dude who just really REALLY wanted to suck my dick. Maybe it was the peer pressure, maybe it was the booze, more likely it was Lillith’s eyes boring into my very being and judging me the lesser for hesitating, whatever it was it made me open a vault I’d locked a long time ago and share a story I promised to keep to myself.
Taking a deep breath, really inhaling the pungent odours of the bar as a twisted inspiration, I looked around, making sure I had everyone’s attention, as I sure as fuck was not going to repeat myself “Alright… About 800 years ago, in Kiev I was summoned for a pretty standard seeming contract with this baron. The only caveat was that I had to bring him to climax. I went to grab his dick, you know, warm him up, but then he slapped my hand and started telling about all of his various sexual conquests, both straight and gay. Said in his youth he’d snuck into a princesses bedroom after dark and had his way with her, and afterwards he snuck into her father’s room and fucked him from behind while telling him what a slut his daughter was.
“Apparently he once saved a town from a group of bandits by going into there camp and challenging any one of them to best him in a sexual encounter, and over the course of two weeks had established dominance over all of them. I was already rolling my eyes at this, of course, but he just kept going on like it was all matter of fact, about how he’d had every kind of experience I could have imagined, and had them enough that they’d long since been old hat to him started talking about raping some girl to recapture the magic or something like that but I’d already begun tuning him out and getting into game time mode.That’s about when he opened the door into the room that will live on forever in my nightmares. | 2022-04-27T08:18:03 | 2014-12-08T17:07:45 | 173 | 37 |
[WP] Because of a glitch in time, every time you die you keep coming back to the moment where you say your last words. Since this loop seems to repeat infinitely, you experiment with seeing what happens every time you choose different words. | At first I said sorry, because remorse is what everyone thinks of when they're about to die. But I only really meant it the first time because when I was brought back, it was the same place and I knew what was coming.
"Sorry-" Dead.
After a while I said other stuff. The gunman said: "get on the fucking ground!" and I said, "no you!"
Dead.
I said: "I bet you that's not even loaded." Dead.
"Guns don't kill people, people kill people!" Dead.
"Does anyone have change for a-" Dead.
After a while this became tiresome. I tried saying nothing at all. In the silence the gunman held off from firing initially. If I stayed standing up, dead. If I slowly started bending over, he'd wait a few seconds, then I'd be dead. If I sprawled flat on the ground, he wouldn't shoot at all. The first time this happened I figured the cycle was broken, so I jumped to my feet and rejoiced in breaking the cycle.
Dead.
The second time I stayed down until the gunman left the trolley. I waited until the police came, I filed a police report, I took a bus home, I ate dinner and fed my rats and watched TV. I woke up the next day happy to have broken the cycle, but then a texting driver smashed into the bus stop I was waiting at.
Dead, and back to the trolley.
"Dickbutt." The gunman froze and a woman laughed. We both died, which made me return to "sorry," directed more to whoever laughed than the gunman.
After an unknown amount of time I simply gave up. At one point I lasted 70 years. I was convinced I broke the cycle. I stayed inside all day and did freelance graphic design for local businesses.
During that time I met Hannah, another unfortunate victim of the cycle. She was a freelance copywriter, a career that enabled her to work from the safety of home. We talked online at first, until the need for face-to-face interaction was too strong. I carefully walked the three miles from my house to hers. Over a bottle of Old Guardian we revealed where our cycles started. We were on the same trolley. She laughed when I said "dickbutt" to the gunman.
Some time later we got married. Had kids. Got old.
On the eve of my 94th birthday I had a massive stroke. My eyes went black. "This is it," I thought.
"Get on the fucking ground!"
Dead. Back to square one.
"At least we have each other," Hannah said from across the trolley.
Dead. | "I'm sorry" - I whispered into my phone, and with those words I finally leaned too far past the barrier I've been balancing on for the last two hours or so. It wasn't a long flight, but it did make me re-evaluate my decision.
----
"I'm sorry" - I whispered, purely finishing a thought pattern that was no longer in my mind. Before being overcome with an extreme sense of deja vu, I noticed that my heart was not beating as much as it was before. Having re-evaluated my decision during what I thought was a very realistic day dream, I decide to not do anything as final as that anymore. And then I slip and go for a flight again.
----
"I'm sorry" - I finished the phrase again, this time dropping to the other side of the barrier just to be sure. Okay, so that was not just deja vu. Is this how death works? Kinda weird. I get up, go to the elevator, and decide to head back home. The cable snaps, and I fall.
----
"I'm- hold up for a moment" - I do not finish the phrase. Is this how it works? I make my final apology, and I die? Hmm. I decide to not use the elevator this time, and instead go down a long long long staircase. Well, at least I'm alive. Back in the lobby, I accidentally bump into a person. "Oh, I'm sorry" - Without even finishing the phrase, I come crashing through the floor. Hmm.
----
"I'm-" - I do not finish the phrase, and I throw the phone over the ledge. What the hell, I can get it back if I just whisper the magic words. Going back down, I walk very carefully. How did I even get here anyway? Things weren't that bad! Sigh, mind is an enigma. Back on the street, I decide to go get something to drink instead. "I'm sorry, we're ou-" - before the woman in the shop even finishes the phrase, I trip and crash head-on through the glass counter. That counts as flying, right?
----
"I'm- IT WASN'T EVEN ME WHO SAID IT!" - I do not finish the phrase. I get off the ledge. "I'm sorry" - I say pretty quietly. The balcony collapses.
----
"I'm- Huh." - I do not finish the phrase. I get off the balcony. Sitting on the roof, I whisper to myself: "I'm sorry". The entire building comes crumbling down.
----
"I'm..." - I do not finish the phrase. I get out from the building. This is pretty weird now. Am I immortal or what? Standing on the street, and making sure that there aren't any tunnels or anything beneath me, I whisper to myself: "I'm sorry". I am knocked down by some people who don't even bother to request for me to put my hands up. They accidentally hit my head against the pavement too hard. I suppose this counts as flying.
----
"I'm..." - I do not finish the phrase. Hmm. It takes a lot of self-control to just not speak for this long. Still, I make it to the islands. I make sure to take my boat to the one that's confirmed to be uninhabited. I lay down on the beach. The sand feels nice. I whisper to myself: "I'm sorry". The island is torn apart by an earthquake.
----
"I'm..." - I do not finish this phrase. But I'm still on the phone. "Okay, you wouldn't believe this anyway. Let's experiment." Without saying the phrase, I go for a yet another flight. | 2015-03-06T20:26:04 | 2015-03-06T19:46:25 | 281 | 70 |
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